#we are two souls who found each other in the sea of fire and flame

[huntinghags]

9. Diverging Paths

Song pairing: https://vandalorum.bandcamp.com/track/folly-of-man

[the story of Bakar and Musa]

It had been three winters since they’d been taken under Belir’s wing, the two of them inseparable. Hailing from the same village on the outskirts of Thuvia, they were cut from the same cloth. Brothers in all but blood, Bakar and Musa had worked tirelessly together. Their master’s tutelage promised them a new and better life, one where they could do better than beg for scraps and have their throats scraped by the barren and hostile desert air. Belir always searched for such boys: those desperate for opportunity, those who had managed to carve out a life in whatever miserable pit he’d pulled them from. Boys like Bakar and Musa were the ones that would fight tooth and nail to not return from where he'd found them.

            Belir had grown old, at least old for a hunter. The lives of witch hunters were short, and it was a mark of his peerless skill that he’d lived to see his hair turn gray. To keep their craft alive, and the Inner Seas region safe, the Order of the Iron Shadow passed its art down through apprenticeship. Before his death, a hunter was meant to train another. It often meant taking an apprentice early on into life, for few hunters had enough battles in them to last long. Belir, however, had trained many during his time as the chief of the Order and he had outlived almost all of them. The youngest group would show promise, he hoped, and would hold an individual that he could pass down his amulet to when he departed. They at least seemed more worth their salt than any of the sorry souls around him, who sat content to drink themselves to an early grave before a hag could claim them.

            Bakar and Musa's training was nearly complete, and before the next moon cycle they, along with the rest of the trainees, would claim their rights as hunters true. In preparation, they had each been paired and sent on smaller jobs to test their mettle.

-------

            Night in the desert was quiet, save for the shifting of the sand beneath their boots and the roars that punctuated it, making their ears ring. The darkness only intermittently broken by the gouts of flame that poured forth from the chimera as it crashed through the dunes after its assailants. It was a delicate dance that the boys played, one weaved in to take the brunt of the beast’s assault and attention while the other whatever small opening he could force. They had made little progress; only the goat’s head lay lame. The chimera ruthlessly walled them with fang, fire, and poison, already Bakar and Musa both felt the tips of their cloaks singed and bore long scratches from failed attempts to penetrate its defenses. It felt like they had been fighting for hours, their labored breaths misting the air in front of them. Musa’s great axe dipped slightly, the weight of it catching up to even a boy of his size and strength.

            Dodging another deluge of flame, Musa surged forward, catching the lion’s gaping maw on the pole of his axe. Bakar emerged from shadow, and with a long overhead sweep he cleaved down upon the dragon head, severing it wholly. The beast reeled back in pain and confusion, giving Musa enough ground to heft it off of his axe. With the last of his strength he brought it down onto the lion, splitting its skull. Delirious and tired, he began to laugh, and turned to face his brother in arms, a wide smile plastered across his face. Bakar however, remained focused, and it was good that he had. In the final death throw, the chimera’s tail snapped around, the horrid snake upon it poised to strike the gloating hunter. Bakar roughly pulled Musa aside by the shoulder and slashed out, separating the tail from the body. The two boys collapsed into the sand, hearts racing and bodies shaking. Musa embraced Bakar and sung his praises in every tavern they visited on the road home.

-----------

            “Can you imagine the looks on their faces when we return with the heads of a chimera? I doubt the others will bring back a mark half as good.” Musa crowed as he secured the last of their trophies onto Bakar’s camel.

            “I imagine old Belir might even crack a smile, though you’ll have to look for it beneath all of his scars.” Bakar chuckled, taking a long swig from his flask. He swayed slightly on his saddle, already long drunk from the festivities the village had thrown them when they’d returned victorious.  

            “This is just the start, my friend! All of the bards of the Inner Seas will sing of us when we gain our amulets. There won’t be a crone that doesn’t fear the names Bakar and Musa, nor lady who doesn’t swoon as we pass. Oh, just think of it, Bakar!” Musa loudly boasted, taking more than one try to clamber up onto his beast of burden.

            “I think you are deep in your cups.” The shorter hunter offered his friend a steadying hand, though it nearly toppled the both of them.

            “As if I didn’t see you telling our story to any maiden that would listen as they filled your stein to the brim, you love and wine drunk fool! Musa countered, snatching the flask from Bakar and shaking it dismissively as he found it nearly empty. Bakar only returned a wry smile and a shrug.

            “Look, I didn’t say I wouldn’t enjoy the fame when it inevitably comes to us. We do have to get home first, hero. The true glory comes when we kill our first hag. That will be a night to truly remember.” Bakar kicked at the side of his camel, urging it forward, and the two began the long journey back.

---------

Song pairing: https://thefogweaver.bandcamp.com/track/inien

            The night of the first hag had been one to remember, for none of the other boys had come home. Musa and Bakar both had claimed their prizes, but Bakar had returned scarred in more ways than one. While his old friend rejoiced, he found no stomach for hedonism. The dream they’d shared in the Thuvian desert tasted like ash in his mouth.

            Years later, their master, Belir, finally passed. The old hunter had taken the blood hag with him, but died of his wounds days later in his bed. His amulet and his title were to be entrusted to another.

            Bakar closed the door behind him, letting the latch softly click back into place. He stared at Musa’s back, the fellow hunter had left the room minutes before and stood, fists clenched silent in the hallway.

            “It would be you, wouldn’t it?” Musa’s low voice was a hiss of a whisper, but Bakar could hear the pain, sorrow, and venom in it all the same. He looked down at the worn golden amulet in his hand, Belir had given it to him, and with it, the seat of leadership he’d left empty with his passing.

            “Musa…” Bakar said quietly, and waited for the other hunter to turn and face him. After a long pause, Musa turned, but did not look him in the eye.

            “I don’t want it. It suits you better.” Bakar held out the amulet, Musa only eyed it with a scowl and made no move to reach for it.

            “The amulet of the master goes to the strongest pupil, it is yours by right. You are to lead us now, Bakar Muru of the Laughing Shadow. Belir's finest pupil.” Musa bit out, each word slow and deliberate.

            “We both know it takes more than strength to lead. He should have passed it to you.” Bakar's voice was soft and low.

“You mock his choice? It was always you Bakar. It was to you he taught you the oldest of our arts, the way of shadow. From the moment he found us in our village it has always been you. I do not need your useless pity.” Musa’s voice rose, but he dared not let it ring through the hallway.

“He saw me for what he wanted me to be, not what I am.”

“You were that man once, not whatever this is.” Musa spit.

“…”

“You walk these halls like a corpse, just waiting for the day when you are finally the one hunted. Don’t think we don’t all see it.” Musa grabbed Bakar by the shirt, wresting him forward. Bakar let himself be limp, and offered no resistance.

“And that is why you must lead. The men won’t follow me, shouldn’t follow me. Please, old friend. Do not lay this mantle at my feet. Our master’s wishes be damned.” Bakar placed one hand upon Musa’s. The taller hunter took one long breath, and released him.

“Fine. But you will keep Belir’s amulet, I will not have the weight of his choice around my neck. That is your burden to bear.” Musa turned his back on Bakar, and left him in the hallway. The pair never spoke of Belir’s parting words to each other again, or to another soul.

[saturndivine]

The Ferality of Mars

»»————-　➴　————-««»»————-　➴

Feral: "Existing in a wild or untamed state"

When I think of Mars, I think of the Greek god, Ares. I think of the heart pumping blood throughout the body to keep it alive. I think of passion, ferocity, and rawness. Mars is the planet of emotion, similarly to the moon but with a more sinister twist. Mars wants you to feel everything and create with that energy, Mars wants you to be overwhelmed with emotion, so much so it consumes and guides you. Mars wants you to feel everything. It is known as a Malefic Planet because of its inability to be tamed and controlled but Mars isn’t about having control, its about intuition and allowing yourself to be guided by the invisible force that encourages you to nuzzle into your most primal and authentic state and honor that part of you. 

[Yes I will be using Hozier lyrics that represent the ferality of each sign]

Aries Mars [Mars in 1st]

When I picture Aries Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a forest fire consuming everything in its path, absorbing nature to feed as fuel. With Mars in its rulership, Aries Mars has no issue releasing, guided by their heart throughout it all to overcome whatever may stand in their way. They move quickly and harshly, striking first and questioning later. You mold life into what you want it to be so there is no need for you to even plan right? As an unstoppable force, you have to let your heart take control. 

“There's no plan, there's no race to be run

The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the sun

There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come

Sit in & watch the sunlight fade, honey, enjoy its getting late

Theres no plan, theres no hand on the reign,

...As Mack explained, there will be darkness again”

Taurus Mars [Mars in 2nd]

When I picture Taurus Mars at its most feral state, I imagine a bear tearing its way through a beehive, grasping at the honeycombs and devouring it in a matter of seconds. With a venus-ruled mars or mars in detriment, you all look for the sweeter things in life and insist that you are worthy of goodness and don’t mind taking it for yourself. Conflict is stupid to you because you have your own morals and studies and firmly believe in what you desire and if anyone steps to you, you have the power to throw it right back in their face. You are the raging bull, undefeated once you’re committed. But you represent the tamer, earthy side of Mars.

“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me.

I have never known hunger, like these insects that feast on me.

A thousand teeth, and yours among them, I know.

Our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow.” 

Gemini Mars [Mars in 3rd]

When I picture Gemini Mars at its most feral state, I picture the rebirth that spring offers. The energy of this mars sign matches the intensity of the rising sun and falling rain that causes the flowers to blossom and fill the earth with its aroma. It is quite impossible to stop a determined Gemini, they want to leave their mark on this earth and do so in many different ways as they are indestructible, powered by the combination of their mind and their heart which creates an explosion upon collision. To get in the way of this placement is to stand in the way of the changing seasons, impossible. 

“Each day you'd rise with me, know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty.

Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.

Strap the wing to me, death trap clad happily, with wax melted, I’d meet the sea,

Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight.”

Cancer Mars [Mars in 4th]

When I picture Cancer Mars at its most feral state, I visualize the crumbling of the earth into itself, only to grow back in a healthier form. A resilient placement that can have the worst thrown at them and come back only more beautiful. In the introduction, I discussed how both Moon and Mars share a common goal but the Moon goes about it a different way, as Cancer Mars goes about martian energy in a different way as well. With mars in fall, Cancer takes the soft approach to ferality, embracing the harsh energy and converting it into tenderness. 

“And I love too, that love soon might end, 

be known in its aching, shown in the shaking,

Lately of my wasteland, baby. 

Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking,

Though quaking, though crazy

That's just wasteland, baby.” 

Leo Mars [Mars in 5th]

When I picture Leo Mars at its most feral state I see a blinding white-hot light overcoming anyone and everyone in its path, forcing others to bend to its will simply by doing what it does naturally. As a fixed mars, Leos energy is continuous and bold, quite difficult to escape if a Leo Mars has you in their eye line. They are everywhere, they rule the heart so they rule ferality in a way, diving back into their lion roots and fully delving into the fact that they are the rulers of the jungle and rulers of the world.

“Be love in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root 

And watches the slowing and starving of troops

And, lover, be good to me.

Be there and just as you stand or be like the rose that you hold in your hand 

That will grow bold in a barren and desolate land

Oh, lover, be good to me.”

Virgo Mars [Mars in 6th]

When I picture Virgo Mars at its most feral state I can clearly gaze upon an open field, a deer nosing at grass only to be pounced on by a random predator, yet Virgo represents both the predator and the prey, enforcing balance and really honoring nature fully. Virgo Mars is one of the most ferocious and determined martian placement because they understand how to use the life around them to their advantage. Failure is impossible because they are always ten steps ahead of everyone else. They understand balance, both aggressiveness, and peacefulness. 

“With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet

Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat

Feel it soft and as pure as snow, fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I could lose, I was never the same

Watch it still live in roofs, be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold, laying waste of my lovin' long ago”

Libra Mars [Mars in 7th]

When I picture Libra Mars at its most feral state, I see a person walking into a mossy lake only to never come out again. There is a slight underestimation when people first get to know the Libra Mars.  This martian placement matches up with tricky Aphrodite, Libra mars has secrets they dont want unturned, they have a hidden past that they want to be kept to themselves because they are never the people they were a few moments ago. They are evolving and healing, rubbing soil on their open wounds to grow into a new version of themselves. 

“I had a thought, dear, however scary about that night, the bugs and the dirt.

Why were you digging? What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you. 

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do.” 

Scorpio Mars [Mars in 8th]

When I picture Scorpio Mars at its most feral state, there is a black burning tree in the middle of the falling snow, crackling and popping and falling to the pieces onto blankets of snow only to keep burning. Mars takes a different approach in this rulership, it is calculated, ready, and sure of whatever move is to be made as if it has been practiced for quite some time. There is no defeating a Scorpio mars, only succumbing, bending to its will, and praying that they will take mercy on your soul. 

“If I was born as a blackthorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you

Fuel the pyre of your enemies.

Ain't it warming you, the world gone up in flames?

Ain't it the life you, your lighting of the blaze?

Ain't it a waste they'd watch the throwing of the shade?

Ain't you my baby, ain't you my babe?”

Sagittarius Mars [Mars in 9th]

When I picture Sagittarius Mars at its most feral state, I see the serpent in the garden of Eden sliding on its belly and offering an option of freedom, going against the grain of submissiveness. Sagittarius Mars tends to ooze this raw sex appeal that stems from their confidence & their need to question the life around them, never satisfied by what is given to them, instead they leave their own mark on the world before them by embracing individuality and moving along their own path. 

“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. 

I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground.

I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around.

And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice,

Imagine being loved by me.” 

Capricorn Mars [Mars in 10th]

When I picture Capricorn Mars at its most feral state, I imagine the fall of an empire, a civilization, a society, forced to come to terms with the fact that its reign has come to an end. Mars in exalt, arguably one of the most powerful placements to have in the natal chart, there isn’t a way to prevent the energy of a Capricorn Mars, they are backed by Saturn, two malefic energies combining to create an unbeatable power and manifesting as strength in the native who claims this energy. 

“It's the light, and it's the obstacle that casts it

It's the heat that drives the light, It's the fire it ignites,

It's not the waking, it's the rising.

It's not the song, it is the singing.

It's the heaven of a human spirit ringing.

It is the bringing of the line, It is the bearing of the rhyme

It's not the waking, it's the rising.”

Aquarius Mars [Mars in 11th]

When I picture Aquarius Mars at its most feral state, I visualize a group of nude women, dancing around an intense fire, the full moon shining only for them as they howl out into the wind. Aquarius Mars is a placement that understands how to honor their roots and get back in touch with themselves to move to the future. They use their past to propel them into new opportunities and to become a higher version of themselves. There is no obstructing this futuristic placement, eyes steady on the prize that remains up ahead. 

“When you move, I can recall something that's gone from me

When you move honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free.

So move me, baby, shake like the bough of a willow tree,

You do it naturally, move me, baby.” 

Pisces Mars [Mars in 12th]

When I picture Pisces Mars at its most feral state, I envision a floating sailor, sinking in with each song that leaves the siren’s voice only to realize that it is too late as the last of air leaves their lungs and they now become one with the siren. Pisces Mars has the gift of “innocence” that people project onto them and they understand how to use it to their advantage and come out on top. Deception is a mastered tool but doesn’t negate the fact that they are simply seductive and persuasive and hold power that many are unaware of. They should continue to move carefully and use their “faults” to their benefit. 

“Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, 

I lay my heart down with the rest at her feet.

Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile

It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet. 

In leash-less confusion, I'll wander the concrete,

Wonder if better now having survived.

The jarring of judgment and reason's defeat. 

The sweet heat of her breath in my mouth; I'm alive.”

Link to Website [Services, Blog, & More!]

#aries mars #taurus mars #gemini mars #cancer mars #leo mars #virgo mars #libra mars #scorpio mars #sagittarius mars #capricorn mars #aquarius mars #pisces mars #Zodiac Signs #astrology #astrology memes

[carryonthroughtheages]

Hello everyone!

Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.

Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!

Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!

We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!

Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!

Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡

MONDAY:

1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr

Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.

That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.

2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow was dead.

Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.

So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.

But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.

3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr

I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.

4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr

TUESDAY:

1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr

1955. London. Young love.

Forbidden love.

A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.

But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.

(Baz has other ideas.)

2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…

Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.

But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.

3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr

Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.

4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3

I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”

He offers his hand. “Simon.”

Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”

Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”

This time, they listen.

--

Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.

Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.

WEDNESDAY

1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr

Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.

Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.

Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.

2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr

Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.

3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr

thnétos: subject to death, mortal

a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus

4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr

THURSDAY

1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr

I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.

I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.

Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.

2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr

Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.

Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.

3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr

September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.

What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.

4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr

A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.

Too bad that person is the crown prince.

FRIDAY

1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr

“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.

Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.

Right?

2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr

Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.

But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.

The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.

3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3

Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.

4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr

In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.

Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.

But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?

A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.

5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)

#carry on through the ages 2021 #carryonthroughtheages2021 #carry on through the ages #COTTA 2021 #COTTA2021 #masterlist #historical fanart #historical fanfiction #historical AU #historical #ancient history au #renaissance au #medieval au #regency AU #pirate AU #highwayman AU #mythology au #classical mythology au #WWII AU #1950s AU #1920s AU #1960s AU #1980s AU #amazing writing #amazing writer #amazing art #amazing artist #simon snow #baz pitch #the simon snow trilogy

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Part 17

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

A/N: It is here! So sorry for the late update lovelies! I’ve been having really bad writers block lately and my job keeps switching my hours up so now my sleep schedule is all fucked up. And after writing this part I want to go stargazing so bad but the light pollution kind of sucks where I live. 🥲 Also this is my first time writing a steamy scene so I’m sorry if it’s awkward. Feedback is much appreciated and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 😊

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appears at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, angst, some foreplay and making out

You had still been wrapped in Zemo’s arms, the two of you indulging in each other’s presence in a silence, which combined with the faint beating of his heart, you only found to be comforting. The meteors still swept by the earth’s atmosphere above you in flashes that lit up the sky, leaving behind trails of white that resembled the strokes of a brush, as if your mother Asteria had painted the celestial bodies using diamonds onto a canvas that was the night sky. You could only make out the few stars and constellations that were scarcely scattered across the vastness above you, caused by the light pollution that unfortunately managed to mantle the wonders and beauty that settled just beyond, separating humanity from the marvels of the universe. The stars flickered like the diminishing of the flame of a candle, a farewell to the billions of years lived by the remnants of those enormous spheres of hot plasma, thus leaving behind the birth of other stars to fulfill their legacy. However, there was a certain star that did not flicker like the ones around it, a certain spectacle distant in time and space that still managed to burn bright despite the innumerable amount of light-years that separated Earth from it. The remaining light of your planet Olympus. You stared at that particular star, your brows knit together and your face etched with this certain melancholy that one could not explain. How could one thing be so near, within the reach of your fingertips, and yet be entirely outside the capacity of reach.

