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prongsiepotter · 5 months

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down bad | j. potter

summary: you're so in love with james potter but he's a little too good at giving you mixed signals that it might actually ruin you

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: angst, a little fluff if u squint, and so much longing & yearning. omg so much of it

a/n: i am unfortunately completely obsessed with taylor swift's new album, so everything i'll write in the near future will be based on one of the ttpd songs (yey!) & this one's based on 'down bad.' feel free to send requests if u want pick the next song for me x

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"So he just said no?" Mary all but hisses. Marlene shushes her, glancing around the classroom before leaning down from where she's sitting on your desk.

"Are you sure it didn't mean something else?" She rests her hand on yours. "Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. He wouldn't…he just wouldn't, right?" You smile weakly at her, then shake your head. She squeezes your hand.

"The note was pretty clear," you say with a soft sigh. The sentence rolls off your tongue with unhidden bitterness. "Sorry, can't. Need to catch up on some assignments."

You would show it to them, so they could see for themselves and maybe divert their sympathetic gazes from you. But you had set it on fire right after reading it, just like the other two notes friendly rejecting you. You still aren't sure why you did it. After all, you did just tell Mary and Marlene that you're fine. At least you will be. You should not be this devastated over some guy.

Even if that guy is James Potter.

James who is now strolling into the room with his mates, looking as invincible and full of life as he always has and always will.

Quickly, you force a smile at the girls and pull out the chair next to you. Marlene, bless her, gets the hint and lightly shoves Mary's shoulder to have her take the seat. You're going through your book bag, pulling out your inkwell when four bodies make their way past your desk.

"Ladies," comes Sirius cheerfully loud voice as he bows at the waist because, of course, he does. Peter and Remus aren't as dramatic with their greetings. The latter, however, does take the time to slow down in front of you until you look up and return his kind smile. Belatedly, you realise perhaps you shouldn't have done that. You lock eyes with James, who's right behind him.

He sends you an easy smile and a wink. Like he's letting you in on another one of his rare secrets. You're not sure if you're smiling back, but it's almost a given that you are.

He takes his seat behind you, laughing blithely at a joke Pete just told, and it's all so painfully charming that you want to die. You fear he will always make you feel like this. Like you're somehow the chosen one. It's such a sickening feeling, you can't help but whip around and look at Mary, pleadingly. Though, you're not sure what you're pleading for anymore.

She shoots you another unbearably sympathetic smile, looking like she's close to cooing at you. You sigh, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.

You can't help but think how easy it would be to just cry right here. It's embarrassing to admit, but you've done it plenty of times over the weekend after you had seen James out at Hogsmeade with the others. Miserably, you had realised that he was, in fact, not too busy working on his assignments. He just didn't want to spend time with you.

You almost let out a sob.

A hand rubs your back and you know it can only be Mary, but you let yourself believe that it's the universe consoling you, as if to say there, there because there's nothing fair about this and she knows it, but there's nothing she can do it about now, can she?

History of Magic passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're in the library, pouring all of yourself into an essay that you normally couldn't have cared less for. But you're willing to do whatever it takes to keep yourself busy. You know your thoughts will stray the moment you're lying quietly in bed anyway, awaiting another sleepless night.

You finish the sentence and look up, satisfied with your work. Apparently it's been a while since you've torn your gaze away from the parchment before you, seeing how stiff your neck is. You knead at the uncomfortable knot in your shoulder while looking around the library. It's relatively full today with every other seat being taken.

Which makes it all the more irritating when your gaze snatches on a figure sat at the other table right across from you. He's not even looking up, head bent over a book, but you would recognise that mop of unruly dark curls anywhere. James must've seen you when he came in, but that might have just been your hopeful self speaking.

Begrudgingly, you resume your writing and it takes everything in you not to look up every few minutes. To glimpse the slight furrow in his brows and the small pout of his lips as he's carefully reading every paragraph. You know he's likely looking for something to prepare for a prank. Normally, you would simply go over and ask him what he's up to. You know he'd happily tell you. But you're glad to have at least a little bit of pride and dignity left that keeps you rooted in your spot.

Seemingly not enough though since all you can think about is that there's no way he doesn't know that you're right there. It really does make you want to bang your head against the table. Maybe that would finally catch James' attention.

Pathetically, you glance at him only to notice that he's packing his things to leave. The tip of your feather goes back to the parchment so fast, it almost pierces it. You haven't got a clue what you're writing, too busy tracking James' movements from the corner of your eyes.

You watch him stand up, walking down the length of his table towards the door down the hall on his right. Then he stops. You hold your breath. James seemingly hesitates before fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He turns left and walks towards you. You're staring at your hand as it writes illegible words, completely out of your control, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey," James whispers when you look up, giving you a familiar grin and small wave. It's an innocent gesture, sweet, but there's almost something hostile about this encounter. Like you have no choice but to let him occupy every single one of your senses. You stare up at him, a matching smile sweeping over your lips before you can think better of it.

That's when you notice the scarf he's wearing and its frizzled ends. It's yours. You know it is.

Did he not give it back to you after one of your nights out together on the stands? After you had flown on your brooms, so close to the sea of stars that you could've dipped your fingertips in them? You could almost hear the echoes of your windblown laughters as the memory pushes itself into the foreground of your mind.

James is sitting still, rosy-cheeked, watching you with curious eyes while you babble on about the Leo constellation. He had just told you that you could do whatever you want to him—another quite maddening thing to casually say to someone—and now he's apparently keen on staying true to his word by letting you wrap your scarf around his neck.

It took some convincing before he'd finally accepted it from you. You promised that you wouldn't be cold with your high collared sweater, but James only gave in when you had accepted his wool hat in exchange.

He had carefully put it on you, smoothing down your hair and pulling out some loose strands to frame your face, mumbling something about how much lovelier his hat looked on you than on him. You told yourself that he surely must've known what it did to you when his knuckles brushed your cheeks. Right? Surely.

James pokes your side, chuckling, as if he sensed that your mind was drifting elsewhere. He cracks another joke, saying that if you were the one to teach him Astronomy, he might actually pay attention in class. He says it like it's a deal and you feel inclined to do whatever it takes to hold up your side of the bargain.

You laugh helplessly, feeling drunk on a little bit of everything; the stars above, James' gentle laughter, the familiar smell of broom wax and crisp winter air. This must be cosmic love, you think to yourself. Your breath clouds in front of you, becoming one with his. All the while, you're too aware of James' shoulder bumping into you, his leg pressed against yours. There's no one out here but you two.

You have all the room in the world, but James chose to sit this close to you. Probably close enough for him to hear your heart pounding. Did he do it for a reason? You'd love to know.

"You don't need me to pay attention in Astronomy," you find yourself saying in response, something daring laced in the drawl of your voice. His eyes flash, bright and a bit wild. It's the same look he gets after you challenge him to a race on your brooms. His grin grows wide, carefree, and oh so lovely.

"Please." His face comes impossibly closer and you lean in without another thought, eager to take whatever it is James will give you. You feel his breath on your lips.

"I will always need you, Y/N."

Somehow he makes it sound genuine.

Then he winks and leaves you a horrid, forsaken mess. Somehow he makes that feel like a nice gesture too.

Incredulously, you stare at him as he leans back, elbows resting on the seats behind him. James Potter, you think weakly, what are you doing to me? Not for the first time you ponder what you would do if you can't have him. You almost double over from the striking pain in your chest.

Then he points out another constellation and you nearly forget all about yourself. He's good at that. Never ceasing to show you that the world is bigger than the two of you. Making you forget and remember that you might be in love. Because what if you were in love?

James cups the back of his neck, then points towards the door of the library, almost shyly letting you know that he's leaving. You nod slowly, still dazed. A small smile crosses his lips before you watch him round the corner, his back disappearing from your sight.

You blink, letting out a ragged breath. You feel like you got the wind knocked out of you. Like you just lost your twin. Someone who knows you like no one else ever will. Someone who might just be your better half. Someone who sometimes makes you feel like they want nothing to do with you.

It's ridiculous, you think bleakly to yourself, you're so down bad.

And James Potter makes it feel like a curse and a blessing.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #marauders fanfiction #marauders #taylor swift #ttpd #the tortured poets department

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wutheringskies · 11 months

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Wei Wuxian: The Untamed Hero

Wei Wuxian had to be killed even if:

1. He carried his sword

2. He didn't use gui dao

3. He didn't create Yin HuFu

4. The Wen remnants were not in the plot

Then, why? The reason is here, voiced by Jin Zixun of all people:

Wei WuXian, you are too bold! Did the LanlingJin Sect invite you today? And you dare run wild here. Do you really think that you’re invincible, that nobody has the courage to confront you? Do you want to overturn the Heavens?”

Wei WuXian smiled, “You’re comparing yourself to the Heavens? Excuse my language, but your face is a little too thick, isn’t it?”

So, you see, this untamed heart can only meet with tragedy as the world is unrighteous, as those who are in power think their actions cannot be contested (and they often aren't!), and that their words are like the law. How many times have we seen, a convicted powerful person escape the justice system? Far too many. And how many times innocents or victims were framed for crimes? Also too many. People like Wei Wuxian aren't condemned by fate, but rather, being born into a world where the "heavens" are those who are powerful and corrupted, he very well might be destined to live tragically, along with others of his type.

Returning to the matter of this particular scene: on one hand, the Jins throw private banquets, gilded with gold. The major scandals are: Jin Zixun is forcing the Lans to drink alcohol! You see, Lan Xichen can't outrightly refuse, so he is trying to be polite about his rejection. Jin Guangyao is trying to reason and excuse, and distract. The crowd spurs Jin Zixun on, wanting to see the Lans drink for once and fall to their level.

Everyone is in their own fine little world, doing their niceities in their golden halls drinking expensive wine, admiring pretty women, gasping at scandalous behavior, asking for favour, gossiping etc.

And then Wei Wuxian walks in. Uninvited. He simply drinks the wine himself, before demanding these people to spare him their time for real wordly issues, such as deaths, debts, cruelty, the parts that society wishes to hide. A few scenes later, we are shown with much description, just how terrible Qiongqi Path is. That's the Jin's backyard. You see their achievements that are drawn on those big walls? We see the reality of the people making them.

Now, let us come to another incident. Think of the soup incident. I fully expect before Wei Wuxian came into the scene, people were simply gossiping, uninterested in finding out what was going on, why Lady Jiang is crying. Then, Wei Wuxian comes and realizes Jiang Yanli who never really cries... was crying, and firstly decides to beat the shit out of Jin Zixuan. Secondly, he understands the whole truth, beats Jin Zixuan up for humiliating his Shijie, and also makes the other girl face responsibility.

Although his shijie had an easy temper, except for how they cuddled and cried together the day the three of them reunited after Lotus Pier was destroyed, she hadn’t really shed many tears in front of others, much less cry so loudly, so pitifully in front of so many people. Wei WuXian was filled with panic. As he tried to ask her, Jiang YanLi was crying so badly that she couldn’t even speak properly. Then, when he saw Jin ZiXuan standing on the side, astonished, he fumed with anger, wondering to himself why it was the dog of a person again. With a kick, he pounced on Jin ZiXuan. The fight between the two would have alerted the Heavens. All of the cultivators around the base came to break up their fight. Amid the ruckus, he finally understood what was the cause of all this, and became even more angered. He spread his tough talk, saying that one day he’d definitely make Jin ZiXuan die in his hands, he told people to drag out the cultivator woman.

A round of questions later, the truth emerged, and Jin ZiXuan’s entire body was frozen. No matter how much Wei WuXian continued to curse at him, he returned neither words nor fists, his face dark. If not that Jiang YanLi held up her hand a while later, while Jiang Cheng and Jin GuangShan came to pull Wei WuXian away, it was likely that even now Jin ZiXuan wouldn’t be able to attend the hunt of Phoenix Mountain.

See.

The point is, perhaps, people feel Wei Wuxian's actions are unnecessary. But imagine if he wasn't there! The consequences as I predict them will have been:

1. Jiang Cheng who doesn't want to upset a prominent clan would've grumbled and cursed underneath his breath, but eventually just moved away from the ruckus and taken his sister away.

2. Perhaps the truth would never have been found out, unless Jin Zixuan later searched by himself.

3. Thus, Jiang Yanli's reputation would be stained for the years to come.

It's because Wei Wuxian dared that the truth was revealed. I took this small incidents simply to highlight this, without the addition of more factors. In the book, often, it might seem like people are trying to stop him from creating trouble. You might often wish, ugh, this is going to be so bad... The point is Wei Wuxian knows! He's not stupid, he knows of the consequences of his actions.

But he isn't the one creating trouble. It was already created by the likes of those very people who try to stop him from investigating deeper. The trouble in question is that immoral and unrighteous words and actions and decisions have already been made. Society tries to hide them. If you can't see it, it's not there. Yet, even if it is not visible, a crime has its traces and it will bleed into their world sooner or later.

Wei Wuxian forces people to snap out of their comfort zones. He doesn't care for the barriers they set around themselves. Here are some examples to explain what I mean by these barriers:

Who dares hit Jin Zixuan, who's the only heir of LanlingJin, even when he deserves it? Protected by his status, his birth, his clan who dares? Wei Wuxian does.

Who dares to annoy Lan Wangji, the second jade of Lan, who from birth is considered otherwordly, strict, immovable, rigid, untouchable and protected by his extreme cold aura? Wei Wuxian dares.

Who dares to enter cultivation society without even wielding sword, without even cultivating a core? Wei Wuxian!

