#giving them dark eyes every time i draw them describing them with dark eyes every time i write them it’s the little things

[retroactivebakeries]

It is almost five centuries ago, and the girl who will one day be a swordswoman is lying in the red-tinged mud. She can't get up—broken bone? severed tendon? She can't tell. She's yet to cultivate her palate for pain. Her enemy towers over her, a cataphract mailed in screaming steel and poisoned light. His warhammer falls, and it is death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable.

"No," says a part of her. She is not even seventeen years old. Her body is mangled and broken, wound piled upon wound piled upon wound. A dull kitchen knife is her only weapon, though she lost that in the mud the second her grip faltered. Her enemy is no thing of this earth. And yet—

"No. It is not death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable. It is only a hammer, falling. It is only 'an attack.'"

And the girl understood.

~~~

It is the better part of three centuries ago, as best the swordswoman can reckon, and she is beset on all sides by foes. They are not monsters—just mountain bandits, or highland rebels, as one cares to see it. But they outnumber her by dozens, and even an exceptional swordswoman might struggle against but two opponents of lesser skill.

From in front of her, beside her, behind her they advance, striking from every angle with spears and blades and axes. Others fill the air with arrows, sling stones, firepots. It would be effortless, to parry any single blow. It would be impossible, physically impossible, to defend against them all.

"No," says a part of her.

"You are not outnumbered. You do not face 'multiple' foes. It would be impossible to defend against every attack — but there is no 'every' attack. Only one."

"Oh," the swordswoman said. And it was, in fact, effortless.

~~~

It is eighty years ago, or thereabouts. A coiling spire of stony flesh and verdigrised copper throbs like a tumor on the horizon, coaxed from the earth by spell and sacrifice. It is the tower of a sorcerer-prince, and a birthing place of abominations.

Seven locks of rune-etched metal are opened with her single key. Wretched shapeling beasts, grown by sorcery in vitreous nodules, flee wailing from her, absconding before she even draws her blade. Demons sworn to thousand-year pacts of service find the binding provisions of their agreements unexpectedly severed.

These things dissatisfy the sorcerer-prince. He waxes wroth. He makes signs of power and chants incantations. With a flask of godling's blood, he draws the binding sigil inscribed upon the moon's dark face. With cold fire burning in his eyes, he speaks the secret name of Death. It is a king among curses, all-corrupting, all-consuming, and it falls from his lips upon the swordswoman.

"No," she says, and she turns it aside with her blade.

The sorcerer-prince's brow furrows. How did she even do that?

"Parried it."

But—

"With my sword."

No—

"See, like this."

Stop—

"Well," the swordswoman finally says, "I figured that if I just...looked at it right, and thought about it, and construed your curse as a kind of attack...then I could block it."

That's not how it works at all!

