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aspiringtrashpanda · 4 months

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HI TUMBLR USER ASPIRINGTRASHPANDA im a big fan of your work please keep it up!!!!!!!!

would it be too oddly specific to request raph introducing mc to hella britney spears obey me? :D

HI TUMBLR USER SHOOTINGSTARRFISH IT WOULD BE AN HONOR TO WRITE ABOUT HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME. 💕

Characters: Raphael, MC, appearances by Solomon and Simeon Raph shows MC his pet. pure fluff! No warnings apply

“Ah, welcome,” Simeon smiled from the doorway of Purgatory Hall. “I heard from Luke that you were coming by. Are you seeking refuge?”

You shuffled your feet, ducking your head as shame prickled the nape of your neck. “How did you know?”

His eyes squinted, that pretty jingle of his laugh filling the air between you. “I think I can see smoke coming in the direction of the House of Lamentation.”

“Oh. Yeah, you see…” Where did you even begin to explain the domino effect that had happened this time?

“No need,” Simeon came to your rescue, gentle gaze oozing sympathy. “I know those brothers well enough to surmise what happened.”

When you winced something akin to an agreement, he ushered you inside, sheltering you from the occasionally overwhelming presence of your favorite brothers. As you toed your shoes off in the entrance, the scent of Simeon’s cooking washed over you. You may as well have turned into a cartoon caricature of yourself, floating towards the delightful smell in the kitchen.

“Luke and I are making lunch.” As if he even had to clarify. He did, however, add, “but you’ll find Solomon and Raphael in the living room,” which was basically Simeon for don’t bother trying to help.

Making the familiar turns throughout the first floor, you lifted a hand to wave at Solomon and Raphael, only to drop it to your side when you found them. The two men stood side by side, folding laundry. Or, more like Solomon was hauling clothes out of a basket, molding them into a roughly square shape, and placing them on the coffee table… Just to have Raphael re-fold them right beneath his nose, with piercing eye contact.

You watched for a few seconds before making your presence known. There was a twinkle in Solomon’s eyes, a twitch to his neutral lips that had you wondering if he was intentionally ruffling the angel’s - currently withdrawn - feathers.

Solomon’s amusement was lost on Raphael. You were certain you could see the cogs whirring in his brain beneath his ashy hair. The crease of his brow told you he had absolutely no idea how Solomon could be so bad at laundry.

“Hi,” You broke through the silence, putting on your cheeriest smile, “How is my favorite Purgatory Hall resident today?”

As you saw the confusion give way to suspicion in their twin looks of surprise, you considered that perhaps you, like Solomon, also liked to stir the pot. It was funny, how they both straightened their spines, puffed out their chests, sized the other up while simultaneously pretending to be unbothered. Subtle peacocking, in a way.

You would do the same to the brothers, but… Well, then you would just end up at Purgatory Hall once more, wouldn’t you? Such a taunt was sure to start another fire of some sort between the Rulers of the Underworld.

“Well, if it isn’t my adorable apprentice,” Solomon beamed, reaching behind the laundry basket to procure a bowl of pastries. “Can I interest you in a macaroon?”

“Did you make them?” You eyed the fluffy cookies. They did look good…

“Of course!”

Never mind.

“Ah, sorry Sol, I ate before coming here and I’m stuffed.” You lied. Thankfully, Raphael’s malfunctioning tastebuds saved you from further scrutiny. He lit up like the heavens above, blue gaze sparkling like sapphires as he snagged one of the sweets.

“Truly delicious, Solomon.” Despite his praise, Raphael remained as stoic as ever. Only the slightest glimmer of joy dancing in his eyes gave away his genuine gratitude. “I must get your recipe. Michael is so fond of sweets.”

“I’ll make sure to bake him a special batch at the end of the semester,” Solomon preened beneath the compliment, “You could send him my regards.”

And just like that, the angel’s guard flew back up, an expression edging confusion finding solace in your hum of surprise. What on earth - er, the three realms? - did Solomon want to send regards to archangel Michael for?

As Solomon turned back to the laundry, excusing himself by claiming he had to retrieve another load from the dryer, Raphael eyed you with unveiled curiosity. You shrunk under the intensity of his stare. It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with the latest exchange student from the Celestial Realm, and you weren’t sure you would ever get used to the way he watched you so carefully. Though he rarely voiced his thoughts, his stare had a certain weight to it. One that told you that he was questioning every flex of your fingers, every slope of your lips, every shift of your limbs. Why he found you so interesting, you weren’t sure.

As for you… Of course you found him interesting! Luke had said it himself - Raphael was the youngest angel to ever be given the rank of seraph! He was quiet and mysterious and so very guarded. You never knew just what he was thinking at any time. You could examine him for hours and you were certain boredom would elude you.

In fact, you were about to find out who would win a casual staring contest between the two of you. Almost taken aback by your confidence, there was a split second where you thought he was going to cave, his jaw clenching and his lips pursing in a pout you almost considered petulant. But then, he steeled his resolve, doubled back with a burning question in his gaze.

You had no answer for his silent inquisition, but you felt scorched regardless.

“Hey,” He blinked slowly, forfeiting. “Do you want to see my spears?”

“Actually…” You were answering before you even knew what you were going to say. “Yeah, I do.”

“Come with me,” He nodded curtly, exiting the living room with little warning.

Nearly tripping over your feet in your haste, you raced after him, the flutter of his Celestial Realm clothes a flash of ivory turning a corner. Your heart thudding in your chest, you felt your anticipation growing with each step. You had heard so much about his rain of spears! The terrifying display of violence that struck fear into even Belphegor’s heart!

And so, you were completely flabbergasted when Raphael spun around from the corner of his temporary bedroom, brandishing… not a weapon.

You almost considered it anticlimactic, but the disappointment lingered for less than a second. Your brain’s buffering complete, it reached a very reasonably enthusiastic conclusion: Raphael was cradling a hedgehog. Not just any hedgehog, but a shadow hedgehog native to the Devildom. Its charcoal quills quivering under your awestruck gaze, you hit the brakes on your excitement, your index finger hovering an inch away from its curious nose.

“Can I pet it?” You whispered, even though no one had told you to keep quiet.

“He likes when you rub his forehead,” Raphael matched your volume, lifting the little mammal closer to your face.

Sure enough, the shadow hedgehog squeaked in delight as you carefully ran the pad of your finger up his nose to the patch of fur between his ears. “Is… Is his name Spears?”

Raphael looked at you incredulously, as if the answer was obvious. “His back is made of a thousand spears.”

To accentuate his point, he gently stroked the needles laid flat over Spears’s back. You smiled, “Shadow hedgehogs are known to inflate like pufferfish when they feel threatened.”

Raphael regarded you with a stern frown, “I would never harm Spears.”

“No!” You squawked, startling the hedgehog. He hissed softly, nuzzling into Raphael’s thumb for reassurance. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

A pensive hesitance fogged those sapphire eyes. Cradling his pet close to his chest, he seemed to calculate the potential risks in his head before offering, “Would you like to hold him?”

Did you ever! Your hands shaking, you extended them towards Spears, your palms pressed together in a makeshift platform. “Okay…”

It tickled, the way his little paws scurried across your skin. His nose - wet and cold - nudged against the base of your thumb, his miniature spears raising in apprehension until he deemed your hands safe. Then, he sat still and allowed you to marvel at his pristine quills and beady onyx eyes. He was an awfully cute hedgehog.

“You know, in the human world, there’s a musician named Britney Spears.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were bringing up the pop star. You were positive she was not to Raphael’s liking.

“Are they any good?”

You sidestepped. “They’re iconic.”

His silence seemed louder this time, his lips twisted into the smallest frown as he watched his pet tentatively lick at your palms. With a resolute jerk of his head, he decided, “I will allow Britney to be his middle name.”

“Middle name? Like, Spears Britney… Last name?”

“His first name is Hella.”

“What?” You blinked. Listen, you led quite a bizarre life. From being yoinked into the Devildom, to nearly dying at the hands of Levi because you lowkey cheated at a quiz show, to actually dying in a different timeline for wanting to hug Belphie, and then to somehow becoming the apprentice of the world’s strongest sorcerer. And yet, this hedgehog’s name managed to be the oddest thing you had heard yet.

Raphael shrugged, “Solomon assures me it is a name for only the most honorable warriors in the human world.”

Your lips curled inwards, sucked by the force of your inhale. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

Still, your voice wavered with amusement. “Hella…Britney Spears, the shadow hedgehog.”

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed, pride overwhelming his gaze as he gently took the little mammal from your hands. “The best around.”

The glint in his eye told you that arguing would only end in a rain of actual spears. All you could do was nod, thank him for sharing a piece of his life with you, and echo, “The best around.”

*・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜・*:.。.*.。.:*・☆・゜

My requests are open! Find out more HERE. Banner by the incredible @4laurus, Beel fan extraordinaire.

ALSO HERE IS HELLA BRITNEY SPEARS OBEY ME.

#obey me raphael #I guess I should say #Raphael obey me #hella Britney spears obey me #if we can give him his own tag that would be amazing #wait am I misgendering hella #Starr i'm sorry #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #my writing #aspiringtrashpanda

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mumms-the-word · 6 months

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Gale and Mystra (and Mystra, and Mystra...)

I did a rabbit hole deep dive into this a few days ago and I have Thoughts. Prepare for long/researched explanations (and by researched I mean I read a lot of wikis and scraps of lore books/novels)

So Mystra dies in the Forgotten Realms something like three times (the “official” number is wibbly because there are many writers messing with Forgotten Realms lore and they don’t always agree). She dies in -339 DR, and then again in 1358 DR, and then kind of again a few months later. Allegedly she stayed dead until 1479-1480, which is roughly 12 years prior to the events of Baldur's Gate 3, but didn't get her body back until 1487, which is 5 years before BG3, which takes place in 1492 (if we're going by the Baldur's Mouth Gazette year).

So...what do we do with that and the current popular theory that Gale was groomed as a child?

If it sounds complicated, don't worry, it's more complicated than you think. Welcome to my TEDTalk. More under the cut.

Mystryl, the first goddess of magic (like, ever) dies hundreds of years prior to the events of BG3 during the Karsus/Netheril debacle. Karsus tried to steal her deity/power and succeeded only to realize his mortal body/mind couldn’t contain or control that much power. Mystryl sacrificed herself (her essence, her power) to keep it out of Karsus’s incapable hands. The Weave went wonky for an indeterminate but brief amount of time, during which the floating cities of Netheril crashed to the ground. This happens in -339 DR, over ~1700 years before BG3. Gale tells us a brief version of this story in his standard dialogue. It's also established lore in campaign books.

Mystryl was reborn as Mystra (still in -339 DR), and this Mystra lasted for AGES. This Mystra is the mother of all magic, the Mystra we basically think of as BG3’s Mystra. This is the Mystra that met and claimed Elminster as one of her Chosen (later they became lovers, it's a whole thing).

But this is complicated. Because in 1358 DR…she dies too.

Long story short, for a brief moment, the Overgod Ao forced all gods to walk Faerûn in their mortal avatar forms and denied them entry into heavens (this was called the Times of Troubles, very complicated, the point is, gods were walking the earth as mortals). Mystra decided to fight Helm, the god guarding the stairway into the heavens, and got promptly smote.

Smitten? Smited? Whatever. Helm DESTROYED her. Death #2.

This time, Ao chose a mortal girl named Midnight to replace Mystra. He imbued Midnight, a wizard girl who worshipped Mystra, with Mystra's powers (Mystra conveniently left an amulet behind with some of her power contained within). Incidentally, the Weave didn't die this time like it did the first time. Convenient!

Midnight-Mystra lasts less than a year before Shar and Cyric (god of trickery) kill her and the Spellplague happens. The Spellplague is basically 10 years of magic going haywire and the Weave kind of ceasing to exist. Again. It's complicated.

Ignoring that some Forgotten Realms writers insist the Spellplague didn't happen, BG3 says it DID. One book in BG3 states:

In the infamous, calamitous year of 1385 DR, a conspiracy between the goddess of darkness, Shar, and the god of trickery, Cyric, sought to end Mystra's control over the Weave and influence over the realms by cravenly assassinating her. But instead of merely breaking the goddess of magic's dominance, her death threw the Weave into utter chaos and collapse. Magic spells faltered, or failed entirely. Countless spellcasters were killed or driven insane... Toril would face nearly a hundred years of upheaval before Mystra could return once again, reinstated as goddess of magic in 1480 DR, thanks to the efforts of the legendary wizard, Elminster Aumar and the events of the Second Sundering...

(Curiously Gale’s Countermeasure Abberation at the Netherbrain fight is called Spellplague so...do with that whatever you want. I mean, I know that’s the Countermeasure for ANY wizard in the party but it feels particularly interesting for Gale. Also we're going to ignore the Second Sundering in this post because that's a whole different rant, just know that the Second Sundering means the state of the world and the pantheon of gods basically got soft reset and then locked into place. Which is why it was important for Mystra to return before that happened, or else she would have gotten locked out of returning at all.)

As far as I can tell, between 1385 and 1479, Mystra was silent. Maybe dead, maybe not. There's some suggestion that she existed in the Weave, because other than the Spellplague period, the Weave still existed. The fact that the Weave exists separately from Mystra is important mostly because Shar wants to turn it into the Shadow Weave, which she can't do if Mystra is alive and maintaining control over the Weave. And if Shar can't control the Weave even while Mystra is silent for 100ish years, then...well. Mystra must not be dead-dead.