Since time unknown, treasures have belonged to the powerful sects: The Lan Clan and their library, their many secret techniques. The Jin clan and their treasures, their gold. The Nie Sabres. The Zidian. Yet, a son of a servant somehow ends up possessing the most powerful treasure all by his own! Everyone goes to this popular refinery, some famed blacksmith, or that popular sect to get specially created spiritual weapons, yet Chenqing, one of the most powerful weapons, was forged alone by Wei Wuxian during his 3 months in the Burial Mound!

Since years, the cultivation world has taken to heart rules of Lans, words of the powerful sects, and their leaders! Then, once again, this orphan child comes and bends the world and changes the cultivation society forever! Yiling Laozu said that... Yiling Laozu created... Yiling Laozu's manuscripts...

His words literally become the law.

Think of how 13 years after Wei Wuxian's death when "all was peaceful" despite us knowing very well, just how much shit happened after his death - slaughter of minor clans, deaths of two prominent sect leaders, xue yang etc (because, you know, most of it was purely accidental, kept hush-hush, or the victims were people who weren't important), he comes back to life and in a matter of a couple of months, upends the cultivation society again.

The "problem" is that this guy simply doesn't conform. The problem is that he is better. The problem is that he is not unnecessarily humble about it, despite his origins. He doesn't seem to treat himself as an outlier, but an equal. (That's why I hate insecure Wei Wuxian, like this guy is righteous enough he won't even treat himself badly.) The problem is that all those barriers - social classes, power, the locked doors - they won't keep him away.

Even if he was only the Jiang Da-shixiong with a bright golden core, he will still not be a conformist. To those who aren't used to having their decisions questioned, he is their worst enemy. To whose who are used to talking in circles, spreading rumors, he is asking them. What source do you have? What is the factual evidence behind what you are saying? Why are you saying this now?

Think of how he cross questioned a petty seller selling Yiling Laozu portraits in Qinghe, and how he questioned the gathered cultivation sects in Lotus Pier during Sisi and Bicao's intervention with the same sort of attitude. Surely, there was a major class difference, power difference between the two. Yet, they don't matter to him. What matters is the truth.

So, no matter what, when the people who are in power, start having too much dirty laundry and corpses in their backyards, he will definitely know. For this guy, knowing isn't enough - he will get to the crux of the issue. The problem is, he even has the skill for it. He has the ability. One also can't distract him with offers, promises, gifts, riches, status, women. He doesn't care for any of that. He perhaps might even hate one's victims. Yet he will stand up for them.

Of course, those who are in power, all smile at each other. They understand things sometimes have to be done. People sometimes have to be silenced. "We know better."

Then, Wei Wuxian comes in and says, actually you don't. He comes in with factual accounts, evidences, forces you to face your misdeeds. Says you're all a bunch of hypocritical people. No, perhaps what is worse is that he will make you realize that's what you are! Because he's got to be good at talking, too! He's not going to act on anger or be stunned in fear.

So, now you have someone who's not only digging into your evil deeds, someone who's capable, who's not easy to persuade, but also someone with high emotional intelligence who can play the same role as you do, of being a noble, accepted gentlemen with immaculate manners, of very high literacy and outdo you. Because this guy knows very well how society works, he can comprehend social cues perhaps better than you can. He can use your own polite words and nature against you.

It's precisely because of this he must be killed. Perhaps, in every world, Wei Wuxian will end up being the victim. It's only that in MDZS, these were the particular circumstances, and those were the particular excuses.

My personal take is: sometimes it is good to be a centrist, and hold everyone's better intentions in mind. most of the times it might not be, as there are many conflicting systems in place that allow for true victims who are stuck. most often, the victims are always the ones who DON'T have a voice, who are brushed over as numbers of corpses, rather than people with stories. most often, kindness is shown in little action that are trampled upon by those who hold true power. most often the people who are good, who are heroes die young, or are hated and ridiculed, for speaking up for the victims. it's not right, and never will be.

if someone like wei wuxian or his presence in the book makes you uncomfortable it might be because you hold the "niceities" and the pleasantries to be of more importance than the issues at hand. just because something is too troublesome doesn't mean it is wrong. if everytime he enters the scene you're scared of what he's going to do next, you should know it's not him who is the problem but the prople who aren't doing anything who are. don't be scared of "trouble-makers." he's not erratic or spontaneous. he has considered society's standards and deemed it useless. why is that that the koi tower scene, where he is in his "yiling laozu, loss of control, threatening" moment is followed immediately by him being extremely kind to Wen qing ? it's not that he's losing control. it's that Jin Zixun wouldn't have acted and told him where the people were without him using intimidation tactics. Wei Wuxian is the one forced into bad corners by the powerful people, where he has to show his edges. Don't end up twisted the narratives. if you bite someone for a while, expect to be hit.

#wei wuxian #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wangxian #my meta #my thoughts #cultivation world bullshit #my essays #When i first watched the untamed Wei Wuxian made me uncomfortable and scared at times #I felt uncomfortable reading the bits of his YLLZ era #and koi tower scene #ive done some introspection and grown

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phoenixcatch7 · 1 year

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In love with the idea of captain marvel being Billy's imaginary friend. Like, it'd be so easy. Early depictions had them as almost fully separate people sometimes, like one soul with two minds, rather than just two filters like we mostly see now.

But imagine a Billy down on his luck, hurt and hiding from police and criminals alike, daydreaming the hours away as children do, taking inspiration from all the superheroes rising to fame, making little stories to play out his dreams of saving the world with a generic action doll he found while dumpster diving once. Most of the paint's rubbed off.

Red's his favourite colour, his comfiest jumper is a bright ruby even after all the grime and washes. Gold, too, it's shiny and warmer than silver! A hero cape is a must, big and eye catching! And he can fly, of course, like superman, and in his daydreams, when he's sore and frustrated after a long day's grind, his superhero is smart enough and knows all the right words to get the bullies to stop without resorting to fighting.

His superhero fantasy is one he spends a lot of time on, the first one he goes for when struggling to sleep at night, and he can picture it so clearly. Captain marvel is big and bright and kind, strong enough to lift the boxes for the old lady up the road who's moving all by himself, fast enough to catch Jamie who fell out of the tree on Saturday and broke his leg and couldn't come to class for weeks. He appears at the entrance to alleys when Billy is cornered, he steps up behind to cover for him when he gets caught shoplifting, he sits at the bus stop with him when it's pouring rain and the right bus doesn't seem to be coming.

And then the wizard comes, or rather whisks him away, and like a magician from a fairytale breathes life into his imaginary friend until Billy feels thrice his size and a million times more invincible.

From then on, captain marvel is a real hero, just like Billy is a real boy, and as one they save the whole city, and then the whole world, and get cats down from trees and help Mrs Victoria move the last of her boxes and she gives them a pinch in the cheek and cookies for the road and sometimes it hurts but it's so much better than he imagined.

#dc comics #captain marvel #dc captain marvel #shazam #billy batson #imaginary friend #imaginary friend au #Billy's great because you can give him the most buck wild adventures with the most self indulgent plots and it makes perfect sense #Batman and superman are out here having mental health crisis no.528 and marvels away having dance offs with gnomes #Billy would fit perfectly into gravity falls he really would #Anyway imaginary friend au is near and dear because it encapsulates that sort of safe fantasy for change and companion ship #And a protective imaginary friend brought to life is going to be just a fascinating character no matter what #And it's the perfect cover for non imaginary cap anyway. Why does he prioritise this kid over everything despite having never mentioned him #Imaginary friends always have to care for their creator! But you can't expect an imaginary friend to do your taxes!#Why is cap so eternally kind and bubbly and a bit childish? That's because his creator is a kid! Duh!#This particular imaginary friend just so happens to have encountered magic and is now real enough to play basketball with asteroids.#He's strong enough to match superman but it's fine he's got a child's heart and an unending protectiveness for humanity.#Just don't try anything with the kid or you're toast.#I love the jl needing to save/help Billy in some way and cap; who's practically the jls puppy mascot at this point #Is just shamelessly and unrepentantly possessive of Billy while being openly wrapped around his finger. Number one fan #Like 'he's the specialist boy and if you don't clap for him I'm going to blow this whole building up' type #Have you read Split on ao3 it's like that. Cap is the most unaffiliated person on the team and then bam Billy is number 1 priority 100%#Go read split if you haven't 10/10 #Like it never crosses caps mind to hinder or harm Billy he is Devoted. Platonic God/worshipper except the deity in question is an 11yo #And the worshipper is the closest thing to a deity without being one you can get in dc.#But like a healthy relationship lmao.#It's a soul deep claim with total freedom on both sides and they teach each other love and they're the same person #AUGH

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dancing-with-draegons · 2 months

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Poison From the Same Vine

pt. 1

pairing: Larys Strong x reader/OC (she/her pronouns, no names, no descriptions)

summary: Larys has found his match in a shrewd and ruthless widow with a taste for spying, intrigue and poison. A battle of wits and worse ensues. Sexual tension.

warnings: talk of murder, poison play, intrigue, hints of NSFW, dark

word count: 2.4k

There was no man who could stand up to Larys Clubfoot, sneaky and treacherous as he was. But there was a woman who could. She was thrice widowed, with a dangerous sort of beauty that should warn men of the dangers that lay in her alluring eyes, her blood red lips, underneath her silken skin.

But men were fools and she liked to draw them in, and ruin them.

For the longest time, she had played her own game: a dead husband here and there, an obedient lover, an obsessed knight. But when she had come to the Red Keep, the stakes had grown, and she with them.

Men liked to tattle, women liked to share the gossip they had picked up on during the day, and the widow of Blackcrown shares her bed with them, her wine or friendship, whatever was required to hear what she needed to hear.

In time, she had drawn the eye of a prince, and his desire protected her better than any armour.

Larys Clubfoot wanted her gone, but a prince’s whore could be as powerful as a queen and she had long made her throne in Aegon's bed, and Tyland’s, and a dozen others.

Did Larys loathe her for the power she held? Did he lie awake at night and dream of besting her, like she did?

He was the one person at court whom she could not win over, the one man who proved invincible to her charms.

Sometimes, he would come to haunt her in her chambers, always giving some threadbare excuse to threaten her, or goad her. And so he had come today, to speak of soldiers and whores.

“You are a shrewd man, Lord Larys,” she said, without any regard for his threats, “though few will ever see that. But you pay your spies in silver or gold – and I have a purse you cannot match.”

She traced his cheekbone with one long finger.

He followed her with his eyes, grey like cruel midwinter frost.

“It seems an…affliction has befallen many of those who have frequented the street of silk of late,” he said, and although his face was a mask of pity and his voice carefully inflected to suggest the same, she realised that this was his great moment of triumph and the true reason he had come here today.

“An affliction.”

“A disease caught from some concubine, no doubt. Many of those women hail from the Free Cities and the uncivil lands beyond.”

“It does give one occasion to pause and contemplate our construct of civility, does it not?”

“Indeed.” He inclined his head. “For now, my prayers are with the afflicted. Such a terrible pox befalls them. Many are disfigured afterwards, if they survive the disease, that is.”

“I understand why you must empathise with those poor souls. But let their fate not burden you overmuch, my lord.”

“I shall heed your counsel, my lady. Only the most depraved fall victim to it, or so word has it.”

“So it begins. Yet, if it should befall those of gentler birth, of the gentlest birth – why, I am certain the origin of this disease will be found and uprooted.”

Larys Strong only smiled. He was not fool enough to spread the disease to Aegon's brothels. And yet…was there a way to limit the spreading? If so, she needed to find it, and quickly, or else her business would soon run dry. Larys seemed to believe that she opened her legs to any man she asked for a favour, and good for her he did.

But it was the promise of her cunt that moved many a man to do as she pleased. With a pox as terrible and dangerous as that, not only would she herself be at risk, no, the promise of coin would lure more men than her smile.

“I do pity the whores,” Larys said, and there was little of his usual softness remaining, “how will they earn their keep when their purses…run dry?”

“A dry whore is as useful as wet firewood,” she agreed amiably.

Larys Strong had no taste for the whores on the street of silk. He preferred his bed warmer crowned and reluctant. And when the queen was indisposed, rumour had it his tastes were perverse and strange, and those women that had to satisfy him never talked to anyone again.

She knew what he liked.

As she leant against the table and stretched out her legs, the hem of her gown rode up to reveal her slippered feet.

It was a dare.

Larys looked down on cue, and for a moment, his eyes rested on what she had bared to him.

No stockings. That alone was scandalous.

Her slippers were velvet, soft and clinging like a lovers’ embrace, and left much of her feet bare.

Her ankles were just visible underneath the hem of her gown.

When he looked up at her again, he was smiling.

“Those women are never out of tricks, though,” she said.

“Cheap tricks.”

Larys did not look down again but she sensed that he wanted to. And he wanted to do more.

Her obvious seduction attempt had shifted something between them.

And now, when he wanted to subdue her, he would think about ways that would be gratifying for him.

~o~

“Lord Larys.” She welcomed him into her chambers. “You bring happy tidings, I trust.”

“Indeed. It seems the Silk Street pox has vanished as quickly as it came.“

It had indeed, and turned out not have been a pox at all but a concoction made by some northern witch. A few drops had been enough to make boils appear and hearts slow, and soon enough, the panic that had followed had ferried some more poor souls to the Stranger.