"If you insist," says the swordswoman, shrugging, and decapitates him.

~~~

It is now. It is the end. Death couldn't take the swordswoman, not when she'd spent all her life cutting it up. At times, Death might sidle up to one of her friends, or peer down into a grandchild's crib, and she'd just give it a look. That's all it took, by then.

Heartache couldn't take her, either. Bad things happened to her, and they hurt, and she lived in that hurt, but if it was ever more than she could take...she'd just, move her sword in a way that's difficult to describe. And she'd keep going.

Kingdoms fell, and she kept going. Continents crumbled and sank into the sea. Her planet's star faded and froze. She started carrying a lantern. Universes were torn apart and scattered, until all that had been matter was redistributed in thermodynamic equilibrium. With one exception.

But now it is the end. There is no time left; time is already dead. The swordswoman has outlived reality, but there is simply no further she can go. This is not a thing that can be blocked. This is the absence of anything further to block.

"No," says the girl who will one day be a swordswoman. "This isn't the ending. And even if it was, it's not the ending that matters."

The swordswoman looks back at who she was, at the countless selves she's been between them. She looks forward, at the rapidly contracting point that remains of the future. She grasps the all of linear time in her mind, and sees that it is shaped like a spear.

[nazumichi]

where’s the bna episode where shirou gets contact lenses

[joonipertree]

To show someone that you care, is a gift itself. | Sugar Daddy Bakugo Series

Where you show Katsuki what a gift can be.

Tags: Artist!reader, very self indulgent, like guys....please buy me watercolour paper instead of Versace. Watercolour paper is stupid expensive. Im also not skilled enough to actually make the gift so--

Pt 1 Pt 3

Katsuki's birthday had been looming when the two of you started going out, like a weighted shadow. You had spent a very long stressing about what to get him with a budget that wasn't even worth a fraction of what he would buy you.

But, like gift giving was Katsuki's, it was your love language as well. And you'd gotten good at getting heart felt things for people. Admittedly, it took a lot of brainstorming and notes upon notes of what to get.

You'd always go overboard to please the people you cared about, afraid that they'll leave if you didn't cross the limits and bend over backwards for them.

Katsuki had always taken care of you, never asked for anything and your love was returned albeit in a quieter and tsundere manner. So the urge to go above and beyond didn't fester for long, knowing that your bare presence made him warmer.

Your gift idea came when he was on the ring, swift on his feet and solid in the rigidness of his body. You'd brought your sketchbook and while you wanted to keep your eyes on your boyfriend, your hands became busy with large curves and sharp flicks of your pencil that brought dark edges .

You'd made at least 20 quick gestures drawings that were more crude representations of movement for you. But with those and the feelings you trapped in your heart, you made thumbnails and chose one to draw large scale.

One where Katsuki's face was partially blocked by his arm and he gave a blow. His elbows were jagged, muscles taut and rippling. And his eyes sharp and cat like.

The charcoal pencils and sticks used to create tapered lines to create hard surfaces was 340 yen. The watercolour pallete used had messy paint splattered everywhere and its lid broken, having been with you for a good while. The coat over the charcoal was 50 yen hair spray that worked just as well as professional sprays.

It didn't cost a lot but your hands were full of care and by the end of it, you hoped that it'd be something Katsuki would at least like. The man could have the world but all you had was you.

You didn't realize that you were more than enough

Katsuki to lost his voice when you handed it to him at midnight, eyes wide as he stared at him but not him. The layers on layers of paint held emotions that he could only describe as love, meticulously hand picked and felt in strokes. He'd seen HD pictures of his fights, seen videos of them where his sweat and pores were as clear as day. The most he'd thought of them were how his form could improve or how cool he looked.

But what you made, it twisted something in his chest and stung his eyes and filled him to the brim with love so warm and overwhelming that his body wasn't big enough to hold it.

You two had been dating for 4 months, Katsuki had spent that time falling in love with you in ways he didn't think possible. He'd fall with every giggle and kiss and ramble and your face when you were concentrating. He'd never said 'I love you', hoping his actions showed it enough, still too scared to speak it in case it was met with hesitance or silence.

But Katsuki had gently put down the canvas, something you that you'd built, stretched and primed yourself. And while you made eye contact with the walls and ceiling, you explained how the only thing you could come up with was the painting, that you wanted to capture the emotions you felt when you saw him fight. That it wasn't much but---

Katsuki had engulfed you in a hug, hand on the back of your head to press it against him and an arm around your waist. He squeezed you, tried to express all that he was feeling with one hug alone. You felt it, held him tightly and carded your fingers through his hair. With his shoulders shaking, you had an inkling that he had been crying. When he spoke, with a wobbly voice, you were sure that he was.

"I love you." He'd muttered out for the first time.

"I love you more." You whispered back and Katsuki had firmly denied it, that no one could love a person as much as he loved you.

Getting a gift for you became hard after that, because Katsuki sucked at making shit.

[babygorewhore]

Psychoanalyze

Cooper Adams/Abbott x therapist!fem reader

Serial killer the Butcher is in your house. You have to use your training to keep yourself from becoming his next victim. But he has a surprising reaction to your survival tactic.

Gif credit belongs to @billy-crudup

Warnings! A lot. Talks of his crimes! Reader is a behavioral therapist at a hospital! Manipulation! Switch! Cooper! But he submissive at first. Mommy kink but only used once! Reader is vaguely described to be midsize range. Praise, Degrading, oral fem receiving, fingering, face slapping, spitting, scratching, hair pulling, unprotected sex, choking, stomach bulge. Cum eating? Filthy talk tbh. They’re both fucked up. Reader is dominated second half of fic. Finger sucking.

“Make sure to keep your doors locked, Mom. Set the alarm too.” You instruct your worried mother over the phone. You gave her a step by step reminder on how to alert the alarm just using her app.

You sighed and hung up after a few minutes. You saw the news earlier, reading the headline about Cooper being the Butcher. It made you feel cold and empty. Being a counselor, you are trained to study human behavior. He also happened to work close to you.

Still early in your career, you were working in the behavioral unit at the local hospital. The fire department was always called during emergencies and you saw him on a regular basis.

One afternoon, during a particularly chaotic shift, you had talked down a violent patient who had gotten a hold of a nurse.

Cooper watched you the whole time with a dark expression on his face and it made you feel on edge. He gave you a feeling that beneath his friendly, pep in his step, easy going act that there was something else. Something he hid away.

Turns out, it was worse than you could have imagined. Bodies, dismemberment and a seven year long manhunt over the man who’d vowed to save lives.

You finished chewing a piece of candy, tossing the trash in the garbage and turned around. You immediately covered your mouth as a gasp escaped you, losing your balance as your lower back hit the counter painfully.

Cooper was sitting at your table, tense and his hand was inches away from a knife. His plaid shirt was unbuttoned at the top. You swallowed back the urge to sprint, knowing he’d lunge at you and enjoy the fear.

“How did you get in?” You asked simply, straightening your spine.

“I have a key.” He answered in the same casual tone. You nodded and turned your head but Cooper cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t consider that. By the time you grab something or try and run, it’ll be too late.”

You weighed your options. Cooper was a very big man. Strong and stealthy. More than you anticipated. You could try anyway, use speed to your advantage but instead you tried another tactic.

“Cooper, if you leave and don’t hurt me, I won’t call the police for an hour. Giving you a good head start.”

“I like your confidence.” Cooper’s compliment sent shivers across your body and you clenched your fingers into a fist. The tension in the air was thick and he leaned forward.

“I would appreciate it if you sat down.” Although the statement was polite, you knew he wasn’t really asking. He was commanding you.

You eased yourself down onto the chair, your muscles flexing and he grazed his fingers along the knife handle. Cooper inhaled deeply and extended his hand.

“May I have your phone? I’d rather not take it from you.”

You gave him your device, making sure the screen was still locked and he tucked it in his pocket.

“You perplex me.” He tells you, making your eyebrows draw together. “Normally, I see someone who thinks they’re whole and I get the urge to tear them apart.” Cooper savors those last words, as if speaking them could make him relive his crimes. “But with you, I get the feeling that you don’t actually have things together. That it’s all an act.”

You were terrified. Every single nerve in your body was telling you to run away but Cooper’s dark eyes implored yours. Keeping you still and he set a firm palm on your arm. His touch was warm and you flinched.

“I want you to try and understand me. Watching you work is like watching…artwork.” He humorlessly laughed and your bottom lip quivered.

You searched your brain for any memory of what the news said about the Butcher. Organized offender, terrible relationship with his mother, position of authority. It was one thing to hear these things versus having a patient with these traits.