More importantly than Shar Politics, her being maybe-dead for almost 100 years means she wasn't whispering in the minds of her Chosen the way gods like her normally do. The wikis mention a comic ("Lord of the Darkways") where Mystra spoke directly to Elminster's mind, but that's the only instance before 1479. Mystra was SILENT before 1479...or at least, very, very, very quiet.

So what happens in 1479? Well, long story short, according to the novel Bury Elminster Deep, Elminster travels to a cave where there is a bear carrying some Mystra's remaining essence/power. Why a bear? I have no idea. Point is, she speaks directly to Elminster and confirms that she is, indeed, Mystra. Specifically, she's pre-Midnight Mystra and also...changed into a newish Mystra.

This is some of what Elminster thinks/says when he's speaking with her and notices she's guarding some artifacts:

“Ye collected these things when ye were Midnight?” El blurted, trembling in a sudden chaos of wanting to know so much, yet not knowing what he dared ask. Her love—or at least fondness—was in his head and all around him, but something was subtly different in it, a distance that had not been there once, or rather one that had grown since Midnight had ascended to replace the Mystra his far younger self had first touched and tasted. Gone was the Mystra whose mind would long ago have merged with his to let them converse wordlessly, thoughts flashing.

Bear!Mystra has been guarding things that Midnight!Mystra collected, things that were important to Mystra!Mystra. Confusing, I know. So who is this current Mystra, speaking to Elminster as a bear? This is the Mystra that would then go on to become lovers with Gale.

Now, I'd argue it's basically all the same Mystra. There was Mystryl and then there was Mystra in her many forms. The Mystra that become lovers with Elminster when she selected him as her Chosen 1300 years ago is the same Mystra that took Gale as a lover too—even if she's died and transformed a couple of times.

It’s worth noting that the novels also sort of mingle all the Mystras into one. In the next novel, Elminster Enraged, when another character called the Simbul (another Chosen of Mystra who is also Mystra’s daughter) is speaking with Mystra, they talk about how Mystra has memories both of previous Mystras and of several Chosen. When the Simbul asks if Mystra can sense her current Chosen, Mystra confirms that she can sense her daughters and Elminster.

“Wasn’t that the Mystra before you?” The Simbul dared to ask. Echoes in the Weave, my daughter, echoes in the Weave…we see and feel so much that happened before us, in the Weave; it becomes part of us, the memories of the Mystra who birthed you becoming part of me, so I become that Mystra…

Anyway. Mystra is Mystra. Basically the same Mystra she's been since the fall of Netheril. Why does that matter? Well.

When Elminster is talking to bear-Mystra, she gives him a command: “I charge you to preserve magic wherever and whenever you can” and also; “Recruit new Chosen and gather them here for me to confer with. I need many, and they must be different from my daughters and from each other…and above all, I must have those I can trust.”

Okay, granted, this specific command probably doesn't apply to Gale. Gale never talks about being gathered as Chosen to help usher in Mystra's return. Remember, she's gathering Chosens so she can restore herself to godhood before Ao clicks the "Save" function on his universe post-Second Sundering. That's what this command is referring to.

Elminster does end up choosing several potential Chosen for Mystra (plus he goes on to steal a whole bunch of magic and gives it to Mystra to restore her back to godhood; this happens at the end of Elminster Enraged). Elminster spends part of Bury Elminster Deep, Elminster Enraged, and The Herald (three back-to-back novels) gathering Chosen or...well, killing corrupt Chosen and stealing their power to give back to Mystra. Mystra begins speaking into the minds of those who worship her in Elminster Enraged (around 1480) and the end of that novel has her appearing as a very grand spirit type of lady, but she's only seen restored to her actual corporeal goddess body at the end of The Herald, which is set in 1487.

So what does this have to do with Gale??

Simple. I have two theories.

Theory 1: Larian just ignores timelines and maybe wanted to create a new grooming narrative for Gale

Listen, Larian has a ton of writers and not every writer can be expected to maintain ALL of the lore Ed Greenwood and other writers wrote for the campaign books and novels. The Forgotten Realms is like 40+ years old. It's been through every iteration of D&D rules. Mystra dies every time the Wizards of the Coast revamps their magic rules, to the point where Ed Greenwood literally had Elminster say, in one of his novels, “I think Mystra’s fall was part of a cycle fated to happen again and again, as the Weave—as all magic of this world—needs renewal.” Elminster fourth-wall calls out a "fated cycle" that is just WOTC remixing magic rules.

Hell, maybe Larian knew that and wanted Gale to be part of the next cycle of Mystra-death-and-rebirth. Raphael certainly suggests something similar if Gale ascends to godhood and plans to usurp Mystra. That's a rant for a different post.

Anyway. Point is, it's a lot of lore, and a lot of it contradicted itself before Larian ever got their hands on it. The writers knew enough to know that Mystra picks Chosens all the time and that she's been known to be lovers with her Chosens. They probably took that and ran with it. Gale was chosen by Mystra and become lovers with her and the timelines don't matter, and maybe there are hints that Mystra groomed him as a kid. Maybe Larian just ignored Ed Greenwood's lore that Mystra didn't speak to any of her followers until like 12 years before the game. That's fine!

But if that theory doesn't seem to vibe, consider theory 2 (which for the purposes of this analysis suggests Gale is a cool 35 for convenient math):

Theory 2: Gale didn't actually hear or meet a corporeal Mystra until he was a consenting adult (NOTE: this does not necessarily mean he wasn't groomed)

Brief timeline, again.

1385, Mystra and Midnight both die and anything resembling a goddess of magic goes silent for nearly 100 years. Early 1400s? Elminster hears Mystra's voice but she's otherwise silent for everyone else 1479, Elminster meets Bear!Mystra, begins finding other Chosen of Mystra and gathering power for Mystra 1480ish, Elminster restores power to Bear!Mystra and she Officially Returns (but like, quietly and we still haven't seen her body, she seems to be just spirit and stardust) 1487, Mystra now has a body because she does this Big Reveal at the end of The Herald by entering a room where five of her Chosen are

If Gale is 35 in 1492, then he was 30 when she "officially" had a body again, and 23 when she begins speaking to her Chosen (or those who worship her more broadly) after a century of silence.

Obviously this theory breaks the current ongoing theory that Mystra revealed herself to Gale when he was 8, or at least a young child. However, does the game really support that theory either? Elminster's letter to an ascended God!Gale only says:

Do you recall the day we first met, m’boy? You could have been no more than eight summers’ old, clutching your mother’s apron…

He doesn't say anything about telling Gale that he is a Chosen at the age of 8 or that Mystra personally has an interest in him. Maybe Elminster was just wandering around and met Gale, or perhaps someone wrote to Elminster to tell him there's an exceptionally talented mage boy that he should meet. Elminster doesn't tell us the circumstances of the meeting, so we'll never know. The one thing we do know is that Elminster has known about Gale since Gale's childhood. There's just nothing in his letter proves that Mystra was actively speaking to Gale when he was 8, or even telling Elminster to choose Gale that young.

Keep in mind, if Gale is 35 in 1492, then he was 8 in 1465, well before Elminster had gotten the charge to maintain the Weave and select new Chosens for Mystra.

Then of course we have Minsc's comment that:

While the girl-folk go on to rule as wychlaran, Weave-touched boys were hidden away. Trained to work their craft in silence and secrecy. It is an old custom, not well-observed. In truth I thought it born of caution, after some catastrophe wrought by wizardly men-folk of old. Now I wonder if it was not done to hide them from Mystra, and the snares she sets for young and prideful boys, hm?

I want to point out that this idea that the Rashemi people hide Weave-touched boys from Mystra's sight is completely new lore. Ed Greenwood explained a bit of how he views vremyonni boys/men being secluded in a series of tweets from 2020. Basically, because a wychlaran (female witch) is also a kind of ruling/religious class in the Rashemi culture, male spellcasters create a power imbalance, especially because they have access to more powerful spells than the female spellcasters. To combat this, male spellcasters are hidden away to avoid political imbalance and end up serving as enchanters/weaponsmiths for the wychlarans. Or they leave and become wizards elsewhere.

The idea that the Rashemi hide the boys away to either a) protect them from Mystra's icky amorous tactics or b) protect their communities from Mystra encouraging grand, destructive ambition in their menfolk, is probably unique to BG3 alone...and that's if we can take what Minsc says at face value.

Can we?

Minsc proves time and again he doesn't think much of wizards. The only thing he likes about Gale is that he can explode. I think he mistrusts male spellcasters in general because of his culture. So his comment could just be Minsc taking a jab at Gale while also not accurately representing his culture (possibly by offering an explanation that he just hasn't thought through all that thoroughly).

The fact that he says "young and prideful boys" is curious, regardless. Does he view Gale as a boy, because Gale is technically younger than Minsc by several decades thanks to Minsc being a statue for a while? Is it derogatory? Is it a remark to say that Gale's ambition is a bit juvenile, as wizard ambitions tend to be? Who knows. Minsc's dialogue isn't always as surface-level as it appears.

So...was Gale groomed?

I guess that depends on your definition of grooming. Adult-to-adult grooming is absolutely a thing. It's a cycle of manipulation, isolation, and gaslighting that leaves one person, the victim, in a twisted, unequal relationship with their abuser. So, yeah, Gale absolutely was groomed by his goddess. Point blank. Period. She rewarded his magical talent with sexual/emotional intimacy. He responded with love, intimacy, adoration, etc., that she was incapable of reciprocating as his equal, because of her power of authority over him (over all wizards) yet she used it to her advantage, and then tossed him aside when it became inconvenient for her. Absolutely she groomed him, and she's an abuser.

But if we're merging Forgotten Realms lore and timelines with BG3 timelines, then our understanding of Gale's perspective of all this shifts a little. Instead of a child chasing after a goddess who is stringing him along, it becomes Gale, the child prodigy, desperately trying to understand magic in a world where the goddess of magic is silent, possibly dead, and the Weave is trying to repair itself after a devastating Spellplague a few decades earlier. It becomes Gale in his teens, not understanding why the others think he's so odd for burying himself in his studies to impress a goddess who might not even care, if she's even alive. It becomes a young adult Gale overwhelmed with awe at the first rumors that Mystra might finally, finally be back, and hearing her voice for the very first time. It becomes Gale, in his late twenties, finally staring into the face of his goddess, someone he's had blind faith in before he even knew for certain she was capable of hearing his prayers. It becomes mid-thirties Gale, who has grown up with a patchwork Weave and a missing goddess, plotting to restore even more power to her by finding an elusive bit of errant Weave and making the biggest mistake of his life. It becomes a story of Gale who probably looked forward to the return of Mystra with so much awe and longing, only to be used and cast aside by her within a dozen years of her return to godhood.

No wonder he felt that godhood was not only well within his grasp, but that he could be a more deserving kind of god.

It's not a perfect theory, and a lot of Gale's dialogue suggests he was a young man, probably early 20s, when he began an intimate relationship with Mystra. He also implies that she spoke to him for some time before they ever became intimate. He describes her first as the Mother of Magic, and then his teacher, and then his muse, and then his lover. So what are we to believe?

Well...that's the frustrating beauty of D&D and Forgotten Realms and Baldur's Gate I guess. The lore is wibbly wobby and malleable. You do what you want with it.

#long post #bg3 #bg3 lore #baldur's gate 3 #gale #gale dekarios #fandom discourse #bg3 discourse #in this essay i will #who let me do this to myself tbh

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noneorother · 1 year

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What if the Metatron is scared of Crowley?

The S2 brain rot is still going strong so I have to share my meta thoughts somewhere. I guess it's gonna be tumblr, isn't it? Would you like to spend a lot of time dissecting what the Metatron says with me? Okay here we go...

So the full line here is "He always wanted to go his own way. Always asking damned fool questions, too." I think the "Always" and the ",too." are doing some pretty heavy lifting in this sentence. Because we've seen him asking questions before the fall (more on that in another post) we assume The Metatron is referencing that time before. But what if he isn't? What if he's referencing this scene from the opening of S2E1 where Crowley is seemingly now having an existential crisis that is weirdly never referenced again in the season.

"But Crowley is always asking questions!" You cry. Yeah, he is. An the metatron is getting pretty f*&?ing sick of his shit. You want to watch another time he asks a question after this scene in S2E1?

Seems like Crowley is doing some mighty fine asking already this season! After finishing season 2 I really started wondering why The Metatron was interfering with our boys now? I mean, they were right there the whole time. The Metatron clearly knows where they are for years. Even though Crowley has been asking question for all time forever and clearly some part of heaven hates that, it seems like maybe these questions at this point in time might actually be very harmful to the Metatron's plans. Remember when Jimbriel says this in S2E1?

Except Jim never gives Azirapalalah anything the whole season? The matchbox stays in heaven. He doesn't give him the box either. It stays outside and must be fetched.

So when the metatron says "You're a leader, you're honest, you dont just tell people what they want to hear. It's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine." I think we can surmise that Gabriel was trying to come to Aziraphael to give him something important, but it never happened (OR DID IT? That's for another post...). So if The Metatron is breathing a huge sigh of relief here because he thinks he's confirmed Gabriel didn't give Aziraphael anything, the last thing he needs to do is separate the really good question asker from his will to ask any more good questions.