She had caught wind of at all not in the city, but here, when a vial had been attached to a scroll for Lord Larys. He had taken great pains to hide it, her little lover had said, and had succeeded in doing so even from the maester, yet not from him. She had bedded him in return, but by morning, the boy had fallen down the serpentine steps and broken his neck. She considered herself innocent on that front. Larys was thorough, and it had been folly to observe him so obviously. She loathed to lose faithful informers, but he had tasted the sweet nectar of her cunt and oftentimes men became less loyal after that particular promise was fulfilled, so all in all it was no loss she couldn't cope with. There were two score where the page had come from, and there was a never ending supply of foolish, cuntstruck men.

The only exception stood before her.

“How wonderful,” she said and gave Larys' her most seductive smile. “We must drink to that.”

She led him to the table in the centre of the room, then slowly poured a fine Arbor vintage into two cups.

Larys had followed her to the table without a hint of suspicion in his eyes. Did he desire her already? Had he come not only to bring her these tidings and find out what she knew but to see her, smell her, maybe taste her?

He plunged his hand into the folds of his doublet but not to open the clasps, she realised with some disappointment, when he produced a ring.

It was an ugly thing, with a thick band made of yellow gold and set with a large, square onyx. She knew it well: her first husband had once given it to her as a nameday gift.

“Have you by any chance seen this ring before?”

She took it carefully and examined it, saw where the stone had been filed down to hide the carving it had once borne, the ill-fitting seams of the heavy gold band where it had been widened.

That had been done at Oldtown ten years ago. She doubted the jeweller was still in business, it had been a small, dinghy little shop far away from the cobbled main street. Not even Larys could know.

“I cannot say I have. Is it yours?”

Larys smiled. “It was found in the pocket of a soldier.”

“No doubt he stole it.”

“He sings a different song.” Larys' pale grey eyes were trained on her.

“A bawdy one, no doubt.”

“Not so much, no. And won't ever again, I'm afraid.”

“Poor creature.”

She seized the cups to offer him one, but froze as her fingers wrapped around the brass.

Had the right one not been closer to the edge of the table? And the other one had been further away from the pitcher.

She turned to look at Larys, whose eyes still rested on her. He looked calm, very pleased.

Had he switched the cups?

It made no matter. The antidote was in her pocket, and smeared over her lips.

If he thought he could trick her this easily, he would soon have to reconsider.

She gave him the right cup, then raised the left.

“To justice.”

He replied in kind, and drank deeply. She did the same.

The wine was sweet and heavy. She drank again, to prove a point.

“A good vintage,” she said and licked her lips until the antidote coated her tongue bitter and waxy, with an odd sort of aftertaste.

He nodded and took a measured sip.

“I have come to request your aid,” he said, slowly.

“You flatter me, my lord. How could I, a lonely widow, possibly help the Lord of Harrenhal?”

There was no man who looked at her like Larys Strong. His eyes were soulless and cold, his gaze unwavering, never lustful or heated, always intense, always calculating.

“Maester Mellos was quite troubled. He had found that his study had been broken into.”

Ice flooded her veins.

“The door is rarely locked, I heard.”

“Indeed. Are you not curious how he knew someone had entered without his leave?”

Her heart beat furiously in her chest.

“I had thought you would enlighten me momentarily, my lord.”

“Something was stolen.”

“How terrible.”

She blinked. The light of the candles was strangely blinding.

“A rare poison.” His voice was a seductive whisper.

“Not deadly, I hope.”

Her voice sounded breathless.

“Very, I fear. It heightens the senses at first, quickens the heartbeat. It is most…stimulating for a while as the blood flow is increased. And then, after a few hours, the heart gives out.”

“How gruesome.”

A treacherous throbbing began to spread between her legs.

“In the Free Cities, they call it Widowmaker. Many a wife has found her husband dead after coupling. Did not your first husband's heart give out one night?”

“A horrible tragedy. I still remember how the light went out of his eyes that night, as we made love. But he was an old man, and liked ale and venison overmuch.”

“Mh.”

Larys considered her for a moment. “The poison was not all that was stolen, however.”

“No? A greedy thief.”

“There was another vial Maester Mellos found missing. It had been erroneously labelled as an antidote to the Widowmaker poison.”

“That is a curious mistake to make.”

“Do you not wish to know what that second vial contained instead?”

“Of course.”

“Mainly beeswax,” he replied, “mixed with something quite revolting, if you catch my meaning.”

She took a swallow of wine as the first wave of lust took hold of her body.

Larys smiled.

“I remember you saying you came to ask for my help.”

“Yes,” his voice was soft, almost a caress, and it stroked something inside her. She needed this man between her legs, she needed his hands, his tongue, his cock.

Her laboured breath filled the silence for a moment, as he took in the effect of his workings with unhidden delight.

“To justice, you toasted. I have come to ask which punishment you consider fit for this thief.”

“Have you found him then?”

Larys took a step towards her, then rested his hands on his cane. “I am drawing closer.”

“Good.”

“It is customary for a thief to lose their hand, and for a liar to lose their tongue.”

“Mayhaps they could put both to good use, though.”

She opened the first clasp of her overgown. The chemise underneath was thin, almost translucent. Larys’ eyes dropped to the neckline but there was little interest in his gaze.

She raised the hem of the gown.

“Mayhaps,” Larys agreed. “Though there must be some form of punishment.”

“I suppose the Lord Confessor has other ways of punishment? Less….bloody?”

His grip tightened on his cane, the only indicator that he was not as calm as he pretended to be.

“Certainly. To break a man's spirit – or a woman's – can be just as…righteous as to break her bones.”

His voice…cruel, hard, and yet so soft. She rubbed her thighs together to calm the pulsing desire between her legs but to no avail. Larys watched eagle-eyed, his lips slightly parted in a smile, the wet tip of his pink tongue softly caressing his lower lip.

“Some do not break easy though, I trust.” Though she no longer felt invincible. She would die within a few hours, poisoned by what she had given her first husband the night he'd chosen to bed a chambermaid instead of her.

There was some justice in that, she supposed, and the sort of bitter irony she could appreciate.

What she could not appreciate was the way the poison began to cloud her judgement and take over her body. She had long wanted him to want her, wanted to drive him mad with desire, and now he had turned the tables on her with alarming ease.

“All break eventually,” he said, gazing at her curiously, “Though of course, should the thief have accidentally sampled the poison, thinking the antidote is at hand, the thief will not give me a lot of time to get a confession.”

“The antidote. I trust Maester Mellos still holds on to it?”

“He thought it best that I store it safely, just in case the thief makes another attempt.”

“And you keep it in a secret hideaway, I suppose.”

“No.” Larys raised the other cup, the clean cup, to his lips and took a measured sip as he made her wait for the answer she needed. “I have it on me.”

It took her a moment to understand his meaning. Then her hands went to the second clasp of her gown.

#larys strong x oc #larys strong x reader #fanfiction #hotd fanfic

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theirisianprincess · 5 months

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Timing

#The Invincible Little Lady #Manga

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flowerandblood · 1 year

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Sweet kiss, sweet blood (1)

[ dark vampire! • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: sexual tension, profanation, mention of the murders ]

[description: A centuries-old vampire lives in Victorian England, bored and discouraged. His old friend sends him a letter, inviting him to his new country house. Aemond arrives there to rest. Next to the property, there is a small chapel, visited by the faithful. It turns out that at night, a young lady prays in it. Slow burn, sexual tension, profanation, murder, blood drinking.]

I owe the idea for this wonderful series to: @qyburnsghost

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He had no idea when he began to feel that life was boring him. As he thought about it, he realized that it had been happening slowly, over the years. Year after year, he began to lose interest in the things that used to occupy him.

People came and went like flowers that sprout in the spring and wither in the fall. The indifference he felt made him feel comfortable. He felt like a black, cold hole, like a damp cellar under a house where little children are afraid to go down.

It didn't bother him. He fed on human blood, but tried not to kill his victims, unless he had to. He figured that their lives were short enough already.

At first he was out of control and couldn't remember what he was doing. He would wake up lying around dead bodies, with horror written on their faces, bitten and bloodstained. It was a terrible sight, and he usually vomited when he saw it. Then he got used to it.

He remembered clearly the night when he had been turned into a vampire. His nephew injured him during a saber duel, depriving him of one eye. The woman who treated him told him that she could make him take revenge on him.

That he will be invincible.

Drowning in pain and grief, he agreed before he thought what he was doing. The pain he felt when she bited him was indescribable. Then she bited her own wrist and kissed him, forcing him to drink her own blood.

It was over.

Alys was his lover and companion for many years afterwards. She didn't mind his antics. In killing she was even more brutal than him. He had a feeling that she was enjoying it.

She once told him that her first victim was her childhood rapist and abuser, a family friend.

She confessed to him that a person changes after something like that, and even centuries can't make you forget it.

Eventually, however, their paths parted. Her elaborate feasts intertwined with orgies and drinking the blood of virgins began to tire him. He could not bear to look at it anymore. From her perspective human lives didn't matter. She trampled them like snails that happened to get in her way, sucking the life out of them.

He, which he found absurd, did not lose the faith in God that his mother had instilled in him. When Alys wasn't looking he would take out the little Bible that his mother had given him as a gift and pray. To his amusement, the Bible did not burn in his hands, the angels did not cast him down to the abyss, although sometimes he begged for it.

He didn't go outside on sunny days, unless he had to. After his transformation his skin was as thin as parchment, and although it regenerated on its own, exposure to sunlight caused him burning pain and discomfort.

When he was forced to leave his residence for some important business he wore his top hat, black, leather gloves and a long coat, even if it was summer.

He was never hot.

His skin always felt chilled or frozen.

After he parted ways with Alys he began traveling the country alone, exploring its countryside, staying in abandoned houses, feeding on animal blood when necessary. He needed no food or drink, not even sleep, though he liked to take naps under the stars, as he had when he was human.

One day, when he returned to his tenement house which he rented with the money of a man he had killed long ago − although not willingly, because the old man had a heart attack when he bited him − he found a letter lying on his floor.

He picked it up and looked at the seal. He already knew who the sender was. He opened the envelope, unfolded a piece of paper, and began to read.

"My dearest friend,

I heard you came back to your hometown. I am glad and I hope you are in good health. I've taken up a splendid new mansion in a wonderful country estate that I'm sure you'll love. The mansion is massive, and I feel lonely without company, which I don't count as random people who live nearby. I invite you to my place, so that we can reminisce about the old times and relax together. On the other side of the card I am sending you the exact address.

Greetings, Ser Criston"

Aemond sighed, as he put the letter back in the envelope, setting his top hat on the shelf above him, slowly unbuttoning his coat. The last few weeks and months had blurred into one, he had lost complete control of the flow of time.

He didn't make new friends, especially with people, because it didn't make sense. At first he tried, even had affairs with human women, but before he knew it they were getting old and starting families, and he was moving on. In his eyes, human life flew at several times faster.

Criston had been a vampire for less than he was, turned by someone against his will. He was the servant of one of the world's oldest vampire beasts.

His master was killed and he regained his freedom.

Because of what he had been through and the terror he had known, unlike other beings of their kind, he did not kill as willingly and often, trying to appreciate the value of someone's life.

They established a close, almost brotherly relationship, but their paths diverged several years ago.

He thought a change of scenery would do him good.

He ordered a carriage for the next morning to leave before sunrise. He had been dozing all day, the curtains of the carriage he kept closed to keep out the light.

He arrived late at night. He gave the coachman a few gold coins and set off through the dark, unsettling park. The moon was high above and a thick, summer fog was spreading around him.

He passed what he thought was an old chapel and stopped for a moment. He thought he saw faint candlelight there, but he wasn't sure. He decided it didn't matter and continued on his way to the noble manor on the other side of the park.

Criston greeted him at the entrance with open arms. Aemond's face, as always, was stony and expressionless, but deep down he was glad to see him.

They passed into the living room, rich in old paintings and furniture, with a large bearskin spread on the creaky wooden floor. Indeed, the interiors made a great impression. Criston poured them wine which they drank only for pleasure.

“It may look like a shack from the outside, but it's an amazing place on the inside. I bought this property for cash from an investor nearby. Nobody wanted to renovate such a place even for such money.” He grunted, as he was shown around the rooms that seemed endless.

"And the chapel?" He asked suddenly, surprising his companion who raised his eyebrows, as if he didn't quite understand the question. Then he began to nod, as if he had remembered something and agreed with him.

“Yes, the family that lived here had a chapel that is just behind the park. As far as I know, the locals use it sometimes to come to pray so as not to have to walk five kilometers to the nearest church.” He grunted as he moved on, showing him the room he was supposed to sleep in.

The bedroom was large, with a big, ornate oak bed with an elegant, four-poster spread out in front of them, a secretary by the window, a huge, wooden neoclassical wardrobe on the right, faded wallpaper with floral motifs on the walls.

"Someone was there right now." He said indifferently, walking over to the window.

The view was perfect over the park. Beyond it he saw the small chapel building. He studied the chapel intently, but no longer saw any light coming from her windows. He thought that maybe he was just imagining it.

"Truly? Well, I don't mind. I won't set my foot there." Criston grunted, inviting him back downstairs.

They spent the night talking about the years that they had spent in seclusion, about their experiences and thoughts. Aemond thought it was a good thing that he had come to see him. He felt a little less dead, as if he had awakened from a lethargy.

When day came, he drew the curtains and lay in bed, reading a book, not wanting to go anywhere. He decided that perhaps after dark he would go for a walk around the places that Criston had told him about. The countryside was said to be calming and thought-provoking, or so he said.