“Draga.” You heard Zemo softly speak, his chest slightly wavering beneath your cheek from his words.

“Hm?”

“Something troubles you.”

“What makes you say that?” You stared off, your eyes still fixated to the fading existence of your world.

“Your eyes draga.” Zemo looked down at you, his eyes scanning over the troubled creases that masked your features. “I have seen this shadow in your eyes that has seemed to occupy them as of recently. What troubles you?”

“…………You see that star there, right between those two constellations?” You pointed above you.

“Mhm.” Zemo nodded as he followed the line of your finger, his eyes now focused on the same exact star yours have not yet left.

“That’s my planet………Olympus.”

“You’re welcome to tell me about it if you’d like.”

“Well, when I was little, I used to live with my mother in this quaint cottage by the sea, similar to the one I live in now with my daughter. She used to bring me out most nights for stargazing. She had built this outdoor platform with bedding and blankets and we would have a small fire going to keep us warm as we watched the stars and constellations while she told me different tales and epic poetries. As silly as it sounds, she would make shooting stars appear in the sky for me knowing how much I loved them. Gods, I wish you could’ve seen my home back in its days, back when everything still remained. Everything was so…..beautiful, and the skies, gods the skies, you could see the different planets and galaxies as if they were only miles away. To this day, I have yet to see anything in my travels that compares.”

“I would have loved to seen it Schatzi. Your mother sounded like a wonderful person.”

“She was the kindest soul I knew.” You turned your body so that you could look up at him, resting your chin on your hand.

“You miss her.”

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss my family and planet.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to them Schatzi. I wish you never went through what you did.”

“If only I could bring them back. I’d do anything to be able to just see them again.”

Zemo was silent, believing that no amount of words could have provided you comfort, no matter how deep the meaning or how significant. He could not imagine what you went through. He had lost his country and his family, and you had lost your family as well, but you lost your world, your entire race, leaving you to be the last remaining entity of your people, the last Olympian and the last Chthonian. Words could not bring your family back, just as they could not with his. So he only did what he was able, making a silent unspoken promise within the abyss of his damaged heart to be there for you as he held you closer to him and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A sudden feeling of guilt crawled up your spine like a venomous scorpion ready to sink its stinger in your skin with means to cause nothing but pain and suffering. You felt guilty for being here, lying next to Zemo wrapped in his arms like a pair of star-crossed lovers from the pages of a novel. A part of you felt selfish for what you did, undeserving of the affection that was bestowed upon you from a man who had suffered enough from the loss of his family. How much longer did you think you could give in to your mindless emotions without a single thought of the consequences it might bring about. Did you really think you could go on as if nothing is happening? As if you can conceal your true form from him forever. No. You could not. You did not have the heart to keep such knowledge from him. If you wanted to pursue what you had with him, you would have to tell him the truth when the time came.

“We should probably get back before Sam and Bucky notice.” You mumbled, blinking back the tears, your heart aching to go back to the way things used to be, wishing you could leave all of this and just be able to go back home. You didn’t belong here on earth, an immortal amongst mortals. At least on Olympus, if your titaness form had been revealed, many would not have bat an eye. They had already seen the likes of Titans before and the locals had become accustomed to you. But here on earth, you were nothing but a stranger, a drifter.

The two of you walked back to his place in silence, the only sounds being the whistling of the wind, the chirping of crickets, the voices of the few pedestrians and the humming of the cars that drove by. Your hands brushed against each other, craving to intertwine your fingers with his as you walked down the stone paved streets lit by the lamps that lined it, the two of you still withdrawn despite what occurred between you both. You felt it would have been silly, holding his hand like a couple of teenagers, though a century ago, you wouldn’t have gave it a second thought.

You arrived at his place, standing at the bottom of the steps in front of the double doors with Zemo opposite you, illuminated by the street lamp that stood just behind. Feelings of conflict washed over you, drowning you in waves of despair. As much as you wanted to be with him, a small part in the back of your mind kept telling you that it was wrong. Neither of you wanted to go through those doors just yet, wishing you could have spent the night under the stars. But life seems to have a way of working against your favor. The Wakandans would be here to collect him possibly tomorrow, and you would have to bid him farewell, separated from each other for what could be forever. As much as you did not look forward to that moment in having to turn him in and never see him again, you wouldn’t stop the Wakandans from what they were promised. And though you hadn’t said a word, Zemo had already knew what your decisions were regarding it, and he could not blame you for it. You were a woman of justice and you followed a code, and he respected that.

“Zemo.” A frown appeared on your face.

“Please,” Zemo whispered to you as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Call me Helmut.”

You looked at Zemo once more, a look of longing hidden behind your eyes as you unconsciously swiped your tongue across your mouth, watching how his eyes followed the movement before lingering on the wetness of your lips that resembled the petals of a rose after the pouring of cold rain in the midst of spring. Oh how he wished to be the drops of rain that were gifted the pleasure of grazing upon the velvety petals that belonged to such beauty of a flower, a symbol of union between the two domains in which the heavens came down to declare its love for the earth. A pulling sensation filled within your core, drawing yourself to Zemo as if he were the sweet berries of deadly nightshade that have lured many unfortunate souls. Banishing the thoughts of doubt that clouded your mind, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Zemo was initially shocked by your bold gesture and stiffened from the way your mouth moved against his, surprised you would pull something like this when just a wall away Sam and Bucky were awaiting your arrival, before loosing himself into your embrace.

Your fingers clenched the collar of his sweater and your fingers grazed across the exposed skin of his neck while his hands went to your waist in a desperate attempt, fumbling to grab at anything and bunching up the bottom fabric of your sweater as he pulled you against him. The tips of his fingers brushed against the skin of your waist that was exposed below the hem of your sweater, leaving behind goosebumps in its trail. You smiled into the kiss from the way he completely melted under your touch, a part of you amused from the affect you held over him as you managed to elicit a moan from deep within his throat. Zemo’s brows were furrowed in the passionate moment, something you have noticed when you first kissed him, a small crease in the muscles of his face that showed just how lost he was when encased in this moment with you, and it absolutely melted you. He was addicted from the warm numbness, the ecstasy he felt from kissing you. Your lips were like heroin to him, leaving him yearning for more, and it didn’t ameliorate the fact that his years spent in a German prison had left him somewhat inexperienced and filled with a chasmic longing for touch and intimacy from the lack thereof. Deep within him, masked by his ideas and objectives, Zemo wanted to be able to love someone again, a chance at a new life and a family, and perhaps, he saw that possibility with you. But, behind the passion of the kiss you shared with him, there was something else, a poison that laced your lips with feelings of despair and forbidding that consumed you as if you had tasted those sweet berries of nightshade, slowly loosing yourself to its malice. His lips which were at first warm to the touch, now felt cold like ice and sent shivers of dread through your veins, as if this would be the last kiss you shared with him.

You pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, your teeth softly grazing against his bottom lip as you did so. Both of you were left breathless as you rested your foreheads against each other, panting as your breaths fanned each other’s face as if you had just been trapped in the depths of the ocean before breaking through the surface to allow oxygen to fill your lungs.

“If you keep doing that Draga.” Zemo rasped between breaths, “I won’t be able to compose myself.”

“Good. Maybe I don’t want you too.” You smirked before placing a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “But I really should go back inside, and you should do the same. Just make sure you go unnoticed.” You slipped his coat off your shoulders, his cologne that lingered on his fur collar leaving your senses with discontent as you returned his coat to him before going over to the doors, stopping to turn back to him with a smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Gods, what the hell did you do that for???? You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you wanted to slap yourself for pulling a move like that.

“Gods I’m stupid.” You muttered to yourself.

“Hey.” Bucky smiled once he spotted you, his voice soft as if he were afraid you would shatter at any moment from the discussion that took place earlier. “How was your walk?”

“It was nice, relaxing. I went to the park to stargaze.”

“That’s good. As long as you feel better.”

“I do, actually. Thanks Bucky.”

“You look flushed. You okay?” Sam noted as he stepped over to you.

“Huh?” You stopped short. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I just had to kind of uh power walk back here so you guys wouldn’t get worried. But I’m fine, yeah. Anyways, I’m going to hit the sack since I’m feeling a bit tired. Goodnight you guys.” You waved them off before going to your assigned room, making Sam and Bucky give each other questioning looks before they both shrugged it off.

You shut the door behind you, letting out a breath of relief that they had not caught on to anything and praying that Zemo had managed to sneak in. You had just gotten off the phone with Maze and your daughter, catching up on their activities after cleaning yourself up and changing into your nightgown. You had pulled up a chair next to the window that was in your room, your feet tucked underneath you and a warm cup of rose and blackberry tea in your hands. Your robe hung loosely off your shoulders as your index finger twirled above the small silver spoon that swirled in your cup, mists of violet wrapping around the handle of the spoon as you used your powers to stir the contents of the tea. You stared out the window onto the old streets of Latvia before glancing down at the teacup that was nestled in your hands, the glow of your eyes reflected off the window pane along with the tiny stars that swirled through the small globe of your necklace your mother gave you. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the moments that passed and the ones that have yet to come.

There was a knock on your door, interrupting you from the thoughts that had resided in your mind. “Come in.” You spoke as you looked through the reflection of the window and saw a figure step in. “Zemo?” You stopped using your powers, the clinking of the spoon scraping against the sides of the porcelain cup coming to a stop. “You know, you gotta stop sneaking into my room.” You teased before frowning, seeing the expression that sat on his face. “What’s wrong?” You got up from the chair, setting your cup down on the table before walking over to him.

“The Wakandans will…….be here for me tomorrow.” His eyes were lowered to the floor, the browns of his irises which reminded you of the dunes of the Sahara desert were whirling in thought, resembling the dunes caught in the midst of the fury of a sandstorm, as if searching for an answer to his troubles.

“Ze-Helmut, I………” You sighed, your tongue and mind lacking the ability to compose any words that might have provided some solace. “I’m sorry………..I don’t know what to say.”

“Y/n, schatzi” Zemo grabbed your hand, tracing his thumb over the bumps of your knuckles. “You don’t have to say a word. My actions………must be accounted for.”

You were silent, your brows knit together and your lips sealed as if your voice was ripped from your throat. Your heart wanted to tear itself from your chest, begging to be released from its cage so that it could be free to lament, so that it may be able to express the words that held it captive. But your tongue was tied, held back between the prison that was your teeth as you clenched your jaw. Zemo’s hand still held yours, stroking the soft skin on the back of your hand which were a contrast to the small rough patches on your palm, before you heard him speak again. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, lips parted in surprise that he would even ask such a question when you were honestly willing to kiss him any time of the day. The Zemo you had come to know was far different than the one you had heard about, his cold demeanor seemed to completely fade when he was around you, like a fog that dissipated with the coming of daylight. A part of you pondered whether this was how he used to be, before the events that happened. Though he hadn’t had a chance to share such affection with anyone and lost practice, you still found him to be great kisser and it always managed to leave you breathless. “Yes, please.” You whispered, your voice barely audible before you felt his lips brush against yours. What was sweet at first became more feverish and filled with hunger as an unfamiliar spirit seemed to possess your body, darkening the amethysts and golds of your eyes that resembled the galaxies, into the blackness of the abyss that swallowed the outer edges of space where not even the slightest bit of light could reach, almost as if you were sinking your claws into your prey.

A heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filling your body with an electrifying warmth as his mouth moved against yours more confidently this time, catching you utterly by surprise and leaving your knees weak, a feeling similar to the stillness in the air a mere second before lightning strikes the ground beneath your feet. His hands slipped down to grab the flesh of your waist, dehydrated, and filled with an intense thirst that could only be quenched by your body that was the ocean, your skin separated by the silk fabric of your nightgown. Your hands went up to grip his shoulders as a gasp escaped your lips upon feeling him move down to your jaw and neck. Gods, since when was the last time you were touched like that?

“Helmut.” You rasped, struggling to hold back a moan as his lips sucked on the skin where your collarbone met your neck, making you lean your head back to allow him better access. Your robe had fell to the floor, leaving your arms completely bare while Zemo’s hands caressed the skin that lined them before resting on the dorsal part of your upper arms, the combination of the frigid air and his fingertips that felt like the touch of fire sending shivers through your body. “What if they hear?”

“Let them.”

“No……….I’m…….serious.”

“Well if you’re that worried Draga.” Zemo stopped to look at you. “The walls are thick enough.”

Gods that completely sent you over the edge. It felt as if you were on a high, your mind was not even within this dimension as Zemo met your lips again. You had to throw your arms around his neck to keep yourself from collapsing as the two of you shifted in the room, Zemo guiding your body before the back of your knees came in contact with the side of your bed. You let yourself fall back into the soft mattress, bringing Zemo down with you. You both were a mess, your hair disarray, the thin straps of your nightgown fallen past your shoulders had almost left your breasts exposed, and the skirt of your nightgown had ridden up to your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Zemo squeezed at the soft flesh of your thigh before attacking your neck again. He didn’t know how to describe it but you tasted absolutely divine. Perhaps being a goddess made you taste of ambrosia; the golden, honey-flavored fruit that grew on the trees of Olympus. You were in absolute bliss and thanked the gods he wouldn’t be able to leave a mark, at least you hoped not.

“Helmut.” You moaned, your nails digging into his biceps as his warm lips made a trail down your collarbone and lower to where the lace trim of your nightgown met just above the curve of your breasts, lingering on the space between, filling your mind with thoughts of a certain region you desired those lips to be. “Fuck.” You hissed from the contact, your hand moving its way to his head as you ran your fingers through his soft hair, your nails raking across the back of his scalp as the heat between your thighs only grew. You unconsciously pressed your heel to the lower part of his back, beckoning him closer to that heat between your thighs as you bucked your hips up. Zemo growled at the movement, slightly nipping at the skin where your breast had started to form, causing you to gasp and your eyes to fly open from the sensation.

“Apologies draga.” You heard him mutter before tenderly kissing the spot where his teeth had been.

Seeing Zemo in a close proximity above you in such a position had you dazed, wanting him to take you right then and there and not caring if the others heard you or not. And as your eyes wandered lazily over the sight of him, they widened in horror once they glimpsed at the image of your hands. Your nails became sharp, claw-like, and that deathly color had returned once again, slowly making its way up your arm like the tendrils of a shadow belonging to a demonic spirit.

“Helmut.” You whispered, your voice becoming panicked as you loosened your grip on his arms, being careful not to pierce his skin. “Helmut wait.”

Zemo stopped, pushing himself up to meet your eyes as his concern grew from seeing the frightened look that filled them. “Schatzi, what’s wrong?” He brought his hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair. “If you’re uncomfortable let me know.”

“No, gods no. If anything I don’t want you to stop.” You breathed out, trying to catch your breath. “It’s just that………….”

“What is it schatzi?” His voice was soft as his fingers caressed your cheek, afraid that he might have offended you in some way, afraid that he might have been too forward.

“I’m sorry Helmut. I want to, I really do, but not like this.” You shook your head as you got up, shifting over to where the dark shadows of the room fell on the bed to hide your arms, afraid to meet his eyes as if you had made a fool of yourself. “Not like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me y/n.” Zemo smiled at you. “If you’re not ready, than I’m not ready.”

“Thank you Helmut.” You smiled back before giving him a delicate kiss. “I’d………uh like to think some things through.” You prayed that he didn’t see your hands, hoping that the darkness of the room managed to disguise it.

“Of course draga.” Zemo placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before leaving your room, stopping at the door to give you a comforting smile as he carefully shut it behind him.

Your eyes still lingered on the door, waiting to make sure he didn’t come back before turning on the bedside lamp and staring down at your hands. You had managed to stop the color from spreading up your arm, yet it strangely still remained, stopping halfway up your forearm. This wasn’t good.

“What the hell?” You scrunched your nose, trying to use your powers once again to remove it but to no avail. Fear coursed through your veins as you attempted to remove the color, spell after spell, hoping those vine like tendrils would crawl back down your hands and disappear. You cursed under your breath as each attempt proved to be as futile as the one before. What the hell was going on? Why were your spells not working? It vanished before from your magic, why wasn’t it doing so now? You were struck with a sudden realization that perhaps this change would become permanent, that maybe suppressing your true form for all those years had caused it to spiral out of control and in turn try to overpower you as if it had a mind of its own. You growled through gritted teeth, the furniture around you shaking as your fists were clenched in frustration, the violet mists of your powers encompassing your hands and sparking with small bolts that corresponded with the vexation that overwhelmed you.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the mist around your hands disappearing and the shaking of the furniture coming to a stop. You had to work something out. You were left no choice but to keep your hands covered from now on until you found a solution. If any of them questioned it, you had to have a damn good lie. Getting up from the bed, you walked over to the double doors that led to the small balcony and opened them, your hands gripping the cold iron rail as you stared out at the view of the Latvian streets and buildings before you. Oh how you wished your sister Athena were here. She knew everything.

“Oh Athena.” You stifled a sob as you stared up at the stars, focusing on the light of your planet as if she could have heard you, a tear cascading down your cheek and dropping to the streets below. “Gods I wish you were here. I really need your help.”

Despite your pleas, you knew she wasn’t there, her existence only an artifact of the past. You were praying to nothing but a memory. It was extremely urgent that you got information on this matter of your form and the words of the prophecy that still threatened and echoed within the depths of your mind. And since you couldn’t obtain such knowledge from another Olympian, you would have to gather it from the old texts. Muttering a few words in Ancient Greek, you waited, searching, until a small white moth came into view, fluttering in your direction. You held out your finger, letting the tiny creature come to rest upon it.