"But how does the metatron know Gabriel didn't give him anything? What does he have like a stupid spy camera or something inside the bookshop?" Guys the art direction in this show in bonkers, I'm telling you.

OH LOOK. A WHITE GIANT FLOATING HEAD IN ALL THEIR CONVERSATIONS IN THE BOOKSHOP.

So my reading of the original line is something like : "Crowley wanted to not follow heaven, which caused him to fall with the guys. But also I've been watching him do reckless and annoying question asking right now. And that's currently ruining my plans and I've had enough. Get that idiot away from the bookshop."

#ineffable husbands #crowley #neil gaiman #crowley x aziraphale #good omens s2 #go2 #go2 meta #good omens meta #good omens season two #metatron #art director talks good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens gabriel

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prince-liest · 7 months

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A couple (2) people have expressed interest in the Hazbin Hotel OC I mentioned in the latest chapter of 666, which is exactly all of the encouragement I needed to post about them! They're like 50% OC and 50% sona. This lovely sketch is by @gendermeh!! I got permission to post it even though they are also turning it into a really lovely digital art piece! <3

They are a former seraphim and exorcist that, to steal a phrase from Good Omens, didn't so much fall as saunter vaguely downward. Sera's weird sibling that liked flexing their power a little too much and got sent to the murderous girl scouts to work it out of their system, which backfired tremendously when they liked hell too much and decided to stay.

Nowadays they spend most of their time nesting in the Pride Ring, collecting friends (contracts) to show off for, avoiding Lucifer like the plague while contemplating whether they should maybe reach out, and carousing around whichever part of hell currently feels like it would be the most entertaining to throw their celestial-class weight around in.

Factoids about the creature otherwise known as Tzafael!

7.5 feet tall.

While the halo always hovers above their head, its actual orientation is always such that the center of it faces heaven, like a satellite dish that still receives exorcist communications.

The little feather antennae are fully mobile and rise and fall based on their current expressiveness. If they get particularly spooked or annoyed, most of the feathers in their hair (and wings) start bristling up and out.

The eyes on the wings are fully functional and blink in tandem with the ones on their face. They also don't vanish when they make their wings disappear, instead remaining as a floating halo of eyeballs.

Powers include localized omniscience and minor foresight, good for: being hard to hit in a fight, and being obnoxious by unintentionally interrupting people who are still speaking.

Yes, the umbrella tip is angelic steel.

Just like Sera, they have a birdform, though they rarely use it! They are magpie-shaped.

VERY good grip strength.

They like fish. :) To eat? To keep in an aquarium? Yes.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #personal #fic art #kinda not really but I want it in that tag #long post #they shop at the same tailor half the pride ring gets their clothes from lmao #I'm genuinely so fond of how they turned out and I LOVE Gossie for drawing this for me #love this character/sona immensely it has been really fun to think about them #my writing #hazbin sona #I am an OC RPer at heart so this was very dear to me #my ocs #tzafael

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roguelov · 2 years

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All Yours

Summary: You and Morpheus were separated for a while to complete different tasks to help the Dreaming. Then, by luck, you run into each other. And quickly realize you can’t keep your hands off of each other. But, Morpheus soon learns something else about you, something you never showed until now - just how much you love making him yours.

Word Count: ~2.7k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: Teasing/flirting, heavily implied smut but no deeds (sub!Morpheus, possessive kink, light choking, dirty talk, very light exhibition)

Requested by a beautiful anon

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

In the labyrinthian hallway, its high vaulted ceilings stretched far into the heavens, and its handcrafted stone carvings were all markings of elegance. Twists and turns veered off left and right, and strangely - noted only with a keen eye - hidden passages curved downward or upward to unknown places. All of it mysterious, all of it enchanting. Yet, a figure darted through the halls ignoring all its wonders and secrets.

You.

You, in your haste, mumbled to yourself and focused only on your given tasks. Your footsteps mixed with your incoherent mumbling bounced off the extravagant archways, echoing throughout. Only you and your chaotic thoughts. Your fingers danced in the air as you recounted your mental to-do checklist.

Morpheus - reluctantly, after your constant asking - agreed to your help in maintaining the Dreaming. You assigned yourself with menial, odd end jobs; simply anything to lessen Morpheus’s load. And frankly, you enjoyed it. You enjoyed helping him and those around, and also enjoyed the added bonus of him returning to you sooner. He was no longer exhausted, trying to sneak into your shared bedroom under the veil of night. Now, most of his time could be given to you.

Currently, you were on a hunt. A window had shattered in the library, spilling shards everywhere. An accident, truly. Dreamers were unpredictable and always enthralled by what the Dreaming could offer. A few things may be unfortunately damaged along the way. So, you were searching, somewhat frantically, for Merv to ask if he could lend you a broom.

“Merv said he would be …”

Your voice trailed off as you desperately tried to recall where the elusive pumpkin man was hiding. You groaned, taking another turn down the palace hall. Hopefully, or by pure luck, you could run into him.

Luck, instead, brought you someone else.

Morpheus, from out of a hidden passage, stepped out. Your muttering easily caught his ears in the empty hall. Turning his head, he saw your retreating figure. His heart immediately soared, like an infatuated child seeing their school crush. Only a few hours apart and he ached for you - craved you.

He walked - floated - towards you, drawn in by your infectious gravitational pull. His original task was forgotten.

Morpheus’s hand glided across your back, drawing your attention. You perked up, turning your head. Confusion, written so plainly on your face, melted away. The tension in your shoulders instantly dropped. You smiled, wide and beautiful, at him. Your eyes shone with an overflowing love. The world - for a brief moment, just as your eyes connected - was rosy and perfect.

Morpheus’s heart seized at the sight of you. He kissed your cheek. “How are you, my love?”

“I’m good - better now that you are here.”

He chuckled, softly.

Your smile widened. When Morpheus laughed, rarely does it happen, it was a chorus of angels: sweet, melodic, and uplifting. You reached over, cupping his cheek. He leaned into your touch. He turned his head, pressing his lips into the palm of your hand. Oh, how such a simple touch lit a fire inside of you.

You leaned towards him, kissing him passionately.

He hummed.

His lips, soft and rich, moved expertly against yours. It was a perfect meld. His hands cupped your face, bringing you closer. You smiled against his lips. Your hands snaked up, threading into his dark locks - which always called out to you to tug on them. He carefully backed you up against the wall, tucked between two columns out of sight.

You hummed as your back thumped into the hard surface.

His hands wandered down your body, to your waist. He pressed himself into you, trapping you against him. His lips slowly pulled away as you eagerly chased after him. He smiled lovingly. You returned the smile, unable to hide your happiness or love. He dipped his head, and began kissing down your neck.

You sighed deeply. Your hands, still entangled in his hair, tugged on the ends. He hummed, burying his face into your neck.

So long. It had been too long, he thought.

It had been.

You both had been busy these past days - weeks. He missed you, he missed you more than he could articulate.

You tugged his hair, repeating the simple act, but a little harder this second time. He groaned, and gripped your hips white knuckling them. Thrilled by his needy sounds, you bit back a giddy smile. You pulled on his hair once more, and pulled until his face was out from hiding in the crook of your neck. A low moan tumbled off his beautiful rosy lips. His endless sky blue eyes twinkled, excited.

Your heart skipped.

Your hands skimmed down his chest, and pushed him. You easily flipped Morpheus around. Now, his back was pressed up against the wall with you blocking his escape. Surprise passed over his features - a quick jump of his brows. You only smiled, one filled with devious plans.

Morpheus’s chest heaved. His breathing matched your own; or dare you say more erratic as anticipation flooded through his body. Your eyes landed on his parted lips. So enticing, so wondrous. Your gaze flickered back up. Morpheus’s skin buzzed. Your eyes were filled with an undeniable hunger. His heart fluttered in his chest, like a hummingbird needing to escape from its cage. Oh, but he wouldn’t want to. He was happily pinned down, happily pinned to the wall.

You dipped your head, just as he did only seconds ago. Your lips barely skimmed over his neck, a feathery touch. He didn’t fight or protest. He immediately gave himself over. His head fell to the side, giving you easier access.

You smiled against his skin. You started to pepper kiss over his neck, tantalizingly slow. A test.

A tease.

Morpheus sighed as his eyes fluttered closed.

Encouraged by his soft sounds and willingness, you started to be more demanding and suck at his marble crafted skin. The thrill of marking him, here and now, enticed you greatly. Your love bites were to be shown off for all of the Dreaming to see. He was yours, only you could do this to him.

Your teeth grazed over his skin and gently nipped at him.

He let out a breathy moan.

You smirked. You continued, littering his neck with your work - sucking, biting at his neck, and soothing any pains with your hypnotic tongue. You even worked your way to the other side of his neck; nothing would go untouched by you.

Morpheus’s breathing was becoming more and more labored, coming out in short bursts. His hands latched back onto your hips, needing to hold onto you. His fingers dug into you, definitely bruising you as you were bruising him. He drew you close, bucking his hips against yours. The tiny friction was electrical, dizzying.

Oh, how he loved this.

To be at your mercy.

To be yours.

You pulled away, much to Morpheus’s dismay. A predatory smile crossed over your lips. Morpheus’s typically perfect pale skin was now covered in blemishes, blemishes of your doing.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” you whispered sultry.

Morpheus’s droopy eyes flickered open, glancing up at you. Never, never in all the time he knew you, did he expect this. You never said anything before. But, oh he loved this delicious surprise. You ran a finger over his bruised neck. A faint hum of pain coursed through him. Pain which morphed into pleasure. He shivered under your delicate touch.

“What’s the problem, my sweet king?” Your smirk grew. “Talk to me.”

Before he could speak, your hand flew down cupping his growing bulge.

His head dropped forward onto your shoulder. A whimper, an unbelievable needy whine, fell from his lips. He let out a shaky low breath.

How did you do this to him? How was he rendered into such a state?

Dream of the Endless, King of Nightmares, was at a mortal’s mercy. Every touch set a uncontrollable fire of want and need under his skin. He could feel himself burning from the inside out because of you. Your lips pulled out such carnal desires from him - desires not even his dear sibling could create. Your hands, your light nimble fingers, mapped out his body knowing how to make him sing, to make the world know who he belonged to.

You were his destruction and savior.

“Morpheus,” you purred. “Answer -“

Footsteps echoed.

You whipped away from Morpheus. You peered around the large column to see a shadow casted on the walls and slowly approached you. As the figure walked forward, the iconic round head and orange hue signified it was Mervyn - the person you wanted to find minutes ago before this exciting turn of events. You quickly glanced back at Morpheus. His glassy, dazed, eyes sharpened slightly at the sound. He tried to move - possibly to see who it was and to promptly remove himself from this somewhat embarrassing situation. Yet, you clamped a hand over his mouth, and kept him in place.

“Don’t.” You whispered, sternly.

He froze.

He obliged to your command. With one word, he was rooted in place.

You casually - or as nonchalant as possible - stepped out into view as Merv walked up. Morpheus was completely hidden behind the column, and you appeared to be leaning on it as if you stopped to have a rest. Your hand tucked around the column stayed on Morpheus’s mouth, not wishing to let go.

The pumpkin man cocked his head. “Uh, hey there, (Y/N). I didn’t see you there.”

“Hey, Merv,” you smiled, picture perfect. “You are actually the exact person I was looking for.”

Merv’s face scrunched together. “You were? Why?”

As you began to tell Merv the minor incident that occurred in the library, your hand slowly, inch by inch, crept down from Morpheus’s mouth to around his beautifully sculpted neck. Instantly, Morpheus craned his head back. Once again, he gave himself over. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale.

Upon hearing him, you gently squeezed. A firm warning: not a single sound.

Morpheus bit the inside of his cheek and swallowed down his growing and apparent desperation.

Merv sighed, “Alright, I’ll go clean it up.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. I would be more than happy to do so, I would just need a broom and a pan,” you cheerfully replied.

Morpheus’s heart sank. You would leave him? Leave him in such a desperate state? A faint, barely notable, whine hummed in the back of his throat.

But, you noticed.

You squeezed his neck - his second warning. His hands flew up and wrapped around your wrist. He needed to touch you, to find ground in his dizzying euphoric state. He carefully removed your hand from his neck, which you allowed - mostly curious as to what he was doing. He brought your hand to his lips, and peppered up your wrist with delicate kisses. It was his way of saying he needed you.

He needed you now.

The only sign you gave was a smile - a minuscule twitch of the corner of your lips.

“If you say so,” Merv huffed. “Less work for me the better. Here I can show you where I keep my stuff.”

“Actually, could you just drop it off in the library? There are a few other things I need to do, something small on my way to the library.”

Merv squinted his eyes as his lips puckered in thought, then he just nodded. “Okay.” He spun around, walking back where he came from. “And you and the boss better not make a mess because I am not cleaning that up.”

Morpheus flinched.

You, however, laughed. “Will do, Merv. Thanks.”

You slid back in front of Morpheus, like the serpent ready to tempt. Your eyes darkened. The air was knocked out of Morpheus’s lung. One look and he was ready to fall to his knees, to grant you your wish. You grabbed Morpheus’s face, drawing him close to you. “Let’s take this elsewhere, my sweet king.” Your lips brushed over his. “Before we upset Merv.”

A couple hours later, Morpheus strolled through the hallways of the winding castle. He was on his way to his studies, or specifically to the beach to work on his new dreams and nightmares. You, on the other hand, had left, making your way to the library to clean up the mess among completing a few other tasks on your list.