He went right after sunset to the park, crossing the shore of the lake nearby. He saw a pair of swans swimming across it, and for some reason he smiled to himself. He thought that no matter what atrocities he did, no one could change the course of nature. He envied these animals the blissful ignorance they lived in.

He walked several kilometers on foot, making a great circle. By the time he made his way back through the same park to the mansion. It was completely dark and the sky was brightening again with the moon.

He glanced involuntarily at the chapel he was passing and stopped. Again, there was barely visible, warm light from her windows. He noticed that her front door was ajar.

He thought he wanted to pray.

He walked in that direction, stepping inside noiselessly. He surveyed the small room with several rows of benches and an altar and froze. In the front row, in one of the pews sat a small, delicate figure. Next to her stood a single candle which she must have brought with her. She was kneeling, bent over, not even noticing him.

Her small, slender fingers were intertwined, placed in front of her, a prayer book above them. Her eyes were closed, apparently absorbed in fervent prayer. With her black hair down, white nightgown and ruby scarf draped over her shoulders, with a warm halo of light around her head, she looked like a saint. He stared at the sight, unable to move.

Suddenly she shivered, as if she felt a sudden chill, and looked around involuntarily. When she saw him her eyes widened in horror.

She rose quickly, covering herself with a shawl, the sound stuck in her throat. Standing up, she nearly knocked over the candle that was standing next to her. Her movement brought her scent to his nostrils. He had to clench his mouth and fists to keep from throwing himself at her.

He heard her swallow hard, recovering from her initial shock, calming down slightly, though still looking at him fearfully. She didn't know what to do. He suspected that she was afraid he would rape her.

He looked down, trying to control himself. He walked over to the last bench in the row next to hers, sitting down there. He pulled his Bible out of the inside pocket of his coat, opened it in front of him and began to read.

The girl, seeing this, slowly began to relax. She pursed her lips, looking around anxiously, apparently debating whether to leave or stay. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her body tremble, saw the silhouette of her soft thighs through the material of her nightgown.

Her face and eyes were light and gentle, dark lashes and eyebrows framing her face pleasantly. Her full, pink lips turned red with horror, he could feel her blood rushing to her rosy cheeks. He tried not to think about the beating of her heart, which was pounding like a bell in his ears, and about her restless racing pulse.

Surprised, he found himself experiencing dissonance and two extreme feelings at once. Thirst was one thing, but the unbearable tightness in his pants and the heat in his lower abdomen were something he hasn't felt in years.

As she sat back in her seat, her back to him, he squeezed his eye shut, trying to control himself. He tried to divert his attention from her neck and focus on the Gospel he held in front of him.

They sat in complete silence, the only sound in the background was the quiet turning of their pages once in a while. After a few minutes he shuddered when he heard her stand up.

She hesitated for a moment as she was about to grab her prayer book. A mighty shudder went through him when he heard her soft, gentle voice.

"Would you like me to leave you a candle to read, sir?" She asked uncertainly.

Only now did he realize that ordinary people did not read in the dark. He decided that in order not to arouse suspicion he had to agree.

"Yes, if it's not a problem for you, miss." He said low and cold, looking at her intensely. He couldn't take his eye off her.

After a moment she looked at him, and he felt a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. His fangs sharpened as needles, his manhood pulsed hard in his pants. He gripped his Bible so tightly that he felt like he was about to crumple it.

He had never been so desperate.

The girl approached him hesitantly, lowering her eyes humbly, tightening the strong red material around her body, holding a prayer book to her chest.

It wasn't until she came closer that he noticed a tiny cross hung around her neck. He thought he couldn't protect her from anything.

She placed her candle in front of him, and he watched the graceful movement of her hand, her delicate, soft fingers. He swallowed hard as she pulled away, considering it a personal feat that she was still alive.

"Good night." She whispered, and he said nothing, staring straight ahead with a stony face.

She missed him, her scent more intense this time, filling his lungs again. He covered his face with his hand as he waited for her to leave. Hearing her go away, he exhaled loudly, squeezing his eye shut.

He tried to fool himself into thinking that he would never come here again, leaving her alone, letting her live in peace. He knew deep down that he wouldn't be able to rest until he had tried her in every possible way.

Until he suck into her lips, bit into her neck, drank the juices between her thighs. Distraught, he thought that this girl would be his ruin.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes

If you want to be tagged, leave a comment below. ♥

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codenamesazanka · 5 months

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I'm sorry, I'm fixated on The Walk because it has seemed like such a pivotal point in Shigaraki's life, and in the story. And then when it finally came time for Deku to save Shigaraki/Tenko... it gets relegated to two measly panels.

In Chapter 69, Shigaraki reveals his resentment of basically the entire world for being so carefree when they know, logically, someone is out there suffering - "someone, somewhere...is off killing people, for whatever reason... these fools keep smiling and laughing... living their lives."

Later, building on this idea, he realizes - and states out loud to Deku - that All Might annoys him because All Might has created a false sense of peace. Plus, All Might himself smiles so bright and cheerful, as if he's invincible, as if he can and has saved everyone: "The reason these fools can smile and live their lives... is cuz All Might's always got that grin on this face... Smiling wide, as if to say... There's no one he can't save!!"

Paired with a flashback of a severed hand, much like the ones Shigaraki wears, the implication is clear: Shigaraki resents how no one came to save him when he had a quirk accident that killed his dad/family; moreover, specifically, he seems to hate the bystander effect - that tragedy and suffering can happen but the people around such incidents can just not give a single crap. There are people in trouble, but the majority of the world doesn't bother to help, because they think Heroes will take care of it - All Might, especially, has made them feel like it's just not their problem.

This was before Shigaraki regained his memories, but his life since the amnesia hasn't really disproven any of that. He was picked up by AFO, a Villain, first of all; but he would later create the League, all members of who have clearly suffered from something and was never saved - not by Heroes, but also not by people who are supposed to protect them, like parents and family, and not by their fellow humans.

There's a reason Shigaraki targeted Bakugou to kidnap and recruit - he saw someone who seemed to be restricted and suppressed, literally bound and gagged on live television, a thing allowed and even awkwardly laughed at by the people around him. All Might was smiling as he presented a medal to the clearly upset boy. And so he thought Bakugou would understand.

When Shigaraki remembers his past, his memories also don't disprove the bystander effect and his hatred of it either. In the house his father built, everyone saw he was suffering, but did nothing. They never stepped in to stop Kotarou’s harsh punishments; in fact, they only ever come to him in the aftermath to try to coax him to stop crying - essentially telling Tenko that hey, they aren't going to stop the actual problem (Kotarou), but they will try to make Tenko accept it. As if it's not their problem, but rather Tenko's. Tenko says that all he needed was just to hear a word of encouragement from them, but they couldn't even give him that.

All this passivity in the family eventually leads to the moment when Kotarou slaps Tenko hard - twice! - and yet his mom and grandparents only stood by and watched. (Afterwards, they apparently also allowed Tenko to be forced to stay outside, crying, until nightfall.)

Then, of course, is The Walk.

Dozens of people saw a clearly-distressed lost child walk past them, and did nothing. Tenko at that moment is tragedy and suffering made manifest - he's a tiny little boy, alone, scared into silence, bloodstained, barefoot on concrete in a city. He's not hidden away or in some unknown corner of the shadowy edges of society - he's there in front of everyone, in broad daylight.

And no one bothers to give a crap. Or, even if they do, briefly feeling troubled at the sight, they look away. The one lady who did try to help ends up deciding this was above her pay grade and explicitly states never mind, Heroes will take care of it. Everyone at the scene feels it's not their problem.

(And the thing is - Tenko knew he deserved to be saved. There's one line that always stuck out to me: "I thought maybe the reason no one helped me was because I was being punished for killing my family."

Tenko knew he did something bad, he was feeling immense guilt, so much that he was rendered mute, but he wasn't expecting to be punished then and there - he hadn't written himself off. Not being helped wasn't a foregone conclusion yet. He killed his family, but he wanted help - he knew he should be helped. Basically, it wasn't immediately, "I did something bad, so of course a Hero won't be here, now I need to run away and hide" - it was "[I did something bad, but] somebody... anybody, just me tell [what to do]. Someone help me." The idea that he deserved being ignored because of what he did seemed to have only come afterwards.

This is why, I believe, in Chapter 365, Inner Tenko thought, "I wasn't broken back then... but it's not like anybody reached out a helping hand to me. It's not like anybody even looked at me."

Two of the flashbacks are scenes from after he did a Bad Thing - Hana running away after he killed their dog; the old lady turning away, after he wandered into the city post-massacre. He did a Bad Thing, but "I wasn't broken back then..."

There's also the flashbacks of the family pre-massacre. Scenes of his grandparents trying to pacify him, of his mom looking sad, of Kotarou being angry with him - all likely because Tenko was in trouble for talking about Heroes again, which was against the household rules, but wasn't/shouldn't be a strike against him. He was restricted and suppressed and couldn't fit in with the family, but "I wasn't broken back then..."

All those people in his family, on the streets - none of them ever helped.)

The Walk is the ultimate embodiment of his long and ongoing issue of Heroes and regular people doing shit nothing. It's the exact complaint Shigaraki was giving in Chapter 69. It's completely damning.

This is what Shigaraki means when he says "everything I've witnessed..." in Jaku in Chapter 281 (and again in Chapter 379). He's seen it all - how there's all this pain, but Heroes have not done anything about it. And because Heroes are pillars of the community - because Heroes are civil servants, essentially representative of the governing system - the regular masses of citizens both follow their example while also becoming complacent. Now they just smile and laugh, living their lives, as if Heroes will and should take care of everything and all will be and is fine.

Early on, Shigaraki put most of the blame on Heroes and so focused most of his plots on them - the USJ attack and Camp Raid were on Hero students - but he very much disliked the civilians and their bystander apathy too, and was already starting to make plans to destroy the system that enabled that. It’s remembering the Shimura Household Dysfunction and The Walk - the lack of help, the rejection, all civilians that passed him by - that really solidifies his hatred and conviction, causing him to fully embrace destruction - his attacks post MVA doesn't target just Heroes, but everything and basically everyone.

AND YET. Barely any of this shows up when Deku comes to save Tenko in Chapter 418.

In fact, it starts in Chapter 417, when Nana and Deku intervene in Kotarou's slapping of Tenko. The rest of the family is noticeably absent. The only thing Deku and Nana needed to do was stop Kotarou. That Tenko also had an issue with how the family kept taking Kotarou's side and abiding by the abuse? Not relevant anymore, I guess.

(Also, Tenko actually does believe he's broken, been broken from the start for being born with Decay. He even wonders why Deku would come help him. Somehow "I wasn't broken back then... but it's not like anyone even looked at me," has become "I'm broken and who could ever look at me given the way I am?" Note additionally that Deku doesn't actually discourage this notion. He only says "Well, I'm here to take your hand and give you peace.")

Meanwhile, The Walk is no longer part of Tenko's origin - or at least, not significant enough to warrant a Memory Environment. Yes, it's true that stopping and saving Tenko at The Massacre means Tenko wouldn't go on to walk The Walk, and I suppose you can argue that technically the issue of bystander effect has been solved since someone did finally show up to help. Deku didn't have to help, but he did. He made it his problem to figure out why Shigaraki seemed so sad inside, and he reached out a hand.

But like. The Walk is still a thing that happened? It's still a problem? All those people still ignored a five year old? Deku saving Tenko doesn't mean the old lady suddenly gained a backbone and conscience to not walk away. In fact, it just makes it even more 'not her problem' because after all, a Hero did show up! She did exactly what she was supposed to do - nothing.

It’s just not addressed. To quote @stillness-in-green, “Shigaraki gets way more dangerous to the common civilian after he gets his memories back, and it's a real crock that the story doesn't address that specific turn and what causes it, instead retrenching to "The Slap Bad; AFO Bad.””

I don't like Deku much, and I probably would've rolled my eyes at it, but I did really think Deku would get to be at the memory of The Walk, and he was see all these civilians ignoring Tenko, and he would be gutted and horrified, and maybe he’ll hear what the old lady say about “the police or a hero or somebody will help” as she leaves, and he’ll think something like ‘that's right, a Hero should be helping… but that doesn't mean all you civilians can't even ask if Tenko’s okay and walk him to a police box’, and he would chase after Tenko to save him, and maybe even say something like ‘What you said at Jaku about civilians being coddled. I know it too well that they didn’t want to get dirty. They're trying to support Heroes better now, but they should also support each other. We should all help each other. Let’s change things. I’m here now.’ Because it would make sense and provide a conclusion to this whole thing???

But no. Shigaraki wants to destroy because Tenko was sad he was born with an evil quirk and because of that he doesn't know how to love himself and so the source of the problem ultimately lies with himself. Deku is here to validate his existence so Tenko can feel better that someone accepts him so he can learn to love himself and stop all this nonsense. Except wait it turns out AFO gave him Decay and also turns out AFO manipulated his life since even before his conception so who knows what's even real anymore. Maybe the people on the streets really wanted to help Tenko but AFO made a gas leak fill the city with Asshole Gas and so no one helped and Shigaraki has been operating under a gaslit delusion for the past 15 years and his grievance against bystander apathy is completely invalid. Bummer.

The series hasn't ended yet, and it's possible that the Walk will still be addressed. I've seen it theorized that civilians will show up to help stop AFO and finally save Shigaraki/Tenko like he had wanted all those people on the streets to do all those years ago.