“I think you do really love your kids.” That you did know. You saw their picture as the background of his phone. The only sign of humanity showed when he talked about his children. Cooper gave you a small smirk.

“You…you want to be accepted for who you are. You want to be told that you’re enough. That you’re lovable.” You were grasping at straws but trying to sound collected.

Cooper looked away and you knew that hit a nerve. “You want someone to take care of you.” You continued and moved forward. “Am I on the right track?” He jerked his head in a nod.

“You’re a good boy and you can keep being one. If you just do the right thing and don’t hurt me.” You whispered, setting your hands on his knees. This was incredibly stupid and risky but Cooper blinked rapidly.

“I’m not going to hurt you anymore, Cooper. I promise. Just promise me that you’ll be a good boy?”

Your question went unanswered as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You yelped, your legs dangling as he carried you to the bedroom. Normally, you hated the idea of someone picking you up but Cooper easily hauled you on the bed. You landed in a heap on your back. You climbed on your elbows, watching him remove his shirt in the dim lighting.

His mountain sized form shook as he crawled on top of you. Cooper kept his weight from crushing you and you sighed in disbelief as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

The fact that a serial killer was in your bedroom, breathing against your skin shirtless made you half wonder if this was a dream. But your body was betraying you. Your senses were leaving as Cooper’s full lips pressed against your pulse point.

Your legs instinctively widened and he settled further in between them. His thick thighs covered in jeans rubbing against you. You had on pajama shorts, exposing your curves and he ran his hand down until it settled on your hip.

Cooper gave it a steady squeeze as his tongue darted out, tasting your skin and he groaned. Your nipples were hardening inside your hoodie and you ached to touch him but held yourself back. This was wrong, this was so incredibly wrong!

“Let me worship you,” He grunted and peppered kisses down your chest. Cooper tugged down the zipper of your shirt, exposing your tits and he took a nipple in his mouth.

His teeth grazed the bud and you whined. Back arching and he started sucking hard enough to leave marks. You hadn’t been fucked in a while, too busy with your job to spend time with anyone but Cooper’s desperate noises made your core pulse.

“Such pretty tits, you taste so good. I can’t wait to sample how sweet you are,” Cooper peeled off your shorts and underwear. You saw him slide them into his pocket before he distracted you with his mouth traveling down your stomach.

His hands were heavy and firm. Laced with age and calluses but he did have a gentleness that prevented unpleasant pain. Instead of pushing your legs as wide as possible, Cooper held your knees. Keeping your thighs high and you couldn’t squirm away.

All your thoughts merged together and seemed into the present moment. You didn’t think about how dangerous he was or that he broke into your house.

“You’re being such a good boy,” You whimpered and Cooper released a guttural moan. He hungrily sucked your clit, making you cry out and bury your hands in his hair.

The silky strands between your fingers were the only way you could ground yourself as he spit and licked up after himself. Your pussy clenched around his tongue and your entire body burned. Cooper wasn’t tentative at all like the other men you’d been with. He buried his entire face, his nose hitting your center and he humped the bed. You knew he wasn’t just eating you out for your pleasure, it was for his own too. You could barely breathe from the pressure in your stomach and lungs as he held your knees tighter.

Your ass was almost off the mattress as Cooper devoured your cunt. His large size gave you a small reality check that he could easily kill you. You shrieked when you released one leg and pressed two girthy fingers inside you. He was able to reach the deepest spot, curling them and making your mouth hang open. It was enough that your climax was scratching the surface. Cooper’s intensity increased and he added another finger as he messily licked your clit.

An explosion hit you, making you let out an embarrassingly loud wail and your free leg clamped around his head. Your cum gave him more slickness as Cooper continued fingering you through it. His lips hovered above your pussy, pressing open mouth kisses against your lower stomach.

Even in the low lighting, you could see the black lust in his gaze as he lifted up. Sticky arousal coated the entire lower half of his face.

“Did that feel good, mommy?” His voice was croaky, almost like he was going to cry and you moaned. You undid his belt, furiously pulling down his pants and boxers.

Your leg hoisted around his waist and you pushed him onto his back. Cooper threw his head back as you situated yourself on top. His dick was big, throbbing as you lined yourself and sank down. He huffed and you laced your fingers with his.

You started rocking, sweat gathering on your skin but he only remained pinned down for a few seconds. He sat up, cupping the back of your head and crushed your lips together. The kiss wasn’t romantic. It was harsh, brutal and bordering on rage.

Your nails raked down his arms, making him growl against your mouth and he pulled your lower lip with his teeth. You gripped his cheeks, spitting in his mouth and then you slapped him.

Cooper looked animalistic as he drove his hips harder into you. It felt like you were going to split open, like it wasn’t going to fit all the way.

“Pathetic little boy,” You hit him again, this time on the other side. “You like that? Like being punished?” Your words were filled with venom and he was trembling so hard it was difficult to keep fucking him.

Cooper’s release hit him violently and he made noises that almost brought you to a second orgasm. Cum seeped in your pussy and your cunt hurt from how turned on you were. He sputtered and groaned. His arms were crushing you but you enjoyed the discomfort.

Whatever submission he had, it vanished as he flipped you over. Cooper’s hand shoved your face down into the pillow as he maneuvered your ass up.

You panted as he sharply slapped your ass, his tip rubbing against your slit. Drool pooled out of your mouth and Cooper pinned your dominant arm behind your back.

“You think you’ve beaten me? By making me bust my load that quickly?” He slammed into you balls deep and it hurt enough to make tears spring. Feeling you recoil inward, he massaged your clit and made you let out a pornographic sound.

“Sweetheart, you’re going to be nothing but a cum slut for me. I’m gonna make it drip out of you,” He thrusted hard, making the bed move and you bit down on the material of the pillow.

“You’re fucking helpless. You get that? I could hurt you and you couldn’t stop it.” He laughed, a crazed noise that horrified you. But his dick kept you from acting like a rational person.

“I was going to make you my victim but now you’re gonna be my whore.” Cooper’s filthy words made you choke on a sob as you came on his cock.

He didn’t let you stay in that position, merely tossing you on your back and shoving his dick in. But he did allow you to touch him, claw at his back and wrap your legs around him. Cooper locked his hand around your throat and you were rendered entirely at his mercy.

His frame caged you in and he pressed on your stomach with his other palm.

“Cream on my dick. Your pussy is so goddamn tight, I can feel it like this,” You were delirious and he tapped your cheek with two fingers. “Awww, what’s wrong, princess? Cock so good you went stupid on me?”

His mocking was followed by his seed gushing into you. Cooper rode out his orgasm and pulled out. He jerked himself off, covering your stomach in cum. Taking his finger, he pushed it past your lips. Making you taste both of your releases.

“You’re mine now. And you’re going to be a good little slut. Aren’t you?” You mindlessly nodded, sucking his digit and Cooper gave you a wicked smile.

“Atta girl. Now, get on the floor. Start at the door and crawl to me.”

Tagging: @xxbimbobunnyxx @cxrrodedcoffin @amethystblackkchaos @cryobabyy @hereforthehitsbaby @id-rather-be-in-middle-earth @rottenangel @rosaleelovesdilfs @strangererotica @justafangirls-blog @coopers-bunny @thebutchersbitch @redpillbluepill @rubyfruitjungle @lovalova444 @oceanblvd111 @stillwjk-channie-lixie

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[thenameswinterfics]

VISIONS OF HELHEIM

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Reader Settings: Season 2, episode 4 Summary: Sihtric has never forgotten his mother, whose presence continues to haunt his dreams. And as the Battle of Dunholm draws to a close, you help Sihtric mourn her. Word Count: 6,1 K Warnings: Fluff, angst, missing moments, mention of past abuse, mention on non-consensual relationship (not described in detail), mention of character death, mention of graphic violence (not described in detail). A/N: I'd like to start by saying that it was supposed to be a short fic, but my imagination literally exploded. I'm terribly nervous about this fic, maybe more nervous than the previous one, I've tried to contain the angst so that reading won't be so overwhelming. I know my summaries are terrible, but I swear I'll learn. I'm not an expert in Norse mithology, nor in Pagan traditions, so I apologise in advance if you'll find some inaccuracies. For Elflaed's description I took inspiration by another amazing writer here on Tumblr, giving my own interpretation in some details as well. I forgot the blog's name, so if any of you should know them, please give me the name and I'll quote it! As always, a special thanks to @sylasthegrim, @legitalicat and @sihtricfedaraaahvicius for calming me down during my writing crises (I know it happened once, but your help has been precious), to @lord-aldhelm for helping me fill in some language gaps and to @foxyanon and @zaldritzosrose for a last minute check and helping me with finding a title (Foxy, I love your brain, and thank you so much for sharing with me your knowledge about Norse and pagan culture).

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header & dividers by @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3