Your lips, the memory of it, still ghosted over his skin. It haunted him. His fingers traced over his neck, feeling the tenderness. He laughed once through his nose. You were devious.

“I don’t think I ever mentioned how much I loved seeing you like this.” You murmured, as you straddled him. Your fingers delicately traced over his bruised neck, and down his bare chest where new marks rose. “I did this.”

His chest rumbled as he chuckled. “Yes, you did, my love.”

You bent down, skimming your lips over his. “You’re all mine.”

His hands cupped your face, kissing you. Muttering against your lips, he said, “I am.”

Morpheus was so enwrapped with his memories, with your lingering touches, that he failed to notice Matthew soaring towards him.

“Hey, boss?”

Morpheus blinked, snapping himself out of those pleasant thoughts. He glanced up to see Matthew descend, landing on his shoulder. “Hello, Matthew,” Morpheus greeted.

Matthew had something to tell the King of Dreams, however his thoughts quickly vanished at the sight of Morpheus’s spotted bruised neck. Matthew snickered, “Did you have some fun, boss?”

Morpheus’s brows knitted together, only to smooth out as realization hit. A passive, almost annoyed, look was painted over his steely features. “We are adults here, Matthew.”

Matthew ignored the obvious irritated look Morpheus was giving him. “Sure, but we’re not animals - well, most of us aren’t. And she got you good, sir.” Matthew’s tone said it all, he was gleefully happy to poke at the Endless.

Morpheus rolled his eyes.

“Now, I understand why Merv was in a mood earlier. He was mumbling about the two of you.” Matthew chuckled. “Poor guy probably saw too much.”

Morpheus stayed silent, unwilling to indulge Matthew.

“Do you want some ice, sir? It might help.”

“I can assure you, Matthew, I am perfectly fine.”

Matthew hummed, “Uh-huh, I bet you are. Probably a lot better now.”

“And what are you implying?” Morpheus turned his head, eyeing the raven.

Matthew cocked his head, his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Imply it however you want, sir.”

Morpheus huffed, turning his head. “Do you not have something better to do?”

“I did.” Matthew settled, lowering himself onto Morpheus’s shoulder, content to take place here instead. “But, I can’t remember.”

“Of course,” Morpheus mumbled to himself.

Morpheus continued to stroll down the hall, with a chirper Matthew babbling on his shoulder. He could send the pesky raven elsewhere, but in all honesty he didn’t mind the jokes. All he could think of was hours ago.

“You’re all mine.”

He was yours, and he didn’t want anyone to think otherwise.

And speaking of the devil, you popped up around a corner carrying a broom and pan. You were trying to find Merv again, or find where to put his supplies. It was deja vu all over again. But, you had a sinking feeling Merv didn’t wish to be near you anytime soon.

Your embarrassment, on the other hand, was far and few. You would happily do it all over again.

Glancing around, your eyes landed on the pair. You smiled at them. Morpheus’s face instantly lit up, he returned the smile. A change which Matthew noted and chuckled to himself.

Morpheus ignored him like he had been.

Your eyes dropped, stealing a glance at his marked neck. Your smile widened and you shook your head. As you walked up to them, you said in a sly remark, “You have a little something on your neck, my king.”

“Do I?” Morpheus smiled, pleased to play along with your banter. “How odd.”

You chuckled.

Matthew glanced between the two of you, unable to believe he was witnessing any of this. “Should I leave you two?” He joked.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, you don’t have to. I actually wanted to ask if either of you happen to know where Merv is or where I can put his stuff?”

“Down the hall. Two lefts then a right, second door on the right.” Morpheus answered.

You beamed. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, my love.”

You started to walk by. You looked to Morpheus then to Matthew, still comfortably perched on his shoulder. Your smile changed into a little smirk, “And Matthew be nice to him, he’s clearly hurt.”

#the sandman #Morpheus #dream of the endless #sandman morpheus #sandman dream #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x reader #dream x you #dream x fem!reader #fem!reader #smut

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i-shit-in-your-bathtub · 1 year

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mild good omens s2 spoilers

everyone hypothesizing/hc that Crowley was the archangel Raphael b4 the fall bc not only is Raphael conveniently missing but Crowley was also a high ranking angel pre-fall

great theory! wonderful but there's no text where Raphael falls & also the universe and the stars were never his dominion

I offer you Kokabiel: "the star of god"

a highly ranked angel known as a watcher (meant to watch over the universe) who became a fallen angel and commands an army in hell

known as the angel of the stars and teaches of constellations, Kokabiel while considered fallen is still seen as holy despite being a resident of hell

literally I feel like this fits mr gaimans narrative much better and gonna be honest archangels are actually very low level in angel rankings & Crowley is specifically at least a dominion or throne so he had to be pretty high up there even assuming the book /show moved where archangels fall on the hierarchy plus watchers land high up in the hierarchy so it would make since for him to have access

most fallen watchers fell bc of their involvement in the creation of the nephilim but if Kokabiel is generally considered holy its unlikely that that was the reason he was cast from heaven

and I would say that angel Crowley has a childlike love of his nebulae that it seemed like god did not respect & we can assume that he fell bc of him questioning the almighty about the universe

like I don't think neil gaiman has prefall Crowley set up as the angel Kokabiel but I do think it fits a tad bit better that currently floating theories

again this reinforces my theory that Kokabiel didn't defy god by creating the Nephilim but instead he came upon the corruption of heaven which we know that Crowley knows better than anyone, and that is what led to his fall simply questioning heaven or the almighty & being cast to hell for it

thanks for coming to my ted talk lmao, a lot of research went into this theory

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens theory #crowley #angels in Hebrew texts #contains mild spoilers #neil gaiman #like I don't think this is actually what Neil has written but I find that it fits his narrative for pre-fall Crowley #go2 spoilers #this is kinda rambly srry i just think its very interesting #and I hope more ppl consider this a possible hc #raphael #archangel raphael

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dorian-they-ao3 · 1 year

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it is so so important to me that Aziraphale said “I forgive you”

there’s a variety of theories floating about out there but I personally believe he was saying “I forgive you” in the celestial sense because like. Aziraphale is basically the right hand of God now, right? So saying “I forgive you” is him saying “I’m not going to condemn you or cast you out for rejecting Heaven.” “I forgive you” as in “I won’t hold this choice against you.”

So the “I forgive you” leaves the door open. Aziraphale is waiting for Crowley to change his mind. Crowley is waiting for Aziraphale to come to his senses. So S3 is gonna be all about who caves in first, which is basically like putting two marbles on a slope & seeing which one gravity decides will reach its inevitable conclusion first.

bottom line is these are two beings who love each other and know they both want to spend eternity together but they’re currently having a disagreement over a job offer. A job offer from an historically corrupt company that Aziraphale believes could make a difference in the world with the right person in charge. The problem is not only is he not actually going to be in charge, but this job is going to move them across the universe from the home they’ve built together & force them to give up all of their prized worldly possessions while also requiring both of them to be working for said company. A company that Crowley was fired from several millennia ago all because he asked too many questions and didn’t agree with what management was doing. And now that he’s gotten comfortable being a plantdad-househusband who fudges memos to home office, he really doesn’t want to return to any work at all, let alone for the awful company that fired him in the first place.

So either Aziraphale needs to actually start making a enough of a positive difference that Crowley can admit that Heaven is sort of alright now (unlikely), or, after Aziraphale makes some sweeping celestial changes, he realises his work is basically done so he can leave the company in good hands (hello Muriel) and go back home to his life & his husband, kiss & make up, and live happily ever after (even more unlikely).

OR — and most likely — Aziraphale needs to realise that no matter what he does he can’t change The Way Things Are bc the system of Heaven & Hell itself is broken and needs to be demolished. So he abandons Heaven, reunites with Crowley, does the I Was Wrong dance, and fights alongside the humans in the upcoming Us vs Them battle, hand-in-hand with the love of his nearly-endless existence. And then we’ll ALL live happily ever after.

bottom line: it’s all going to be alright.

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overshelter · 11 months

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REVIEW: Heaven Official's Blessing

WARNING: Contains numerous SPOILERS, so CAUTION!

<< REFERS TO THE UNREVISED VERSION >> This is the author's third work and also her longest. TGCF, unlike SV which seems to focus more on the emotional and MDZS which focuses more on themes such as forgiveness and overcoming, seems to pay more attention to the feelings and relationships between the characters. The fact that the MC, Xie Lian, has lived for just over 800 years is definitely not something that can be easily overcome. Having lived, felt and related to numerous types of people over such a long period of time, it's completely natural that he would end up making extremely difficult decisions or be driven to almost irreparable psychological damage. In fact, I still find it incredible and truly admirable how he managed to overcome and move on even in the midst of many things. Even if there were moments in the current timeline when you can see that some of those wounds were merely treated, but never truly and completely healed. Most of his relationships in the beginning are completely in ruins, and don't seem to have any chance of recovery. But even with all that, he has still managed, not to mend, but to patch up many wounds that have emerged over the years. The other characters were also written and developed in a very human way, which was an unparalleled point of attraction in my opinion. What really stuck with me was that no one in this story can be described as entirely good or evil. Everyone walks a fine line between these two sides, fighting and doing the best they can for themselves, their loved ones and for a hope of happiness. All their decisions, actions and emotions are extremely relatable if you simply put yourself in their shoes without having any kind of prejudice in mind. They show that we can all reach a point of no return if we are pushed to the limit. Moving on, another crucial point in this story is undoubtedly the romance. It was developed in a very sweet way. So sweet that you end up melting with every interaction. HuaLian really is that fairytale couple, who have an enviable and perfect love, with a true sense of eternity. It's completely impossible to look at them and not feel like you're floating or have that warm feeling in your chest. To tell you the truth, I think they're the couple with the cutest vibe out of the three by this author. I'd say they're like that teenage romance or the taste of first love. That love that burns, that warms you, that won't let you forget it. A gentle love that makes you feel complete and totally welcomed. With this person, you feel like the whole world could turn its back on you and everything would still be fine. Because that person, that person alone is enough. That person you know and feel will never, ever abandon you and will always be there for you, supporting you no matter what. That's how HuaLian makes you feel. That's how they are. A simple, sweet and engaging definition of the word love. TGCF is also a very good story in terms of holding your attention. There are lots of things happening all the time, well-developed schemes, backstories to be discovered, new characters and a whole range of extremely attractive contexts that you can't take your eyes off. Everything was very well written and crafted, with nothing that seemed tedious or unnecessary throughout. MXTX, for me, is an author with a real talent for writing. Everything is very captivating and can hit you hard if you choose to give it a chance. Well, I'll stop here, as I feel I have nothing more to say. I hope you give this baby a try!

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witchmoon · 2 years

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by our red string of fate.

Part 1

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond returns to King’s Landing for Aegon’s name day celebration during the midst of war. Immediately he regrets his decision to join the festivities, threatening an existential crisis, but then a mysterious beauty catches his attention - intriguing his jaded heart. It’s an unlikely place and the most inconvenient of times, but somehow he's renewed by the prospect that he could finally have a love he’s never known.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, eventual NSFW (lots!), language, soft feels.

I just want to write about Aemond falling in love, so the story is hyper-focused on the two mains-only without a lot of scene setting and background regarding the dance. Hope you stick around and enjoy! Comments/asks welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. though i know it’s blinding, there’s a way out. say out loud, we will not give up on love now.

Sometimes Aemond wonders why he still shows up for shit like this, especially when the attendance is so insufferable. Not that he doesn’t occasionally enjoy hearing his name mentioned in mixed tones of reverence and fear when he returns home.

Admittedly, he does find the soft whispers amongst the crowd of highborn families that his mother insists on periodically inviting to court dryly amusing, but only just.

The attention can also prove a nice stroke to his ego every once in awhile, but it isn’t important to him the way it might have been before the war started. The pointed compliments and overt side-glances his way seem particularly insincere, holding no significance, as every person in the room fails to override his growing boredom.

Heavens save me.

Aemond begins to seethe at the fuckery of it all, and the night continues to progress with no clear end in sight. Time passes and with every moment that it does, his interest in remaining present depletes.

It’s unsurprising in consideration of how the conversations stay surface-level, lacking quality as the topics float weightless and repeating, forever removed from reality. Even with so many moon turns passed, everything still seems to remain relatively ordinary. No- dull as shit, he internally counters. Its personally stifling within the confines of the Red Keep.

He hates it here. The lack of evolution disappoints Aemond, even despite his expectation already residing at an all-time low. But what could be expected? Certainly nothing more from the self-indulgent snobs so far up their own asses as they regale in false self-importance, and definitely not when they maintain this guise for their foolish king’s name day celebration. What a farce.

His train of thought compels him to consider the raised dais where his idiot brother currently sits, already several cups deep into his spirits. Aemond can’t help but roll his eye, a habit he’s no longer keen to conceal. He’s grown tired of putting on fronts, especially for his family, wearing his emotions more easily on his sleeve so to speak.

Disdain and bitterness reignite at the sight of Aegon, selfish prick that he is, weaving back into Aemond’s marrow as he reflects on the many sacrifices he continues to make in the name of honor, loyalty and duty. And for fucking what?

i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful…

The wine is weak, the food is tasteless and the music - abhorrent. He swears he’s going to gut the damn jester that keeps circling the main floor if he sees him again, envisioning the crimson pool that would undoubtedly ruin his newly polished boots in his mind’s eye, were he to act on the impulse.