However, without the problem explicitly stated or even known - Deku never sees the family passivity, and he seems to have only caught glimpses of The Walk (and of course has no reaction/introspection/opinion on it) - this feels unlikely. Plus, the recent chapter hasn't filled me with hope or inspiration. The best the civilian could do was offer an All Might t-shirt. That's not exactly "I won't assume a Hero will take care of it and I'll take action myself"; it's more "I'll trust in Heroes even more to take care of the problem." I know that's not exactly fair, in that fighting AFO and helping a lost child are problems of very different magnitudes. But the fact the story hasn't given the civilians an opportunity to ‘redeem’ themselves, so to speak, in the latter case kinda proves my point, I think.

So far, the story seems to think that Shigaraki's issue with passivity and complacency is actually irrelevant. Or has been solved by Deku. Who took on the immense task of saving Shigaraki because he possesses a drive to save others that eclipses all common understanding. So Deku is special, and thank god someone so special existed to save Shigaraki. Because otherwise, Shigaraki wouldn't have been saved. Due to the majority of people being passive and complacent. Which isn't a thing that needs to be dealt with.

(Or, I guess you can say that it was All For One who planted the hatred of bystander effect into Shigaraki/Tenko (if he didn't somehow manipulate the people on the streets (and the Shimura family, previously) into ignoring Tenko), since he did say “Everyone just passed by, pretending not to see, thinking some Hero would save the day. Who decided to make the world this way?” when he first found Tenko. So even that hatred and grudge isn't ‘true’ and we can dismiss it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

#nalslastworkingbraincell #very long rant #sorry

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gideonfromthecrypt · 6 months

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FOR YALL MY TAKE ON THE BUGVERSE

Saw a panel from Invincible with the Marks from different worlds n went "hey i can make this miraculous" SO! here it is. Some original, some from others, some with barely a name, here they are.

The ladybugs are: -Canon!Ladybug

-Bug!Ladybug from my fic "Cocoon and Metamorphosis"

-Baki!Ladybug from my fic "Adrien Agreste The Son Of Plagg"

-Shadybug

-PV!Ladybug

-Lady Noire

-Ladybug Beyond

-Marigold from @zoe-oneesama ´s Scarlet Lady

-Adult!Ladybug

-Freya from Supreme_king_Nero ´s "The Cat who Could Fly Like a Crow"

-Spider-Lady

-Troll!Ladybug

-Beltmont!Ladybug

-Ptero!Ladybug

-Multimouse

-Witch!Ladybug

Will of course do one with Chat Noirs, but that will take time, i want a little break from drawing something this big again : y tho feel free to do your own take on the bugverse if you want, clearly there many MANY versions of our bug around.

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someplace-darker · 2 years

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Kinktober Day 5: Breeding Kink | Harwin Strong

Pairing: Harwin strong x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+, PWP (okay maybe a little bit of plot), breeding kink, dirty talk, riding, probably a serious lack of proper terminology, me changing the plot of house of the dragon for porn reasons, mention of 'lady-in-waiting' but no pronouns are used

Summary: it's been a few weeks since you've been able to have a late night visit with Harwin, and you two have some catching up to do

A/N: i kind of Do Not Like this one and i'm cutting it real close posting this ten minutes before midnight but fuck it we ball. Also Harwin if you see this, know that i will give you more children

Sneaking around the red keep isn’t exactly the most easy of tasks, especially considering what the consequences would be if your intentions were revealed. You were in close relations with the Princess Rhaenyra, yes, but you doubt that would stop Queen Alicent from plucking you of your position as a lady-in-waiting and casting you out onto the streets of King’s Landing. You never did like Alicent, her tongue sounding too close to her father’s at times, and with the recent events you suppose your intuition was correct.

Now isn’t the time for fretting over the kingdom’s current state.

Now, you have to get to Harwin. It’s been weeks since you’ve seen him, schedules never lining up long enough to do anything about the yearning you feel in your heart. You duck behind pillars and take the backways through the castle until reaching his quarters. Reaching up to rap quietly at the thick wooden door, praying to the gods that he answers with haste. They must be listening because you’re quickly being pulled into the scarcely lit room, a handful of candles lit around the space.

“Seven hells, love, you are nothing if not determined. You could’ve been caught,” he chastises but it’s in vain, seeing as his lips are immediately pressing to yours with a tangible fervor. Harwin’s hands slip under your arms to your back, pulling you into his chest with ease. “I would not have been caught, I know the ins and outs of this keep better than I know myself,” you pant against his mouth “besides, I have a Strong and a Targaryen at my side, I’m practically invincible.”

He chuckles at that, warm baritone thrumming against your chest as his fingers pluck at the strings of your dress, loosening it until it’s able to slip past your shoulders. Once it’s undone Harwin takes the time to tug at the fabric until it pools at your feet, body bared to the cool night air. His line of sight falls to your now exposed chest, not an ounce of shame when his hand comes back around your front, finger following the curve of your breast before letting his palm cover it.

Reaching up to cover his hand with your own you start walking forward, careful to step out of the dress, forcing him back until he meets the bed. “You’re wearing too much clothing,” you comment, leaning forward to press your lips to the small area of his chest that the worn shirt doesn’t cover. It’s an older shirt you can tell, something meant purely to sleep in, but it’s currently your favorite thing he has ever worn. His chest hair peeks out from the laced V front, collar bones prominent and flushed red under the press of your mouth.

Harwin hums, gripping the bottom of the tan fabric and pulling it over his head, hair falling back to frame his face. You take the shirt from his grasp and toss it with your dress, attention moving to the ties on his trousers, desperate to remove the final piece between you and what you need most. “Eager, are we?” his voice is all cocky and teasing, lips turned up into a salacious smile. It quickly drops from his face when you get the string undone, hand pressing to his abdomen before trailing down and past the waistline to grip his length.

“You haven’t filled me in so long,” you sigh, pumping him in your hand and relishing in the grunts he gifts you.

“Oh?” he gently grabs your wrist and pulls it off his cock, falling back to sit on the edge of the plush mattress, pulling you forward until you’re on his lap. He shimmies his trousers the rest of the way down and taps your ass, silently telling you to lift your hips. “You want me to fill you up so bad, put a babe in you? Fuck you until you carry my child?” The two of you had talked about it before, but never had he been so outright about it. It makes you shiver, and you remind yourself to nod.

His hands part your thighs wider to make room for him, notching the head of his dick at your entrance until you’re relaxed enough to sink down onto him an inch at a time. “Gods, you feel so good,” you whine, bracing your hands on his shoulders and shakily lowering yourself before raising up to drop back down again. The warmth of his gaze is not lost on you, the filth of your predicament not enough to take the adoration for you out of the forefront of his mind.

Leaning back to watch you work, he catches the tremble in your thighs and takes it upon himself to plant his feet on the ground and thrust up into you. You yelp and he huffs, shushing you gently as if he’s not fucking up into with a force that makes your head thrum. “Stuff you so full that you’ll walk around with me for days. A reminder of whose cum you beg for,” Harwin groans, pulling you down against him each time he pistons into your cunt.

“Please,” you gasp, threading your hands into his dark curls and leaning forward to press your forehead to his own. You briefly let your eyes flutter shut, savoring this feeling before it ends and you have to return to your own quarters. They call him Breakbones for a reason, his brute strength enough to force any man to submit no matter their title, in your case it’s to pick you up and twist to lay you on your back against the furs. He’s deeper with the change in position, your thighs being pressed to your stomach as he lays his weight on you, bearing down with enough force to knock the wind from your lungs.

Sweat covers the both of you in a thin sheen, room now thick and heavy with the air of sex. He looks near feral like this, hunched over you as his muscles contract with each thrust, scars splattered across his torso from years of fighting. Harwin knows that the only time he gets to use his hands for anything other than violence is when he holds you, and he doesn’t intend to waste a moment of it.

You move your hand from his bicep to between the two of you, sliding your middle finger down until it meets your clit, circling it until you clamp down around his cock and keen with a burst of light behind your eyelids. The ripple from you is enough to drive him further into your pussy, groaning into the space between your neck and shoulder. Harwin bites down on your skin to muffle his own orgasm, staying true to his word and emptying himself inside of you.

He noses against your neck, pressing a kiss to the junction of your jaw before pulling out of you with a hiss. “Satisfied?” he jests, brushing his hand over your cheek. Laughing, you push him off of you and onto his back. “For now,” you grin, tucking yourself into his side and laying your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. You let your eyes close with the blanket of gratification, savoring the moment you get with him as you lie together, hidden away from the responsibilities waiting on you with the rising of the sun.

#kinktober #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fic #harwin strong x reader #harwin breakbones x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #house of the dragon smut #my writing #harwin breakbones #harwin strong #harwin x reader #harwin strong x you

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488th-theblackoutsquad · 5 months

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The Empire has been taking over a small city was placed around the forest on planet Silva Aurea. There were troopers patrolling around the area except inside the forest, there was a lovely two floors house and there was a young lady staring at the small city.

The lady couldn't leave this planet for work at all since the empire showed up. She figured out that each person should have a chain code to get in or leave and she wasn't a big fan of the empire. There wasn't much she could do or she thought...

One day, she spotted a big strange ship appear for the first time and flew to around the lake which it was located behind her house. It took few minutes to walk there. She had a bad feeling , she took her blaster and her helmet to check it out whoever was or were.

@na-talia-journey

"Try not to crash us this time, eh?" Klondike prodded at Silver, "last time you flew we nearly went splat on the side of a mountain"

"SHUT. UP. You're no better" Silver bit back as he gripped the ship yoke a little too tightly.

Ripoff stood behind his twin, watching the landscape unfold before him. "You really sure that our stealth mode will hold?" he asked and Silver scoffed, "'f course it will! I designed it,"

"You modified it," Klondike corrected.

"Steer us into that cave there" Ripoff said, pointing to the area, "we need to lay low for the night, that's the only secluded place the Invincible can fit"

Silver nodded, steering the ship towards the cave.

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prof-jigglypuff · 6 months

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❤️ Naryu Virian & Vestige - [long list of little moments] in The Elder Scrolls Online

Here's a long list of small in-game, spoiler-free moments between Naryu Virian & Vestige in The Elder Scolls Online.

Inspired by one guy on Reddit who claimed that Naryu never cared about Vestige...

Enjoy then - below, a chronological, long list of proof of how Naryu Virian doesn't care about Vestige at all ;)

=================================== NARYU: Stay safe. I'll see you soon, my friend.

===================================

NARYU: Just because you can fight doesn't mean you're invincible. Remember that. Not that I care. But be careful. Or not. Your choice, not mine.

===================================

NARYU: You're full of surprises. Not that I doubted you. Thanks for your help.

===================================

VESTIGE: Were you waiting for me? NARYU: Yes, I was waiting for you. Look, don't get too excited.

===================================

VESTIGE: Almalexia wants to speak to me. NARYU: Wait, you got a date with the Sacred Lady? You really are something.

LATER.. (definitely not jealous)

NARYU: Hello, hero. Good to see you got out of there in one piece. I understand that Almalexia can be a little rough on her toys. While you were getting cozy with the goddess, I discovered something interesting.

===================================

NARYU: Look at me. We're close friends. Closer. I said something funny. You're laughing. He just passed by. He's got the wine. Like what you see, hero? Of course you do. He's almost at the door. Keep watching me. All right, he's out. Go!

===================================

VESTIGE: [Persuade] You're extremely clever. You must have a more effective way to get the key. NARYU: You had to go and sweet talk me, didn't you?

===================================

VESTIGE: Here's the wine you asked for. NARYU: All right, all right….. Why are you always so close?

===================================

NARYU: Now I need that bath. A nice long soak with a few glasses of this fine wine. Don't worry. I'll catch up and meet you at the farm. VESTIGE: Need someone to help you drink that? NARYU: Hmm, tempting … but you've got a job to do right now. Definitely some other time, hero. ===================================

NARYU: I made it! Did you miss me? ===================================

NARYU: Just don't die on me, hero. Got that?

===================================

NARYU: Now be careful and get your shapely butt moving.

===================================

NARYU: While I hate to hide such good looks, you're going to need a disguise. A guard uniform…. My, don't you look all spiffy! I have to say, you do look good in a uniform.

===================================

VESTIGE: Any tips once I'm in there? You know, as advice for a friend. NARYU: For a ….friend, anything.

===================================

NARYU: Be careful, you hear? I'd hate to see someone I … respect … get hurt.

===================================

NARYU: I didn't want you to walk into this trap alone. So I followed you.

===================================

NARYU: I need to make sure our alliance friends are playing nice with each other, then I'll meet up with you….. After I get out of this damn dress and into some proper clothing. How do women wear stuff like this all the time?

VESTIGE: [Persuade] It looks good on you.

NARYU: I, well, thanks. Maybe I could get used to wearing such finery when things aren't so dangerous… What am I saying? Get your arse in there and save King Jorunn!"

A FEW MOMENTS LATER…

NARYU: Are you an idiot? We're surrounded by the enemy! Sergeant Vkor: "The big bad Stormfists are outside? Maybe we should go upstairs so I can protect you, all proper like.