A raging storm crossed the lands of Dunholm in the middle of night, the shining moon hiding behind a dense bank of dark grey clouds. The gentle breeze that caressed the tree canopies turned into a violent wind that bent the tree trunks, devastating nature with its destructive force. Drops of rain fell on the ground, saturating the soil and creating small puddles that increased their volume over time. Flashes of light appeared in the sky, creating a spectacle at once majestic and terrifying. 

The bravest men and warriors who dared to face the storm and believed in the Old Gods would say that it was all Thor's plan: enraged by the despicable actions of Dunholm's Jarl and his men, the god of thunder brandished his Mjolnir in the air and unleashed the most dangerous lightning and the most treacherous of the storm. But even the worst of natural disasters could not move the heart of a cruel man.

Elflaed sat on the cold floor of a crumbling hut, feeling the window doors creak and slam violently as cold air and water entered the house. She held her son in her arms, his tiny body curled up against her in search of warmth and protection, his big, mismatched eyes craving comfort in his mother's. Her arms were wrapped around him protectively, adjusting the thick fur on her shoulder and holding him close as her soothing voice sang a lullaby, hoping to shield him from the sounds of the raging storm.

There had always been a hint of sadness in the young woman's eyes, spreading to the sweet features of her face, a bittersweet feeling growing in her chest every time she looked at the little life she held in her embrace. If only the gods had been merciful to her and not given her a son in the most despicable way. 

When she closed her eyes, she could feel Kjartan's large, rough hands exploring parts of her body he wasn't allowed to touch, forcibly stripping her of her dignity, hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt her pleas ignored. Anger, fear and resentment grew inside her along with an unwanted life, her womb cultivating the seed of a relationship that should never have existed. Elflaed prayed each night with her eyes to the sky, hoping that some merciful god would rid her of the life she was forced to carry. But no child is guilty of the actions of their father, and the young woman learned that the first time she held the infant in her arms, her maternal instincts took hold of her heart as his soft cries filled the room.

And for the following winters, Elflaed raised her son alone, protecting him from a father who rejected one of the many bastards he had across Dunholm. The love for her son grew along with the hatred for Kjartan, which reached its peak as one day she found a bush of black berries in the forest. She was aware of how poisonous those berries were, and had no intention to waste a precious opportunity.

"You will live, sweet boy," Elflaed cooed as she watched Sihtric drift back to sleep, no longer afraid of the storm outside. Her tone was reassuring, trying to calm herself more than him, as her fingers brushed across his tiny forehead, moving strands of hair away from him. “And I will always be here, watching over you.”

It was in that moment that her gaze moved onto the plate of the nightshade berries on the table. She would have her revenge that night.

And her destiny was sealed.

Never before had the night looked so beautiful and so full of mystery.

That was what you thought as you lay on a large pile of hay outside the saddles, your eyes never leaving the great expanse of black veil that rose above your head, adorned with small silver points of light in which you could see all the signs of Ymir's work as he created the planets and all the stars. Your eyes darted in quick motion as you recognised the constellation of Ulf's Keptr, the Fiskikarlar, Kvennavagn and Karlvagn and the Asar Bardagi, your slender finger pointing at the sky and tracing the imaginary lines that connected those small celestial bodies, as bright as the flames that engulfed your house and took away your home and family years ago. 

You couldn't remember what it was about the stars that fascinated you, or how your mind had gotten so lost in a memory you never thought would surface again. But a sense of peace pervaded your mind, every inch of fear and anxiety in your body fading away as you fixed your gaze on the star, losing yourself in the vastness of the night sky. 

It had become a silent ritual that you would perform each night before going into battle, as if to ask the fallen warriors resting within the sacred walls of Valhalla for their protection to survive another day. But attacking an impregnable fortress like Dunholm was no easy task, you knew that. At least not in the way your brothers Uhtred and Ragnar had described it in their reckless plan to take the fortress and avenge your father's memory. It was your first serious battle, and never more than now did you seek the comfort of the stars. 

Your lips parted as you repeated the stories of the origins of these constellations that you had heard as a naive child from the warriors loyal to your father. It had become a habit for you to let your thoughts out loud in your solitude: the cool night air had always been your silent companion through the years, gently tickling your hair and skin as its way of saying it enjoyed your stories. 

But this time was different. Because you were not alone.

Sihtric lay by your side, one hand on his stomach, the other behind his head. He lifted his eyes to the sky, without ever looking at you, while his ears strained to hear your stories of the celestial world. You could tell he was enjoying the little time you spent together by soft humming escaping from his lips, a soothing sound that warmed your heart. But there was something in his eyes that caught your attention: his gaze was distant, pain and melancholy crossing through its bright, multi-coloured irises, his pupils involuntarily dilated.  

Sihtric had always been a shy and quiet warrior, very reluctant to talk about his past and his birthplace unless asked. You could see his eyes flickering involuntarily at every mention of his father, his head drooping and his jaw clenching as the memory of his past came back to haunt him, the shadow of Dunholm walking beside him and never letting go. 

A gnawing vice tightened in your chest every time you saw Sihtric walking around with a blank stare, taking refuge in his tortured thoughts, and not even your touch could save him, pulling back every time your fingertips brushed against his bare arms. And when you found him asleep in the saddles, or anywhere else far from home, you could hear him calling out to his mother in his nightmares, instinctively embracing her as if to feel the motherly warmth he had lost years ago. Sihtric had never spoken of his mother, nor had you dared to ask, until tonight, under a sky full of stars and a fierce war on the horizon.

“Tell me about your mother,” you broke the silence of the night and shifted your position to lie on your side, looking at Sihtric with curiosity. Your sudden question awoke the Dane from his trance-like state, his eyes widening as he rested his gaze on you.

“Lady?” Sihtric asked back, his voice trembling slightly like the hand that rested on his stomach. 

"You told Lord Uhtred that you were Kjartan's bastard son, whelped on a slave girl. We know everything about that wretched turd," the last word came out in a low hiss, your words as heavy as the resentment you felt for your father's murderer. "But there have been no words for your mother, so I would like to know about her." 

At first you didn't realise how demanding your tone was, but when you regained your composure and saw Sihtric's muscles tense and his breath catch at your request, you bit the inside of your cheek and cursed yourself for being so impulsive. You knew how Sihtric flinched whenever anyone spoke to him in a stern tone, but you were Uhtred and Ragnar's little sister: impulsiveness was in your nature. 

An awkward silence fell over you as you both stared at each other, different emotions mingled in the air creating a heavy atmosphere. Finally, after a few minutes that felt like an eternity, you broke the silence and looked away. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered with guilt in your voice, struggling to find the right words. “My apology, forgive what I said before.” You were about to move when his voice stopped you.

“Elflaed,” Sihtric spoke in a weak voice, and if you listened carefully you could hear the trembling in it. “She was called Elflaed, lady.”

Elflaed. That was the name Sihtric called out every night in his unconscious state, searching for a mother he could no longer hold in his arms. Sadness washed over you as your thoughts returned to your own mother and how you felt your heart torn from your chest the night she died. But you had first Uhtred and Brida, then Ragnar, to help you through your grief, while Sihtric had no one to support him. And the grip on your heart tightened. 

“Was Dunholm her home? Was she a Dane like you?” you asked with a soft voice, and Sihtric shook his head faintly.

“No. She was a Saxon, lady. She came from Hocchale, lady. She was taken in Dunholm as a slave.” the Dane replied, looking down at his trembling hand on his stomach. You could still see his mismatched eyes shining in the pale moonlight, watering as he fought back tears. You held a hand up in the air, wanting to place it on his shoulder and give him all your support, but remembering how your touch was not welcomed by his involuntary shudder, your hand returned to your side.

“Your mother,” you broke the silence for the third time, closing your eyes and squeezing the bridge of your nose as you tried to find the right words. “She… I know I am asking you a delicate question, but… What happened to her?”

And at that moment, Sihtric looked away from the sky to rest his gaze on you, his pupils still dilated and his eyes still watering as he looked around slightly, fearing that some punishment might come if he dared to speak the truth. But when he realised that no harm could come, he calmed down slightly and spoke again. 

"She tried to poison Kjartan, lady," the Dane confessed, mustering the courage to change his position and lie on his side, telling you the truth as he looked into your eyes. "With the black berries. The nightshades, lady," he swallowed a lump that formed in his throat before continuing, his voice breaking with emotion, "I do not know what happened that night, lady. All I remember is that she left me and..." 