“Hello little one.” You smiled at the moth as you gently stroked it in greeting, bringing it closer to your face so that you could speak to it in your language. “Please send word to my familiar and tell him to gather as much information he can on Titans and the prophecy. And tell him to come find me when he is done. Thank you.” The moth looked at you with understanding behind his tiny black eyes, it’s antennaes twitching before fluttering away into the moon. You sighed, watching it disappear into the night before giving your distant planet one last glance before shutting the doors and going back over to the bed. You laid down under the covers, your hands rested on your stomach as you stared up at the ceiling, dreading the day to come. How could you face Zemo? And however were you going to keep your hands a secret? Surely the three are bound to find out sooner or later? You just prayed that the message you sent would be returned in a short time. You needed to fix this before it would be considered too late. And the sooner you found Karli the better. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you closed your eyes, desperate to get some rest and forcing those thoughts away. Gods help you from this moment on.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thehornyles @awhorewithissues @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd @death-is-beautiful @ilovespideyyy @peakyrogers

#baron zemo #bucky barnes #sam wilson #zemo x reader #zemo imagine #zemo x you #zemo x oc #helmut zemo x reader #zemo fluff #zemo x ofc #zemo fanfic #helmut zemo #zemo x y/n #zemo x female reader #zemo x f!reader #bucky imagines #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky x oc #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x oc #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson fanfiction

[fumingspice]

All The Things She Said

Part: One Two Three

Requests are open and I don’t have a life so knock yourself out with them xo

Pairing: Lana Winters x Reader 

lit the last update so that i cant put off seven wonders any longer. enjoy. mwah

Warnings: one (1) hot and sexy milf, implied smut

It made Lana Winters’ blood boil to the core seeing you, your friends and yourIt made Lana Winters’ blood boil to the core seeing you, your friends and your date discussing themes, co-ordinations, transport and the apartment you had all planned to book to stay overnight in. You could see it in her when she overheard Heather or Emmett making jokes that you were getting attention after your promposal.

You knew the idea of organised formal events gave her headaches unless she really wanted to go, so frankly you were pretty surprised when you found out she would be one of the teachers chaperoning the dance.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Emmett asked, smothing down a suit he was tryin on. Just a few more days to go until the prom. “I thought you said she broke it off.”

You unfolded your arms and straightened yourself up to read a few dress magazines which were sitting on a stool in the viewing room. “She did,” you replied, looking at different dresses on each page to try and get some sembelnce of what you wanted to wear. 

Emmett looked fantastic in his suit. “Be honest, Y/N. Is she bothering you?”

You shook your head and chuckled. “Gosh, no. Not at all,” you replied. That was true after all, you were keeping up with the prom thing because you knew that it trained Lana’s attention back on you.

“If you say so,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Did you hear that her title got changed? She must have finally signed the divorce papers.”

You were frozen slightly for a moment. The news that Lana had actually signed for divorce after having put it off for years made the entire thing seem real.

And on God you loved the feeling.

“Are you ready to go dress shopping?”

You nodded, a wide grin showing on your face. The three of you strode out to the dress shop. Heather already had her heart set on a specific dress that she had seen months ago. You, on the other hand, had barely given it a second thought.

Manny was insistent on purple, claiming that it was your perfect colour.

It was also the colour of Lana’s bedsheets the first time you’d visited her home.

So, it was decided. A beautiful, vibrant purple dress with a slit that went up your thigh. Strapless. Just how Lana liked it.

The prom was taking place out of town in a hotel built around the ruins of an old castle. Your legs and jaw jittered out of every feeling swirling around your body and mind. The sea of your peers socialising, dancing, not-so discreetly drinking in the lit-up ruins was magical. It was like the essence of whatever parties must have taken place between the old walls of the ballroom came back to life every so often.

You noticed Lana through the corner of your eye wearing a red dress. Her eyes softened as she took you in, noticeably getting distracted from her conversation with another teacher as she raised her eyebrows at you.

You glanced away, making sure not to show her any emotion whatsoever.

When you had walked far enough through the lobby, Lana took your hand and walked slightly faster. There was an empty first-aid suite in the hall, lined with small beds incase guests ever got too drunk or took ill. Weird thing to have.

You danced and sang, drank, and laughed with your friends, swinging from Manny’s arms and pulling him in close. You certainly didn’t just look like friends tonight and it was driving Lana insane.

After what had been hours of stolen glances, longing stares and not so accidental brushes of contact, you finally worked up your nerve to go talk to her when she went behind one of the far-off stone pillars for a cigarette.

“I knew you weren’t going to be able to hold off those all night,” you said. Lana turned in surprise.

“I didn’t think you were going to speak to me tonight,” she replied, taking a deep inhale. “You seemed more than happy with your date.”

You smirked at her ill-attempt to sound irritated.

“Can I bum a cigarette?” You asked. You leant against the pillar on your back so that she couldn’t look away from you again.

Lana chuckled as she passed to you. “I thought you had no interest in smoking.”

You coughed heavily. “I don’t,” you wheezed. “But you look hot as shit when you do it and I wanted another way to keep your attention on me.”

The brunette shook her head. “Your wearing your necklace,” she admired, pulling at her own.

You nodded. “I had to have some symbol of the one I love on me.” Your words left your mouth before you even had time to process it. You muttered a profanity under your breath. “I’m sorry, Lana. I wasn’t thinking-”

Lana didn’t skip a beat in taking your hand and guiding you back into the main building of the hotel without explaining herself.

Your confusion almost continued until Lana opened the door and pulled you into the room. Before you had time to open your mouth and ask what on Earth was going on, she pressed you against the door and kissed you.

With that, it was like a magnet being held back was allowed to swing to its attraction. You clutched your arms over her neck, arching your back so that your bodies met. Lana's lips eloped yours as her hands stayed trained on your back and waist.

How on Earth did your French teacher manage to be the one who touched you and set your soul on fire.

Lana's tongue met with yours, her teeth biting down on your lips then going for your jawline. Tiny blotches appeared under her bites and nips as she guided you towards one of the beds and sat on it with you between your legs.

You tried to keep up with her pace, but in reality, you had never experienced something like this before with Lana. By now you felt like you had kissed her a hundred thousand times, but nothing came quite close to the feeling of having the room set on fire and watching from within the flames.

You felt one of Lana's hands trailing from your belly, over your breasts and resting on your throat in a light squeeze. You broke free from her kiss, your lips visibly swollen. Lana's mouth trailed your neck and jawline.

"I thought we were casual," you breathed, her actions driving into your abdomen.

Lana chuckled breathily. "Oh, baby girl. There's nothing casual about you and I.”

Her answer was satisfied you enough to let her get back to the kissing. For now, at least. You were going to absolutely milk the life out of Lana for having ever suggested that you anything less, but right now you just wanted her to work off her damn jealousy.

“God, Lana,” you spoke between her fiery kisses. “If I knew this is how you were when you were jealous then I would’ve acted up weeks ago.”

Lana chuckled into your skin. “Jesus H. Christ, you have quite the mouth, Y/N.”

Her eyes, dark and glossed, collided with your stare. She had the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen, and you were almost willing to get lost in her warm gaze. Lana pulled your body onto the bed and lent over you.

Lana’s nails scratched lines up your thigh, navigating themselves under your dress to the point that your eyes snapped open and your breath hitched.

“You put a lot of thought into getting this dress, didn’t you?” she asked. “You told me that you hated slit dresses and that you wouldn’t wear one unless you absolutely had to.”

You smirked. “Clever girl,” you whispered, feeling her hand scratch further up your thigh. Her fingers had almost reached between your legs when Lana pulled back.

“You aren’t wearing underwear?” You nodded and got met with Lana’s melodic laugh. “Y/N, you really are something.”

You could hear the music pounding from outside. t.A.T.u’s “All The Things She Said” had always been a song that you had made a mental note about getting railed to, and right now that somewhat looked like your wish was about to come true.

You took Lana’s hand and pushed it closer to your centre, moaning when you felt her fingers cold against you.

Whispers of, “are you sure?” were followed by slow moves being made for the first time as your lover delicately slipped her fingers to where you were desperate for.

She was slow and gentle, drawing low moans from your like a confession. You would’ve been more than happy to lay under Lana and allow her to watch you be completely undone by the delicate touch of her fingers and mouth, and you knew for a fact that there was no way you would be joining you friends in the rented apartment tonight. Eventually, your own hand slid up Lana’s dress and between her thighs. Your joint moans sparked up a weird melody of romance.

“I love you too,” she whispered into your lips as your arm tightened around her when you had both finished. 

“You know, if that’s what’s going to happen every time I say something like that then I’m going to have to say it more often.”

Even now, after the years. The loving, the learning, the fighting and the experience. Proving your sanity to your mom, who eventually approved of your relationship. It was always Lana, and it was always you.

taglist: @sarahp-stan @jumpoffabridge-t @sarahpaulsonsoftie @definitelynot-a-writer @bottom4delia @delias-bitch-craft @creepingwolfberry @thesapphictimelady @goodeday2u @that-fucking-error @saucy-sapphic​

#ahs #ahs imagines #lana winters #lana winters x reader #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #ahs murder house #ahs coven #ahs apocolaypse #i literally hate this but i was desperate to finish it im sorry #i swear i'll make a decent fic at some stage

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Guess it’s good brother dream brain rot time now that we’ve pretty much canonized phoenix Tommy in it. I must now do my proper due diligence. Adding in my two cents and furthering the spread of my brand, phoenix Tommy.

When Tommy is a little tiny thing Phil does everything in his power to try and keep it quiet that Tommy isn’t a regular avian hybrid, but a phoenix. Things like phoenixes, dragons, or other mythical avians are extremely rare mutations that happen seemingly without any reason but will often reoccur within the same bloodline more often than not. 

Phil is something mythical. Maybe a dragon, maybe a griffin, maybe even something a little less well known like the zhenniao, yatagarasu, or alicanto. Either way he’s something mythical, it runs in his blood. It ends up running in Tommy’s too. Phil is one of the few mythological avians who doesn’t hide his features because people are usually far too fearful of both him an Technoblade to do anything. Unfortunately, what people weren’t scared of was the idea of trying to kidnap a child.

There were attempts to steal away Wilbur when he was little. Before he started presenting and turned out to be just your regular avian. There were fewer attempts when it came to Tommy. There was unfortunately one attempt that ended up being successful, he was stolen from the cradle and subsequently lost in a skirmish when Techno and Phil caught up to the man who took Tommy. 

Dream found baby Tommy floating along in the river, figured the kid was probably abandoned since he’d heard of orphaned children being floated down rivers and never seen again, and subsequently took Tommy in. 

Everything was fine and okay for a couple years and Tommy was quickly accepted into the family. Unfortunately when Tommy turned five his traits started to come in and he nearly burned down the house. The family didn’t want to abandon Tommy but realizing he was a mythical avian was a problem to say the least. So Dream, having recently become an active admin, gathered up his things and left with Tommy. He didn’t blame his family for their worries but he wasn’t going to abandon his little brother either. Not when he’d found Tommy. Not when he’d been the one to practically raise Tommy. 

Dream and Tommy were very distrustful of strangers still for obvious reasons and Tommy was pretty much stuck wearing the mask in order to protect himself, but Dream did what he could. Dream didn’t originally wear a mask actually, he decided they should match as a way to make Tommy feel bad for always having to wear the mask when he didn’t want to. He found private places that were safe where Tommy could practice flying and stretch his wings since Dream was super concerned early on about them atrophying and never being able to properly carry Tommy. Sure, it was too dangerous for Tommy to actively go flying often, but Dream didn’t want to accidentally ruin Tommy’s chances of ever being able to fly. The most important facet of their relationship is that he wanted to protect Tommy but never cage him.

When Dream first took control of the Dream SMP it was originally so he could make it a safe space for himself and Tommy, only allowing his few friends who knew about Tommy and what he was to join, like Sapnap and George who have a super good relationship with both Dream and Tommy in this au. Dream is still super jumpy and protective of Tommy and Tommy trusts people a lot less, but Tommy also acts as something of an ambassador in Dream’s interpersonal relationships, keeping Dream from becoming too jumpy and letting them decay. Similarly Dream taught Tommy to be a lot more cautious of strangers and this Tommy is a heck of a lot stronger having grown up with a pvp legend like Dream. 

When other people started joining it was still a controlled enough environment that while cautious, Dream let Tommy “play” for lack of a better word. Three canon lives is a rule everywhere that everyone has to abide by, regardless of what admin you’re living under. The admin doesn’t get to decide what’s canon either, it’s something seemingly up to chance. Or maybe the gods. No one knows what makes being pushed off a cliff by your mortal enemy so different from falling off one by your own stupidity, but some people theorize it’s the intention of the action.

Obviously this isn’t a rule that applies to Tommy. They both know it, him and Dream. And here’s the thing. Some legends say that there are no draw backs to a phoenix dying. Others say that too many deaths too quickly will slowly harm the phoenix. Both of these are false. A phoenix needs deaths. Canon deaths. The same way that kids needs to be tossed in the air and spun around to help develop their brains as really little kids, a phoenix needs to die repeatedly for their brains and bodies to properly mature fully and in a healthy manner. It’s an actual necessity for them to die, in fact, too few canon deaths run the risk of a phoenix getting sick and dying permanently. 

So when new people join the Dream SMP, Dream doesn’t hesitate letting Tommy side against him. It’s an unspoken rule between them. Good brother Dream goes pretty similar to canon up until Pogtopia actually. Dream doesn’t hesitate to take those two canon lives and Tommy intentionally misses during their duel. He ends up with way more canon deaths than just two, and he keeps secret what they are from the rest of the SMP, saying the two times Dream killed him were the canon two. Each time he dies his magic gets a little stronger, his feathers taking on an even glossier coat. He still gets pissed at Eret after the betrayal because everyone else doesn’t have unlimited canon lives, but Dream shushes and reassures him that if anyone does die permanently then he’ll help Tommy bring them back.

Phoenixes are creatures tied to the frayed and broken bridge that crosses life and death. Just like they can’t die and have dominance over flames, another power of the phoenixes is that they’re uniquely skilled when it comes to necromancy. Real necromancy. Not the human equivalent that brings back soulless husks with a tendency for destruction and malevolence. A phoenix is the only creature that can bring a soul back from the dead in tact. Tommy knows this by merit of instinct, and did it only once before for the sake of Dream. Regular people know this by merit of books like the one Schlatt tries to trade Dream.

So Dream and Tommy mostly put on an act while the war is happening but then act all buddy buddy and like actual brothers off the battle fields which confuses everyone (besides the already aware George and Sapnap) and mildly upsets Wilbur, but everyone just kinda gets used to it.

Until Pogtopia. Because we need some kind of conflict I’m giving Schlatt a very special role. Schlatt was a hybrid who got captured by poachers as a child and sold into the hybrid slave trade. He was one of the lucky few who turned the tables and managed to earn his freedom, ultimately turning towards being a poacher himself. Schlatt comes to L'manberg and becomes president with the intention of selling every hybrid in the country, in the Dream SMP as a whole, to his traders. The reason he chose the Dream SMP specifically? Well, wouldn’t you know it, he’s heard rumors that apparently there’s a phoenix hiding around somewhere. Not to mention the Dream SMP is absolutely loaded with hybrids because of Dream’s rather public policy about hybrid tolerance (he isn’t a hybrid, but he knows the affect being a hybrid has had on Sapnap and he still fears for Tommy so he tries to make somewhere that maybe one day Tommy can be open about what he is.)

Schlatt can’t immediately tell it’s Tommy who’s the phoenix because Tommy himself is an even rarer variation of phoenix called a soul flame phoenix, which is why his eyes and wings are a soul fire blue. Schlatt came in expecting crimson and our boy is out here with wings that look like the place where the sky meets the sea. Schlatt even dismisses Tommy initially and starts investigating some of the people who look human or avians with orange and yellow feathers. This is also why Phil can’t immediately recognize Tommy when he joins the SMP. While he can hide them with magic, Tommy usually has his wings on display since the Dream SMP is designed to be a safe space for hybrids. This Dream doesn’t have a ban on flying (he thought about it, maybe setting aside specific areas where winged hybrids could exercise, but it was quickly scrapped via Tommy repeatedly throwing himself off cliffs and then remembering he wasn’t supposed to be flying, immediately letting himself drop and die. Some of those ‘accidents’ were even canon and Dream just gave up on the rule.)

For this AU, I imagine that Dream would be a bit more in tune with people and empathetic so he’d probably call in Techno and Phil for help when he sees Wilbur starting to take a dive. Both out of worry for his own younger brother who’s sticking by Wilbur and consideration for the fact Wilbur himself took something of an older brother role. Sure he was a little jealous, but he understand well enough that everyone who meets Tommy either falls into one of two categories. They hate the kid and want him dead or they want to be his older sibling who’d burn down the world if he asked them to. George and Sapnap can both attest to the fact there are only two types of people in this world when it comes to Tommy and people usually start as the first before slowly becoming the second. 

So Techno and Phil show up early which is really good because Schlatt finally reveals his true intentions and neither Techno nor Phil are very chill with them. I dunno how the reveal will go between them and Tommy yet. I don’t even know for Good Brother Dream if we’re having Techno be a family friend or older brother so hard to say.

Anyway, I think that’d probably be where the main plot kinda starts to kick off so I’ll stop there for now. If I go for too much longer I’ll just end up wanting to write it…

#dream smp #dream smp au #good brother dream au #philza #ph1lza #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dream #dreamwastaken #sapnap #georgenotfound #jschlatt #technoblade #submission #snapdragon & firefly

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH53

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 53: Purgatory Reunion (V) {cw: attempted suicide, religious guilt}

There were too many demons. There were too many demons.

The space by his feet had already been filled with corpses, and the whole lake of fire was floating with the stench of sulfur and demon blood, but it seemed that no matter how he killed them, he couldn’t kill them all.

Ning Zhou watched the steady stream of demons, from the initial tension to the final numbness. He tried every demon with Maria's sword of judgment, and finally… tried himself.

After entering Purgatory, the burning wounds on his abdomen had become more and more painful, lost consciousness, and there was no divine power in the body that had once been filled with holy power to protect him. Then, the evil power had gradually returned to him.

Ning Zhou already knew what it was. For many years, his mother Maria's worried eyes and her awkward words have planted too many questions in his heart. Now, he finally understood.

When he was young, he had once asked her who his father was.

Maria had sat by the bed and watched the sunset, remaining silent for a long time.

He persisted in asking his mother again.

Maria took his little hand and gently answered him, "He was someone who was lost."

"It's a long, long road, and no one knows where the end is. Your father and I met unexpectedly. We walked along the same road, passed many beautiful sights along the way, and left many beautiful memories. We said goodbye briefly at a fork in the road and agreed that we would continue walking. But he got lost... He walked a long way and gradually forgot everything from the past. He gained power that ordinary people could not imagine, but he even forgot his name."

"Did he forget you, too?" the small Ning Zhou asked anxiously.

A faint smile appeared on Maria's pale face: "No, he hasn't forgotten me. He didn't forget me all his life. On the day we met again, he looked at me for a long time and asked me... ‘who are you?’"

Ning Zhou looked at her in confusion and asked, "’Who are you?’ Doesn’t that mean he forgot?"

But he didn't know that a man who had forgotten himself and everything else had found his true love in the vast sea of people. At that moment, no matter what question he asked, it didn't matter.