NARYU: People reaaaally frustrate me sometimes. "Maybe we should go upstairs so I can protect you." Who even says that? He could have complimented my eyes! Or my … [thinking about Vestige's compliment moments ago] ...never mind. =================================== NARYU: Don't worry about me. 'll catch up with you soon enough. Just be careful in there, all right? Dhalen is dangerous. ===================================

VESTIGE: [Persuade] If you ever need me …. NARYU: Always the hero, aren't you? I'm kidding. I'll find you again when I need your help. In fact, I'd like that. You've never let me down, so don't start now. Save King Jorunn, hero ===================================

NARYU: Hello, hero. I'd say I'm surprised to see you, but I've been watching you for days. Acting surprised would be so disingenuous. Let's just say I'm pleased to once again be graced by your company. You're exactly who I hoped to meet out here.

===================================

VESTIGE: All right. I'll help you. NARYU: Smashing! I always enjoy working with you! We have a certain connection, you and I. Don't you just find it to be so … intense?

===================================

VESTIGE: You're certainly looking good, Naryu. NARYU: Of course I do, darling! What did you expect? That I'd get soft and fat after you abandoned me?

===================================

VESTIGE: Did anyone see you leave the castle? NARYU: Not a one, hero. But they saw you! Those striking features will be the talk of Kvatch for the next few days.

===================================

VESTIGE: So what's next for Naryu Virian? NARYU: Back to Morrowind, I suppose. Or maybe I'll stick around the Gold Coast for awhile. See the sights. Take in the ambiance. If you have some free time, hero, let's get together. Work on our mutual cooperation. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.

===================================

NARYU: Always a pleasure watching you work, hero. You never notice, but I come around to check on you from time to time. What can I say? You intrigue me. And one of these nights, I'll sneak into your room, and—oh, purely for a social visit, I assure you!"

===================================

VESTIGE: So what have you been up to since we stopped the Maulborn plague? NARYU: Oh, you know how it is. A murder here, an assassination there. A girl needs to stay active! But I wanted to thank you again for all the help you provided back in Deshaan. I won't forget that, hero. And I'll never forget you.

===================================

VESTIGE: Do you still have that dress you wore at Fort Amol? NARYU: I'm never going to live that down, am I? It did look good on me, though, didn't it? What am I saying? You have a way of making me act unprofessionally, you know that? Well, keep it up. I kind of like it.

===================================

NARYU: No one knew I was on the Gold Coast. No one except you. Suddenly someone delivers a sweetroll with my name on it and a note predicting my untimely demise. It looks like you betrayed me. Give me a reason not to run you through.

VESTIGE: I'd never do that to you.

NARYU: You realize that our organizations don't exactly play nice with one another, right? The moment I leave myself open, they'll put a blade in my neck. You joined the Brotherhood! You have to see how that makes me question our relationship.

VESTIGE: I just want to stop the Sweetroll Killer. Especially if you're a target.

NARYU: I want to believe you. I really do. But until I figure out what you're really up to, I'll keep my feelings to myself. If you really care, your actions will speak louder than your words, any way.

===================================

VESTIGE: You want me to get rough?

NARYU: Oh, I'd enjoy a little rough play with you, hero, but for now I want you to go learn more about Reman.

===================================

NARYU: Well look who's here! Afraid I'd leave without giving you a goodbye kiss? VESTIGE: That's an interesting outfit. NARYU: After all we've been through and that's the first thing you want to say to me? To be fair, it's very comfortable and it looks great on me. It's the uniform of my organization. They expect me to dress the part when I arrive back home. VESTIGE: Can't you stick around a little longer? NARYU: Don't get all sentimental on me, hero. We both have our paths to follow. Damn, that sounded like a Fate-Bearer, didn't it? Look, let me leave you with a single kiss. One really good kiss. If you ever want another one, come find me in Vvardenfell.

After completing the quest:

NARYU: Just one kiss to a customer! But I promise something even better the next time we meet.

===================================

NARYU: Did you really follow me across the continent? That shows commitment. Kind of creepy, but still, a lot of commitment.

===================================

VESTIGE: You know me, Naryu. I just want to assure her father that Veya's safe. NARYU: I know you, hero. It's Old Man Eris I don't trust.

===================================

VESTIGE: This isn't how I imagined our reunion turning out. NARYU: Were you imagining a hot bath, a bottle of wine, and a secluded cottage with a roaring fire? Me, too! Instead, we're up to our arm pits in the usual muck and mire. Just like old times!

===================================

VESTIGE: I'll go to the swamp and talk to Veya. NARYU: Just try not to be too charming when you meet her, hero. She has enough distractions as it is.

===================================

VESTIGE: Well, take care of yourself, Naryu. NARYU: Always, hero. Oh, hey, I want you to have this. Something to remember me by until we meet again. I hope you don't leave here with the impression that all Dark Elves are conniving dirt bags. Some of us are also kind of sexy. Like me, for instance.

===================================

NARYU: How did I know you were going to show up, hero? Can't get enough of my smiling face, hmm?

===================================

VESTIGE: [Persuade] You know you can tell me anything. NARYU: I can, can I? Well, aren't you the sentimental fool!

===================================

VESTIGE: What do you think it [letter] means? NARYU: Not a damn thing. Spooky predictions designed to unsettle the reader. But Naryu Virian doesn't spook that easily. And neither do you. Still, watch your arse around shadows for awhile. Just in case.

===================================

NARYU: We keep managing to find each another, don't we, hero? Deshaan, Eastmarch, the Gold Coast. Even here in Vvardenfell. Gods, it feels like I've known you forever! VESTIGE: It hasn't been that long. NARYU: Do I need to remind you about all the things you helped me accomplish? We stopped a plague in Deshaan. We helped Almalexia in Mournhold. We saved the king of the Nords. We even stopped a killer that turned delicious pastries into a weapon! VESTIGE: And we saved the Redoran councilors here in Vvardenfell. NARYU: That's one I won't soon forget….. But I wanted to ask you something. Why do you keep showing up and sticking your beautiful nose in my business? VESTIGE: Because your beautiful nose needed the help. NARYU: You think my nose is beautiful? Hero, you're going to make me blush! Look, I know I've been kind of a tease, but I really do like you. And I appreciate that you've always been there for me. One day, when all the dangers have passed, well… VESTIGE: …Yes? NARYU: Do I really have to spell it out? When I'm ready, when you're ready, we'll find a quiet cabin in the woods, open an expansive bottle of wine, snuggle up by the fire …. And then I'll probably stick a dagger between your ribs. It's who I am, hero.

=================================== NARYU: Just don't let that strict sense of duty get you killed one of these days. If you died, I'd probably miss you terribly. ===================================

NARYU: Well, look what the nix-ox dragged in! What are you doing here, hero? Are you following me again? ===================================

NARYU: We figure out who Tredecim actually is, I finish the job, you get paid, and we go home. Not together, necessarily. Depends on my mood. So, what do you say? ===================================

VESTIGE: How have you been, Naryu? NARYU: Ah, hero. If we had a bottle of wine and all the time in the world, the stories I could tell you! But I really want to complete this writ and then wash the stink of the Telvanni out of my hair. Can we catch up later, please? ===================================

NARYU: You know, I sometimes visit the tavern in Necrom. Stop by if you're in the area. It would be nice to see you in... less... professional conditions. ===================================

NARYU: So, hero, I take it you've been up to your old tricks? I'm not sure how much of what I heard I actually believe, but if the danger was as great as they indicated, I'm glad you were on hand to stop it. Just don't let the attention go to your head. VESTIGE: What's next for you, Naryu? NARYU: I think I deserve some time off. A woman can only slit so many throats and stab so many backs before she needs a hot bath and a bottle of wine. Make that two bottles. And if I can find some company to share it with, all the better. VESTIGE: I might be available. NARYU: An interesting offer, but I think I'll pass. I was thinking more of something casual and meaningless. Someone or someones I won't mind gutting once I've had my fun. I'd rather not put any more holes in you than you already have. ===================================

NARYU: You know, I almost didn't show up. Seeing you again brought back so many memories. The idea of returning to Balmora and avoiding this talk certainly crossed my mind. VESTIGE: What now? NARYU: Now I need a drink and to gather my thoughts. Get my next job and get out of this damned peninsula. Maybe the next time we run into each other, we can put this behind us and have a more pleasant encounter. Just don't turn up on one of my writs, hero. ===================================

BONUS

NARYU'S JOURNAL TALKING ABOUT VESTIGE IN DARK BROTHERHOOD DLC

NARYU: I was in the tavern thinking it over when an old friend walked in, a darling murder-vagabond who'd helped me in the past. I beckoned, and my friend came sauntering over, glowing with a sly, smug confidence. When I saw the hilt of a Blade of Woe peeking out of the adventurer's cloak, I knew why: the adorable goof had joined the Dark Brotherhood. That moment, I realized my problems were solved. I just had to talk this killer-hobo into entering Castle Kvatch and letting me in the back way. So I just tailed their newest Brother, my cute vagabond, to their ugly black door.

"an old friend" "darling murder-vagabond" "the adorable goof" "killer-hobo" "my cute vagabond" ===================================

ASHUR (MORAG TONG AGENT)

ASHUR: Look, Naryu seems to trust you, so I suppose I have to trust you, too.

ASHUR: Well, look at that. If it isn't Naryu's little hero.

ASHUR: Clever. No wonder Naryu likes you so much.

ASHUR: Have you had more dealings with Naryu or are you here for yet another of your "heroic deeds”? (WHAT A SHADE TO OUR LITTLE ADVENTURES)

#naryu virian #naryu #the elder scolls online #eso #elder scrolls online #vestige #naryu x vestige #the elder scrolls #veya releth #veya #ashur #morag tong #eso necrom #eso morrowind #eso summerset

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kallie-den · 23 days

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Cobra's Kiss

Huntress is one of the greatest superheroes of all time, a divinely-blessed amazon who is all but invincible in combat. So, there’s no way one little mind-controlling kiss could immediately defeat her… right?

A commission for Xander!

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon! For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get immediate, early access to everything I write - 4 pieces of hypno-smut a month, including the latest chapters of all the multi-chapter stories I write. Your support helps me keep writing and is greatly appreciated <3

---

As Huntress leaped from the next building and crashed through the already-broken window of the seemingly disused warehouse, landing with enough force to crack the bare concrete beneath her feet, a wild, vicious grin was spread across her noble features - though it dimmed slightly at the bleating protests coming through in her earpiece.

‘Huntress! Please, wait for backup! Qualia is still out of action, Flamespout and Radiance are being held up by other villains, and Axehead is still a long way out. You’re on your own here. It could be a trap. You can’t go in the-‘

Huntress plucked the tiny device from her ear and crushed it to pieces underfoot. Farsight, the group’s coordinator, was always careful - but in this case, far too careful. After all, they had finally tracked The Cobra to her secretive lair. This was their chance to finally take the supervillain down, once and for all. What was Huntress supposed to do? Just sit on her hands until someone showed up to babysit her?

No way. Not in this lifetime. Not after everything The Cobra had done. This was personal.

“Sorry, ladies,” Huntress muttered, as she advanced towards the building’s depths. “This time, the glory’s all mine.”

What did she have to be afraid of? The Cobra was a mastermind and a diabolical manipulator, certainly. There was no telling who she might have turned into a mindless, fanatically loyal double agent with that power of hers. But here, now, in the flesh, all those plans and schemes would mean nothing. In a fair fight, The Cobra was little better off than a mere civilian.

Huntress, meanwhile, was a superhero with godlike strength - literally. She’d started out as a mere vigilante, hunting petty criminals and wrongdoers, but her will and determination had soon caught the attention of Dianae, the ancient maiden goddess of the hunt. Dianae had blessed her with many gifts: strength, stature, a hunter’s instincts, and her own divine armaments. Now, as the goddess’s avatar, Huntress stood seven feet tall, with an amazon’s body, clad in an enchanted, steel blue, leather bodice and cowl, with a colossal, heaven-forged war bow strapped over her back.

Yeah. The Cobra didn’t stand a chance.

Her resolve set, Huntress moved like a stalking wolf. For years, The Cobra had been a ghost. A curse, weaving her malign influence throughout the world without once leaving herself vulnerable to just retaliation. It was only through happenstance that Huntress managed to track her here, to what seemed like nothing more than yet another abandoned warehouse hidden deep within anonymous urban sprawl. It was the perfect place for a cunning supervillain to hide.

But The Cobra was about to learn that she was no match for the cunning of a huntress who had caught her scent.

The disused building was huge, and as Huntress headed into its depths, the open storage spaces gave way to cramped rooms and narrow, labyrinthine service corridors. Huntress moved quickly, faster than any mere mortal could have, but her senses remained keen to any danger and her hunting instincts guided her along a sure route towards her prey. She expected traps, tricks, maybe even minions - but there was nothing. No impediment to her progress as she made her way toward The Cobra’s lair.

Huntress let herself grin. It was so typical of villains. When you finally hit them close to their home, they were all but defenseless.

In turn, featureless, dusty corridors soon gave way to passageways that showed signs of recent use and renovation. Huntress’s superhuman ears picked up on the hum of electricity, and the walls were covered with wires; brand new fiber-optic cables, all of which seemed to lead inexorably towards a single point. Eventually, she came to a heavy, metal door, deep within the bowels of the building. Behind it was the nerve center of everything.

This was it. This was The Cobra. It had to be

Huntress swiftly unslung her bow from her shoulder, notched an arrow, and forced the door open with a single, mighty kick.

Inside, it was dark, even to Huntress’s enhanced eyes. Light spilled out into the large room only from a huge array of monitors arranged on the opposite wall. Before the monitors was a desk, and before the desk was a woman sitting in a chair, staring up at them. She didn’t look round, not even at the sound of the huge, heavy door to her lair crashing to the ground.