A sob escaped his lips and the way his body was shaking made you realise he could collapse in front of you at any moment. Without thinking, you raised your hand and placed it gently on his cheeks: to your surprise, he didn't flinch, but looked at you intently, leaning into your touch.

“Sihtric,” you opened your mouth, but the Dane was quick to interrupt you.

“I loved her, lady. With my whole heart, I swear it,” he said with a pleading voice, clutching the pendant of Mjolnir in his trembling hand, in the same way he did the day he swore his oath to Uhtred.

“And I believe you, Sihtric, you do not need to swear to me,” you replied softly, closing the distance between you and resting your forehead on his. Both your hands rested on his cheeks, your thumbs moving in a circular motion to calm him. You felt a soft breath leave his lips and his breathing slowly stabilised. He found a temporary peace in your warmth and you would be his steady rock, shielding him from his past. 

“I promise you, under this sky painted of stars, that your mother will be avenged tomorrow. Kjartan will draw his last breath in battle and his death will be far from honourable,” you confirmed in a soft yet firm tone, clutching your own Mjolnir pendant in your hands. “Do you trust my words?” 

Sihtric was silent for a moment, your words and actions clearly taking him by surprise. But when he opened his mouth to reply, you saw his hand reach for yours, his frightened eyes soften, a pink hue colouring his cheeks. His words came out in a feeble whisper, but you were close enough to hear them. 

“I trust them, lady. With my life and soul.”

And then, in the middle of the night, the surreal silence was broken by two humming voices saying a prayer for survival in battle.

Tension hung in the air as several warriors gathered to form a square in the courtyard, with Ragnar and Kjartan standing in the centre, facing each other in a duel to the death. Heavy blows of swords and axes against wooden shields came from the human ring, low growls and cheers escaping from their lips as the duel became more bloody and brutal. But Sihtric said nothing, holding his helmet tightly in his hands as he waded through the crowd. 

The battle at Dunholm fortress drained Sihtric both physically and mentally: returning to the place where pain and abuse had haunted him since childhood was a challenge he never wanted to face again. Yet he swore an oath of loyalty to Uhtred, and offered up his sword and his life under the watchful eyes of the gods. If Uhtred wished to attack the fortress, Sihtric would obey without question. 

But even his lord could not prepare him for what he was about to witness. A wave of emotion washed over him as he saw Kjartan, the man who had nothing in common with except the blood that ran through his veins, slowly perish under every blow that Ragnar struck, the scene so crude and sickening that even the bravest of warriors could not watch for long. 

Satisfaction first, then horror, disgust and bitterness as he winced at every blow Kjartan received, the ground of Dunholm painted crimson as blood coursed through his body. Sihtric felt numb, a myriad of thoughts running through his mind, remembering his life as a slave in his own house, how his body and mind endured his father's cruelty, how he tried to impress him and earn love and respect, only to be mocked and humiliated in return. He remembered every scar and bruise he had received, and how his body ached with every blow as he lay stunned on the floor after his punishment was over. 

As he exhaled a ragged breath, unrest was painted on his face, his skin turning pale as his mind returned to the night his mother died, her piercing screams echoing in his mind as they had on that stormy night when she was thrown to the dogs on his father's orders. It was a melody that haunted his dreams, begging his mother to forgive him for not being able to save her. A forgiveness that never reached him.

A gentle grip on his hand brought him back to reality, the muffled voices in his ears crystal clear as reality returned in all its crudeness. Sihtric slowly realised that it was over as his eyes rested on his lord, who was holding an enraged Ragnar close to him. A heavy silence filled the fortress as all the warriors realised what had really happened, neither faction daring to continue the fight. 

Sihtric recognized your touch, but he was too stunned to return the squeeze. And you just stood still at his side, watching helplessly as the ghosts of his past returned to haunt him, while he felt the echo of Elflaed’s voice reaching his ears.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way towards Dunholm's dungeon, the faint flame of your torch trembling with your hands. The damp air didn't help your anxiety, and you tried to manoeuvre through the darkness of the place with cautious steps, the metallic smell of blood irritating your nostrils.

You have won the battle, but at what cost? You asked silently over the flames of the small brazier in the great hall, but the soft crackling of the wood didn't give you the answer you were looking for. 

The attack on the fortress had been successful, and Young Ragnar had honoured Ragnar the Fearless’ memory by taking Kjartan's life. But it was a bittersweet victory for you, for the gods wouldn't give you back your father, who was feasting among them in the golden halls of Valhalla. To your surprise, you found out that Thyra was alive, but hatred burned in her heart as she blamed you all for abandoning her to her fate. Uhtred and Ragnar told you that she was safe in Father Beocca's hands, but you knew that nothing could easily mend a broken trust. 

But your mind couldn't stop thinking about Sihtric, and how he was too overwhelmed and confused to return your touch, and how he remained silent throughout the aftermath. He just stood there in the courtyard, looking at his father's lifeless body with an indecipherable expression on his face, before shaking his head and silently returning to his duties. You thought that taking him to Dunholm would have caused him no small amount of pain, and you had several arguments with Uhtred about sparing Sihtric further suffering. But your brother was adamant, and the young Dane was too loyal to disobey him. 

And in the midst of your thoughts, you felt a strong hand squeeze your shoulder, forcing you back into reality and into the deep blue eyes of the Daneslayer, who looked at you with concern. 

“Sihtric has been missing,” he told you with a low voice, and you jolted on the furred chair.

"I thought he was celebrating the victory with Finan and the others," was your blunt reply, feigning disinterest while a storm of emotion exploded inside you. 

“Finan told me he has not seen him for hours,” Uhtred retorted, and deep down in your heart you knew what you had to do. 

And so there you were, searching for Sihtric in the darkest part of the fortress after a long search on the surface. You thought you would find him in the stables, the place where he usually spent most of his time, meticulously tending to the horses: but to your surprise, he wasn't there, nor was he in the servants' quarters. 

A sense of foreboding grew within you, a sense of claustrophobia struck you as you felt the walls of the dungeon closing in around you, the dim light of your torch illuminating the poorly maintained surroundings, the damp, enclosed smell making you dizzy as you saw your shadow playing tricks on you. You were about to lose hope when you heard a ragged breath from a few cells ahead. 

You moved quietly in the direction of the sound until you saw Sihtric lying on the ground, a thick fur protecting him from the cold floor. Your heart ached as you watched him toss and turn on the ground, his lips trembling and his forehead drenched in sweat as nightmares once again took possession of his mind, his mother's name slipping from his mouth in a whisper. You looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes, and unlike the other nights, this time you would have woken him. 

You approached him gently, your touch on his shoulder as light as a feather as you shook him lightly. This sudden action caused him to wake up abruptly, jumping to his feet as he didn't recognise you in the darkness. You jumped back as well, about to fall to the ground in a heap from his sudden movements. 

“Sihtric,” you whispered smoothly, raising your hands as you wanted to reassure him no harm would come, “It is me, do not be afraid.”

You continued to speak in your soothing tone as you allowed the fire of the torch to illuminate your features. Sihtric's body stopped shaking as he recognised you, trying to compose himself as he bowed his head slightly in respect, ignoring the way his chest rose and fell frantically.  

“I wondered where you were. I thought you were feasting with the others, or you were resting in one of the fortress’ rooms,” you inquired, your eyes sad as you thought that sleeping in the cells was a habit he had developed during his time as a slave and imagined him resting in his cold, isolated cell.  

“Forgive me, lady,” Sihtric muttered back in a strained voice, looking down at his feet. The Dane warrior secretly thanked the gods for the poor lighting in this place, hiding the redness of his cheeks. “I… I did not know where else to rest.” 

After hearing his answer, you let out a small sigh, saddened by the realisation that he still did not feel safe at home, even after seeing his father's reign of cruelty end before his eyes. 

“Be free to move wherever you want,” you approached him and placed your hand on his shoulder once more, a flash of realisation came over you: you had promised to be his rock under the starry sky, and you would keep it. 

"Kjartan is dead, Sihtric. Your days of fear and suffering are over, you are a free man now," you said with softness in your voice, locking eyes with him as he raised his head, his mismatched eyes silently yearning for your protection. The Dane warrior nodded his head, his lips curling into a small smile. 

"Come, I will take you to a warm place, now," you said as you squeezed his hand and pulled him towards the exit of the dungeon. Sihtric followed you without saying a word, squeezing your hand back as he followed you, leaving a piece of his past behind as he left the cells.