The fact that he could find this person had already shown that he had never forgotten his love.

　　&&&

In a dark room, a long table with more than a dozen seats was surrounded by people, each of whom silently looked at the magic mirror suspended on the table which displayed this scene of carnage from the bottom of his heart.

"Is it okay to let him kill like this again?" the Witch of Nothingness asked gently, with her eyes closed and her hands folded on her lower abdomen.

The Witch of Desperation, covered in a black robe, looked at the bright red lake of fire in the magic mirror, but there was no magic in her empty eyes: "It doesn't matter. As long as he can fully awaken his original force, it doesn't matter how much of that trash he kills."

"I'm afraid he won't want to. Don't forget, he was originally from the Holy See," the Witch of Nothingness warned.

"Haha, have you forgotten? His Majesty was also very close with the Holy See. To be precise, he and the Holy See’s Holy Nun was the object of his affections. Even when his original force had awakened fully and he forgot his whole family, he was still holding a Canon all day long. But wasn't it him who finally took us into the human world?" the Devil of Evil smiled, not sharing his colleagues’ worry.

The Witch of Resentment held her forehead in one hand: "Please, don't remind me of the days when I studied hard to please His Majesty with the scriptures. I have no interest in the things of the Holy See. I would rather boil my potions."

The Witch of Nothingness smiled faintly. "Have you ever noticed that all the Devil Kings have some abnormal hobbies? When you count them carefully, none of them looks like a normal demon. However, compared with the subordinates of the Devil of Slaughter, we should feel content."

The group of higher demons laughed meaningfully.

To the demons, following a Devil King did not mean that they agreed with that person’s personality, but that they followed the force that that person represented. Just like this group, who had tied their own destiny with the force of destruction, who had known both glory and utter ruin. In the twenty years after the fall of the old Devil, their power had also declined to even less than half of its heyday.

They were too eager to have a new Lord of Destruction and renew destruction’s original force. As for who that person was, they didn't care.

"I heard one thing. Our new Majesty had a lover whom he loves deeply, but he died. It's a pity that the Devil of Fraud killed him. If he was still alive..." The Devil of Evil smiled with interest. "How interesting it would be."

"Why did the Lord of Fraud kill her?" the Witch of Nothingness asked doubtfully.

"God knows. Oh, by the way, he’s a man."

"Isn't His Majesty a follower of the Holy See?" Even the Witch of Resentment was shocked. Those who had been around since the old Lord of Destruction were familiar with the Holy See’s teachings, and they were very clear about the Holy See’s attitude towards same-sex love.

"He was drained of the power of faith and expelled from the Holy See. Otherwise, do you think that with such little stimulation alone he could awaken the Devil’s force sealed in his body? That's the seal left by Maria." The Devil of Evil laughed very exaggeratedly. "Ah, for love, I am willing to abandon the glory of God! ...It is really a romance branded in blood."

"Unfortunately, it seems that this time I can't see the touching love story," the Witch of Resentment sighed faintly.

"Attention, His Majesty is beginning to show the form of a magic dragon. Record the time. It is... 8:47 in the evening. If you’re optimistic, he could be completely demonized within 24 hours. I can't wait." The Devil of Evil looked at the Devil's black body in the lake of fire and the human who had begun to show the Devil's characteristics, and couldn't help but smile with expectation.

"I hope nothing will happen in these twenty-four hours. Contact the Dragon Ant Queen and order that Purgatory be sealed off now, especially in the area around the lake of fire," the Witch of Desperation said. "Don't say it’s in our name... The seal on the Devil of Slaughter is suspected to be loose, other people will naturally associate this with the Devil of Power."

"I’m afraid that the Dragon Ant Queen can't be contacted. Considering the time, she is now busy with 'life events'," said the Devil of Evil.

"Then contact her maid, she still has the authority to deal with this matter," the Witch of Desperation said.

　　&&&

He was already in hell.

Ning Zhou looked at everything around him and suddenly had this thought.

After the crazy battle, there were countless bodies of demons floating in the lake of fire, some of which had been swallowed up by lava, and some of which were rushing towards the lower reaches of the valley with the burning current.

The air seemed to be filled with scorching flames, burning from his mouth to his heart, and even his soul was ignited.

He stood in Purgatory’s lake of fire, inexorably transforming from a man into a devil.

How fragile human will was, that it couldn't prevent a man from dying, or a saint from degenerating into a demon.

Sharp talons grew on his hands, and his skin became cold and rough like a cold-blooded animal. Black scales spread all over his body like a plague, and a pair of bat-like wings grew behind him. He couldn't control the power of destruction. He had lost his human form and turned into a huge magic dragon.

A devil among demons, a Devil King among devils, an evil magic dragon symbolizing destruction. According to legend, the ancient world was destroyed by such a magic dragon, which had woken from chaos, flew while spraying angry flames that spread in all directions, and destroyed the whole world.

This kind of magic dragon had really appeared once in history. Twenty-two years ago, when the Devil of Destruction had led the demons to break through the seal and come to the world of humans. His demon form was just such a magic dragon. He held the law of destruction, but also the madness of destruction, wishing to destroy the world at all costs.

What had been a vague feeling had finally come true. When the force of destruction awakened, he understood everything.

It was ridiculous. Those who fought against the demons eventually became demons. Those who stared long into the abyss finally fell into the abyss. The evil force sleeping deep in his body laughed at him: Your whole life is a joke.

Fate had taken away everything from him: his only relative, his beloved, and now it wanted to destroy his last treasure.

Everything about him as a "human" had ceased to exist. What else could he do? What else could he do for this miserable world? What was the value of his existence?

Immense grief struck his soul, and the desperate black dragon roared and wailed at the sky blocked by rocks in the lake of fire. The force of destruction even tore the rock wall and let the distant light fall into Purgatory.

He looked at the light dazedly, as piously as when he had prayed so many times.

"He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”

But why had fate given him such a cruel temptation? And he had been banished from his homeland; would God still help him and protect him?

Not anymore.

He was doomed to fall to such temptation.

Because God had given up on him.

Like the man who gave him half his blood, he would gradually lose himself to the original force of destruction, forget everything about himself, forget how he had once guarded the world, and finally bring endless pain and despair to this world.

Let it all end here.

Suicide was a sin, but if he lived, he would eventually bring more disasters and misfortunes to this scarred world.

He couldn't end the cruel fate imposed by this world, so at least he could not bring more suffering to this world.

Let him end it with his own hands!

In this lake of fire in Purgatory, holding warm memories, he would put a full stop to his life with this heart that still belonged to mankind.

But at that moment, he heard a voice that was too familiar to be a memory: "Ning Zhou—!!!”

He stopped at the edge of destruction and looked up.

Looked up to see the love of his life, returned to him.

-----

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[ichayalovesyou]

~Act One: In Denial of Pon Farr~

Blood Moon~by Saint Sister, Madrid (Album)

“To return home, and take a wife… or die.”

Spock is feeling anxious and unusually lonely, more resentful of his complex heritage than usual. Feeling rejected, but not by Jim, he finds his thoughts wandering to T’Pring. Who he feels deep resentment toward, she hasn’t contacted once him in the two decades he’s been gone from Vulcan. He has yet to realize it is the beginnings of Pon Farr.

“I am sure, you craved me once before. When I think of all the fruit I’ve found, and how easily you left it on the ground.”

Evening On The Ground (Lilith’s Song)~by Iron & Wine, Woman King (album)

“I hoped that I would be spared this.”

Spock’s yearning and loneliness transforms into anger and frustration. He knows Pon Farr has begun, and he hates it. He has no desire to return to Vulcan, worse still, he loathes that he yearns for someone who he does not know. Worse still, she’s not the only one he’s longing for…

“We were born to fuck each other one way or another but I’ll, only lie, down by the water side at night”

I Want You (She’s So Heavy)~(Originally) by the Beatles, performed by the Cast of Across the Universe, Across the Universe (Album)

“How do Vulcans choose their mates… Haven’t you wondered?”

Spock cannot bear the tearing between Human & Vulcan halves that has come ferociously to light under the stress of Pon Farr. His duty is to that man on the bridge, but the call of Koonut Kalifee is only getting louder. He has no desire to burden Jim with horrible display of emotion. Yet desire is quickly becoming all that he can think about.

“I want you, I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad, it’s driving me mad.”

~Act Two: Blood Fever, The Nightmares of Plok’tow~

Howl~by Florence + The Machine, Lungs (Album)

“To have their logic ripped from them, as this time does to us.”

The first, foreboding rumblings of Plok’tow have begun. He dreams of a hunt, he’s chasing someone, he does not know who. Each time the blood of this faceless, slaughtered, ravaged victim is a different color, every time he turns around, green, red, green, red, green, red, green, red…

“Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness.”

The Horror of Our Love~by Ludo, You’re Awful, I Love You (Album)

“It strips away our veneer of civilization.”

The dreams are getting worse, more violent, detailed, intense. He knows his quarry-

Jim.

He tears his captain apart in a thousand visceral, grotesque ways, physically, mentally, no love, no hate, no want, just blinding hunger. And the most frightening part, he enjoys it. He begins withdrawing from Kirk, for fear of what may happen should dreams threaten to become reality.

“Carnivorous and lusting, I’ll track you down among the pines.”

Become the Beast~by Karliene, Become the Beast (Album)

“It is the Pon Farr, the time of mating.”

The last of his Blood Fever dreams occurs after Kirk confronts him about his behavior. This one is, much to Spock’s relief, not violent. The lyrics are spoken through the faces of fellow Vulcans- T’pring… childhood tormentors… Sybok… his cold and disapproving father… T’pau… Surak… himself.

The rage and hunger has cooled into ice rather than fire, for now.

“Do I terrify you? Do you feel alive? Do you feel the hunger? The desert howl inside?”

The Woods~by San Flemin, Jackrabbit (Album)

“You humans have no conception.”

When James Kirk grabbed the shiv from Spock’s hand in their confrontation, a shard of Spock’s Blood Fever came with it. Spock was spared a nightmare this final night, but not Jim. The dream even dared to be pleasant initially, alone together in the woods. Before the arena of Koonut Kalifee erupted violently around them, as did Spock. Yet, before Spock could deal the final killing blow, Kirk found himself sinking into the sparkling sands below. He startles from his slumber, feeling suffocated.

But he does not remember how, or why.

“The nights are lovely dark and deep, but I’ll appear when you’re asleep. You’ll wake up with a sudden hurt, your mouth and nose all full of dirt”

~Act Three: Kalifee, the Death of A Friend~

Take Me Down~by Brother, Pax Romana MMV (Album)

“I’ll get you to Vulcan somehow…”

All Jim knows is that Spock is getting worse, and that he needs him. Not knowing, and not daring ask whether the shiv was meant for himself or Spock haunts Kirk, as does the ghost of his forgotten dream. He does not know what will come of this wedding. Only that he will do whatever it takes to make certain Spock lives. No matter what, it’s a race against time.

“The powers that be, the powers that run you through, I’m taking a stand I know what it comes down to, God knows I do.”

Hunting Grounds (feat Joe Cotela of Ded)~by In This Moment, Mother (Album)

“He is deep in the Blood Fever, he will not speak with thee again.”

Kalifee has begun, Spock has completely lost himself to the Blood Fever, and Kirk must fight for his life. He finds himself outmatched by the environment, and by Spock’s rage. He knows two things, he has no desire to die, but he cannot, under any circumstances, kill Spock. (I imagine this duet could be as seen as Maria Brink=Kirk, Joe Cotela=Spock)

“Like a predator sink my teeth into your neck.”

Die Today~by The Txlips Band & Guitar Gabby, Queens of The New Age (Album)

“Kill Spock? That’s not what we came to Vulcan for is it?”

The Kalifee has been an intense drain, Kirk knows, deep down, that not even the “Triox Compound” could save him in this fight. He feels his life flash before his eyes, he bears no ill will toward Spock, he’s not in control of himself. He reflects on their relationship, and how much it has meant to him, and accepts, that for Spock to live, he has to die.

It was worth having known him, saving a friend isn’t the worst way to go out…

“If you die today, if we die today, at least I’d be in your arms.”

Pearl Diver~by Mitski, Lush (Album)

“You may find, that having, is not so pleasing a thing as wanting.”

Spock is absolutely distraught, he’s disgusted with himself, he loathes every single Vulcan he’s ever known, but most of all he is angry with Kirk. That he had to be the moth to his flame. How dare he want to get close to him! How dare James Kirk ever have the stupidity, the courage to love him?! The wanting had driven Jim to his death, and himself to murder. It was illogical, and he will never, forgive either of them for it. Curse having, curse wanting, and curse himself too.

“But hunter you were human don’t forget it and go safely. And I? I’ll live without you, though the struggle will be daily.”

Sweet Dreams~by JOSEPH, I’m Alone, No You’re Not (Album)

“I shall do neither, for I have killed my Captain, and my friend.”

Spock languishes in the agonizing hours between the Kalifee and confronting Bones about what must be done. He prays for a short and cruel life… and dares ponder the question, do Humans have Katras?

“I’ll return to my sleepless night, dreaming with my eyes open, watch the shadows play on the ceiling.”

[The final act is a little on the smutty side, here’s a read more just to be safe.]

~Act Four: The Need is Met~

To Be Alone~by Hozier, From Eden EP (Album)

“I shall offer no defense, their is no excuse for the crime of which I’m guilty.”

Though overjoyed and relieved that Kirk is alive, Spock continues to anguish over the reality that had Bones not intervened, he would have killed him. Jim knows better this time, he will not let Spock continue down this path. A tender and honest conversation puts salve to Spock’s fears. In any event, while the Kalifee burned away the Blood Fever, it becomes clear the needs of Pon Farr still remain. Kirk suggests, delicately, to put a new Bond in place of the old.

Spock accepts.

“You don’t know the hell you put me through, to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you, to feel your weight in arms I’d never use.”

Mermaid’s Calling #2~by the Cast of The Lure, The Lure (Album)

“The ancient drives are too strong, eventually they catch up with us.”

The thrum of Bonding needs no words, it is not just a joining of minds, but of bodies as well. They complete one another, no thoughts, no voices are required. They soon find that the physiological differences between them can be more than a little… fascinating.

“…”

The Deep~by PHILDEL, Wave Your Flags (Album)

“One touches the other, in order to feel each other’s thoughts.”

The tangible, physical world of course has it’s pains and pleasures, to be joined physically is one thing, to be joined in soul and mind alongside those sensations is a different ordeal entirely. If this, completeness, is what it means to be Bonded, Kirk now understands why Vulcans go mad over it.

“Give me a sign ‘cause it runs through my mind like your heat, caught in the web you’re so easily lead to the deep.”

The Mermaid~by Kate Rusby, Life in A Paper Boat (Album)

“In this way, our minds are locked together...”

Unbeknownst to anyone else in the universe, James Kirk & S’chn T’gai Spock are now Bonded, and neither has ever felt less alone. For once, it does not matter to Spock that he is of two worlds, here, he is home. For once, Kirk does not feel as though he is forced to live the Enterprise’s life, this time, she helped him live his. A shining, blissful moment in the vast, expansive sea of stars that they have devoted their lives to exploring.

For them, the journey itself, is home.

“In peace now, the sea it comes, and peace now, in her arms where I’ll be love, sleeping in the sea.”

#spirk #amok time #pon farr #kalifee #koonut kalifee #plok'tow #vulcan #k/s #kirk/spock #space husbands #fanfiction #smutty #mild smut #fan playlist #pon farr: an Amok Time tribute #spotify #saint sister #hozier #florence and the machine #karliene #san flemin #iron and wine #kate rusby #phildel #joseph #the lure #in this moment #mitski #the txlips band #guitar gabby

[tarosophical-tarot]

"SOLVE ET COAGULA"

"Gnosis (mysticism become conscious of itself) is exactly what the image of The Priestess expresses both in its entirety and in its details, namely the descent of revelation (the pure act or essence reflected by substance) down to the final stage."

"The essence of pure mysticism is creative activity. One becomes a mystic when one dares to elevate oneself - i.e. "to stand upright", then even more upright, and ever more upright - beyond all created being as far as the essence of Being, the divine creative fire. "Concentration without effort" is burning without smoke or crackling fire. On the part of the human being it is the act of daring to aspire to the supreme Reality and this act is real and effective only when the soul is serene and the body completely relaxed - without smoke or crackling fire.

The essence of pure gnosis is reflected mysticism. Gnosis signifies that that which takes place in mysticism has become higher knowledge. That is, gnosis is mysticism which has become conscious of itself. It is mystical experience transformed into higher knowledge."

"That is why it is necessary to renounce "personal opinion" (the Magus in us) in order to receive the revelation of truth, "personal" action (the Priestess in us) in order to become an agent for sacred magic, the way (or method) of "personal" development (the Empress in us) in order to be guided by the Master of The Ways, and one's "personally" chosen mission (Emperor) in order to be charged with a mission from above."

(Anon. Meditations On The Tarot)

Are we then to renounce "personal things" to become an empty space to be filled by Divine initiative?

Should we become anonymous?

Regarding the six of Disks, we see this as a personal transformation described thus:

"It represents consciousness in its most harmonised form, not only in idea, as in the case of the number two. In other words, the Son is an interpretation of the Father in terms of the mind." (A.C. The Book of Thoth)

The six here is an interpretation of the Ace of Disks in terms of the mind - we are occupied with the values of our actions (inner/external), what does our earthly existence mean to us, how can we transform ourselves to find harmony in our body and soul using all the six planets seen here?

In the Cups we see that water no longer flows from them to nourish and sustain the plants.

The blossoms have withered and dried, the sea has become a stagnant pool - but a clue to salvation is found in the the outline of a butterfly (transformation into a higher consciousness) formed by the shape of roots in the image.

"It is not death that resists life but always the ego marking the boundaries against death by not letting the energies flow, accumulating them instead as protection against the fear of death." (Akron/Banzhaf)

We need therefore to actively involve ourselves in the process of letting go of old patterns and behaviours in order to experience new ones, to be like the alchemical Priestess seen in "14 - Art" incorporating our light and dark natures - to fully express who we are, to completely trust our intuition and renounce any obstacles in communicating with it.

The Priestess rules over these intuitive and unconscious powers - she combines both the dark and light side of our nature, she is the inner guide to these states and their energy.