It wouldn’t be worth it and Mother would be none too pleased…

Convincing himself of this, it’s actually not lost on him that he’s spent his entire life actually living within and throughout this ever-growing debacle. So many nights just like this, and the irony of such staggering a truth becomes too fucking rich. He blames his father most of all for this, but there are other factors too, ideas less congruent, but convincing all the same- he’s been cursed since birth.

His aversion to remain in this hall, in the entirety of this damnable Keep, only builds. The mood of Aemond is a transformative black and he’s past annoyance when more people fill the space, to the point it feels like everything probably should implode on itself. And he can’t say he wouldn’t welcome this, even if it meant his own demise, because at this point who fucking cares?

but when i move into the world, it feels like a moral fall- like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Alas, it does not. But the cynicism within him just keeps expanding. He can only blame himself. Just lay in it then, and try to be civilized.

Truth be told, the appeal for him to do anything these days that didn’t include partaking in the plotting for destruction and so many endless deaths during war meetings, or patrolling for visible threats from the sky on Vhagar had been strong. He’s convinced it must have been in a moment of weakness, during one of his deep bouts of loneliness, that the invitation bearing raven had conveniently arrived to him.

Aemond can’t justify any other reason than this, for he’d made haste to King’s Landing without any true forethought upon receipt of his mother’s handwritten request. Why had he been so easily swayed? Was it because life of late felt reduced to boring days, an unknown future, an irregular sleep, repeat? Yes, likely. But these were weaknesses better kept under wraps.

He smirks at such an unmerciful fate, but mostly to himself when he turns again to the main table, witnessing in real time as his only living parent bestows Aegon with a small surreptitious slap at something mouthy he’s just said towards her. In all these years, nothing ever changes.

Their grandsire holds Aegon in a death glare full of contempt by her side, utterly disapproving as well, which is something Aemond finds satiric. After all, wasn’t this what The Hand had always wanted for The Greens? Irreverent power and glory, Aegon upon the throne…such folly.

i can hardly breathe, and now you're right above me and your shadow suffocates.

The Keep had momentarily seemed a welcoming concept, but the present is too sobering a contradiction, impossible to ignore now. Sadly, the notion that he’d feel differently for this homecoming was once more proving false.

He can’t deflect responsibility, knowing his decision in actuality has been swayed by the growing weariness of violence - how tired he is of constantly being on the defense; forever at odds with his heart, his soul. It all feels heavy, a burdensome weight that will not hold much longer. What is my purpose? Although he will never admit this to anyone, he’s begun to lose sight of what he’s even fighting for anymore.

He needs something else to focus on for a while. A spark of interest would be nice, anything might do, as long as it could keep him from lashing out in anger - mostly at himself. Or worse, he could go spiraling downwards, back into the deep abyss of his emotions for a long-term residence. Just wither away into nothingness, and he has half a mind to let it happen. Fuck it all.

The actuality of all this flits across his mind, leaving the room suddenly muted to his ears. He shuts out the conversation he’s been involved in for an undisputed amount of time. Interestingly, the group surrounding him is littered with several lords and ladies that used to scoff and shirk at him a mere handful of solar cycles previously.

Hypocrites, cowards, utter cunts - the lot of them.

It doesn’t really matter to him though, these fools from a bitter and harrowing past, nor their opinions. Instead he inwardly returns to a more pressing matter up for his contemplation - the emptiness he’s been feeling for awhile, how internalized and damaging it still is.

He thinks of the way it all stacks up against him, how it’s reduced him to a man underwhelmed, unfulfilled… and the greatest issue of all, unloved. This is something Aemond is forever conscious of, and it’s like he’s suddenly experiencing the same oppressive state he’d lived in for so much of his youth, a time in which he was not in control whatsoever.

Once upon a time, he had been soft - a dreamer with a lot of heart to give. Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, his sensitive nature had proven detrimental, swiftly making him the target of many immature, albeit cruel intentions. Even despite being a Targaryen son, he’d constantly found himself the brunt of jests amongst his eldest brother and younger kin alike.

It had been a callous awakening, one that both fed his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and expanded his burgeoning anger, turning him more spiteful with age.

What the fuck?

He wonders why these memories are suddenly seeking their re-emergence, particularly when it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime making painstaking efforts to finally move beyond such devastating haunts.

But it never really leaves him.

In defiance of persistence, self preservation and all he’s mastered, everything he’s proven of himself through accomplishment and challenge, some things still refuse to detach themselves from him. They are core memories that shall remain forever tied to the very matter of which he’s made, and because of this, he’s tried to make peace with their aggravation.

Even still, it’s a nuisance for him when he considers his own personal defects, how ingrained they seem, like a sustained poison in his blood. Inescapable fallacies that others have convinced him of, no matter his renowned skills as a swordsman, his impressive mount on the biggest dragon in the world, all his knowledge - the rarity of an education that is vast, uncommon… the notoriety of his crimes.

Am I not more than this?

He’s flawed - yes, as painfully aware of this truth as he is of his demons, so many well-acquainted old foes that have been around his entire life, lurking endlessly. They’re more repressed than before, but Aemond doesn’t think they’ll ever truly leave him, and he’s inclined to accept this damnation too.

But try as he might to tamper it, he feels primarily defined by his navigation and survival through neglect and bullying, at being physically maimed and sexually taken advantage of at a young age, none the wiser at the time. It’s all very tragic, even still, and yet he’s tired of being married to the victimization of it all.

He often wonders what’s so terribly wrong with him that every day, it feels like Westeros is trying to strangle him. As if she’s been trying to do this for his entire life - kill him slowly. And this plausibility doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility as he sardonically considers his existence, how shit it’s been, that the bitch might actually be succeeding in the endeavor.

It's an ever-present thorn in his side, and it feels deeper tonight, the stab somehow greater. He feels like disappearing or giving up, and the decision to give in only persists in the absence of an anchor - one he’s been in dire need of for some time.

If only there was a new strength from which he could draw, something powerful that he might feel inclined to cling to. His mind reels at what could possibly keep him grounded, give his life meaning, keep him sane enough to remain in this living hell.

But hope is a foreign concept, a dangerous entertainment that Aemond doesn’t make a practice of, and happiness is even more evasive. For him, there’s no miracle waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to unveil itself and show him kindness. There’s no fortress from which to seek refuge within, no bastion or brave defender to come to his aid, no salve to erase all the hurt in his torn heart. It’s a lost cause.

He knows that coming here tonight has been a grave mistake.

no dawn, no day, i’m always in this twilight.

He wants to move, but the will to do so momentarily abandons him, leaving him to remain trapped within himself. His singular vision loses focus as his stare shifts to the intricate flooring before him, a distracting pattern of which he really isn’t seeing. It’s not promising, but he’s somehow hoping the ground might miraculously deign mercy upon him by opening up and just swallowing him fucking whole.

He holds his breath, willing this occurrence, but of course it's all for naught. Then, as if from the end of a dark tunnel, he hears the familiarity of his name, spoken and echoing, drawing him back to the present. He begins to anticipate the confused stares from the group he’s been standing with, though no genuine conversing has taken place thus far.

When his mobility reinstates of its own accord, he shifts his weight to buy some time before looking up to consider the lord who’s asked him... something. He knows not what, nor does he care, but upon Aemond’s vision refocusing, he’s not seeing them or anyone - only her.

in this light, i swear you’re mine.

It's a mysterious occurrence, the way time works - how the stars seem to have finally conspired to align with opportunity and chance. And for the first time tonight, perhaps ever, he finds himself captivated.

The crowd has split, forming a clear path from where he’s standing to the opposite end of the room. He swears his traveling gaze has been moved by some greater force, something he cannot name, beckoning him. It must be true, he’s convinced as the connection he’s feeling with the nameless woman increases.

The air becomes charged with renewed energy, a unique heat that seems untainted by pretense. And it’s heat that flourishes within him now - inexplicable, drugging when he realizes all at once that she’s staring back at him. Only him.

There’s a curiosity to their exchange, the way it goes on in silence, in secret. It’s everything but fleeting, what they’re sharing from afar. And although it's from a great distance, he knows this could be something of substance, worth pursuing. Something unnamed within him spurs this idea, urging him into action to seize this unexpected opportunity, but then she looks away and he’s completely startled.

Suddenly, Aemond cannot breathe. She is fucking beautiful. From his remote observation, this is clear, but he’s also sensing something else about her. Aside from the obvious, that she’s literally the most stunning person in the room, that he has probably ever seen, her energy is not supporting this fact.

It perplexes him.

Amid the many exquisite objects within this opulent hall, she outshines them all, easily taking center stage. But what’s drawing Aemond the most, putting him on the highest of alerts, is the unease he senses emulating from her. She looks about ready to dart from the stale festivities, as if she’s simply gathering her nerve while mapping out her next move in order to see this realized.

Take me with you.

Actually, she looks exactly the way he feels, and intuitively he knows that she is someone he needs to have in his life. He’s still staring when she unexpectedly looks at him again, and with this second glance - a feeling of pure elation begins to take root within him. The air rushes to enter his lungs once more.

Suddenly he feels alive again, awakened from the dead at long last.

i looked at him with unexplainable recognition, i stared at him with a burning throat and teary eyes.

It’s time to panic.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant to stare for as long as she had, and then again. It's definitely not something she’s prone to do - fixate on strangers, especially considering how uncomfortable it’s always made her when on the receiving end of such attentions.

But in her defense, dear cousin had recently disappeared, leaving her to her own devices without any formal introductions. Thus, voiding any and all potential attempts at social interactions on her own, should she have chosen to pursue them.

She had not, and it wasn’t a great loss for her either, as the night so far had proven rather stale - falling flat despite its nauseating frivolity. And yet, as a first-time visitor to the capital with limited knowledge of court customs, being put out like this felt like a blow, like abandonment.

It did not bode well with her to feel less than, misplaced, unwelcome. And these were all issues she’d been struggling with since arriving, trying desperately to maintain a sense of calm confidence that she did not actually feel an iota of.

In honesty, she could have anticipated this if only she’d removed the figurative rose colored lenses from which she’d been trying to experience tonight through.

It wasn’t fated to be ideal though, as she had immediately sensed something malignant from the moment she’d walked through the entry door earlier. Bittersweet, but unsurprisingly, it left her longing for the solitude of home with its rolling lands, the beauty evergreen.

She maintains vexation over recent decisions, once more finding herself in a situation that’s left her ill at ease - hellbent on forfeiting any and all of the night’s eventualities. If I could just get out of here. Yet, something holds her back.

Perhaps it’s the perceived lack of decorum in disappearing that stays her. Hardly - but the watchful eyes throughout the room do give her pause. Aware of the scornful judgement being passed about, in constant motion from one fiend to the next, she can’t say she’s trying to draw more attention.

She’s not senseless either, having been told numerous times of the weight this invite held - one of generosity and privilege and opportunity. In theory, it had seemed plausible, so she hadn’t dismissed the importance of impression that kept being pressed upon her every day leading up to now.

And now, there’s contradiction at every turn - the night proving to be little more than a pitiful show of extravagance. A colossal inconvenience to celebrate and placate an unworthy man-child.

As if I really give a shit about this Aegon twat.

He apparently IS the king, but she really fails to comprehend this as fact. From her personal observation, he appears more juvenile than ruler, all tired eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a permanent scowl of disinterest too, as he begins making his rounds amongst his guests. It’s plain to see he’s intoxicated, struggling at times to stay upright on his two feet.

Even the heavy crown atop his head fails to stay centered, impossible to maintain its position with the continuous sway of its wearer. Such a mess.

Though she finds herself wondering why she left home for this, she can’t deny the inherent need within her to be pushed - really move out of established comforts for the sake of growth. Admittedly, life had become dull enough for her to consider travel, even despite perceived dark times in the more well-known parts of the world.

The risk had been taken, and tonight was accomplishing her misguided notion to experience something new, something she’d never had before. It was definitely not a place of comfort either, but neither was it engaging as she had hoped it might be.

Perhaps a little intrigue would do some good in this social wasteland, but there is nothing, nobody.

While she wasn’t a stranger to taking inherent leaps of faith, having a rather optimistic outlook most days, nothing was presently inspiring the spark within her. Likewise, nothing was pulling her to put some faith into this night, relinquish any benefits of doubt. There was nothing compelling, nobody convincing her that this particular setting was anything other than cold and callous.

More than that though, it felt undeniably toxic, laced with the unmistaken undercurrent of condescension. And for the first time in her life she yearns to be invisible.

These are not my people and I don’t belong here.

The realization of this hits hard, at a very inopportune moment, and it's causing her cool facade to deplete significantly. It feels like she’s breaking down, on the brink of a total collapse. She could crumble and it would be so easy, but still, she hangs on.

She sips her wine and it’s disgusting, aware that any further indulgence in it won’t be worth tomorrow’s ache in the head. However, the heavy cup remains a functional prop to keep her semi-occupied with intended movement. She thinks at the very least, it's helping her blend in more with the rest of this cunty crowd, appearing like less of an outsider, less...delicate.

The thought of taking another walk around the hall seems a viable option - an attempt to kill more of this rotten evening. She finds more appeal in the notion, rather than standing still and pretending she’s agreeable with her surroundings.