Convincing Sihtric to spend the night with you was a difficult task: the Dane warrior was afraid that Uhtred might turn up and scold him for being alone with his little sister, but you tried to explain that he would not be arriving for some time, too busy discussing the future running of Dunholm with Ragnar. You let out a defeated sigh as you watched him furrow his brow in suspicion, but soon you were glad that he had at least convinced himself to trust your words. 

You led him into your temporary room, one of the largest in Dunholm, beautifully decorated with carved wooden planks on the ceiling and a few rugs covering the wooden floor. Despite its size, the large fireplace in the centre of the room was able to heat the whole room, the crackling of the wood being the only sound allowed in. 

You handled him with the utmost care, looking down his broad arms for any suspected wounds or cuts that might require attention. Desperately chasing away any impure thoughts about his appearance, you were pleased to find that his flesh was untouched and unblemished, save for a few specks of dust scattered about. You almost cursed yourself for not preparing a warm bath for him, and with what little water you had, you tore off a piece of your clothing and used it to clean his skin. Your touch was as soft as silk on his muscles, and Sihtric did his best to hide the redness of his cheeks. 

“Better?” you asked as you looked at Sihtric, your sudden question bringing him out of his thoughts. The Dane hummed back, his eyes softening in your presence. 

“Thank you, lady,” he whispered, leaning desperately on your touch as you continued to clean him.

Afterwards, you both lay down on the large bed, which was much more comfortable than the one you used to sleep on back in Cumbraland. The warmth of the blankets and furs gave you both a sense of peace and comfort, almost making you forget that a fierce battle had been fought that morning. 

You both looked up at the ceiling, imagining it to be the same starry sky as the day before. A pleasant silence filled the room, and the single thought brought a small smile to both of your faces, too drunk with each other's closeness as your hands instinctively reached out to each other, your fingers intertwined as you both used your thumbs to make small circles on the backs of your hands. 

You both enjoyed this idyllic moment until Sihtric cleared his throat and shyly drew your attention to himself as his big, mismatched eyes stared intently at you. You could see his pupils dilate again, and it was then that you realised something was troubling him. 

“Lady,” the Dane spoke quietly, squeezing your hand, “There is one thing I would like to do before we leave Dunholm.” 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and looked for a moment at how tightly he clasped your hand, as if he were secretly looking to you for comfort and understanding. 

“What is it?” you asked softly, your lips curving into a sympathetic smile as you waited for him to speak up. You were calm, taming your curiosity and impulsiveness. 

"There is a small place, a little far from Dunholm," he continued in a timid voice, looking down at your joined hands, as if he was regaining his courage by looking at them, "We can reach it by following the path of the small spring from the east wall, it is a safe route to take with our horses. It will be a short walk, and when we see a large hawthorn tree in the distance, we will have reached our destination.”

Sihtric paused for a moment and took a long breath before continuing.

"I buried my mother there. At least..." Another long sigh escaped his lips, this time more shaky than the first. "...where I would like to bury her." 

A heavy silence fell over the room, the calm and peaceful atmosphere vanishing in an instant. You stood still, too stunned by his words to speak. And when you found the courage to open your mouth, Sihtric quickly cut you off, clasping both of his hands between yours. 

"I wish to mourn her, my lady. To mourn her properly," Sihtric murmured, his eyes watering as he looked away from you and down at some random spot on the blankets. "I... I know we could slow the return journey, but I will speak to Lord Uhtred and I-I will take my punishment..." 

With an imperceptible movement, you slipped your hand from his grasp and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head and forcing him to look at you. A soft whisper escaped your lips, interrupting his stream of consciousness, his words replaced by a soft sigh, his head unintentionally tilted as his mismatched eyes rested on yours.

"My brother will not punish you for mourning your mother, Sihtric," you told him in a reassuring tone, tilting your head slightly so that your foreheads touched, "because we will go there at dawn tomorrow and you will be free to pray in silence and honour her memory.” 

There was something comforting in your words, a gentle reassurance that was like balm to Sihtric's heart, wrapping itself around your care and love. As your eyes met, you both felt a comforting warmth spread through your chests, an invisible thread drawing you together as you slowly drew closer, your lips brushing gently before locking in a timid kiss that became desperate as Sihtric poured all his love into you, pulling you closer and deepening the contact. 

After a few seconds he pulled away, both breathing heavily, but with their foreheads pressed together, a small smile crossed Sihtric's face. The Dane knew it was wrong to steal a kiss from his lord's sister, but you had become his shining star in a dark sky, and the flame of your love burned brightly in his heart.

And as the moon shone brightly in the sky, you both fell asleep in each other's arms, slipping into a peaceful sleep, feeling the gentle rhythm of each other's breathing and knowing that you would face whatever came next together.

Morning came and Dunholm awoke to a peaceful atmosphere, the days when Kjartan the Cruel ruled the stronghold fading away like grains of sand in the wind. The aftermath of the battle still left its physical scars, the courtyard still painted red, arrows and broken shields still lodged in the ground, the great ram still lying undisturbed at the foot of the gates. Yet nature was reborn after the death of its tyrant, the grass, plants and flowers seemed to grow with the brightest colours, and the melodious chirping of birds echoed in the air.

A few rays of the dawning sun filtered through the window and gently caressed Sihtric's sharp features, and he groaned softly as he slowly awoke, feeling his body well rested as he slept without nightmares for the first time. Rubbing his tired eyes, he turned awkwardly to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. A sense of worry washed over him when he didn't find you by his side, and suddenly he felt as if he had been transported back in time to when he was in Tekil's service, living under the pressure of impressing a father who was barely aware of his presence.

But his worries quickly vanished when he felt the door to the room open and you appeared behind it with a broad smile on your face. Sihtric was unaware that you had awakened before the sun could greet the earth with a new day, and unnoticed you quietly took your horse from the stables and followed the route he had described to you the night before. 

The ride to the hawthorn tree was very quiet, full of unspoken emotions. Years had passed since he had visited his mother's grave, and he had never thought that he would return to bid her a final farewell and leave Dunholm, burying a past he had hoped to forget, but which had made him the warrior he was. 

After a short walk they reached a large hawthorn tree, and to Sihtric's relief it was the same one he had seen as a child, not even the violent storms of the past few days had wiped it out. His eyes darted down to its roots, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw: the blank stones that had made up the small mound of earth he had imagined burying his mother many years ago had been replaced by larger, white stones, decorated with symbols he recognised as drawn runes, carefully scattered around the perimeter of the grave. 

A sudden realisation came to him as he remembered the way you had greeted him at dawn, your dirty hands suggesting that you had been to the burial spot and tended to his mother's grave before accompanying him. A small bouquet of hawthorn was placed over the patch of earth, and Sihtric recognised it as the flower Elflaed used to pick when she returned to the forest, remembering her sweet smile as she caressed the white petals with her fingers. 

You both knelt in silence at the foot of the grave, clasping your pendants together as you both silently recited a prayer to the goddess Hel, asking her to watch over Elflaed's soul in the halls of Eljudnir in Helheim. 

As the last words were spoken in silence, the weight of the moment fell heavily on Sihtric, and without realising it, he saw small teardrops fall to the ground and looked up at the sky, thinking that a storm was about to break. But his eyes were too blurred to focus on the orange-blue sky, and he slowly realised that the soil was wet with his own tears. Unable to contain his emotions, the Dane buried his face in his hands and let out a liberating cry, his shoulders shaking with sobs. You reached over and wrapped your arms around his large shoulders, pressing your lips to his temple, leaving a small kiss as you held him tightly in your hands.

"Let it all out," you whispered softly, your voice comforting as you gave him gentle strokes on his back, "I am here with you as your mother, watching over you." 

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder as emotions overwhelmed you as well, and you silently let your tears flow as you cried for your own late mother, whose soul rested in Valhalla with your father and the other fallen warriors. 

You returned to the fortress in silence, following the thin stream of water backwards as you chose your route, your horses dragged by the reins. Halfway you halted your march, your pause forcing Sihtric to rest as well.

"Is something wrong, lady?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he saw you approach in silence, one of your fingers trailing over the pendant of his Mjolnir. You both looked into each other's eyes, your cheeks turning red simultaneously as you both filled your nostrils with each other's scent.

“Promise me that, when we have a baby girl, we will name her Elflaed,” you confessed light-heartedly with a shy smile, and the Dane warrior looked down at his feet as his face turned completely red, the redness reaching all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“A-A baby girl?” he muttered, swallowing a mix of air and saliva while his mind was filled with endless thoughts. 