But Huntress didn’t need to see her face to know that she’d found her enemy. At last.

The woman was brunette and considerably shorter than Huntress; even from behind, Huntress would have recognized her anywhere. The true giveaway was what she was wearing: a tight bodysuit, so dark it was almost black, except that when it caught the light, it was possible to see a scaled pattern etched across its surface in the deepest shade of emerald.

“Cobra!” Huntress roared, as she stepped across the threshold. “It’s over! In the name of the goddess, I’m here to bring you to justice.”

There was no reply. The Cobra didn’t even turn. Information kept flickering across the monitors: maps, dates, statistics.

“You’re finished.” Huntress advanced another step. “I’m going to make sure you spend the rest of your life behind bars - and even that’s better than you deserve. You’ve killed a lot of good heroes. You killed my friend. Come on. Come face your reckoning.”

The Cobra still didn’t acknowledge her presence. She remained completely focused on the screens in front of her, and constant flickering as they chanced and scrolled. Huntress felt her choler start to rise.

“Face me!” she yelled. Another step. “I want to see the look in your eyes when you realize you’ve lost.”

Still, nothing. Huntress’s temper flared, and anger drowned out her more cautious urges. She’d had enough of this childish game.

“Face me!” she repeated - and as she stepped forward, she loosed an arrow from her bow. Thick as a spear, it flew through the air and hit square its target: one of the monitors to The Cobra’s left. Impaled, it flickered black and shattered, showering the supervillain in sparks.

But she still didn’t move

Huntress frowned. She stepped forward, reached out to put her hand on The Cobra’s shoulder, and spun the chair.

It wasn’t her. It was some stranger, a woman Huntress had never seen before, with a passing similarity to the supervillain, dressed in her costume and sat in her chair, a telltale look of glassy-eyed, insensate pleasure on her face.

Huntress barely had time to process the sudden, sinking feeling in her gut before the trap was sprung.

The superhero wheeled and instinctively raised her bow - but without a notched arrow, it was useless. Before she could prepare one, she caught a glimpse of a slender outline, darting towards her from the shadowy corners of the room, holding some kind of large weapon that was already trained directly at the superhero. Huntress braced herself - but still, she wasn’t worried. Her divine gifts made her bulletproof. She was ready to take a blow.

What she wasn’t ready for was for the weapon to launch a set of long, segmented, metal cables at blinding speed. Huntress made to dodge - but caught off-guard, she was just barely too slow. The cables slammed into her with the force of a speeding truck. Huntress was able to hold her ground even against that, but she had no defense when the cables started to wrap around her body, flexing with their own momentum and pinning the superhero’s limbs to her sides. She dropped her bow and stumbled, and, before she knew it, Huntress was wrapped up tight from her shoulders all the way down to her knees.

“That’s better,” said The Cobra, as she dropped the heavy cable-launcher. She sighed with relief. “You’re not an easy woman to catch, you know. Even faster than I’d thought. But maybe now we can have a civilized conversation.”

Huntress just glowered furiously at her. The sight of The Cobra’s face made other faces flash through her mind. People she’d lost. People The Cobra had taken from her. At last, she was getting the confrontation she’d long craved, and Huntress wasn’t going to let anything hold her back. She started flexing and straining against the coils of metal binding her, drawing on all of her righteous anger and all of her divine strength. The cables didn’t break - but they groaned from the strain.

“This won’t hold me,” Huntress warned. “Not for long.”

The Cobra just shrugged. “Adamantite. It’ll hold for long enough.”

“We’ll see,” Huntress countered. “Backup is almost here.”

Infuriatingly, The Cobra wagged a finger and tutted. She turned her head, letting Huntress see the earpiece she was wearing. “I’m tapped into your comms. Backup is not almost here. Backup is being misdirected away, on a wild goose chase. No, it’s just the two of us.”

Huntress flashed her a nasty grin. “Bad news for you, once I break out of these.”

It was strange that The Cobra didn’t seem frightened. She hardly had the look of a larger-than-life supervillain. Compared to Huntress, she was slight and slender, with nondescript brown hair. Only her scaled bodysuit and the dark glint in her eyes hinted at her true nature. Huntress knew better than to underestimate the woman standing before her. She knew full well how many lives The Cobra had ruined.

“We’ll see.” The Cobra started walking towards Huntress, preening like a peacock, her voice soft, with just a hint of an alluring, sibilant, hiss. “Actually, I was hoping that if we spent a little time together, you might realize that we really don’t need to be enemies.”

Huntress just laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Huntress’s hatred for the villain was so thick she almost choked on it as she spat out her words. The idea that they could be anything but mortal enemies was absurd.

“Now, now,” The Cobra chided. She was within arm’s reach, and Huntress hated that she couldn’t reach out and strike her. The hero redoubled her efforts to break the metal coils around her body. “You never know. I might just turn out to be your type.”

Humor could only stretch so far. “Listen here,” Huntress growled. “I don’t care what you say. I don’t care what you do. No matter what, I will never, ever- mph!”

For the second time in as many minutes, the superhero found herself taken off-guard - this time, as The Cobra lunged forward and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

Huntress was no stranger to kissing women, but kissing a supervillain like The Cobra filled her with nothing but disgust. Moreover, she was entirely unprepared for the sensation of something long, slick, nimble, and foreign forcing itself into her mouth from The Cobra’s, exploring her mouth, dominating the kiss, and even beginning to push its way into her throat. Disturbed, Huntress tried to pull back, but with her limbs bound, there was no escape.

She was far more disturbed when, moments later, her body started to tingle and weaken, and a kind of strange, warm pleasure began to radiate from her lips.

“My, my,” The Cobra sang, as she finally drew back. “You taste good, Huntress.”

Her vision blurring, Huntress looked at her, and saw the foot-long, forked, tongue protruding from The Cobra’s mouth.

After a moment, her mind caught up with itself and she realized what had happened. This was The Cobra’s superpower, and the reason for her moniker. She had a very long serpent’s tongue, coated with a kind of supernatural venom that weakened the minds of those it came into contact with, drowning them in euphoric bliss and fostering a twisted sense of loyalty to the supervillain. It was the source of all her power: despite her lack of physical prowess, The Cobra could enact all her villainous schemes by using her tongue to turn people into kiss-drunk minions who would do anything to please her; she’d brainwashed civilians, government figures, corporate leaders - and even, at times, superheroes.

But not Huntress. Never Huntress.

“Your tricks will never work on me,” Huntress snarled. “I’m not like your other victims. I’m stronger than you.”

The boast came easy. It wasn’t a mere bluff. Beyond her superhuman strength and unmatched hunting skills, Huntress harbored another talent: her indomitable willpower. It was what had attracted the attention of her goddess in the first place: even as a mere mortal vigilante, Huntress had refused to let anyone or anything dim her spirit or distract her from her purpose.

Huntress was sure of it. Resisting The Cobra was a matter of willpower. And in a battle of wills, what chance did a mortal have against the divine avatar of an invincible goddess?

“Oh? Are you sure it won’t work?” The Cobra flashed her a smug smile. “Are you sure it isn’t already?”

“Of course I… I…”

Huntress grasped at her hatred like a blade, hoping to let it cut her, hoping to let its sting keep her sharp and clear-headed. Her voice faltered when she found that, to her surprise, her hate was dull. It was still there, certainly. All the reasons she should and did hate The Cobra remained perfectly easy to grasp. But it didn’t burn the way it had just moments ago. It didn’t inspire the same kind of biting rage. Her hate felt somehow distant; numb, like she was under anesthetic.

Huntress’s confidence suffered a hair fracture.

And the malevolent grin on The Cobra’s face grew wider still.

“R-ridiculous,” Huntress snarled. “You’re a fool if you think I can be beaten so easily.”

“I suppose we’ll find out.” The Cobra sauntered across the room and grabbed over another swivel chair, just like the one her double was seated in. After positioning it behind Huntress, she gave the superhero a swift shove. With her limbs bound, Huntress was unable to keep her balance and collapsed into the chair. “But you don’t look as confident as you did a few moments ago.”

Huntress was glad to find she still had enough hate to glower up at the villain. “You’ll pay for this. For everything. Very, very soon.”

She could feel the metal cables wrapped around her body beginning to stretch and distend from her efforts. They had to be just minutes from snapping.

“And then the big, bad Huntress gets me?” The Cobra mocked. She perched herself down delicately in Huntress’s lap; the weight was barely perceptible, but the frustration had Huntress growling. “You should remember something, darling. Cobras are hunters too.”

Huntress laughed in her face. Just a few minutes. “Let me tell you who I am. I am a hero. I am the divine avatar of Diana. I have been blessed with powers you cannot possibly comprehend. I have defeated foes the size of skyscrapers. I have defended our world from demonic entities and alien threats. I am Huntress, and I- stop, s-stop!”

As she delivered her monologue, voice booming, conviction in her belly, Cobra let her long, forked, dripping tongue drool out of her mouth again - and then drew it up the side of Huntress’s face in a long lick.

“What are you doing?” Huntress spat. She squirmed, trying to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. “That’s disgust… ing…?”

Cobra’s tongue came away with a wet smack, leaving the side of Huntress’s face coated with her thick, venomous saliva. This time, as it seeped into the superhero’s pores, she could feel it happening: the strange, pleasurable tingle that made her spine shiver in unwanted anticipation. The creeping, inexplicable euphoria that clouded her mind and stole the edge from her rage. Even with all her will and resolve brought to bear, Huntress couldn’t keep it from affecting her.

“Disgusting…” Huntress repeated, but she couldn’t fill the word with any force. The Cobra noticed at once.

“Wow,” she teased. “The almighty Huntress, weak to a little kiss. Who would have thought?”

“I’m nnnot.” The word came out slurred; Huntress tried again, but it didn’t help. “I’m… nnnnottt…”

The Cobra giggled maliciously. “Then what are you so afraid of?”

She licked her lips, and went in for another kiss, nice and slow this time, in a parody of romance. Huntress turned her head this way and that, trying to avoid the kiss, but her movements were already turning sluggish - and besides, The Cobra was on top of her. The villain pressed her lips against the hero’s, and with them coated in her venom, even that chaste peck was another to make The Huntress flush and heave with supernatural bliss.

“You know, maybe you’re not such a good kisser after all,” The Cobra remarked, kicking her legs against Huntress. “A little… limp. But maybe that’s what I should have expected, from the chosen of the maiden goddess.”

The sudden arrogance in the supervillain’s voice was like a red rag to a bull. Huntress tried to glare up at her, to prove her defiance with the fire in her eyes, but when she looked at The Cobra, she couldn’t help softening. Her vision was becoming hazy, and through the fog, The Cobra seemed strangely, undeniably beautiful.

"You…” Huntress gasped, suddenly full of awe. “What are… you…”

“Perhaps I just need to get you warmed up,” The Cobra mused, ignoring her. “Here.”

She leaned in for another kiss. Huntress was so dazed, only at the last moment did she realize the danger she was in. She jerked her head back, but The Cobra’s kiss still landed, just beneath her mouth. The supervillain kissed Huntress again, then again, then again, over and over, trailing kisses along her skin, before finally finding her lips and once again pushing her elongated tongue into Huntress’s mouth.

Huntress couldn’t help it. She let out a soft, faint, but undeniable moan.

“There we are,” The Cobra said, her voice a twisted mockery of affection. “Isn’t that better?”

Her victim was too addled to reply. Huntress was seeing white. She struggled to grasp what had just happened to her. Faster than she had ever believed possible, her formidable will had started to give way and sink into quicksand. Each kiss made her weaker, more susceptible. Her face was burning with flustered pleasure, and it radiated out, filling her body. It was getting harder and harder to think clearly.

“My goodness,” The Cobra cooed. “I have to be honest: it’s quite the power trip, having a literal demigod quaking and shivering under my every… little… touch.”

She punctuated those three words with yet more kisses across Huntress’s cheek. The superhero moaned again. What was happening to her? She’d never felt like this before. So warm. So soft. So palpably malleable and weak.

It was wrong. She needed to fight it. Huntress just needed to keep that thought straight in her head.

“I’m… nnnot…” she slurred, despite how absurd the denial was. “I’m… gonna… get out of here… punish you!”

“You are?” The Cobra mocked. “That’s funny. But you’re not even trying to escape anymore.”

After a few moments of dumbfounded blinking, Huntress realized that the supervillain was right. Somewhere along the way, she had stopped straining against the metal cables binding her, succumbing to the warm, relaxing feeling The Cobra’s tongue offered.

Huntress blushed shamefully, and tried to start struggling again. But she found that her limbs had turned to heavy, iron bars and her muscles to sludge; try as she might, she couldn’t seem to apply much pressure to the cables. After just a few seconds, her strength failed her. The Cobra laughed as she watched Huntress slump, defeated.

“What was that you were saying?” she crowed. “You’re a hero? A divine avatar? Blessed with powers I couldn’t comprehend? To me, you look like nothing more than another one of my mewling little pets.”

Huntress thought back to The Cobra’s double, still sitting in the chair a short distance from them. She thought about the look of utter, mindless bliss that had been on the woman’s face. Was that what was going to happen to her? A fearful shiver raced down her spine.

She wanted to deny the very possibility. But hadn’t The Cobra already proven her wrong? Huntress’s sense of self-assurance was collapsing beneath her feet.

“And in a few more minutes, that’s exactly what you’ll be,” The Cobra went on. “Another brainwashed slut, addicted to me, doing anything I please just for one more kiss - even helping to bring those precious teammates of yours into the fold.”