Everything continues to fall away, and it’s getting harder to crawl out of her melancholic mood. Though, on a very specific level of self-awareness, she knows she’s being too critical of the situation and too hard on herself. It’s a deep flaw for her, to be constantly plagued by one’s own high expectations, equipped with the unfortunate knack of also being dramatic.

It’s a curse in many ways - limiting, exhausting, upsetting. She hates that she feels so much, so deeply. She hates the way she always ends up let down in the end. She hates the way she wants more from life, yet always comes up short.

What did you actually expect… to fall in love with a prince?

The thought is enough to get her angsty, exasperated that she could still have the capacity to be this naive, to think that such wonders might exist. Fairytales, her personal kingdom of dreams recognized, come to life. She could romanticize the idea for the rest of her days, but they’re simply that, dreams. And only dreams they will remain. Intangible.

When she considers this, and she’s done so often throughout her life, it always leaves her reeling with the harshest of realities in the end. She wonders why she puts herself through it, time and again - dreaming up a life and a love that will never belong to her.

The outcome will never change, you’re destined to be alone.

She’s too much in her head at this point and it weights her, but she’s done pretending, over the tolerance. She realizes she has to get out of here, that it doesn’t even matter where to. Just away. And suddenly there’s no more argument left within her of what she should do by staying. There’s no room left for lingering guilt either.

It’s simply time to go.

Scanning the space, she finds her exit route in record time. But beyond these four walls, she has no idea where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

Although it momentarily deters her from taking action, she decides to chance one more look across the room in an attempt to locate her kin. At the very least, it would be wise to give notice of her leave for the evening, but the effort is fruitless and she’s quick to abandon the search.

That's when her eyes land on him.

are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

Who is he?

She has no idea, though she could draw some conclusions and seven hells, he is stunning! There’s an enigma about him, a danger and acuteness to his character that exudes a well-steeped confidence. She can tell all this just by the way he holds himself, at least that’s the impression she’s receiving by his body language, the semi-defensive stance.

He intrigues her, radiant yet darkly masculine as well, and he physically stands out with his impressive height and athletic build - everything she’s attracted to. He looks important, but displaced. It’s also clear he’s disinterested with those around him, perhaps jaded by the same shortcomings in his life as she is with hers. She wonders, thinking it could be true.

The energy from him draws her the same way his appearance does, all black leather and belts, a dagger, a donned eye-patch, gorgeous long hair that is pale, glorious. Even in the dim light, it shines as if illuminated - a most mysterious beacon, working to draw out her withering heart with a renewed vibrant curiosity.

Fuck, that is lovely. She thought she was leaving, but now her feet feel heavy and she can’t look away.

A Targaryen, obviously. But who the fuck is he, which dragonlord is this? She MUST know.

He’s striking, it's undeniable, even despite looking forlorn in this current setting. Or maybe it’s just a blasé air that he keeps. It could be a front. Again, she wonders. Either way, she picks this up right away, deliberating how it isn’t obvious to the imbeciles he’s standing amongst, of how very little he cares.

Its a strange concept, like tragic art, as she spectates the scene. It's like he’s invisible, such as she, or he wants to be, such as she. He’s completely withdrawn from the conversation… and he is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s also outwardly manifesting everything she’s been internalizing - its just something she feels, senses. The silent energy emanating from him becomes a fucking madness, moving unseen across the space, weaving through faceless bodies. And suddenly it’s crashing into her with subtle violence, summoning her in a manner that’s arcane, unintentional.

It transmits nonetheless, in a demand to feel something, anything.

She thinks she might, knowing he would be the reason, and she casts a silent wish then: look at me, escape with me. She expects nothing. And yet, it seems he has somehow received her unspoken plea with perfect aim, because almost immediately he looks up, finding her without pause, effortlessly.

It takes her breath, taken aback by the depth of his stare, even from afar. But it’s not merely the meeting of their eyes that's causing her panic to grow now.

It's the way the most beautiful man she’s ever seen maintains his stare, subtly tilting his head in acknowledgement of her existence. It’s the way he’s just excused himself from the small group he’s been standing with as she watches him finally break loose from them.

It’s the way he's walking directly towards her now with unmistaken interest.

the sadness you carry, it hangs like a ghost.

Aemond’s need to go to her is instantaneous, his mind quickly made up, surrendering to her unspoken beckoning. What he’s feeling can’t be described, but it puts him in motion with assured steps towards her, intent to maintain their connection.

The last thing he wants now is a deterrent, some dumb bastard interrupting his advancement with meaningless words and insincere praise. He can’t be fucked, especially since the exuberance of others often exhausts and bores him.

Besides, he’s not that infamous and he thinks his appearance should emit a genuine aloofness, at least enough to mark him as unapproachable.

In this moment, he hopes for it to be true.

As he continues, his boots on the stone floor leave an echoing sound - the faintest of cadences to his ears. Even the soft music that’s been playing, sounds he’d previously drowned out, return to fill his senses. He’s aware of how the room comes alive once more and how his attention hones into the finer details - the beautiful things that matter enough to hold some of his appreciation. But nothing is shining as bright, as gorgeous as her.

i’ll just tear it down, and i’ll wear it like a ribbon - give it.

His perspective is altered, biased. He’s ever grateful for the reprieve in detaching from the aimless buzz of verbal interaction. He carries on as the swooning strings from instruments and all the paintings and flickering candles in the room act as a backdrop for the dream he’s finally found himself in.

There’s a grandeur to the moment, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s in the same place as before. It's a subtle shift with great impact and to Aemond, it’s like a slow awakening of his spirit. His heart feels lighter, his chest less constricted somehow. Breathing comes more easily as he realizes he’s no longer holding everything in.

For him, tonight finally makes sense - he sees with so much clarity and with it, an aspiration to unearth something extraordinary. I am here because she is here. And she’s his focus, it can’t be misinterpreted.

This is intense, he knows it is, because he can be intense - in looks, in demeanor, in speech. For example, the effect of his set jaw and determined eye are apparent just based on the way she looks away again, like she needs a moment for herself. Like maybe she’s alarmed by him and his imminent approach…

Regardless, he can tell she’s ready to go simply by her nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the next and the way her hand grips her wine cup. It’s so obvious, but he silently demands for her to stay put, at least until he can reach her, join her.

Don’t you dare move!

As he draws closer, he realizes he hasn’t actually formulated an introduction, though. He’s been fixated on priority one - getting to her, but now that he’s almost within her sphere, it's possible he’s going to come on too strong.

It really isn’t in his nature to be aggressive, at least not towards women. But there's a fine line between that and being resolute, and he can only hope she won’t confuse the two. It gets him stressed either way, just the anticipation. And its abrupt, how the air circulating now feels to have stopped altogether.

The urge for something clean in his lungs grows more intense. In fact, it's been too many lapsed hours since he last stepped outside, so he thinks maybe this is the angle he will use with her.

He sees her look down at the drink in her hand, then back at him with a ghost of a smile, and then away again. All these nervous habits miraculously enchanting him, though he’s aware it’s all stemmed from a discomfort and he could sympathize. He does - this brave girl.

Aemond needs to get to her, knowing this setting has become too intolerable for them both. It leads him to mull through all the potential areas he could take her to - more private areas within the Keep. He’s trying hard not to envision her on his bed though, laid out before him, but it’s a challenge not to go there…

His thoughts come up short, interrupted and replaced by disbelief in an instant. And he can see the shock on her face too, witnessing the scene in horror the moment Aegon, of all people, drunkenly clashes into her with unabashed force.

It happens quickly, the unexpected contact of his body propelling the cup she’s been holding towards herself, effectively spilling its dark contents onto her bodice and sleeve. His fiend of a brother remains unsteady, loud and obnoxious as he begins to inappropriately grope her figure with slurred and insincere apologies.

But it gets worse when he sobers just enough to focus his vision, and fully consider the beauty of the woman he’s currently offending - the one that he still holds fast within his clutches. He voices his immediate thoughts, loud enough to be heard by many.

“Heavens, what a pretty present you are! I think I shall wait to unwrap you in my chambers.”

Aemond sees fire, he walks faster.

i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger.

The familiar sting of tears begin to surface in a rush, threatening to fall although she wills them not to. It would be so easy to cry now, and it’s something she tends to do when she’s at her limit. The frustration becomes unbearable, but she simply cannot allow this weakness to display.

Aside from the fact that everyone appears to be looking at her, the music has also stopped and the only sound filling her ears now is the seething laughter from the king. His prodding fingers are still at her waist, her lower back and his breath is hot on her ear, repulsing her just as much as his verbal filth has.

This little blond bitch, I could kill him.

She wants to scream, fueled by so much repressed anger, thinking she might act out soon if she doesn’t escape the predicament. Above all things, slapping the fool touching her is of the highest priority, but she also wants to cut out the eyes of every person currently gawking at her as if she were the problem.

She wants to combust into flames, she wants to cease to exist altogether.

Even her free hand has formed into a fist so tight that her knuckles ache, and although it's of little consequence to her, she can vaguely feel the shallow cuts her nails have begun to make into the delicate skin of her palm. Time halts and she’s burning from within, her vision clouding with rage as her arm begins to raise as if by its own accord.

She intends to lay one into Aegon’s jaw. At the very least, he deserves a slap, although the consequences will be dire. Even with this knowledge, she can’t seem to tamper the physical urge to do some harm to him. It’s the least he deserves.

How dare this fucker be so blatantly disrespectful.

Her mind is made up, he’s getting slapped and she’s determined to see this through. But suddenly her movement is blocked, stilled by a gentle pressure of long fingers wrapping securely around her forearm. A deep breath is drawn and she’s still trembling in her animosity, her embarrassment, when she turns to consider the disrupter.

To her relief and amazement, she’s met with a welcomed face, a beautiful one. It’s him, the only one she wants to see, to know.

The good Targaryen - finally, he is here.

And he is so close to her when he leans in, offering a verbal warning with a solemn tone for only her to hear.

“Don’t.”

His touch is reassuring, sending bursts of warmth throughout her at the tenderness being exhibited. His expression however, betrays a significant degree of anger and it hardens his features further, in an impossible way. Oh gods!

She’s seeing a lot of sharp lines and hard angles, an immaculate bone structure and the most impressive scar that runs a great length down one side of his face. It hadn’t been noticeable from a distance, not really, but now it draws her. Truthfully, it’s devastating how devilishly handsome he is and how weak she’s begun to feel just being near him.

He almost doesn’t seem real, but the obvious irritation emulating from him is substantial. Even still, there's a compassion in his touch and it’s his touch alone that she feels upon her body now. It compels her to be soft again and then she is, loosening and moved by his thoughtfulness to come to her aid, offer her stability in both body and mind.

His actions ground her, and he’s respectful as he takes the emptied cup from her with his free hand, discreetly handing it to a passing servant without a word.

She’s aware of how she turns into him then, drawn to his body heat, the most natural attraction. And with Aegon now gone, a relief in itself, she feels safe - protected. The urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude is strong, but she abstains.

He continues looking at her, his face otherworldly, and he’s saying something that she cannot comprehend as her world goes quiet. She can’t capture a thought or formulate a word, feeling her mind draw a blank, abandon her while he looks on.

Her mouth turns dry and her clothes become too warm as she gets lost in the intensity of his eye, the riveting color of it. From afar she couldn’t decipher, but up close she can clearly see that it’s a glorious azure blue, rimmed by a darker hue - indicating something of further mystery, an enigma. It isn’t typical, and therefore stunning, moving her in an inexplicable way.

A soft moan escapes her lips, ever so telling of the effect he’s having, as his brow lifts with some amusement. He’s clearly heard the sound, providing some inclination to him of her desire and he can’t help but pull a small half-smirk, satisfied by this revelation. But he’s still waiting for a response, impatient once more, and he demonstrates this by reinstating his firm grip on her arm to give a slight squeeze.

She wonders if he’s always like this, communicative with gestures and touches of varying pressures. It takes her mind somewhere it shouldn’t - to a place that involves just them, their bodies and very little clothing.

Does she want to know? She isn’t certain, but he seems physically overbearing suddenly, as if he’d moved further into her unnoticed. And he might have accomplished this while she lost herself to a budding desire, envisioning what he might look like fully unclothed…what he might feel like against her, from within her.

Fuck!

His close proximity isn’t helping reel in her thoughts, as the sensual scent encapsulating him climbs to meet her senses. It's fresh, something divine, and she finds herself wanting to chase and consume. It brings a new type of fire to their shared space as she imagines her lips pressed to the exposed skin on his neck, breathing him in.

The visual finally releases her from her mind trap, and she refocuses to stare at his face, placing her hand blindly on his own without thought. She shakes her head apologetically, helplessly, needing him to repeat the question - it’s really all she can do.

He obliges her, knowing she can hear him, that she’s listening now.

“Come away with me.”

come home to my heart.

It really isn’t a question and she finds herself silently nodding in acquiesce to his demand, feeling the adrenaline begin to flourish. The only audible response from him is a deep “hmm” as they take their leave. It intrigues her, but not nearly as much as the way he walks in equal measures of grace and arrogance or how his silken hair begins to move illustrious over his back with each step taken.

To her, he is an exquisite creation, surely made from the gods and he walks as one amongst ineffectual men as he leads them through the mass of people. It’s a quickened pace that she matches, noticing the way he calls off a small group of approaching knights, the Kingsguard, with a flick of his wrist to still their advances.