Sihtric fell in love with you the night he failed in his mission to kidnap Uhtred and was taken prisoner, the compassion in your eyes a thing that never left his mind. He secretly wanted to find the courage to confess his feelings for you and take you as his wife, but something prevented him: he was not afraid to face Uhtred, he knew that you were more stubborn than his lord and that your brother would have given you everything, however reluctantly. He was afraid of himself, afraid of failing to please or impress you. Uhtred was the rightful heir to a land he sought to reclaim, and though in exile, Finan was still an Irish prince by blood. Sihtric was only a bastard son, with no land to claim and no royal title to flaunt. 

"I... I am afraid I cannot satisfy you, lady," the Dane gently declined your offer, which was met with a puzzled look from you. He let out a sigh before speaking again, "I-I have nothing to offer you, lady. I have no land to rule, nor enough silver to give you. I am a nobody, lady, and as much as I love you and want to take you as my wife, I fear I could not make you happy."

"I do not need a rich and powerful lord to be happy," you replied, shaking your head as a light chuckle escaped your lips. You placed your hand gently on his cheek, tracing the scar on his cheekbone with your thumb. "There could be many lords in all of England who would be willing to claim my hand, but in my heart I know that the only man I will ever allow to be by my side is you," you continued, still holding his pendant in your other hand.

A pleasant tension filled the air as you both stared at each other, the wind the silent intruder in your union. Sihtric's large hands rested on your hips, your thumb still tracing his scar, a soft hum vibrating in the Dane's throat as he surrendered to your touch. 

"I love you, Sihtric Kjartansson," you said softly, your eyes full of love as you rested your gaze on his alluring bicoloured eyes, "to Valhalla and back.”

"And I love you, lady," Sihtric replied shyly, returning your gaze with the same intensity as yours, "to Valhalla and back."

And the distance between you disappeared.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it!

Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm

[rogueddie]

Eddie had thought that, like always, getting back from tour would be a fun affair. Ever since his and Steves little Robin started school, just three years ago, it had become a celebration. Steve and Robin always made sure he understood how they would always miss him so much that it hurt.

Still, he hadn't expected to find Robin sobbing. The distressed, lost look Steve gives him only makes it sting more.

"Baby, hey," Eddie says, voice hushed, practically joining her in Steves lap with how close he sits next to him. "Birdy?"

"She won't talk to me," Steve explains. "Its... she was so happy this morning."

Eddie turns his attention back to her. "Did something happen at school?"

She pulls back, suddenly. Eddie barely has time to notice that Steve's shoulder is left soaked with how much she'd been crying- she grabs Eddie's forearm tight, eyes wide.

"Are you and mama gonna get divorced?"

"I sure fucking hope not," Eddie says without thinking.

"Eddie!"

"What?"

"You sleep in different rooms," she sniffles, drawing their attention back to her. "And you always go away, dad, like... like, all the time."

"I go away for work. You know how much I hate leaving. I checked that pretty little calendar you made me, every single day. You two mean the world to me, sweetheart."

"You have separated bedrooms. Kyle said that only divorced parents do that!"

"Kyle," Steve says the name like it's a curse. "I swear, I'm going to cause mayhem if Carol doesn't get that brat to behave himself."

"Steve-"

"What? This is the fourth time he's said something that's upset our girl!"

"He's a dumb kid." Eddie pulls Robin off Steve's lap, into his arms. He sticks out his tongue when Steve tries to complain. "Do you wanna know why me and mama have separate rooms?"

Robin nods, looking more confused than distressed. She slaps his shoulder when he tries to walk ahead, making him wait for Steve to get up so she can hold his hand whilst Eddie carries her to Steve's room.

"Ok, birdy. How would you describe mamas room?"

She hesitated, looking around. "Pretty?"

"Exactly. So pretty, all these pastels and whites. Very bright and happy, right?" He waits for her to nod, before walking them across the hall and into his room. "Would you say my room is pretty?"

"No!" Her face scrunches up. "It's all dark and scary!"

"You wouldn't want to be in here too much, would you?"

"No! I only come in here if you and mama are. It's not nice or pretty."

"Mama wouldn't like being in here too long either, would he?"

She looks to Steve, understanding slowly dawning on her face. "Mama doesn't like your room either, he told me."

"Robin!"

Eddie laughs, loudly, bouncing her so she laughs. "I know, baby. But, you know, I don't like mamas room either. It's all so bright and I like this; dark and scary."

"We take turns," Steve adds. "We get our own space, but we never sleep alone. Not if we can help it."

She's quiet as she thinks about it. "Ok. I don't think I understand it yet but... that makes sense. I need to think about it."

"Is that my cue to put you down?"

"Yeah! We can party later, this is more important."

As soon as he puts her down, she darts off into her room.

Steve snorts at how hard she slams the door. "She's just like Robs."

"Maybe we should've named her after El."

"Maybe. She'd be a better role model."

"I'm telling Robin you said that."

"Go on, she'll agree with me. Why do you think she refuses to babysit anymore?"

"Ah, can't handle a taste of her own medicine."

Steve hums, finally stepping closer, arms curling around Eddie's waist. "I missed you."

"Missed you more, big boy."

[k-atsukibakugou]

Mercury your event is SO cute I’m actually obsessed! I’m such a beer girlie, but if I had to pick a drink it’s gotta be a jägerbomb! And for the character you pick because I want you to be as free as possible I’m ready for anything👀

ehehehe i was a lil cheeky with this one, i leaned more into the leave you wanting more vibe with the jagerbomb also im sorry for the lack of beer i've never met a beer or cider i've liked LMAO i was going to make this endeavor but the more i wrote it the more it worked better with bakugou but i hope u like it!! teehee birthday bash intro + rules + menu | event masterlist

anyone who wasn’t a couple jagerbombs deep could tell you how bad of an idea jagerbombs are at an work party, but when you work at one of the most popular bars in musutafu, it’s more a rite of passage.

not even here a year, your work-best friend was the very first to inform you of the notorious annual work party, how messy they get, how she’d gone home with the chef one year, and how many servers had crashed in the booths over the years. finally, the time had come for the party, your friend already abandoning you to flirt with the chef again, although, you couldn’t play the morally high act about it when all your attention was on your boss behind the counter.

walking behind the bar, you perused the liquor on offer, mostly mid-tier stuff, but god, did the imported stuff look good right about now, something smooth to take your mind off of him. fuck, why’d he have to roll his sleeves up like that? his forearm muscles enough to make you wonder what else lies beneath that damn shirt, an endless expanse of muscles underneath a wife-pleaser singlet, thick thighs caged in his expensive slacks.

“need some help?” lost in your daydream, bakugou is beside you before you realise how long you’ve been ogling him, your indecisive daze in front of the alcohol drawing his attention (any excuse to talk to you, really). you’re nowhere near drunk enough for him to be this close, to get this messy. yet.

“you don’t have my beer on tap.” his eyes nearly roll back at your sweet tone, your gentle teasing that’s been driving him up the wall for months. he stays steadfast, dark garnet eyes unwavering, despite the top you’d worn specifically for them to wander.

“let me make it up to you,” he takes another step closer, the expensive scent of his cologne filling your lungs when he reaches around you for the distinct green bottle, trapping you between his biceps for a fleeting moment, “we’ll do something i used to have in my party days.”

grabbing two pint glasses and two shot glasses, you watch him work with the kind of swiftness and expertise decades behind a bar could give a man, every twist of his wrist calculates, not a single drop of jagermeister or redbull spilling, even when the latter threatened to bubble over the top of the glass.

“you used to do jagerbombs?” you can’t help but sound incredulous, your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline when you accept the drink from him. mesmerised as he pours his own, you try to imagine him younger, chugging back the bomb, swallowing shot after shot, stumbling home in the am. even in your daydream, his hair had speckles of salt through the blond of his hair, the silver fox look worked too well for him to see him any other way.

“why are you so shocked? i was twenty once.”

“it’s hard to imagine you… like that.”

“like what?”

“you know, a party animal, i can only see you drinking bourbon on the rocks.” he chuckles at the memories, of sleepless nights, of horrendous hangovers.

“i could still drink you under the table.” he challenges, already reaching to pour another, you try not to laugh in his face, the image of your all-powerful boss drunk and stumbling was something you’d pay to see. with a smile you could only describe as evil, hot, you clinked your drink with his before knocking it back, “sure you can, old man.”

after too many bombs, an assortment of other shots, some cocktail bakugou poured you and a sip (you weren’t game enough to have more of it, there’s a reason you weren’t a bartender) of the one you poured him, the pair of you stumbled into his office at the back of the bar. half the buttons are undone on his shirt, your hands sliding beneath the hem of his shirt even when he pulled away from you long enough to unlock the door, pulling you inside with him and nudge it closed once more before turning all his attention back to you; the way you stared up at him with glassy eyes, the way your lipstick smudged under your bottom lip, how your chest heaved (the way your tits looked when you did), how your dress rode up when you pulled yourself onto his desk, tugging him in by his belt loops.