That particular jab bit deep with Huntress - but struck iron. The superhero frowned, a fresh surge of anger lending her much-needed strength.

Defeat was one thing. Betrayal was another. Huntress had never once betrayed the principles by which she lived and fought. And she never would, not for anything. Certainly not for the hated supervillain currently perched in her lap.

Yes. Yes, she hated The Cobra. That was right, wasn’t it?

“I… will… never…” Huntress said thickly and slowly, enunciating each word clearly in turn, “do… your… will. Never. With… with all that I have… with all that I am… I’ll keep fighting. To the bitter end.”

She meant it. Every word. Even The Cobra seemed impressed. She cocked an eyebrow and whistled.

“Not bad,” she acknowledged. “But you still just don’t get it, do you? Watch.”

Huntress was braced for The Cobra to kiss her again, but she didn’t. Instead, the supervillain simply opened her mouth and let her serpent’s tongue hang lazily out of her mouth, slowly extending to its full length. That was all. The tips of her tongue’s forks twitched occasionally, tasting the air, and venom-impregnated drool formed thick, looping ropes beneath the supernatural organ.

Against all her wishes, Huntress moaned.

This time, it wasn’t her body, but her memory that betrayed her. Just the sight of The Cobra’s tongue held power over Huntress. It reminded her of everything that tongue could do, and made her throb with longing as memories of that warm, wonderful pleasure washed over her. Already, Huntress could feel her precious willpower once again starting to drain away.

“You see,” The Cobra cooed, her voice poisonously soft. “Don’t you want this?”

Huntress couldn’t help but let out a whiny, plaintive sigh as she realized that she did. That was followed immediately by a deep sense of shame. She shouldn’t want it. It was wrong. It was obscene. Huntress was a hero. She should be above such temptations.

Yet her body yearned for it. She knew, she just knew, that as soon as The Cobra’s tongue touched her skin, the sweet nectar of her venom would wipe away all of those shameful feelings.

“You do,” The Cobra pressed. “Don’t you?”

Huntress managed to shake her head, but the words wouldn’t rise to her lips. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming something else.

“I think you do,” The Cobra whispered to her. “And I think you’ll let me kiss you.”

She started to lean in for another kiss, this time moving tortuously slowly, giving Huntress all the time in the world to jerk her head out of the way. But she didn’t. Huntress couldn’t move. She was paralyzed by her conflicted desires. The superhero opened her mouth, hoping to protest, but the words still wouldn’t come, and her lips remained slightly parted and turned upwards, towards The Cobra’s approaching mouth.

Without resisting or even saying a word, Huntress let The Cobra kiss her. For just a moment, she hated how good it felt. Then, the oncoming pleasure obliterated even that.

Huntress couldn’t help it. As The Cobra forced her tongue into her mouth, she started leaning into the kiss. Embracing it. Kissing back with stupefied passion. It was impossible to do anything else when it felt so good. Every concern about her morals and principles, about the situation, about The Cobra’s schemes - all of them paled in comparison. The kind of euphoria The Cobra’s power inflicted allowed no room for doubts. As they kissed - as The Cobra started fucking Huntress’s throat with her tongue - Huntress was on cloud nine, and The Cobra herself was the object of all her newfound joy.

When The Cobra broke the kiss, Huntress whined. She wanted more.

“There we go,” the supervillain cooed. “That’s a nice dose. Isn’t that better?”

Huntress just nodded dumbly.

“Good.” The Cobra extended her tongue towards Huntress and licked her again. Huntress shivered in eager rapture. “See? Maybe we can get along after all.”

Again, Huntress nodded. That sounded good. She wanted to get along with The Cobra. Why wouldn’t she? The Cobra made her feel so good.

There was something else in her head. A different feeling that she felt towards The Cobra. Something spiky and bitter. Then, it slipped out of view.

“Excellent,” The Cobra told her, evidently pleased. “That’s my good little hunter.”

Huntress’s reward was another kiss. She accepted it eagerly. Each one felt better than the last. She looked up at The Cobra adoringly, panting for breath, a vacant, stupid smile spread across her saliva-slick face.

“Hey,” Cobra said. “Why don’t you tell me your name? Your real name, I mean.”

Alarm bells sounded in Huntress’s head. She had always kept her real name a secret. Allowing it to become public knowledge meant endangering all those who were close to her. She couldn’t.

And yet now, all those alarm bells were so far away, she could barely hear them.

“Susanna,” Huntress told the villain dreamily. “Susanna Callisto.”

“Susanna Callisto,” The Cobra echoed. “Incredible. But you know,” she added teasingly, “if we’re going to keep getting along, I’m going to need you to do some things for me.”

That gave Huntress pause. The Cobra’s phrasing was undeniably menacing. It made her cautious.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” The Cobra promised. Her face was twisted into an impossibly gleeful smirk. “I just want to get to know some of your friends, the same way I’m getting to know you. You can help me with that, can’t you?”

Huntress’s friends. It took her a long moment to understand what that was referring to. Superheroes. Superheroes like her. Didn’t being a superhero mean something important? She thought about what would happen if she brought them here, and let The Cobra work her tongue into their minds. It just seemed wrong, somehow, even if she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“I… can’t,” Huntress replied, more than a little apologetically.

In that moment, the reluctance was real. She longed to give The Cobra what she was asking for. But this was the final kernel of her willpower, buried so deep it had still yet to be touched by The Cobra’s venom. Even if she sacrificed all of her dignity, she couldn’t sacrifice this.

“You can’t?” The Cobra seemed surprised, even impressed, by any resistance even at this stage. “How amusing. Why don’t you let me change your mind?”

Huntress let out a groan, but there was nothing she could do as The Cobra started kissing her again. The kisses came fast and furious; passionate, almost, from the supervillain’s eagerness to overwhelm what remained of Huntress’s will. She kissed Huntress again and again, each one deeper and more dominant than the last, making the defeated superhero gag on her tongue and gasp desperately for each breath before the next kiss came.

“Are you sure?” The Cobra whispered to her, between kisses. “All you need to do is bring them to me.”

“C-can’t…” Huntress moaned, more out of instinct than true comprehension. “Can’t….”

It was getting harder and harder to refuse her captor. The more The Cobra kissed her, the more Huntress’s pleasure was starting to congeal into something else: into an instinctive, servile sense of obedience directed towards the supervillain. Disobeying was growing steadily harder and harder to conceive of.

It was simple. Pavlovian. Huntress had become a slave to her own pleasure, and the pleasure told her to listen to The Cobra.

“Bring them here,” The Cobra urged. “Whoever I ask you to. Tell them whatever lies I feed to you. Use that strength of yours to keep them nice and still for me.”

“Noo,” Huntress moaned, though she could already feel her will to resist fading. “Nooooo.”

The Cobra touched one of her fingertips to Huntress’s chin and used it to guide her, making the super stretch upward, begging with her body for yet another brainwashing kiss.

“Yes,” The Cobra said firmly. Compared to Huntress, she sounded so strong. So sure. It was impossible not to believe her. “You’re going to be my ultimate weapon, Huntress. You’ll subdue all those other heroes for me. You’ll bring them right to my bosom.”

“Nnn… mmrfff.” Huntress’s attempt to refuse collapsed into more moaning when Cobra extended her tongue along the side of her face, coating it in slick, wet, mind-warping saliva.

“Anyone who threatens me,” The Cobra insisted. “Anyone who opposes me. You’ll stop them. You’ll help me claim them. You’ll work to make them mine.”

Huntress thrashed and spasmed as pleasure tore through her. Her back arched. It was so easy to see herself doing it, and so very hard to disobey. She craved it now. Everything The Cobra was describing. She was about to break, and both of them knew it.

“Obey me,” The Cobra hissed. “Kiss me, and obey.”

As one final, desperate gambit, Huntress’s overtaxed mind seized upon the words that she’d used many times in moments of true hopelessness: a prayer, a plea, delivered up to the one who had made her what she was.

“D-Diana… s-save me!”

And, by a true miracle, the goddess did.

The Cobra was thrown out of Huntress’s lap and across the room by a sudden thunderclap. She shot to her feet, but found herself blinded by impossible, silver light. It was as if the moon itself had been made manifest inside her lair, but when the light dimmed and her eyes adjusted, she found herself looking not at a celestial body, but at a woman.

Not, not a woman. Diana, Goddess of the Hunt.

There was no mistaking her. In stature and beauty, she was even greater than Huntress, and her body still shone with a halo of moonlight. There was a great resemblance between Diana and her champion, The Cobra noted, although the goddess had the ageless quality of an immortal, and her hair was brilliant silver instead of platinum blonde. She did not have a weapon, but she clearly didn’t need one, either; her gaze spoke of immeasurable power and righteous wrath - and all of it was directed straight at The Cobra.

“Who dares defile my champion?” the goddess spoke, in a voice that made the heavens quake.

Every little hair on The Cobra’s body stood on end. She turned her head left and right, desperately looking for something, anything, that might save her. There was nothing, of course. This was a goddess. What did she have? A long tongue?

“I see,” Diana pronounced, even though The Cobra hadn’t spoken. “Your heart is black. I will deal with you in a moment. But first…”

She turned to Huntress, sitting slumped in the chair, still bound. Diana touched just one fingertip to the metal cables wrapped around the hero’s body, and they dissolved into nothing more than fading sparks.

“Be free,” Diana said to Huntress affectionately. “I have no doubt you will recover, in time. Your firm will has always been your greatest blessing.” She rounded on The Cobra. “Which is why I cannot forgive that you would tarnish it.”

The Cobra started backing away. Dread overwhelmed her. She was still thinking furiously, but she couldn’t come up with any plan or ploy that could help her. The sheer unfairness of the situation was almost comical. She was barely a supervillain, and this was a goddess in the flesh. A petty little trick like using a double wasn’t going to cut it.

There had to be something. There had to be. But what? Her venom was the only asset she had, but even that seemed like a stretch.

“Damn it,” The Cobra hissed to herself. “If I could just hold her still for a moment…”

It turned out, Huntress wasn’t the only one who could have her prayers answered.

And Huntress herself was the one who answered them. The superhero abruptly rose to her feet, seemingly shaking off whatever dim-witted pleasure-trance she’d sunk into. Diana noted her sudden recovery with nothing more than a pleased smile, and kept all her attention on The Cobra.

Until Huntress grabbed her goddess’s limbs and used all of her divine-given strength to pin them to her sides.

“What?” Diana exclaimed, confused. “My champion, what are you doing?”

But The Cobra knew. She could see it in Huntress’s eyes: the telltale, glassy glint of adoration and eagerness that marked those who had tasted too much of The Cobra’s venom.

Slowly, a grin started to creep back onto The Cobra’s face.

“Release me!” Diana bellowed. “My huntress, you must resist this witchcraft!”

The Cobra was already moving towards her by the time Diana started to struggle in earnest. It was immediately clear that Huntress couldn’t hold her for long. A demigod was no match for a goddess. But The Cobra’s commands had taken root deep in her mind, and the brainwashed superhero was every bit of her strength to keep Diana restrained for long enough for The Cobra to reach her.

The supervillain had no idea if her power would work. Her heart skipped a beat as she stretched up on tiptoes and kissed the goddess of the hunt.

The Cobra kissed her the same way she kissed all her victims: long and deep, pushing her tongue into her mouth to make her feel her presence and drink in as much of her venom as possible. She wasn’t sure what to expect from kissing Diana; fierce resistance wouldn’t have surprised her, nor, amusingly, would have prodigious skill.

What she hadn’t expected was for Diana to all but go limp immediately, after just a few clumsy, sophomoric attempts to dominate the kiss.

That gave The Cobra a little optimism. But she still didn’t dare to hope as she pulled back and inspected the formidable goddess towering above her.

Not until she saw the dull, dreamy, blissed-out look beginning to dawn on Diana’s face.

“Oh my god,” The Cobra breathed. “It… it worked.”

The goddess came over flushed, and it was clear that her struggles were weakening. Her eyes flitted back and forth in confusion.

“What…” Diana breathed. The Cobra couldn’t believe she was seeing a goddess look dizzy. “You… mortal… what did you do to me?”

The Cobra couldn’t help it. She started laughing. It came slow, building and building, until it came out as a manic howl that filled the room.

“Oh my god!” The Cobra cackled. “I can’t believe it - although maybe it’s exactly what I should have expected from the so-called maiden goddess. Not a lot of experience with kissing, huh?”

“I… don’t…” Diana bleated. She looked so lost all of a sudden, but The Cobra didn’t miss the hint of eagerness in her parted lips.

“Huntress,” The Cobra instructed, “why don’t you help our pretty little goddess take a seat?”

“Yes, Cobra.”

Huntress’s eyes shone hopefully at the mere prospect of getting to obey her new owner’s instructions. She guided Diana over to the chair she’d just been sitting in. The goddess didn’t struggle. Pathetically weak to The Cobra’s kisses, she was already beyond that.

“It’s OK that you don’t have much experience,” The Cobra hissed, as she poured herself into Diana’s lap and let her tongue drool out of her mouth once more. “I like girls that way, sometimes. And I’ll be more than happy to… educate you. Then, we can see what I can do to the world with a goddess in tow.”

She started kissing Diana again, and the supervillain’s lair filled with wet, smacking passionate sounds as she began to brainwash the goddess into nothing more than an obedient, pleasure-drunk thrall - just like her champion.

—

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