Although they’re amid many watchful eyes, the music has begun again, reinstating many dancers back to the middle of the floor following the scene with the king. It offers some relief, but what she’s finding to be the greatest comfort is the contact he maintains on her elbow, at the small of her back while he guides her out of the hall.

The heat infiltrates from his hands, runs along her spine and she doesn’t mind the mild possession of his touch. It thrills, and her spirits continue lifting as something akin to hope seeks to re-enter her heart.

i promise you, i was here. i felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air, and i went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

It’s a well kept secret that Aemond considers himself a lover, not a fighter (at least in theory), though he doubts anyone would believe this if he were ever to admit it aloud. In fact, he feels that he’s improved in reining in his more violent impulses when they arise, attempting to adopt a more critical stance on whether to act on said impulses or not.

He reflects on this now as he navigates through the Red Keep with familiarity, thinking perhaps this banal approach is prominently wrought from Lucerys’ death. He knows it is… but this is different.

Despite the beautiful woman with him, casting a curious glance his way, he’s silently fuming with a sudden need for vengeance. And the center just won’t hold, he can’t call this off now that he’s in action - moving, intentional.

As such, his steps are calculated, the direction mapped as they ascend a set of stairs together in record time. She follows willingly, half-dragged by his hand at a certain point, though she doesn’t complain. He’s grateful for it, and without a word, they turn down a dark corridor that takes them further through the never-ending maze of apartments and bedchambers.

His heart is pounding, the most violent of slams from within his rib cage, as his long legs carry him closer to his oldest nemesis.

you go on by finding a channel for your love…

Aegon’s behavior is always unacceptable, but tonight it’s inexcusable as well.

Tonight, it feels more personal.

In fairness, Aemond’s tolerance had already waned substantially throughout the course of the day. Though not uncommon, his brother had been acting an absolute wretch from the moment he’d risen and begun interacting - effectively wearing most everyone thin.

Still, recent events simply won’t release from his brain. His brother’s actions, specifically the ever-occurring heinous mistreatment of women, continues to spread like a plague. It’s bothersome, but whats worse is the fact that such behavior remains unchecked, tolerated, as everyone turns a blind eye time and again.

Aegon, the perpetrator that knows nothing of consequence, who could care less who he offends and hurts. Aegon, who never learns.

The loathing for his sibling is prominent more now than ever, the rage significant in power as it burns at the very core of Aemond. It threatens to spread like wildfire as he recalls the image of Aegon colliding into her, touching her, taunting her - the one whose hand he’s now holding. This exquisite darling that’s with me.

It leaves him seeing red once more, and he’s resolute to make right this gross wrongdoing, finding the catharsis absolute when at last, he does.

…and another for your rage.

There’s justification in the way Aemond storms Aegon’s bedchambers, startling the room’s occupants as he dismisses a handful of ladies already in various stages of undress.

There’s satisfaction when he knocks the wine from his brother’s hand, spilling it across the regal bedding before advancing to lay waste to every last spirit within sight, all crashing bottles and broken glass.

There's an absolution when his fist meets Aegon’s mocking face, disrupting his cavalier smile with brute force. The delivered blow drops his brother to the littered floor as so many shards seek to break the skin of his hands, his knees.

It’s an absolute agony for the king, but he continues in a deranged manner with uncontrolled manic laughter filling the luxurious space. In High Valyrian, Aemond speaks departing words of revulsion and fury and threats.

Then he’s back outside the room, the splintered door now unable to properly close as guards rush to Aegon’s aid with trepidation and no small degree of bewilderment at what’s just transpired between the siblings.

He grabs his awaiting companion’s hand then, his own showing the faint beginnings of a bruise as it takes form, darkening just beneath the surface. It’s inconsequential for Aemond, for he’s more surprised that she’s remained to wait for him despite whats just been witnessed firsthand.

He sincerely wonders how he hasn’t managed to scare her away with such a wrathful display. Yet, he’s finding a great relief in knowing he hasn’t managed to achieve this after all. In fact, he’s in a bit of awe that she’s remained. It means more to him than he could have imagined, and certainly more than she will ever know…

At present, his knuckles sting, but he doesn’t care. His heart is thunderous, but he doesn’t care.

An incredible amount of relief is washing over him at what’s just transpired through words and actions, honest emotion pent up for so long, finally released. It’s palpable, this foreign elation being felt as they retreat, backtracking so many of their steps. Even servants rush to either side of the halls so as not to remain in their wake, potentially interrupting their progress.

And he’s so certain of his menacing appearance now, just by their reactions, though he half-wishes his brother had put up a fight and tried to roughen him up. But it matters naught. At this point, his immediate intention is strictly to get himself and her to a place of privacy - as far as possible from Aegon’s blasted existence too.

Aemond huffs in spite of himself on reflection, feeling a bit bitchy over the circumstances, for this wasn’t the first impression he had wanted to make.

Too late now.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond targaryen

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star-going-supernova · 6 months

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Glamrock Circus Baby is a thing and she operates in the ice cream parlor at Bonnie Bowl. If you wanna do the GlamMike headcanon, with Elizabeth still possessing Baby, just A LOT calmer now, then that would be an epic, and also very worrying, rivalry.

Prompt from Hydrangea_Cherry9 on ao3! This is pre Security Breach, if SB even happens in this AU.

Sibling Rivalries Never Die

Glamrock Bella Bunny, the rebranded and redesigned Circus Baby, wasn’t a terrible host for Elizabeth Afton. At least she wasn’t stuck in a mechanical clown anymore, though she hadn’t quite decided if the red and pastel pink bunny—because heaven forbid the pizzaplex have a human-ish animatronic—was actually better.

(It did soothe something in her tormented, tattered soul that this animatronic didn’t have any mechanism for snatching innocent kids. She had maybe been in a better mood since she didn’t have to live with being stuck in her murderer’s body.)

The best part of her new twisted existence was the company. And she didn’t mean Bonnie, who Bella saw and interacted with most often. No, there was nothing like a bit of schadenfreude to lift one’s spirit (pun intended).

She threw a handful of plastic spoons at Glamrock Freddy, the current host for her older brother. It was a slow day, and there was no one at the counter to catch her misbehaving.

“Seriously?” he said, more annoyed than any child would ever hear the great Freddy Fazbear be. “Real mature, Li—Bella.”

“Get lost, Freddy. Or can you not read?” She pointed over at the hand drawn sign that Monty had been happy to make for her. A great big red X slashed over a sloppy crayon depiction of Freddy’s face, with BANNED written above it.

“Oh, for the love of—I’m here to see Bonnie. Not you. It’s not my fault you’re stuck in the bowling alley.”

“I prefer ‘defending my territory,’” Elizabeth said with a haughty sniff. “And if free roaming makes you so high and mighty, then you can go wander around elsewhere and wait for your boyfriend to join you.”

Michael sputtered. “We aren’t—Bonnie’s not my boyfriend!”

“Mhm, sure.” She roughly scooped a generous ball of strawberry and unceremoniously lobbed it at his chest. “Oops. Guess you’ve gotta go get cleaned up.”

“You’re such a brat,” he snapped, snatching up a handful of napkins to try and mop up the mess of pink ice cream splatter. “You can’t still be mad about last week.”

Bella wasn’t an animatronic particularly suited to hissing and gnashing her teeth, but Elizabeth was nothing if not furious and determined. “If it wouldn’t get me decommissioned, I’d jump over the counter right now and rip your arms off, you pathetic excuse for a—”

“What’d he do?” a child’s voice interrupted.

Circuits sparking in surprise, they both jumped. Michael stumbled to the side, revealing a boy who had been standing behind him. It was hard for an animatronic to be shocked into shutdown, but seeing the absolute spitting image of their dead younger brother staring back at them with a mischievous sort of fascination did the job.

Michael choked out a yelp before his eyes went dark, and Freddy unceremoniously toppled over to the tiled floor. Elizabeth—and she would gloat about this later—lasted a moment longer, her mouth flapping with her speechlessness before her core overheated and forced a reboot.

In the final moment before her vision cut out, she would have sworn she saw a copy of her brother beside and a bit above the boy, as if floating. And that second Evan, the see-through one, looked as surprised as Elizabeth felt.

#fnaf fic #fnaf security breach #star's stories #life and times of star

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iivantablackii · 6 months

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Evermore

Chapter 1 - The Garden of Eden

Adam x Eve Story (Hazbin Hotel)

A/N: This is a story I will be writing based on the show Hazbin, as it's been a hyperfixation since even before the pilot came out. It's a combo of theories for the show as well as referencing actual biblical texts to tell what I think the story of Adam and Eve in the context of Viv's current storyline would be most fun with. I'm sorry if my formatting is off it's been forever since I've posted on Tumblr and I'm quite rusty with using its features. I will also be posting this on AO3, hope you all enjoy it!

At first, there was nothing. Existence seemed so far-fetched, what was to be of everything was not, however. And then all at once, it was.

A large explosion, light stretching far and wide, only being highlighted by the void around it. Debrises casting all around, all that was left of the bang that brought all here was a large star in the center of creation. But there was more than just this, perspectives of all realms were produced from the blast, it almost seemed like creation was almost instantaneous, and beings began to form from the stray rays of illumination. Golden dust swirled together, forming beings from these blazing embers, large feathers pieced together, stretching and fanning around their bodies. Their feet floated above the clouds around them, and what remained of the glow began to form above their heads, as if it were their own individual suns just above their minds.

The purpose was not spelled out, and yet they carried on. They all worked as if their actions were choreographed, clear, and concise at first, they knew not why they were to create but they knew they had to disregard all doubt. A hierarchy of light and virtue is what these beings began to create. Creating other creatures, ecosystems, and substance, and to hold all the most treasured of creations they made a garden.

There was only one species left for these angels to make before they truly began their purpose, these beings would be different. They would be more potent, holding much more to them than all these angels had made thus far. Made from the residue of stardust, the same as them, they formed two beings. As if mirrors of the angels, they were still naive to what existence truly meant for them, an experiment of sorts.

Adam and Lilith.

This is where humanity was meant to start, humans were made to love and adore, not just the angels above but one another and the garden they were made to reside in. To be progenitors. To rule over the fish in the waters and the birds of the heavens, all that is alive was meant to be there for them. To watch and worship. Made to be innocent, they did not know better, that would pose more of an issue than what was ever considered. The first humans did not seem to be fond of each other, both were strong-minded, and they were disharmony. Even if they were made to be equal, the two were far from the same.

Though one of the two had caught the attention of an angel, a dreamer. A young being of light with whimsical ideas for creation, he was the first to ever question, to ever doubt. But this way of thinking is what set him apart from the other luminous beings, he was the only angel who wished for more.

Lucifer, the Morningstar.

Flying down to the garden, the living star had approached the first woman. Proposing his ideas of what could be, what life would be like in his vision, and instead of calling his dreams outlandish, Lilith was the first to believe.

But this left the first man alone, too prideful to even attempt to coexist with the woman again.