"A great deal of what people now consider ignorance, of being themselves ignorant of what men of Old Time thought, comes from this misapprehension (of heating something in a retort over a flame, as opposed to letting it take place naturally). At the bottom of (Art/14) are seen fire+water harmoniously mingled, but this is only a crude symbol of the spiritual idea, which is the satisfaction of the desire of the incomplete element of one kind to satisfy its formula by assimilation of its equal and opposite." (A.C. The Book of Thoth)

The Priestess then is our connection between the inner world of our emotions/intuition/dreams and the external world of experience, she is "Isis the Eternal Virgin, the truth behind the veil of light, the idea behind all form.

"This is the contemplative sense, which follows on from concentration & meditation and commences the moment that discursive and logical thought is suspended. This occurs when there is the matter of a new dimension of knowledge, mainly depth. It occurs when it is a question of something deeper, the question of "true or false?" when the enquirer perceives more of the significance of the truth discovered by this discursive thought and why this truth is true in itself. We reach the mystical or essential source of this truth by listening in silence." (Lynda IH Hughes - 22 Keys To Wisdom)

"Each of us is linked to a spiritual being whom he/she calls the Holy Guardian Angel, until we have become spiritually wedded to this being, we are not fully equipped as human beings to rule the denizens of our lower nature or advance spiritually" (Lon Milo Duquette - Angels, Demons and Gods Of The New Millennium).

Aleister Crowley devised a magical word to illustrate knowledge of and conversation with this Holy Guardian Angel, a word found hidden in the imagery of the Chariot card and which symbolises the union of numbers five and six (seen either side of the Priestess here, as light and dark) - ABRAHADABRA, representing "magical change" when we combine our emotional nature to produce tangible results that have been influenced by our intuition which reminds us finally of who we really are.

"The direct wisdom of gnosis (the Priestess) and the productive power of magic (the Empress), whosever has these two, to a certain degree can found a "school"(teach). Whosoever has these two to a "still higher" degree can lay down the Law!" (Anon. Meditations On The Tarot)

"Love is the law, love under will." (A.C. The Book of the Law also known as Liber AL vel Legis)

"This is the harmony of the Universe, that Love

Unites the will to create with the understanding

Of that creation; understand thou thine own will.

Love and let Love. Rejoice in every shape of Love

And get thy rapture and nourishment thereof."

(A.C. The Book of Thoth)

#thoth tarot #tarotcommunity #aleister crowley #thothdeck #tarottribe #tarot #tarology #tarot deck #thelema

[leviskokoro]

Can u just imagine the Pomefiore trio + the tweels and Malleus scaring the crap out of Mari’s mother? No child deserves to have a mom or grandmother like that (I’m also looking at Riddle’s mom)

thanks for the ask! I turned this idea into a fic! warnings: implied abuse, fatphobia, colorism, gore

Tick tock...

Tick tock...

Tick tock...

Rows and rows of dolls in gothic dresses were lined up on shelves around each corner of the room; Their lifeless gazes from their beady little eyes were already enough to manifest a gnawing feeling at the woman’s stomach as she explored the room. It was as though they were watching her every movement, orhs following her back. The amount of dust on each piece of antique furniture gave off the impression that this place hasn’t been used in quite some time, as if centuries has passed since its last use. She was told that her daughter should be here but she hasn’t found a single trace of her. 

The room was strange; It was as if it was in an eternal state of abandonment and chilling silence. Not a single noise could be heard, only the ticking of the pendulum clock had prevented her from going mad. 

Why was her daughter here anyway?

“Hey, hey, Jade~” A jolly voice came from the distance; Deep, yet seemed to have such a childlike tone to it. “When’s the show starting? I’m getting bored just waiting” 

Brown irises scanned the area for any sign of other people but found every corner to be vacant, empty. Her eyebrows furrowed and she clutched her purse as she turned her head to different directions.

“I believe in a minute or so. Fufu, I’m excited for the story they’ll tell.” The next voice seemed to speak as if he was merely amused, full of mirth. “I heard they had been able to acquire the Cursed Doll of Nightmares.”

… What? This all sounded so ridiculous. And yet, the way they spoke to each other seemed so eerie in such an environment like this. It didn’t help that their voices seemed to be coming from nowhere. And wherever she went, she always heard them.

“Eeeh? A cursed doll?” 

“Oya? So you haven’t heard of the legends surrounding it.” 

The woman decided to continue looking in different rooms. Right, this was probably just a strange effect of the haunted house for this event. Really一 Her daughter should get better hobbies than play dress up.

“The legend is actually quite recent but it’s spread to be infamous to the entirety of Twisted Wonderland. The story goes like this: There was once a young man grieving because his previous wife died. He met a young woman and fell madly in love with her, so much so that he turned her and his son into marionette dolls so that they can never leave his side like his wife did. But then, a fire consumed his home. The only things that survived were three dolls.” 

“Eheh~ Humans can be so funny. Their stories are so different compared to merfolk.” 

“Fufu, yes. But it’s merely a story.” 

He was right. Tales like this were only meant to scare children into behaving well. The woman clicked her tongue as her hand gripped the doorknob and opened it. Inside was a theatre with a stage and blood red curtains. There were lined up seats, the cushions oddly enough looked brand new. But the dolls didn’t seem to stop. In fact, there were more all around her and in larger sizes. Their porcelain-like skin seemed to shine in the incredibly dim light of the candles above; So perfect, yet there was such a haunting quality in that near lifelike perfection. They had a similar gaze to the dolls from earlier, seeming to be watching her every move. 

As she approached the stage, the curtains had been drawn to reveal一 The woman’s eyes widened at the familiar sight of her daughter, dressed in such soft pink clothes as if she came from the 19th century. Her eyes scanned over her body from head to toe. It was as though she was an actual doll, sporting porcelain-like skin similar to the rest of the dolls in the theatre, lifeless glassy eyes whose gaze could send chills down anyone’s spines and a vacant smile on her rosy lips. There had been bright red strings attached to her limbs. 

Goodness, it looks like her daughter has gotten fatter. Not only that, but her skin has grown darker一 and uglier.

At her sides stood a boy and a man, both wearing clothes from a similar era. The shorter one had such fragile-looking features; Soft lavender hair and aqua blue eyes like the sea that complimented the childlike stature of the boy. The man was blond with lavender highlights and captivating amethyst eyes that shone. He had a much more mature and refined atmosphere compared to the rest of the dolls. They all looked far more hauntingly perfect among all the dolls in the exhibit. 

But then, a deep yet enigmatically charming voice spoke up一 Did it come from behind the stage? It was difficult to pinpoint exactly. 

“Here we have a tale of a beautiful man and his family, a tale of madness and love~” 

The sound of a piano playing a jolly tune echoed all throughout the theatre, yet that did nothing to ease the strange sense of dread that ate away at her being. It was as if every note had a haunting undertone to it. 

“Cruel Mistress Fate had separated the man and his previous wife,”

“How he grieved every night after her absence,” 

The dolls started moving at those words, the marionette of her daughter and the young boy was pulled to the side, leaving only the blond in a depressing state as he sat down, slumped over. His stiff movements were befitting of a doll as he laid limp and lifeless on the wooden floor. His glassy eyes looked down, vacant and empty. Yet despite this, he still seemed so regal and elegant. 

“Women had done their best to charm such a refined and wealthy man一”

Several dolls much smaller compared to the others were pulled onto the stage, surrounding the man. They danced around him with such fluid movements coming from whoever was pulling at their dark strings from above. 

The woman had seated herself on a soft cushion in front of the stage, feeling like she had no choice but to watch first despite her confusion and unease that made her stomach churn. She didn’t know why but the show seemed to captivate her attention enough to want to see it to the very end. 

“But none had come close,”

The rest of the smaller dolls were pulled away and left him to be in solitude once again. Shadows of the sun and moon cycled over his head, as if to portray the passing of time of him being like this. His son had been controlled to try to pull his father up but it was all in vain when the father refused to move. 

“Many years later, he had come across a woman as beautiful as he.”

The marionette that looked like her daughter was pulled back onto the stage with the red strings that were connected to her limbs. The man’s head was turned to look up at her, then he was pulled to his feet and approached her. 

“With a similar pain yet a heart of gold, she caught his own broken heart in an instant.”

“She revealed that a great many people had harmed her in the past一”

“As well as losing the one closest to her.”

The two dolls circled around each other in a waltz-like dance, the supposed puppeteer had such expert hands to be able to control their every movement.

“They got married soon after and the woman became a wonderful mother to his son.” 

“Ah… Beaute, what a magnificent family~” 

The lavender-haired doll was pulled in, depicting her and him being mother and child. It was as though they were playing with each other. The blond father had joined in soon later. Their movements were lively and joyous despite the eternally still features on their faces. 

But then一

The stage had been set aflame, piercing screams of agony came from the stage. It was as if the dolls had come to life, only to die in a fire only seconds after their fragile-looking bodies were engulfed by bright green flames. It spread throughout the stage, incinerating everything in its wake. Was that blood?

The doctor stood on her feet, body completely alarmed by this as she screeched. She turned around to run but a gasp fell from her lips to see that her exit was blocked by a pair of twins that gazed at her with the most frightening look she’s ever seen, like predators about to pounce on their prey. 

“Wh-Who are you people?!” She cried out, backing away. 

The twins said nothing; Their movements stiff like wood as they approached her. The ribbon-like pieces of fabric swayed as their arms reached out for her. Their toothy grins revealed their razor sharp teeth that glinted threateningly.

“STOP THIS INSTANT!” She tried to yell at them again but to no avail. 

Her heartbeat pounded against her ribcage the closer they got. Was this all just part of the show? Was this all some terrible nightmare? Her mind swarmed with questions as she tried getting away from them. The awful heat coming from every direction as the flames consumed everything with each moment that passed seemed to be proof enough that this was all happening. But she didn’t want to believe it. This couldn’t be happening. Why would God let such a thing happen to her when she’s done nothing wrong?

“Ara, is this that cruel woman you spoke of, dear?” A new voice entered the scene; cold like ice, a heavy contrast to the heat of the flames. 

What…?

“She’s the one who hurt you all those years?” Another one came, seeming to be delicate and yet had a bit of an underlying country accent.

But she’s never done anything wrong!

A dark feminine chuckle could be heard behind her. Her head whipped behind her and her eyes were met with a sight that was horrifying enough to make her heart lurch up to her throat, like her very soul was being ripped from her body. 

“Hello, mother.”

It was her daughter and the two other dolls, bloodied up and walking towards her. Their skin looked to have such severe burn marks and the flesh seemed to be melting off their bodies, going deep enough that parts of their bones were exposed. Tattered clothing with ashes sticking to it. The blood that dripped from their bodies stained the brown carpeting a striking crimson. 

“Remember when you used to be so proud of how much you hurt me with the belt?”

Her voice sent shivers down her spine at the very sound of it, a cruel bite to it. It was as though there were five of her voices layered on top of each other to create an echoing effect. Their gazes were locked, the crazed glint in her eye pierced through her soul as she tilted her head to the side. 

“Now it’s my turn.”

The mother screeched when her daughter lunged at her all of a sudden with lightning fast speed. Her legs moved before she could even think, sprinting as fast as she could towards the nearest emergency exit, leaving everyone in the fire. 

In the blink of an eye, the theatre was cleaned up and it was as though not a single spark of flame had touched it. Footsteps echoed against the floor as a new figure entered the scene. A smirk pulled at his lips at the sight of the groups’ victorious expressions. Glimmering green eyes gazed at his friend, who seemed to be in especially good spirits. She looked up and her soft brown irises lit up at the sight of him, like the sun rising. 

He had remembered his conversation with her earlier. 

“I’ll make sure that she gets the fright of her life.” Malleus held a serious tone in his voice, with sadistic undertones in it. All he wanted was for his friend to enjoy a Halloween in Twisted Wonderland for the first time. The magicam monsters were already troublesome enough for her and Grim to deal with, but then her mother had to show up. The discomfort in her eyes doubled when she realised that her mother somehow followed her into Twisted Wonderland. “Consider it a gift for being in my good graces.” 

She sighed and shook her head, soft brown locks swaying lightly in the motion. Resolve burned in those milk chocolate irises as she turned her gaze to him. 

“Actually, I’d like to deal with her myself.” A mischievous smile graced her lips, one that he was unfamiliar with. She had always presented herself with such a delicate demure disposition, but he wasn’t so naive as to think she was fragile. “But I’d appreciate some assistance from you. I’ve made a good plan and it will require your specialty.” 

Malleus returned the smirk, interested in what she had to say. “Oya? And what could that possibly be?” 

“First, I’ll need to ask Vil and the others for some help as well.” 

The gleam in her eyes turned sadistic. 

“We’re going to put on the show of a lifetime.”

Sure, Malleus was fully aware that the deep wounds inflicted onto her by that woman would take much more than that to heal, it may take many years even. But seeing that satisfied smile on her face brought warmth to his cold heart. Her radiance as she chatted with everyone, thanking them for their assistance with making the show a success, was like the sun that rose during the dawn; A hope for a better tomorrow. 

A whisper flowed out from his lips.

“May your journey to healing be fruitful, child of man.” 

#twisted wonderland #twst #malleus draconia #vil schoenheit #jade leech #floyd leech #epel felmier #rook hunt #Anonymous

[savrenim]

i am running thru ur tumblr to find ONE POST to cite for tvtropes, and i agree so hard with the soulmate stuff. what if my soulmate is an awful abuser, i want the choice to NOT be with them without some painful physical consequence or loss of perception if i don't date them just because the universe said we were "meant to be"... plus if it's just a magic thing it "feels" more justified in-universe that soulmates exist and less like an ass pull so you could justify getting 2 characters together

oH gods this is something that I have SO many feelings about that probably is slightly informed by my own orientation and preferences, but. feelings. this got long so it's going under the cut

so there are three and a half major things that I have a problem with in terms of general soulmate tropes that are "there is one person who is your perfect romantic partner" (which to be fair I've seen a number of soulmate AUs do that trope with the addendum "although it only applies to a certain percentage of the population / not everyone has soulmates / everyone has soulmates but not everyone has SUPER PERFECT ROMANTIC soulmates" which at least somewhat avoids the statistic inevitability of abusive soulmates if combined with Fate Can See The Future And So Your Fated Soulmate Just Won't Be) and these complaints aren't even from the "I'm poly where's my poly rep" kind of place which is a whole 'nother bag of worms, but let's go:

1. I aggressively believe that love is a choice. Love is something that is built, not predetermined before you meet someone. There might be initial compatibility aspects going down when you first meet someone, but, like. statistically there are more than seven and a half billion people on this planet. If there is only a single person perfectly meant for you, again, statistically, you are not going to meet them, I've seen the figure thrown that on average a person will meet on the order 10,000 people in their lifetime but let's even go 100,000, you will meet 0.001% of the world's population. Unless you think some sort of divine coincidence or fate is guiding you to a soulmate which throws free will out the window and then I can't help you but, like. discarding the math, I think it is actively harmful to a relationship to believe that it can be sustained on chemistry or predetermined 'but we're perfect for each other' alone. It requires work. You choose who is in your life, you choose who stays in your life, you choose who you want to be important to you based on what they contribute to your life and what you contribute to theirs.

(I am assuming this ask is at least partially in reaction to my soulmate post, which actually the fic in question, a buried and a burning flame, has since gone up. I highly recommend reading Hands of the Emperor by Victoria Goddard first, but besides the setup for arson wizards that alas is never used because the fire mage with a soulmate in question is Responsible, I decided to both tackle 'okay soulmarks trope too let's throw it in', which leads to the not-really-a-spoiler passage that appears fairly early on about actually the full layout (albeit with less detail on the 'yeah for mages it just helps ground their magic, nothing romantic about it' part) of my Soulmate Rules:

Soulmates existed, both in the Empire of Astandalas and across the Wide Seas. They just worked slightly differently in Vangavaye-ve than the rest of the worlds.

The rest of the Empire seemed to view soulmates as a monolith. From what Cliopher had been able to glean, the tradition was grounded in their magic. Magi had soulmates, or rather, magic-workers would each have a soulmate. Cliopher wasn't clear if all magic-workers had a soulmate, or if magic-workers simply could have one, but there was always a mage in soulmate pairs, and it was always a pair. There were no marks, no visible signs involved, as soulmates were something that were sensed with magic. They were permanent, intrinsic, and to be recognized immediately.

To Wide Sea Islanders, soulmates were a choice.

The soul-marks, lana and lani-voa, would appear the first time you touched someone that you had chosen to love, with the full knowledge that you loved them. Cliopher had the marks of his mother and father, his sisters, Basil and Dimiter, Bertie and Ghilly. His skin was covered lovingly with the colors of his love, marks that he had gotten used to concealing with long sleeves in Astandalas when he had gotten tired of the constant staring at his 'primitive tattoos'.

Buru Tovo had been the only one to give him lani-voa, a greater mark of the soul. The pattern, with its thick lines and twisting design in a deep blue, extended over the entirety of his left arm and shoulder. They were the dances of his family pressed onto his skin, and he had traced them over with reverent and feather-light touch for months after he had received them. A lani-voa marked someone who had changed your life for the better in a deep and irrevocable way. It was a great honor to have even one.

And now, with the gold stretching up his right arm, new patterns that he didn't recognize stretching up from a handprint of pure gold that was expanding the longer he held that first contact with Tor—

now he had two.

(Buru Tovo is Cliopher's great uncle, for context. In fact, everyone listed there is either a familial or platonic relationship, with a single relationship that used to be romantic but settled into platonic.))

so. yeah. Love is a choice! The Biggest Of Moods! any soulmate lore that undermines that is a Bad Message, in my opinion.

The emphasis also on platonic soulmates leads into my second point:

2. I have found in my life that platonic relationships that I have are and have always been as important if not moreso than the romantic relationships. the emphasis of a single romantic relationship as the most important relationship that you can be in maybe fits for some people, but as a generalization to absolutely everyone I think is toxic and harmful. and not just for aro people! I'm not aro, but I would be miserable to write off my friends as Less Important And Meaningful to me than my parter, whom I love with all my heart! (I've actually ended up in my life settling into what I call the red/blue/gold system for 'relationships that I treat with the importance that society treats romantic relationships', but that's a personal thing). The standard soulmate trope tends to really solidly deliver the thesis of "there is a single romantic relationship that is the single most important relationship in your life" and I just think that's a very bad thesis.

3. Finally, I think the emphasis on permanent/forever is a harmful one for relationships in general. People change. you drift closer to people or further away from them. you move, they move, your schedules change, your interests change, your life changes. if you are living with a romantic partner you're going to keep seeing each other every day, but that doesn't stop you from changing as a person, which means see Point 1 Love Is A Choice; but even if you choose to remain together, you are probably eventually going to Ship Of Theseus your entire relationship. I think it is an important message that if that happens and it is no longer a relationship that is as deeply positive as it once was in your life, you don't...have to keep it out of loyalty to what it once was.

It's okay for people to drift out of your life that were once the most important person in your life. It doesn't invalidate how important and meaningful that relationship used to be, and it isn't a betrayal to let yourself and them and your relationships change and evolve. The idea that something has to be forever for it to matter I think is the idea about soulmates that I disagree with the most. Probably because that was the hardest lesson for me to learn as a kid and a teenager, and the life lesson that I am proudest for learning.

3.5 your point 'plus if it's just a magic thing it "feels" more justified in-universe that soulmates exist' is exactly on the nose, literally I am unable to write anything without attempting to write down a universal theory of everything for How The World Works. if something soulmate-wise is going down even if it never appears on the page you bet your ass I have either figured out the general cosmology and theology of "are there gods or divine forces who have instituted this policy? if so, why? what purpose does it serve", or in the case of abaabf which already has such interesting magic rules in the original canon of "is there an evolutionary reason for soulmates to exist" which I don't go tracing out full evolutionary biology for a fic necessarily mostly because I would want the full evolutionary biology in canon to make sure mine is compliant enough but that sure as hell does translate to "if soulmates exist and it's not for the reason of Because Godlike Beings Said So, there better be a practical purpose". I find at least long-form soulmate fics (ie things With Plot and a Developed Setting that aren't just "let's do a ficlet with this well-known trope") that Do Not Feel Like They've At Least Thought About Why Soulmates Happen To Exist hurt my soul. which I think slightly intersects with my "I hate it when the rules of the universe/ laws of physics are human-centric" instead of "the base rules which were not designed for humans came first, and how the human world works arose in reaction to them" and. yeah. consistent desire to know at least for myself why things are set up the way that they're set up which gods ifmlam is wild and completely bullshit and pulls from quantum multiverse philosophy I started writing that thing when I was like. eighteen? nineteen? but at least it's there so I can be consistent.

as a caveat for everything above: I don't actually think that fiction, fanfiction in particular, needs to perfectly reflect what A Good Relationship or A Good Message About Relationships should be. it is a very human desire in a chaotic and confusing world to want a simple, absolute, binary thing to hold onto. fiction is a place for escapism or wish fulfillment or even exploring things that you wouldn't actually want in real life, I think that the movement in fandom/fiction that all of the messaging in your story should match the advice you'd give for a real-life setup is a bad and harmful one. mostly my opinions on soulmates and hence desire to do inversions of the soulmate trope in my fic and things like the red/blue/gold system and heavy emphasis on platonic relationships in original work that I'm writing is about a desire to see representation for me and the things I love and find important and my sort of relationships in the stories that are a big part of my life. but I am really glad that in doing so I seem to have struck a chord in other people, who maybe want to see the same thing!

#my life #my writing #abaabf #soulmates #also what post are you looking for/ what is its general topic if you haven't found it #I might remember a few keywords and be able to help you search

[tothemeadow]

Serendipity [Chapter 1]

When the kingdom of Ainamoryp falls, a motley crew of unlikely allies must come together to save the country. 

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of blood

words: 3.8k

(a/n): All characters range from 19-20. Reader insert, reverse harem.

Dinton Keep, Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 00:43

“The king! The king is dead!”

As soon as the declaration is shouted, there’s a growl of pain, then the unceremonious thump as a body hits the ground.

All around, flames lick at the stone walls, set the sky ablaze. The inky hue of the night is abruptly ruined by a brilliant orange, the smell of burning wood and bodies drifting along with the night’s breeze. The clamoring of swords crashing against each other rings throughout the air, seemingly traveling for miles. Horrified screams and blood-thirsty growls make for a gruesome, twisted melody, one that imprints itself on the brain and promises itself its unholy stay.

Heavy pants, cloudy eyes, a desire for murder.

This is what keeps Prince Shouto pressing forward.

Flanked by two guards, the three scramble through the narrow halls – the hidden passageways hidden behind the castle walls. A mere torch is their only source of light, a pitiful flame compared to the hellstorm raging through the city’s streets. Their movements are rushed, silent; there’s no time to be discussing the finer details of the invasion when the only thing playing on their minds it escaping. Gods be damned if more royal blood be spilt on the stone, seeping through and leaving a burgundy scar.

Despite the silence cloaking them, Shouto grits his teeth, the urge to turn back and fight ever present and growing. That’s his kingdom who’s suffering, hundreds of innocent people dying, suffering. And for what? Power? Wealth? If it were up to him, he’d go back and slaughter those intruding the lands, planting their flags and proclaiming their victory.

This isn’t how things were supposed to go.

“Please, my prince, we must keep moving,” the guard in front throws over his shoulder, as if sensing Shouto’s inner turmoil. “We have to get you away immediately.”

Funny how this works, how simple guards think they can control their prince, a member of the royal family. He could easily rip them a new one, put them in their place and insist they stand their ground, but he knows they’re right. There are too many enemies, even by Shouto’s standards. Even if he stayed around and fought, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that he would be slain right there on the spot.

Up ahead, a rickety wooden door comes into view, a heavy bolt holding it shut. The metal creaks as the frontmost guard slides it loose and opens the door. Heavy smoke hangs in the air, slowly spreading towards the surrounding woods and farmlands. Shouto’s heart clenches at the sight, at the putrid odor of death, the sounds of petrified screams. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm his rapidly beating heart, the anger boiling in his blood twinging the outlines of his vision red.

He’s a complete and utter fool for abandoning those who need him most.

Still, he allows the guards to lead him to an awaiting horse, a brilliant beast the color of ivory. Swinging up and onto the saddle with graceful ease, his cloak flutters behind him.

“Go! Now!” the guard with the torch bellows, eyes latching onto a group of enemy soldiers scaling a wall. “Get out of here!”

“You’ll be killed, dammit!” Shouto proclaims, his anger finally boiling over. “I refuse to have anybody else shed their blood!”

“You’re the prince, your highness,” the guard shoots back, both he and the other one drawing their swords. “There’s a watchpoint south of here, hidden away in the woods. Get there, seek for help. The soldiers there will lead you to safety.”

“Bastards, the lot of them,” Shouto hisses, “I can stay and fight.”

“No! You must go!” Before Shouto is given a chance to say anything in return, the guard strikes the horses rear. Letting out a shrill whinny, the horse rears up, landing back down heavily and taking off at a breakneck speed.

Cursing under his breath, Shouto watches over his shoulder as the two guards confront the enemy soldiers. They soon disappear from sight, leaving only the smoldering haze and raging fires encompassing the silhouette of Shouto’s childhood home. As the castle and surrounding city grow smaller and smaller with each impounding trollop of the horse, he can’t tear his eyes away, even long after it disappears from the horizon.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Levalon, Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 10:14

Easy does it now, easy does it… Don’t get too close… And… Gotcha!

Snatching his hand away, Zenitsu quickly stashes the pigskin coin purse underneath his cloak. Heh, suckers, the lot of them. Most of them couldn’t tell the difference between their right hand and a horse’s ass, much less when someone steals their coinage. Briskly turning on his heel, he walks away, whistling casually.

It’s so easy.

On the market streets of the town, a large sea of people roam from stall to stall, buying smoked meats, freshly baked breads, the farmers’ latest pickings. It’s a jolly scene, the constant chatter of patrons and high-pitched yelps of young boys trying to direct potential customers to their father’s stalls. Zenitsu grew up on these streets, raised right alongside other peasant boys with no home or family to call their own. Perhaps it’s a sad story, one meant for lonely nights and listening ears, but it’s Zenitsu’s lineage. It’s what made him into what he is today, a thief with deft fingers and a pair of legs that could challenge a horse in a race.

An easy smile comes to his face. He’s long since grown used to the smell of piss and sweat clinging to the cobbled street, the hollow-eyed children staring long after the people carrying baskets and sacks of food. Everything is so horribly imperfect, but this is home. Hell, although he’s making his living in a dishonest way, it’s enough to keep a roof over his head and food in his tummy. And maybe, if he saves up enough coin, roll around in a bed of hay with a large breasted whore.

Sidestepping the crowd, he makes way towards the local tavern (Ye Olde Wife, can you believe that?), breakfast and busty barmaids on the mind. If possible, the patrons inside the tavern are nearly as loud as the ones outside. Kicking the door shut, Zenitsu heads for his usual spot at the bar, sliding onto the wobbly stool and shucking his hood down. Ale and body odor permeate his nose, the smell foul yet welcoming. Nothing is more greeting than sweaty men and alcohol.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” the owner’s crackly voice says.  A stout old man with wild hair and a bushy mustache, he’s about as rough as they come, but to Zenitsu, he’s probably the closest thing to family that he’s ever had.

“Oh, come on, Gramps,” Zenitsu says, tapping the bar top with his fingertips. “You love seeing me, eh? I bring you plenty of service-“

“You flirt with the girls in here more than you order anything,” Gramps spits. Even so, he starts to step away, already heading to the kitchen to fetch Zenitsu something to eat. “Ungrateful bastard – it’s a wonder you’re not a father yet.”

“Yet!” Zenitsu calls after him. “Don’t jinx me, Gramps!” Easing back, he turns around, resting his elbows on top of the bar. Now that he’s closer to the kitchens, the smell of succulent meat turning on a spit makes his mouth water and his stomach growl. Gods, he is hungry. While he could easily steal something from the stalls lining the market street, he normally comes to Gramps’ tavern for a proper meal. And yeah, maybe he ogles the barmaids while he’s at it, but it’s merely a dinner and a show for him.

“Oh, shit,” some random man sitting at a nearby table says. “You mean you haven’t heard about the capital?” Along with him sits another man – they’re most likely miners, if their builds and dirty fingernails say anything. Knocking back his cup, the other merely shakes his head. “Them bastards from the north – Nialliv – they stormed it. Took Dinton Keep as their own.”

Now, it’s usually polite to not listen in on others’ conversations, but this is Zenitsu here. For as long as he can remember, his sense of hearing is astronomically better than the average human’s, and it’s actually quite a useful tool when it comes to his particular jobs. But this… The capital city being taken over? How come he hasn’t heard anything before?

“You’re telling me that Dinton Keep isn’t ours? Watch the shite spilling from your mouth,” the other man grumbles.

“Aye, it’s true. Took in the wee hours of this morning, I tell you. Apparently, the king is dead.”

At that, Zenitsu stiffens. The king? Dead?

“Fuck,” the companion curses. “And they haven’t said anything yet?”

The first one shakes his meaty head. “Only a few know, I guess. The messengers probably all got their throats slit. Gods bless their souls. It’d be a miracle if we’re all not dead by the end of the month.”

“How many are dead?”

“Hundreds, I take it. Mostly guards and members of the royal court, probably. No point in killing civilians if you don’t want to clean up the mess.”

“And the prince?”

“Disappeared. Haven’t heard if they found his body or not.”

“Oi,” Gramps barks, slamming a plate down on the bar before Zenitsu.

With a jolt, Zenitsu yelps. Whipping back around, he flashes Gramps with wide eyes. “Gramps,” he whisper-yells, “is it true?”

Cocking a bushy brow, Gramps leans forward, arms crossed over his chest. “Is what true?”

“That the king is dead,” Zenitsu says, slowly. He can hardly believe the words are coming out of his own mouth.

Pointing a thick finger at him, Gramps flashes him a warning look. “It’s not your damn business spreading the news around. People are gonna be in a panic when it goes public.”

Zenitsu pales. “No way…”

“I had a carrier pigeon come in this morning,” Gramps continues, voice tight. “Unless they kick them bastards out of Dinton Keep, Ainamoryp can kiss its ass goodbye.”

Glancing down at the steaming meat and eggs in front of him, Zenitsu’s body immediately says that his appetite is gone.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Roman Sea, off the coast of Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 12:39

“Captain! Land clear up ahead!”

“Well, what the fuck you waiting for? This ship isn’t going to dock itself!” you screech.

The sky above is a limitless blue, not a hint of a cloud in the sky. The sun itself seems in a good mood, as does the waters. Your ship heads towards your homeland gracefully, the waves slapping against the sides in a hello, welcome back. As much as you love sailing and exploring new lands, home forever beckons for you, calls you back with welcoming arms. There’s nothing as relieving as setting foot on familiar land.

Although you’re young, you’re powerful. Already a captain of your own crew, the proud owner of The Pearl Lady, you’re meant to go places and the gods are surely smiling down at you. Granted, the overexposure of sun and salt water may have left your skin permanently freckled and mind scrambled, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a force to be trifled with, and all be damned if they dare challenge you.

Hands settled on the wooden railing, you watch as the rest of your crew scrambles to prepare for docking, lowering the sails and readying the anchor. The coast of Ainanomyrp glimmers under the afternoon sun, truly a sight to behold, but something feels… off. Normally, other boats come to and from the mouth of inland, the capital city of Endeavor being a major port. However, there’s not another boat on the water, not even the small dingeys for fishing.

Your ship glides in smoothly, coming to a gradual stop by an open dock. Your crew pushes the anchor overboard, the salty water giving a final splash as your boat jolts to a stop. Hell, even the docks are unnaturally silent, not even a single ship hand or merchant in sight. All other vessels are docked, their decks bare of any people. Your crew shifts uneasily, clearly noticing the strange lack of other human beings.

“Uh, Captain?” the quartermaster asks you, hand instinctively landing on the butt of his pistol as he glances around, “Should we lift anchor and sail to another port?”

“Like hell we are,” you grunt, narrowing your eyes. Something’s coming. You can feel it.

Stepping away from the railing, you saunter down to the main deck, heading to the side where your crew set the bridge down. The clunk of wood striking wood echoes into the air; instead of it being a relieving sound – a sign that you’re truly home – it’s ominous. It’s only a matter of time before disaster hits.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” you tell your crew, “Something isn’t right.”

“Halt!” an unknown voice calls. Straining your neck forward, you catch sight of a small patrol of guards in dark gray armor clamber down the cobblestone steps leading from the streets to docks. While it’s somewhat of a relief to see actual human beings, you’re immediately on edge, body stiffening. Those are not the given uniforms of Ainamorypan soldiers.

“Fuck,” you grumble, biting the inside of your cheek.

Metal clanking against wooden boards fills the tense atmosphere as the patrol comes up to your ship. The group stands ramrod-straight, faces stoic, eyes sharp. The leader steps forward, neck craning as he looks up at you. “Who goes there?” he barks.

Clicking your tongue, you lean over the side of the ship, elbows resting on the weathered wood. “A bunch of merchants returning home. Everybody’s got to make a living somehow, eh? Now, if you’d kindly fuck off, I’d like to step on some actual dirt for once.”

The guard sneers, expression turning ugly as he flashes yellow teeth. “All incoming and outgoing ships are to be registered. And, as far as I’m concerned, your shitty dingey isn’t on the list.” With a metallic snap of his fingers, one of his followers hands him a clipboard and a hunk of charcoal. “Ship name, captain’s name, date of arrival and planned dismissal.”

At that, you bark out an incredulous laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? When was this instilled?”

“Just this morning, actually,” the guard snips. “Since I’m feeling merciful, I’ll let you off with a warning just this once. Follow these orders or we’ll have no other option than to imprison you.”

Prison? Seriously? Just who did this dickhead think he’s talking to?

Scoffing, you draw yourself to a full stand, placing your hands on your hips. You could easily pull out your pistol and try to shoot one of the damned guards, but lead balls aren’t going to do much against a full suit of armor. “And I’m pretty sure I told you to fuck off.”

The same guard who gave the leader the clipboard and charcoal steps close and leans in, whispering something into the leader’s ear. The leader spares you a single glance, his eyebrow cocking in interest. With a wave of his hand, the rest of the patrol storm the ship, drawing their blades. Your crew readies their own blades and brandishes their pistols, murmuring unsure words.

“Captain (l/n) of The Pearl Lady,” the lead guard says, scribbling it onto his parchment. “Such a pleasure to meet a wanted criminal.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Dinton Keep’s dungeons, Ainamoryp, 492, May 3rd, 13:00

“Oi, oi! Keep your grubby hands off of me!” you bark, shoving yourself against the guards holding you by the biceps.

“Shut your damn trap, you filthy pirate,” the guard on your right seethes, his putrid breath clogging your nostrils. “Thinking you can just waltz right into Endeavor? What are you, an idiot?”

“Far as I was concerned, Endeavor used to be leagues more friendly than this horse shit.”

“I told you to shut up,” the guard barks. Lifting a hand, he cracks up alongside the back of your skull, leaving a thrumming ache. The other guard merely stays silent as he shoves you into the other’s arms, fishing a set of keys from his side and opening the door to a cell. “Fucking rot for all I care,” the guard spits, pushing you into the dingy space.

You sputter as you crash onto the jagged rock, your palms scraping against the surface. You hiss in pain as the guards slam the gate shut and lock it. The one who mocked you takes off with a bark of laughter as the other simply follows behind. “Bloody bastards,” you grunt as they disappear from sight. “I oughta wring their necks and hang them from the bow.”

“Are you alright?” a new voice speaks.

With a screech, you fling yourself to the side, your hip screaming in pain as a sharp rock digs into the flesh. You instinctively reach for your sword, only to be left blubbering curse after curse after remembering that the guards confiscated all of your weapons. Perched on the windowsill sits a boy no older than you, head topped with messy green curls and a face adorned with a sea of freckles.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” the stranger proclaims, waving his hands frantically before him. Hopping down from the wall, he holds his hands in front of him, much like he’s encountering a vicious wild beast. Which isn’t totally wrong, but still.

“Bullshit you didn’t! I’ll kick your ass, mate!” Scrambling onto your feet, your press your back against the cold stone wall, bloody hand clutching your bruised hip.

“I swear it! It’s just… Well…. Look, your hands are bleeding,” the stranger says, turning his hands so his palms are facing upwards. “Let me treat them.”

Your face curls into a snarl. “And why would I do that?”

“I’m a healer,” he continues, stepping forward and snatching your wrist. You yelp at the sudden contact and try to rip your hand away, but his grip is strong. Now that he’s up close and personal, you can’t deny the fact that he’s tall and muscular, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up and exposing the veins and scars riddling his forearms.  

Holding your wrist with one hand, the other hovers above your scraped, bloody palm. A golden light emits from his hand, casting a warm glow over your own. Ah, so this guy is a magic wielder. While it isn’t uncommon for people to practice magic, you yourself have never taken an interest in it. Magic can be a finnicky force to deal with, and one who cannot rein in its power may be subjected to a world full of hurt.

With a sigh, you keep your emotions under control and allow this stranger to continue his treatment. For one, this guy is healing you for free, and secondly, he appears as though he can easily throw you through the stone wall with little effort.