Perhaps this should have been the first sign to those above. That they were not the only beings created from the explosion of life. Their existence was ordered, to create virtue, it was belief... But the concept of belief came at a price as that means uncertainty, locked away in the void, far away from it all a monstrous entity lay dormant in the darkness. And it would continue to rest, only until it was awoken by the first to ever open their eyes to all of existence.

~~~

It was darkness, the first sensation felt as if her being was underwater. Floating through nothingness, she could have allowed herself to sink, succumb to whatever lying at the bottom. If there was ever an ending to this feeling, but no- she pushed herself forward. To emerge from wherever she was, whatever lay on the other side was calling for her. Beckoning for her to come forth and open her eyes.

The first man stood there, the angels had summoned him for some unknown reason. The bringers of light had made something new, creation often was for the sake of itself, and this was no different.

“Greetings Adam, we have something for you.”

Her eyes opened, and the first thing they met were pools of blue. Made to mimic the heavens above, the first man stared at her again with curiosity. And the first thing this new human had ever done, was smile at him. Excited at the possibilities of life, where at first she had known nothing her mind was now shining with the brights of ideas and questions.

“We made her for you, a companion to explore the garden with you. We call her Eve.”

Adam had tilted his head at the new woman, there was a part of him that wished to be skeptical, but he could not be. Her hair seemed to be made of clouds, ivory strands that cast down her dark skin, an earthy tone that seemed to reflect slightly gold with the sun's light highlighting her features. The man could not help but wonder if they made her to be the perfect image of beauty.

“Eve?”

The angel nodded, observing the two as this was a delicate process. Much thought was put into Eve, made to compliment Adam in many ways as well as an attempt to steer him to betterment, being made from him to be his other half. Made pure, clean of the same imperfections as her husband, he was driven to his cause, himself. He did not know better, but they were hoping to correct this self-serving nature before it ever got truly out of hand. It was no secret that after the other woman had fled the garden their first man was growing lonely. As even if the two did not get along, he had no other company to speak to. They had tried to create more, more animals for him to seek companionship with, but it was apparent they needed another human. Eve was a cure for this emptiness at his side. She was a gift to him, and he to her.

Eve’s grin seemed to widen when she heard her name, bringing her hands to her lips almost in an attempt to hide her grin, giving a strange-sounding laugh Adam could not recognize. Not to say it was not pleasant, it was light and heavenly, and it amused him as well. It was a giggle, a sweet sound that left him wishing to hear it again.

“Now, we shall take our leave. Adam, why don’t you show Eve what you’ve discovered in the garden so far? We are sure that is an excellent way for you to get to know one another, as you will be spending eternity playing together.”

The angel spoke, her voice rippling through the air like a song, giving the two one final look, hope in the two behind her gaze. The first man and his new bride, two halves of a whole, even with the woman being made second, made for Adam. There was hope for this human to blossom in her way, made to love and adore the world even more than Adam did, they had taken their time making Eve. Women were made to be art after all, just as men were to be.

Golden ribbons seemed to swirl around the angel, helping the seemingly endless amount of eyes to disappear along with her physical form. Even with her seemingly gone, all of the heavens had their focus on these two. Humans were an experiment of sorts, made to be more than just the few numbers they currently had, made to care for the world and play in their small paradise that had been sectioned off to live in. Their little world to spend all of time in, a delicate ecosystem that needed to be preserved and the errors of what had happened with the first woman needed to be corrected somehow.

Man and woman, standing before one another, neither of them had said a thing to the other yet. Staring at one another, curiosity evident on both of their features, it was like time stopped. The world around fading away and the only things to be heard were their heartbeats.

Eve was the first to turn away, looking at the foliage around her with appreciation, she was entirely new. Not yet having the time to fully comprehend her surroundings, a soft smile on her features gave away a serene look to her. The smell of wooded lands with floral hints surrounded the area, it truly was beautiful. A museum of the most gorgeous things creation had to offer.

“Eden…that is what they call this place, yes?”

Her voice was smoother than his, it sounded like a song, melodic in a way. Lifting her head, she shut her eyes, taking a deep breath, life seemed so…wonderous. She enjoyed it, knowing there was so much out here for her to explore, after all, she had all of eternity to figure out whatever questions she had.

Adam smirked, chuckling to himself and rubbing the back of his neck somewhat awkwardly. He did not have too much experience speaking to others, the angels and Lilith were his only practice, and the latter did not end too well with him. A part of him felt almost ashamed for what he had demanded of her, he never meant to be truly rude but he would never admit that, mainly due to how the two had argued and were not resolving any previous issues anytime soon. Though he remained somewhat skeptical, were all women going to be similar to Lilith?

“Yeah, it's nice here isn’t it?” This spot was the same place he was awoken to after his creation, where it had all started and where it is now starting again, “They say I should show you around… which is fine by me, if there’s anyone who knows these gardens it’s me. If you tried to go off on your own you’d probably get lost.”

Eve gave him a confident nod of approval, “Yes, you have been here longer so if anyone could be a good guide it would be you.”

“Damn right, I would be.” His crude statement came out without him properly thinking about it, no one knew where Adam had even learned such language but he did have a brash personality it seemed. But at the very least this new woman did not seem to mind all that much, rolling her eyes but her smile gave way that she found the way he carried himself amusing.

Adam gestured for her to follow him, here in the clearing it was easy to admire the plants and animals from afar. He guided her to the forest, the vast amount of trees was lovely but sometimes it was easy to get swept away by it all and lose track of where they were. Being here longer meant he was fairly confident that he knew where he was going, but he would occasionally tear his eyes away to look back at Eve in curiosity—wishing to gauge how she felt about it all.

So far so good, while they were silent it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. There was a small air of awkwardness, as this was new for the both of them and to be thrown together so quickly. It was all a little disorienting for them both. In ways respective to just the two of them, one was just getting used to being on their own and the other was coming to grips with their consciousness.

Adam was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat and forcing himself to stand taller, fixing his posture so he gave off an aura of confidence, “You know- they had put me in charge of watching this place?”

“Oh really now?” She raised an eyebrow at him, a playful smirk replacing the soft expression she had before, her tone even changing to something more teasing, “All by your lonesome, impressive.”

“Hey! watch it…” Adam narrowed his eyes at Eve, which only caused her to give a short laugh watching the first man become defensive. “I’ll have you know it’s a very demanding job. I have been tasked with caring for all that lives, naming all of the creatures that the angels made up above.”

That was a partly lie, nothing was demanding about Eden. Paradise meant there were no hard days here, the land and its creatures were all perfect, a controlled area where the worst this life had to offer were merely minor inconveniences. Eve was quick to catch on about that, deciding to indirectly call him out for his dramatization of what he is to do,

“Very well then, let’s see it.”

“See what?”

“See you name the beasts of these lands of course.”

Adam scoffed, her words were clearly meant to attack him, but instead of damaging his ego it only seemed to egg him on more. He almost couldn’t help the small smile stretching across his lips, “I’m already bringing you to a place I was just visiting the other day, I haven’t finished naming all the fish in that lake so we can start showing you around there.”

Guiding her closer, it was now easier to see where he was taking her. Into another clearing, it was not a plane of grass this time. There was water, it shined brilliantly in the light as if it were liquid crystal, and it was easy to see the ground beneath its clear waters. Small fish swimming gracefully in its waters, eternally dancing away with another. But there was another creature of interest, floating above them all.

What a strange creature it was, pure white it sat in the water, gliding across its surface. It seemed to love to swim, to be in the water, but it had wings. Just as the angels did it had wings folded softly at its sides, a long neck craning over beautifully. Its head was an interesting shape, the front of its face gingerish shade with a small band of black lining its beak.

Stepping into the lake, Adam began to move closer to the creature, softly moving through the cooling waters, expecting Eve to join in with him. Raising an eyebrow, he laughed a bit at her hesitation,

“You were talking so big earlier, where did all that confidence go? It’s just water.”

“I was just created, don’t act so surprised that I’m new to this.”

Eve was just careful of accidentally disturbing the fish, stepping in she shivered at the change in temperature around her legs but a small laugh erupted past her lips. It was a very strange sensation to feel any shift in temperature for the first time, but after the first step in she was quick to join by Adams's side, they both observed the creature as it drifted closer to the humans. Tilting its narrow head at the two before softly squawking at them.

“...does this one have a name yet?”

“No, I’ve never seen a bird like this one yet- normally they only fly in the skies or stay in the trees.”

“How curious…” Eve slowly lowered herself closer to the water and brought her hand out to the bird, getting close enough for the bird to take notice but not quite touch them without permission, to which the creature nuzzled its head into her hand. She looked up at Adam who stared at the creature seemingly in deep thought before humming to himself in approval.

“We will call this one, a swan.”

Eve smiled, “Swans…what a lovely little creature.”Eve stood back up again, letting the bird float closer to Adam, it swirled around the first man and made a strange honk sound at him, which caused the two to laugh at the sound. Eve gave him a playful smirk, crossing her arms as she gazed up into his eyes, “Though, I wouldn’t call this demanding.”

“It’s only easy because I make it look easy, just think about how I have to do this with the entire garden of these animals.” Adam scoffed, shaking his head at the woman as he placed his hands on either side of his hips, puffing his chest out with pride.

Eve only gave him a single look, he knew she wasn’t buying it. And it was only solidified when he watched as she couldn’t hold in a chuckle from escaping her lips, trying to politely cover her evergrowing smile behind her hands. Adam huffed, but getting an idea he bent down, dipping his hands into the water in a cupping motion as he brought his arm quickly up splashing Eve with water, and he kept up at it when he heard her laugh harder.

“Alright- alright, I’ll stop laughing- mercy!”

Her hands were up in surrender as Adam stopped, then went to wipe the water from her face, still smiling at him. Adam’s chest swelled with pride, snickering to himself as he crossed his arms.

“I didn’t say I would believe you though.”

“Oh, you cheeky little- what you think you can do it better than me?”

Eve crossed her arms as well, standing taller as she had a confident smile on her face. Her eyes challenged his own, “Of course I could.”

“Oh, you are so on.” Adam looked over to the sky before pointing upwards, Eve’s eyes following where he was directing her to look, seeing the bright sun she squinted before the man spoke again, “How it's going to work is we are going to find new creatures in the lands and sky, we yell their names out and whoever has the most by the time the sun starts to set wins the game. We will meet back here to say our number, deal?”

“Deal!” Eve said happily.

The two stared into one another's eyes, both with a determined glint in their eyes. At the same moment, they both swiftly turned to run in opposite directions, the lake splashing around them as they desperately tried to get out before the other. The water slowed them down and off off-balanced while trying to run, Eve fell into the water letting her hands and knees meet the sand below, hearing Adam laugh obnoxiously behind her she pouted, before hearing a screech and a splash. Now wheezing she heard the first man dramatically fall back and heard his struggle as he flailed in the water, they both did their best to scramble out of the lake- their forms soaked and off-balanced as they kicked off on the ground and ran for the surrounding forests.

Eve was almost out of breath her stomach had begun to ache from laughing so hard, she looked back to see Adam run in a direction not far from her, continuing forward she had found that the lake had extended into a river, and noticed two small creatures floating in the waters, holding another's hands as the current took them wherever it wished. They held their small soft paws together, laying lazily in the water as Eve was awed at the sight before she heard a voice call out from a distance away from her,

“Lions!”

She almost was distracted by it all, before clearing her throat, she did not think through agreeing to this game. Looking back at the two creatures that were tilting their heads cutely at her she began to speak without thinking, “I- uh, Otters!!”

As much as she wanted to stick around, she had to go- waving goodbye to the smaller beings she ran once again in search of more animals to name. Pushing and weaving through the foliage, her eyes began to dart around for even the smallest of critters in need of a title.

“Rabbit!”

“Boar!!”

“Tiger!”

“Sparrow!!”

“Frog!”

“Cockroach!”

“Wait, why would you name it- wow real creative!”

And this went on for who knows how long, they ran around the garden playing this game. Pointing and calling out to any creature that crossed their path, from felines to reptiles, by the time the sun was begging to set they both were out of breath and were making their way back to the lake. Eve was picking leaves from her hair as she made her way over, to Adam who was already waiting for her there.

“I got, 129.” Eve was the first to call hers out, the number had startled Adam at first, he had lost count of how many animals she called out for but he knew he got a large number as well. “Try and beat that, pretty boy.”

“Well…I got- uh.” Adam began to count on his fingers, muttering animal names to himself as he began to use all his fingers to count, after about the third pass between all 10 of his digits, Eve watched as he paused. Softly swearing to himself before seemingly restarting from square one.

Eve gave him a questioning look, Adam growing more frustrated as his face grew warm, both from his vexation and from embarrassment. Stepping closer to him she took his hands, pushing them to his sides, before taking a set back, putting her own hands up as she took a deep breath,

“The first animal you found was the lions, then were the boars, the third were the sparrows…” Eve continued to recall seemingly every animal she had heard Adam call out to, putting one of her fingers up respectively so he could visually keep track of what number she was on. It was clear that the first man was no good at math, so she figured she would do it for him.

He just watched as she spoke, his frustration melting away as she began to name everything perfectly, not even paying attention to the number she was on as he just stared off and got lost in the melody of her voice.

“...and the last animal you named were the doves. That would make you have…129-” Eve had trailed off, realizing that they had identical numbers, meaning it was a draw. But the number had snapped the man back into reality, his confusion turning into mild annoyance.

“What? No no, I got more than you.”

“Well that's what I counted to-”

“Let's do a recount.”

Adam made Eve recount the animals, twice. Every time it came back to the same number, leaving them both kind of bummed they got the same number. It was almost anti-climatic in a way, both were disappointed there was no winner in the end, not that the game was not fun and exhilarating. They both were just trying to prove a point, as childish as it all was.

That was until Eve took notice of the soft patter of something by their feet. Small clouds of yellow, they seemed like tufts of dandelions, they were so small and delicate. Eve had begun to bend down, her hands coming down to the small creatures in a cupping motion, allowing the small birds to step into her palms and steady themselves in her hands as she stood up. Shifting the three birds to stay on one hand, she used the other to softly nuzzle against their sunny heads with a single finger. Their faces almost reminded her of swans. Cooing lightly at the creatures, while they quacked back happily at the woman, and then she turned to Adam with the smuggest smile,

“I call them ducks, which makes them 130. I win.”

Adam’s jaw dropped when the words came out of her mouth, “You did not just-”

“Oh, but I did!”

He couldn’t hide the laugh, he was trying too badly to be upset but it was just so ridiculous that he couldn’t hide his smile, “Our game ended when the sun was setting- and because you are trying to cheat the game you automatically lose-”

“You never said that the game ended at sunset, you said to come back here at sunset.”

“Well ducks are stupid anyways, they are just smaller swans.”

“Take that back! They are not stupid and they are different from the swans.”

They spent the next five minutes bickering about the most childish of things, one would think this was somehow negative. But no, the heavens were able to witness the two laugh despite the fighting. They didn’t seem to know how to drop the smile around each other, such contrasting souls mixing and playing off one another.

It was like the realms took a sigh of relief, a small triumph for humanity. Two souls playing in a paradise made just for them, two souls made to dance together for all of eternity, untouched by reality they were to be perfectly preserved.

It was unfortunate the way mankind was made, so easily that could they be broken and fall apart. To be corrupted meant that something needed to first be good, that is the harsh reality of life. Try as the heavens might, change is unavoidable, that is the only rule all concepts must face. And that means chaos was bound to seed its way into the most naive creatures to ever exist:

Humans.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel eve #garden of eden #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lilith #lovers to enemies #viviziepop #adam and eve #hazbin hotel oc??#the root of all evil #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar #fluff #hazbin hotel fluff #cain and abel #hazbin hotel sera #hazbin hotel fanfic

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