“There,” he says once he’s finished, gingerly retracting his hands and flashing you a tiny smile. “It’s all better now, see?”

Staring down at your hands, you flex them into fists, noticing how whatever tension that was in them had disappeared along with the scrapes. Magic can truly be a wonderous thing, but in the wrong hands… Well, things don’t turn out as pretty.

“I don’t get it,” you say, sidestepping the stranger and planting yourself on the pile of dirty hay strewn about the floor, “why is a healer in a dungeon, of all places?”

At your question, the stranger visibly perks up. He follows your movements, getting onto the floor and sitting across from you. “I guess a proper introduction is needed, huh?” he says, scratching his cheek in embarrassment. “My name is Izuku. Izuku Midoriya. It’s a pleasure!”

“I didn’t ask for your name,” you snap. “I asked you why you’re here, not who you are.”

At that, Izuku huffs and physically deflates. “You remind me a lot of Kacchan…”

“By the gods, do you know how to answer a simple question? You know what, don’t even answer that-“

“The king is dead,” Izuku says, cutting you off. His large eyes don’t hold their friendly glow anymore, but rather one of determination and anger. “He was killed last night.”

You blink rapidly at him, your mind throwing itself in for a loop. Wait, wait, the king is dead? How is that even possible? The king isn’t a weakling, and you’ve heard stories of him being a powerful fire sorcerer. But now that you think about it, it would explain the change in guards, the lack of people filling the once busy docks and streets…

You inhale sharply. “How?” you ask, voice small.

“Forces from Nialliv intruded the country last night and took Dinton Keep by force. People were…” Izuku stops, wets his lips. “People are gone,” he finally forces out. “The king is dead, the prince is nowhere to be seen, and all of Ainamoryp is going to lose hope.” Wringing his hands, his gaze drops. “I was here when the intrusion happened. I was fighting off enemy soldiers with all my might, but I couldn’t save the city. People are dead because I didn’t work hard enough.”

“And then you were captured,” you say. “But why not killed?”

“They found out I was a healer – well, I specialize in herbology, but the point still stands. They had men and women on their side who needed medical attention, and I was simply another pair of hands to them,” Izuku answers dryly. “They threw me in here once everybody was treated.”

“Then why’d you help them? They’re the enemy, you fool. You wanna know what I would’ve done? Slit every single last one of their throats.” Shaking your head, you lean back against the wall and laugh, but there’s no humor to it. “When you have the opportunity to fuck your opponent over, you take it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Izuku snaps, clenching his fists in his lap. “I can’t stand seeing others hurt. I’m a healer, for gods’ sakes. Not everyone is some filthy, selfish pirate like you.”

Snapping your attention back to him, you send him a steely glare.

“Wait, wait,” Izuku hastily says, reaching up and smacking himself on the forehead, “I didn’t mean that-“

“You said what you said,” you interject. “And you know what? You’re right. I’m so fucking filthy and selfish that I’m the captain of The Pearl Lady. I bathe in blood and gold, you pathetic little twat. And I like it. So, do us both a favor, shut your damn trap, and leave me the hell alone.”

Izuku audibly gulps, his hands falling limp in his lap. You almost want to laugh at him; whenever somebody hears of your infamous title, their reactions are all the same. Despite the stigma towards pirates, you’re still pretty damn powerful, and your crew voted you as captain for a reason. Turning away from Izuku, you settle onto your side, willing for either sleep to take over or for Izuku to magically disappear.

Your quartermaster was right – you should’ve lifted anchor and docked somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #mha #bnha #ny hero academia #boku no hero academia #kny x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny bnha crossover #serendipity fic

[mimiwrites2000]

I Don't Want to Let You Go

AO3 ~~

Pairings: Armin x Annie

Words count: 4314

* spoilers for chapter 131

Summary:

The rumbling started, titans were stomping people to death all around the world.

The world was ending,

But they were on a sailing ship, trying to save whatever they could reach, they were on the desperate mission of stopping Eren.

But Armin found himself tangled in Annie's embrace, inhaling her scent, feeling her warmth.

Chapter 131 one-shot.

“Why did you bother talking to a rock that couldn’t so much as grunt a response back to you?” Annie said, as Armin sat next to her, leaning against the railing of the ship, heading to the unknown.

“Huh?” Armin was caught off guard; it didn’t occur on his mind that Annie would talk about this…

“There… must have been more fun and cheerful girls out there, right?...” Insignificance laced Annie’s tone, but to be fair, this was her usual speaking tone.

“That’s…” Armin’s cheeks heated up, “No…” he tilted his head down, thoughts were buzzing inside his head, he had two choices; either wave Annie off and not answer her question, or to break down his walls and be honest with her.

Armin tried to come up with a third option, anything to avoid this conversation which was morphing into an awkward discussion of the past, but he couldn’t. He put his hand on his head, covering his face from Annie, and whispered: “Annie, I did it because I wanted…” a pause, “…to see you…”

Armin was sure that his face was bright red, he could use a dip in the freezing ocean to cool himself down, but the ocean might evaporate into a desert and his face would still be on fire.

Annie glanced at Armin, her eyes widened, when she noticed his red cheeks from behind his arm, she averted her gaze, hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face in her crossed hands. She didn’t get it, or she might have, but she still didn’t get it-

“Why?” Annie asked, she heard shuffling beside her, and she was certain that Armin was staring at her, but she didn’t trust herself with looking at him, not right now…

“Huh?” Armin had no idea if Annie was serious or not, “do you really not get it? Even after Hitch teased me that much?”

A moment of silence passed, Armin watching Annie hunched on herself, her face completely hidden from him, he waited patiently for an answer, a grunt, a gesture, anything to make this less awkward-

“I don’t,” Annie whispered, her voice barely audible, she tilted her head the tiniest bit, allowing Armin to see her face.

Annie’s flushed face, how her eyebrows furrowed in… shyness? Her fingers clutching her legendary hoodie, and how her hair framed her face, slightly brushing her cheeks with the salty breeze.

Armin’s heart skipped at least three beats, he forgot about how awkward the situation was, seeing Annie like this, a blushing mess, nervousness aura emitting from her, curled in a ball, he had to muster all the power he had to stop himself from scooting next to her and engulf her in an embrace.

But he didn’t dare to move a limb; Annie showing such vulnerability was enough shocker for him already, enough to freeze him in his spot.

Five minutes passed, or maybe ten, or half an hour, silence the only thing shared between the pair, no words uttered, the seagulls cowing was their only companion.

It was unfair, the tranquility they were having, it’s unfair.

Millions of people were dying as they were sitting helplessly on the ship.

Annie couldn’t decide if she was imagining the thudding of the giant stomping titans’ feet or if it was distinctly audible from all this distance, but it didn’t matter, it was happening after all.

Father…

The brim of Annie’s eyes burned with tears threatening to fall, she closed her eyes, refusing to breakdown again, took a deep breath and said: “Really… what… are we doing?”

“right now… millions and millions of people are being trampled around the world.”

Stop, why are you telling him this-

“what…”

Bottle it up, like you’re used to-

“are we even doing?”

Armin’s eyes softened as he contemplated Annie, her back curved, he wished he could see her face… Armin couldn’t come up with anything to say, so he ended up with muttering a petty ‘yeah’.

Annie straightened her back, she looked forward, watching the horizon, the line where the sky and the ocean collided in flawless congruence, she said: “Now I get it, you’re a good person, and that’s why you were even willing to talk to an enemy like me, right?”

Annie finally turned her head and looked into Armin’s eyes, guilt sparked at the bottom of her stomach when she saw the dark circles around his eyes, she shouldn’t bother him with all this useless talk, nevertheless, she continued.

“It’s the same reason you won’t give up on having a dialogue with Eren, that’s what drove you to bother with a monster who could wake up at any moment.” She paused for a second, studied Armin’s face, “you wanted to avoid conflict… right?”

Armin’s heart dropped in his stomach when he saw Annie’s stoic eyes, even though he was used to this aspect of her, but it hit him different… after what she said… he couldn’t hold her gaze anymore, so he watched the floor instead.

Disappointment couldn’t be hidden on Annie’s face when Armin avoided her with his eyes, you should’ve shut up from the beginning…

Faking satisfaction with Armin’s silence as an answer, Annie stood up, wanting to be anywhere, but not here.

Armin’s hand shot up and held Annie’s wrist, halting her before she moved away. He waited for some time, waiting for Annie to kick him away, but she didn’t, so his grip only tightened more, holding on to her.

“Sit down,” Armin said, he didn’t intend for it to sound like a command, and he didn’t know how Annie took it, “also… I know I told you this before, but I really don’t like being called a good person after all.”

Annie’s eyebrows rose the tiniest bit.

“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Armin resumed, “not just soldiers… regular people… children… and…” he swallowed, “now I’ve made the choice to betray everyone living on the island where I was born and raised.”

Armin…

“I killed my allies… I’ve been a monster for a long time now.”

Annie stood there with Armin’s hand still latched onto her wrist, she didn’t know what to say… but she knew that now there was no barrier between her and Armin, now she could respond to his talking, and she found some kind of liberty in that… she slowly sat back down, Armin retreating his hand.

Armin wasn’t hesitant with pouring out his thoughts to Annie, he never was; he saw himself back in the basement, sitting on the cold stone floor, the dim torches illuminating the room, Armin talking out everything on his mind, as much as a response would’ve been better than the killing stillness; all he wanted was someone to hear him out, to understand him.

“Somewhere in my head…” Armin was still lost in his thoughts, “there was… a promise I made to Eren that we’d travel the world of the unknown, I thought…” he couldn’t cover up the desperation tone in his voice, “it would come true.”

Annie sat silent for a moment, now that she could actually respond to Armin, she found it harder than she thought it would be: “The world of the unknown…” she repeated what he said, “wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, was it?”

Armin’s eyebrows lessened, his eyelids dropping low: “No… it wasn’t the world we dreamed of…”

Annie saw the fifteen years old Armin in front of her, his hair longer, his features childish, she saw a boy upset that he couldn’t find the toy he was yearning to get in the toy store.

“But-” Armin continued, but the cowing of a seagull that landed on the railing beside him interrupted him.

Armin and Annie watched the seagull, its gaze atrocious, digging holes in them. They wondered where it came from… did it witness the disaster over the seas and found the ship as a refuge? Just how many people wished they could grow wings and fly away? To escape this awful fate?

“I still want to believe…” Armin didn’t steer away his eyes from the seagull, “that there’s still a world we don’t know about yet out there… past the walls.”

“There is…” Annie answered, Armin looked at her, and she held his gaze, “no matter how corrupted the world is, no matter how brutal the atrocities people commit, there is still some good in this world.”

Annie looked down, at where Armin’s hand was on the floor beside him, she stretched her hand, and slowly, very slowly, as if experimenting the feeling, she intertwined her fingers with him, her other hand stroking her shoulder, trying to ease away the foreign sensation rising in her.

Armin looked at their intertwined fingers, she was holding his hand, even though she merely mildly laced her fingers with his, he knew that his cheeks were flaming red again.

But he fought against it, and instead of withdrawing and careful to not shift in any way that could be interpreted as annoyance, he tightened his fingers around hers.

Promptly, Annie did the same.

For some time, they stared at their hands, it was a simple gesture that adults were supposed to be over it, but for them, for these two oppressed souls, who were from two different worlds, who met with the most horrible circumstances ever, who went through hell and back- this was new.

They both found a new sensation of relief from being with each other, it was somehow familiar, Armin (in addition to Hitch) was the most person Annie had as a company in her life, where no combat was to be seen, just a normal conversation.

A one-sided conversation, but still…

She started to think that even if she didn’t crystalize herself, she would have sat with Armin all day, if it meant to be in his company.

Armin looked at Annie, her eyes downwards, still inspecting their hands, he found it adorable how this fierce warrior has a soft side too, he had always seen her soft side, maybe he was the only who did, but for him, it had been forever obvious that Annie cared, cared too much.

Armin lifted his other hand up, stretching it towards Annie’s face…

Memories from one day in the basement flashed before his eyes, when Hitch caught him a second before he touched Annie’s crystal. At that time, he imagined what it would feel like to caress Annie’s cheeks, to run his fingers through her golden hair…

His hands were millimeters away from making this fantasy come true…

When Armin’s hand rested against Annie’s cheek, when he felt her soft skin against the calloused skin of his palm, he thought he might be dreaming, but when Annie looked up into his eyes, the blue of her orbs more radiant than the vast ocean around them, he knew it was all real.

Reddish blush dusted Annie’s cheeks, matching Armin’s. She studied his face, how his bangs stopped right past his eyebrows, the sun reflecting in his eyes, adding a twinkling shimmer to them, his jaw a little sharper than she remembered, his lips a little bit agape…

Armin tentatively caressed Annie’s cheek, he heard her swallow, so he made his touch lighter, gently moving his fingers over her cheekbone, touching the bridge of her nose, then moving his fingers over her eyebrow, to land back on her cheek. His fingers took this path multiple times, lingering on different spots each time.

The comfort Annie got from these small gestures was more than she would like to admit, if they had more time, she would probably ask him to do this over and over again, but a new sensation travelled in her body when Armin held a strand of her hair, twirled it twice, before he put it behind her ear.

Annie unconsciously placed the tips of her fingers on his roaming hand, feeling his knuckles move while running his fingers through her hair.

I can feel her, I can feel her…

Armin’s breath hitched in his throat when Annie leaned into his palm, and he felt special, pride swelled in him, he was the only one who ever touched Annie in this way, he was the only one Annie blushed in front of.

A part of him wished that Annie didn’t trap herself in that crystal, how life would’ve been like with Annie around? how would it have been if they had those four years for themselves?

Before thinking too much of it, Annie turned her head slightly, closed her eyes, and placed a kiss on Armin’s palm.

Armin stopped his movements, the soft lips kissing his palm was enough to send shivers up to his head, short-circuiting with his whirring thoughts, and ugh he just wanted to hug her, to embrace her into his chest and stay like that forever.

Instead, he leaned forward, parting her bangs sideways, kissing her forehead. His lips lingered there for a moment, he closed his eyes, memorizing how it feels like to kiss Annie Leonhart’s forehead.

When he pulled away, and saw how wide Annie’s eyes were, he thought she wasn’t alright.

“Annie?” Armin whispered her name, but she didn’t move, he called her name one more time, twice, but to no avail. He waved his hand in front of her face, and that gained a response from her.

Annie looked into his eyes, before her eyelids hooded her eyes, and her shoulders slumped back, her lips turned upwards a small pout. Then, she lurched forward, wrapping her arms around Armin, rubbing her face against his chest.

Armin was quick to respond, he hugged her back, his arms tightly wrapped around her, he inhaled into her hair, her scent was something of sugar. He placed sequent kisses on the crown of her head.

“I regret those four years, I regret that damned crystal.” Annie confessed; her voice muffled by Armin’s shirt.

“I regret letting you go, I regret that so much,” It was Armin’s turn to unleash his own confession.

Annie withdrew from his embrace enough to look into his eyes: “You didn’t, you never did.”

Armin brought Annie’s head into his chest again: “I did, many times, I did...”

Annie didn’t get what ‘many times’ he was talking about, and she decided to not push the topic any further, she only shuffled closer to Armin, her arms never letting go of him, as he rubbed circles on her back.

Soon enough, Armin heard Annie’s breathing slow down, until it turned into a deep rhythmic inhales and exhales, that’s when he knew that she fell asleep, in his arms. Armin couldn’t help the smile pulling at his lips, he rested his chin on Annie’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

~~~

“We should wake them up.”

“But they look so tired, Armin didn’t sleep in a few days.”

“Well, it’s not like we can just leave them here forever-”

“Ok! Ok!”

Armin heard voices speaking in hushed tones over his head, even though they weren’t quite enough to let him sleep. He slowly opened his eyes; the first thing he saw was a matt of golden hair scattered on his lap. He smiled, remembering the few moments before they fell asleep basically on each other.

“Are you awake?”

Armin looked up, he saw Jean with Connie, both staring at him with wide eyes. He nodded.

“We got some food, we thought maybe you two should eat something, we waited for you to wake up, but it looks like you could sleep for three days straight,” Connie said, glancing between Armin and Annie.

Armin chuckled, and Annie shifted on his lap, letting out a tiny groan.

“Alright, we’ll be right there,” Armin told Connie and Jean, who nodded in return and left them, Jean dragging Connie away.

Armin looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, he had no idea how many hours past, but he slept better than he had in weeks.

He watched the sleeping girl on his lap, her head on his thighs as her body curled into a ball next to him. He wanted to let her sleep for some more time, but it seemed that that wasn’t possible, he already felt guilty that he had to wake her up.

“Annie, Annie…” Armin gently caressed her cheeks, moving her hair away from her face. Armin had second thoughts about waking her up when he saw how peaceful her face was, no wrinkles between her eyebrows. She looked… serene.

He mildly rocked her body, and she cracked her eyes open.

Annie seemed annoyed at the light, so Armin put his hand above her face, shielding it from the sun light.

Slowly, Annie fluttered her eyes open, she blinked a few times, before she turned her head and looked at Armin, his head hovering over hers, the tips of his lips twitched upwards.

“Thanks,” Annie muttered, but she didn’t make any indication of moving away.

“You’re welcome, but we still need to get up,” Armin said.

Annie sighed and pushed herself up, Armin already missing her weight on him. She stretched her hands above her head, covering her warming face, and half yawned half said: “How many hours did I sleep?”

“I have no idea.” Armin answered, getting up and offering his hand to Annie, who accepted it.

“I didn’t sleep like this in years,” Annie thought, adjusting her clothes.

“Same goes for me.”

“Do you have some sort of a magical spell that you put on me?”

Armin chuckled, ruffling his hair: “Are you hungry?”

“I could use some food, but I’m not sure about that if it’s Hanji’s stew again,” Annie said, “alright then let’s go.” She walked off, but before she went far, Armin held her hand, stopping her.

“W-wait.”

Annie looked back at Armin, he was looking at the floor, she walked back to him, not letting go of his hand.

“I-I just need to t-tell you something…”

“Yes?” Annie’s heart accelerated in her chest.

“I…” Armin sighed, he rubbed the back of his neck, “I know this is hardly the time for this…”

“Yes,” Annie agreed, “the world is ending.”

“I-I know! That’s why I’m telling you this… listen, this might be my last chance, and I don’t care if I’m making a fool of myself, I just need you to know that I care a lot for you.”

Annie was speechless, her tongue was tied, and she forgot what words were.

With a sudden wave of determination, Armin locked his eyes with Annie and said, his voice firm and certain: “I need you to know that you are very important to me, and that… when all of this is over, I-I mean if we make it out alive, I would love to spend more time with you…”

Annie was quiet, she didn’t expect that, and she had no idea how to respond to that, so, she stretched her hand and put it on Armin’s cheek, she realized how taller he had become. Annie caressed his cheek, trying to come up with anything to say…

“Annie…” Armin whispered, he glanced at her hand, how her fingers drew circles on his cheeks, he thought the trace of the tips of her fingers burned a path in his skin, but it was pleasant, a pleasant sensation of sparks igniting a wild fire in his chest.

Armin’s hand reached out for Annie, having a mind of their own, cupping her cheeks, caressing them with his thumbs.

An abrupt motivation sparked in Annie, she remembered how comforting it felt when Armin kissed her forehead, and she thought it would be an adequate answer to what he told her, she stepped on her tiptoes, trying to reach his forehead, only to realize that the highest point she could reach was his nose.

Annie already felt embarrassed at her failed attempt, her thighs were starting to ache, so she settled with a stolen kiss on his nose.

Armin’s heart was beating in his ears, he was sure Annie heard it too, but he wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t afraid, for he could hear her heart rummaging too.

Annie staggered back almost losing her footing, but Armin was quick to act, he placed his hand on the lower of her back, balancing her against gravity rules.

Armin found his face a few inches away from Annie’s, her eyes blown wide. Armin swallowed, before he leaned in until his cheek rubbed against hers, he felt Annie’s hand hesitantly wrapping around his neck, balancing her weight while she pressed her frame into his.

Armin tangled his other hand in her hair, he could never get bored of how soft it felt against his fingers. He breathed in her scent and muttered, his voice breathy: “I want to, but I shouldn’t.”

Shivers trembled Annie’s nerves when Armin’s breath brushed against her ear, needles poking inside her stomach, she whispered against his ear: “I don’t get it.”

Armin pulled away to look at her face, because she gotta be kidding me, and she must have because there was no trace of confusion in her expression. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, looking into her eyes, her blue eyes that seemed more magnificent than the wide ocean around them, the dark blue hues streaking her eyes were addictively dangerous, Armin was drowning, falling falling falling with no ground in sight.

“You don’t?” Armin asked her, glancing at her lips.

“I… don’t,” she answered, stealing a look at his parted lips, her lips mirroring them and parting too.

Armin leaned a little closer, and Annie felt his breath brushing her lips, her knees were getting weak, she wasn’t sure if she could stand any longer.

“Annie…” Armin whispered her name one more time, closing his eyes before claiming her lips with his own.

Maybe time stopped as Armin kissed Annie, his lips gently rolling against hers agonizingly slow, hesitant.

Annie’s eyes were wide open, maybe Armin’s soft lips against hers invaded all her senses and paralyzed her, she wanted to close her eyes, to tangle her fingers in his hair, to kiss him until her lungs gave out, but she couldn’t.

Armin’s lips slowed down until they completely stopped moving, he didn’t want to pull away, he didn’t want to see the you shouldn’t have written all over her face, so he withdrew, not daring to open his eyes, his fingers around her waist were trembling, seeming to have lost their minds and now Armin was in control of them.

But he didn’t get to dull over it; Annie pulled him down, meeting his lips again, this time he was stunned, his mind stuttered as Annie kissed his lips, meeting his mouth with fierce yet tender kisses. His heart skipped a beat, her soft lips was the only thing on his mind.

Annie’s core weakened when Armin kissed her back, both rolled their jaws in sync with each other, savoring a taste from each other that no one knew was possible before, Annie relied on her locked arms behind Armin’s neck to support her weight, she couldn’t trust her knees, then she was aware of her fingers, how they skimmed over the short hair of Armin’s undercut, tickling the tips of them, and when Armin shuddered at her touch, her toes curled in her shoes.

Armin stole peaks at Annie each time he pulled away for breath, he wanted a proof that this was happening and not just another fantasy of his wild imagination, but the heat radiating from her body, her fingers playing with the tips of his hair, Armin could get drunk on her lips, on her scent.

A small throaty voice left his mouth, muffled by her lips; the shy Armin he knew all his life was long gone. In her arms, he was reborn, the hope in him reawakened.

He tightened his hold around her waist, leaning against her small frame, I don’t want to let you go I don’t want to let you go I don’t want to let you go-

But Annie pulled away, warm marginal pants fled her lungs, her face was flushed. When she opened her eyes, she was met with his endless ocean eyes, half-lidded, unbelieving.

Annie’s sight was hazy as she blurted out: “You should’ve done this long ago.”

~~~

“What’s taking them so long?” Jean wondered out loud, as he walked to where he last saw Armin and Annie, he woke them up ten minutes ago, and since they didn’t join them, Connie thought that they looked so tired they might’ve fell asleep again, and Jean was involuntary given the task to check on them.

“Hey-” Jean opened his mouth to shout out an insult or something once he turned the corner to where they were, but the shout halted in his throat, and his legs were fixed in their place.

Annie was glued to Armin, their hands around each other in an inseparable embrace, their faces flushed as they were in a deep kiss, unaware of their surroundings, lost in each other.

Jean slowly packed away, retreating the steps he took to where everyone was waiting for him. A part of him envied Armin, envied how he found comfort in someone else’s arm, despite the horrific past they had together. But the major part of him was happy; happy that Armin stepped out of his comfort zone and was with the one he loved the most.

Just what kind of courage Armin had to make a move? Or maybe Annie was the one who started this?

What does it feel like to be loved by the person you care about the most?

Jean didn’t find an answer to his question, he walked into the room where everyone else was almost done eating.

“You didn’t find them?” Connie asked, whipping his hands on the tablecloth.

“They are on their way.”

~~~~

Ok I hope you enjoyed this!!

I wrote this in one sitting, then edited it the very next day, so yeah my back already hurts lol.

I do think that some of this was out of character to both Armin and Annie, but what I think is that this is a situation new to both of them, something they've never went through before, of course we would see a reaction that we've never seen before too.

#aruani #armin x annie #armin arlert #Annie Leonhardt #snk #aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk ch 131

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

**

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

**

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

**

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

**

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

**

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

**

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

**

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040​ @paintballkid711​

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf

[estellaelysian]

It burns (Ethan x MC)

A/N: This is super self indulgent and doesn’t lead anywhere so proceed on your own risk

**********

The alcohol scorched down his throat as he let his mind wander in the memories of the day, which seemed too distant now that it was over. Evening shaded into night beyond the red-brick walls of the bar – which were lined with numerous neon signs, the glow spilling onto nearby tables and people. Ethan chased the shadow of Alishka as his mind jumped from one moment to the next in all those where they had interacted with each other over the day. The image of her deep green eyes, wavy brown hair and full lips remained forever etched into his mind, giving him warmth like an eternal flame would.

It was late when he made it to this bar – Russo and Dale – but it was also when he found Boston the most loveable, shimmering in the glow of night, her streets thrumming with life and beating hearts and cheerfulness. He had taken an unnecessary walk from the hospital to his destination, wanting to feel anonymous in the dull crowd of people who were walking down the street. The permanence of the aged buildings, the restored Victorian row-houses surrounding English-style corners and the glowing yellow street lamps in South End seemed to give somewhat of a reassurance to his bruised and tired soul as he weaved his way among the sea of strangers. Walking wearily past dark shops, while the sky turned to a deep blue-black above him, he tried to find solace in the anonymity.

But now, at long last, when he found himself alone again, the unease returned, stronger than ever. He took a sip of the amber liquid, then another and then a third, but nothing seemed to ease him as he listened to the determined thud of a bass from the neighboring dive-bar. The foolish chatter around him did not drown out the rising voices inside his head – her voice and his, as they had argued in his office long into the afternoon.

That one argument had been enough to disrupt the entire balance he had built with the same woman whom he had disappointed today. But it was a mutual disappointment. She had been irrelevant to.

Shaking his head, he took another sip, letting the alcohol burn down his throat as he stared – quite intently – at the marble counter in front of him. It was amazing really, that the woman from whom he drew his strength could also be one of his greatest weaknesses. That was exactly why he had retired to his old office in the afternoon. He had lost focus, so instead of looking into patient care, he thought drowning himself into paperwork would help.

But indeed, it had not. Did it ever?

His mind, like a blissful dog scampering back to its lamppost, seemed to be stuck at the argument – making assumptions about the way she sounded, acted, spoke – no matter how much he tried to distract himself. Everything blurred around him, as if he had tuned out from his surroundings.

Why, he thought, was it so necessary for her to be insistent about things that did not matter to him? To latch onto one subject and stretch it until his patience snapped?

Or had he been truly unreasonable this time?

Oh dear God…

He swirled the gleaming liquid in its glass slowly before taking another sip, intent on numbing his brain, only that it refused from being so. Over and over again, her voice tortured him from deep inside; calling him out on the stubborn asshole he was before fading, only to return for the millionth time.

But wasn’t that the point of tonight? To get as far away as he could from the hospital, go to a bar in South End, and let the alcohol ease his pain and anxiety.

The door opened and someone stepped in, bringing together a cool Boston breeze and faint traces of wildflowers. Though his senses seemed unnaturally sharpened at this point, his eyes remained glued to his glass. But just a few seconds later, he found the woman right beside him, the scent of wildflowers much more perceptible.

Green flashed in his mind, deep and comforting, as he connected the scent, almost instinctively, to the one person it reminded him of.

Hold yourself, Ramsey.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the woman flag down the bartender and order a rainbow colored cocktail before turning away for a moment or two.

‘Quite the pain-relief, isn’t it?’ she asked in a mellifluous, sweet voice which fell like honey onto his tongue.

He could swear it was Alishka’s voice, but maybe he had dived too deep into the alcohol pain-relief. He had started imagining things.

Sensing that she was probably still expecting an answer, he nodded before looking straight at her.

And almost immediately, thought of Alishka Roy, even though he had put up a boundary between him and those insistent, maddening thoughts.

He didn’t realize it at first, but that smile – he would recognize it anywhere, anytime, no matter how detached he was.

But Alishka?

Nonsense. He was losing his mind.

‘I should’ve guessed my boss would come here after the much-exhausting day he faced at work today. It would’ve atleast saved me the time I spent wandering about.’

He raised his eyes to her face again. This was not an illusion. She was real, he thought, as he glanced at her hot coral lips which now wore an amused smile. He was not dreaming.

But why would she feel the need to wander about for him?

Do you really need an answer for that, dimwit, his mind chided.

‘Ofcourse you’d follow me here too,’ he said bluntly, battling away the sweeter responses, raising the glass to his lips.

‘You are not my boss outside of work, Dr. Ramsey. It is my freewill to do as I want to once I step outside the hospital.’

He looked up at her again, a smirk curling the corners of his lips. ‘Says the woman who bothers me all the same, inside or out.’

She made a dismissive wave, an easy laughter leaving her. ‘You’ve got a horrid sense of humor,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that is why everyone is terrified of you, even now.’

The last two words stung with an unimaginable burn, questioning the character he had spent years to build.

‘What do you mean, “even now”?’ he asked, the words coming out much more defiant than he wanted them to.

She smiled a benevolent smile as the bartender dropped off her cocktail, which smelled strongly of Pernod. Raising the glass up to meet her lips with tantalizing slowness, she said, ‘Even now, when they’ve learned that you can love something, someone more than medicine. Wholeheartedly.’

He choked on his drink involuntarily, but she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. ‘And yet, at the same time, you can manage to be incredibly bitter to that someone.’

She took a long gulp of her cocktail, and again, before he could respond to her grievances, she said, ‘But anyway, I am not here to discuss that.’

Play pretend, he thought.

‘And why exactly, is it that you are here?’

‘Same as you. Pain-relief. My boss can be a real bore sometimes,’ she answered with the faintest traces of a smirk.

Let’s hear it now, shall we. ‘Who is your boss?’ he asked, going along with her little game.

‘Some world class, renowned, grumpy attending diagnostician.’

He liked how she complimented him and got a dig at him in the same sentence.

‘He seems to have a stressful job,’ he said, looking over the glass to her heavenly features, painted in the neon glow of the bar.

‘That he likes to imply. He is good at what he does.’

He nodded, trying to contemplate her answer, thinking that there would be traces of sarcasm in her answer, but found none.

‘Cheers to that,’ he said, clinking her glass with his own, their fingers brushing slightly, setting his body ablaze with the kind of fire that raged through forests. It was the closest they had got to touching that day, morning apart.

He finished the scotch in one long sip under her watchful gaze. Torture or bliss, there was no answer.

Though dulled by the excesses of the alcohol, he felt anger rise inside his body at the men who made glances in her direction, from a distance or even as they passed her. She seemed to draw much more gazes today than she did usually.

What exactly was it? Her rich brown hair, inching down her back, or those emerald eyes that gleamed with cleverness? And why, every time, did his jealousy had him to do things which he shouldn’t have been doing?

He didn’t know.

What he did know, was that he wouldn’t let those men even get near her.

So he raised a hand to her face, smoothing away stray strands of hair and tucking them behind her ear.

If she was surprised, she did not show it, but a lovely blush spread out on her cheeks, spreading down to her graceful neck and uncovered shoulders. She eyed him with a raised eyebrow, and he willfully ignored all the ideas that look gave him. Tonight was different. Even if they left the bar together, they would part ways almost as soon as they were outside, walking down in opposite directions.

Tonight they were fighting, even though it was different.

Even if he had to have his heart tugged and pulled and then torn, tonight was different.

Her emeralds met his sapphires, curious and bewitching.

He wished he could kiss those perfectly painted lips and ruin that makeup.

‘How about we make a deal then,’ she asked, setting down the glass on the paper napkin that was left on the shiny marble counter. ‘Tonight, let’s forget everything. Let’s forget that you are my irritating boss, let’s forget that I am a – what did you call me? – ah, bothersome resident. Let’s forget those men staring down at me from the opposite corner of the bar. Let’s put a pause on this battlefield, even though I am sure I can outwit you in every way, and let’ go home together.’

That was a tempting offer.

The suggestive tone and the desire burning plain in her eyes ignited his need for her.

How could he not resist her, even a single night?

His voice came out dusky when he spoke again. ‘Let’s put them topics to bed, and go fuck on the roof.’

Just to say that we did.

She smiled. ‘I’d rather your body than half of your heart,’ she said, quoting the song back to him, her voice the sweetest he had ever heard it to be.

Ethan blinked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell her that he was far from fighting or if he wanted to claim those lips, right now, right here.

Then he saw, over her shoulder, a man whisper something to another before looking at her neck. He felt disgusted as his gaze traveled lower and lower. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to punch him in his filthy face, but he kept his expression carefully neutral, not betraying a single of the feelings he was feeling at that exact moment.

‘Let’s go home then,’ he announced, rising at once and reaching for her hand.

He led her outside into the cool crisp Boston night and she only felt justified in flagging down a cab to the way home, though it wasn’t that far away.

They could’ve walked there.

But then he wouldn’t get to do as he willed right in the cab, as he decided he need not waste a single minute of the time he had been gifted, by incidence or co-incidence, all the same. He failed to keep his hands to himself in the darkened cab, momentarily being illuminated by headlights and taillights of the passing traffic, as he crowed her into a corner, evoking soft moans. He watched her, bathed in red light, her sequined top glittering as the light shifted against her profile. Her eyes met his and he lost his sane, his coherent thoughts reducing to a small compass in his brain. Her lips commanded his attention, and he pressed his lips against them, evoking a gentle sigh as their breaths mingled. Her soft fingers grazed his rough beard as her hand rested against his cheek.

The music masked their muffled whispers and moans, but he could feel the drivers eyes, moving with unnecessary regularity, from the road ahead to the rearview mirror.

Even in the elevator, they stumbled, failing from keeping themselves from touching each other. The button to the thirteenth floor was pressed before he felt the soft pressure of her lips against his own. Her tongue was cool and sweet and tasted of Pernod.

‘Alishka…’ he managed to say between the kisses. ‘Why do we fight at all?’

‘Because we are …’ a little giggle. ‘Both … very stubborn …’

A few seconds later they stood at his door, which was unlocked with haste and shut close with a loud bang. The moment they stepped inside, he dipped his head and closed his lips over hers.

‘Nothing makes sense without you…’ he murmured into her ear, proceeding to tug her tight against him.

‘Then accept your defeat …’ she returned immediately, making a quick work of his shirt buttons. ‘But then again, we’ve called a temporary pause on this battlefield, haven’t we.’

Albeit reluctantly, he agreed. ‘We have.’

He led her to the bedroom, helping her out of her clothes before easing her down on the mattress gently, deciding the bitterness and pain had been enough for the day. The night had to be different.

Slow, gentle hands grazed the newly exposed skin with caresses too soft, before he leaned down on her, gazing into her eyes, letting his forehead rest against hers.

‘I love you.’

She giggled again. ‘I love you too.’

**********

Kudos to you guys if you made it out of this chaotic mess my brain put together. I honestly don’t know how this happened, but I guess it’s just me after a full, very real college day with loads of note-taking.

Tagging: @tenaciouslandvoidgiant @choicesaddict5 @schnitzelbutterfingers @starrystarrytrouble

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

#ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart #playchoices #choices

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Lord Byron

Adversity is the first path to truth.

All farewells should be sudden, when forever.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

And gave no outward signs of inward strife

And mind and dust- and passions and pure thoughts

And when we think we lead, we are most led

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

Being of no party, I shall offend all parties

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think

Come, lay thy head upon my breast and I'll kiss thee unto rest.

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, -- the throne Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth

For Earth is but a tombstone

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Had they been wisely mingled; as it is

Hath all the energy which would have made

he knew how to make madness beautiful

I am ashes where once I was fire...

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion.

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, – and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, – thou livest forever!

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

In solitude, where we are least alone

In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-

Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

Mix'd, and contending without end or order

My pang shall find a voice.

Oh too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

On with the dance! Let joy be undefined!

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I’ll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other

Opinions are made to be changed – or how is truth to be got at?

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon...

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled: In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

The dew of compassion is a tear

The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain

The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain. It is this ‘craving void’ which drives us to gaming—to battle—to travel—to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description, whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment..

The heart will break, but broken live on.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb,— And glowing into day.

The power of thought is the magic of the mind.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There are four questions of value in life... What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is same. Only love

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more

There is music in all things, if men had ears.

There is no instinct like that of the heart

There is the moral of all human tales: ’Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory - when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption - barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, he would have written sonnets all his life?

This should have been a noble creature: he

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come

To have joy, one must share it.

To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret.

Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.

We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass? - and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven...

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

With just enough of learning to misquote.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.