he can’t even find it in him to care about the time-sheets crinkling under your ass when you bite your lip, can’t care you’re his employee and his mind goes blank of everything when you wrap your thighs around his hips. fuck, you’re irresistible like this; arching into him, kissing and biting his jaw, one hand tugging your dress further up your thighs, the other working off his belt to slide into his slacks, searching for more and more, more he wants to give you.

you’re just so, so, so hot… and he’s soft. he’s fucking soft. he finally has you under him and he can’t get it up.

let’s hope the alcohol buzzing through your blood is enough to clear your memory of this in the morning.

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

Hi you really don’t have to do this…… anyway I’ve been told I act like near from death note so could you do a mha x child male reader where the reader acts like near from death note like he pulls out toys in the middle of class stacks cups at lunch and is very quiet and stuff oh yeah could you make it class 1-A + Aizawa maybe other teachers in there too sorry if it’s too specific

Ofc! I haven't gotten that far into death note yet so I had to watch a Near compilation on YouTube, so I hope I got a good enough grasp of him in that time lol

Also I'm describing you as antisocial rather than shy, because near didn't strike me as the shy stuttering pushover type, and seemed just withdrawn or disinterested, and I also high-key headcanon izuku may have ADHD. I will not elaborate <3.

Masterlist<3

𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 1𝐀 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

It draws a few sets of eyes every time you pull out a pack of tarot cards or dice to play with in the middle of class, but noone really got distracted as long as you were quiet enough. Though, a few times you've knocked over a power ranger or transformer doll while taking notes and drawn the classes attention.

During break on your second week of school, you find yourself approached by the 'bakusquad'. Kirishima introduces himself politely and mina stares in awe at your tarot collection, but Bakugou looks livid.

He doesn't expect you to meet his glare directly with an unamused stare, and he's a second away from lunging at you and taking it as a challenge before Kaminari and Kirishima simultaneously bonk him in the head.

"Dude you don't even know him, give him a chance!"

You can't stop yourself from raising an eyebrow at the statement, figuring that these two must be the perfect balance for Bakugou's... Overbearing personality.

The next thing that catches your attention is the green haired boy that joins into the conversation, quietly asking you a question with a cute tilt of his head. "Have you maybe got ADHD? I've just seen a few of the signs on you- It's perfectly okay if you do! You won't be looked at differently!"

You already like this one, he's so precious.

Your eyes look straight into his as he studies you, and it's very intriguing to watch the gears turn in his head while he figures you out like some sort of puzzle. You could definitely get along with him. "No, I don't believe so."

He seems a little surprised by your words, but then again, you very well may have ADHD. You were never allowed to get tested for it, because your parents refused. Without a diagnosis, they can pretend there's nothing "wrong" with you.

He studies your eyes, figuring that you may have an irregular sleep schedule from the dark circles under your eyes, and that your eyes seem to be very sensitive to light because of how wide your pupils are. It's almost unnerving, to be honest. Your eyes look almost fully black.

Over the next few days you're scolded a few times by Aizawa Sensei for being too loud when knocking over your dice or your robots, but he never once asked you to put them away. All he asked in return was for you to be a little more active in the lessons.

"You get to keep your toys as long as you answer questions and participate a little more. Does that sound fair?" You nodded, slowly backing away to walk back to your desk and wait for break to finish, but from then on, you start drawing attention to yourself.

At first the attention is unwanted, and as you sit Criss cross applesauce on your chair, playing with your tarot cards, Izuku comes to sit next to you, starting to ramble about a random hero that you don't know anything about. He's very easy to get used to, however, and you quickly become what some would call friends.

Everyone's a little creeped out by your social awkwardness, and the fact that you never seem to talk, until they start to include you more, and you're forced to make new friends.

That doesn't mean you don't have trouble opening up though, and during lunch you sit in silence with your new friends as they chatter and smile at you, stacking cups that Izuku gave you to help you focus on something other than the amount classmates you have crowding you.

It takes a few more months for even Izuku to pry anything even remotely emotional from you, and even then it only shows in the waver of your voice, but he's proud nonetheless.

He would escort you around school because he didn't want you to be alone, and after a while your newfound closeness with Izuku branches out as mina comes to join the two of you.

She gives you an absolutely radiant smile as she grabs your hand, izuku taking hold of your other side for them to both drag you away to some part of the school you're not familiar with. The warmth of their hands in yours leaves you in shock, though, and your mind blanks a little when you feel the greenette squeeze it reassuringly, a tiny, pale blush creeping into your cheeks. This feeling, it was something you wanted to feel every day. It's so warm and comforting.

[midnightsslut]

Since you’re so good at connecting songs (I’m still in awe about how you made me realize that atw and illicit affairs are about the same subject), what is your most big brain/audacious/out there theory/connection about Taylor’s songs?

first of all, thank you! i have to say, I’m not the first one to get the idea that there are parallels between those two songs, but I’d never really sat down with them line by line. this ask really got me wondering because i feel like there are a lot of parallels I can think of but idk how out there they are. here is one that i don’t see people talking about a lot:

coney island feels like the other perspective of the story in you’re losing me, especially when you consider that taylor asked matt berninger about writing songs that deal with their own relationship issues with his wife. of course, coney island and you’re losing me were written at different points in their relationship, but the sentiment appears to be the same.

this got long, so I’m putting a cut here.

first of all, here is how taylor described coney island in her evermore interview with zane lowe (around the 37-minute mark)

The perspective I was coming from was like a male perspective of regret or guilt after a lifetime of apattern of behavior, and i've been kind of touching on sort of things like that on the song tolerate it where there's this person one side of the relationship who's felt like they've just… Their partner's been there, but they haven't *been* there. They've been there, but they're just sitting next to each other, eating breakfast, but they haven't they haven't been there […] I really loved writing, ‘we were like the mall before the internet / it was the one place to be.’ I was trying to reflect on the coney island visual of a place where thrills were once sought, you know, a place where once it was all electricity and magic, and now the lights are out, and you're looking at it, thinking ‘what did I do?’

‘break my soul in two, looking for you, but you’re right here’ —> ‘you say “I don’t understand,” I say “I know you don’t”’

‘and if this is the long haul, how’d we get here so soon?’ —> ‘how long could we be a sad song before we’re too far gone to bring back to life?’

‘did I close my fist around something delicate? did I shatter you?’ —> ‘my face was gray, but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick.’

‘over and over, lost again with no surprises / disappointments, close your eyes / and it gets colder and colder when the sun goes down’ —> ‘i’m getting tired even for a phoenix / always rising from the ashes, mending all her gashes’

‘what’s a lifetime of achievement if I pushed you to the edge, but you were too polite to leave me?’ —> ‘fighting in only your army, frontlines, don’t you ignore me / I’m the best thing at this party’

‘do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?’ —> ‘and the air is thick with loss and indecision’

‘will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?’ —> ‘now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time’

‘the mischief, the gift-wrapped suburban dreams’ —> ‘remember looking at this room? we loved it cause of the light’

‘sorry for not winning you an arcade ring’ —> ‘choose something, babe, I got nothing to believe unless you’re choosing me’

‘did I leave you hanging every single day?’ —> ‘every morning, I glared at you with storms in my eyes’

‘did I paint your bluest skies the darkest gray a universe away?’ —> ‘my face was gray, but you wouldn’t admit that we were sick’

‘and when I got into the accident, the sight that flashed before me was your face’ —> ‘now you’re running down the hallway / and you know what they all say / you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone’

‘but when I walked up to the podium, i think that i forgot to say your name’ —> ‘don’t you ignore me, I’m the best thing at this party’

you’re losing me is key to the entirety of ttpd, really, so this gives us the ability to draw parallels to sooo many songs on the album. coney island is a goldmine actually. no wonder she’s mashed it up with so many songs on tour.

my next post will be connecting right where you left me and chloe et al whenever I get around to it (to be clear, I don’t think they’re about the same person).

[meamiya]

LESSON 1: BLOWJOBS with MIYA ATSUMU

synopsis♱ ‣ Best friend Atsumu gets the proposition of a lifetime. To accept or to not accept. 

cw♱ ‣ nsfw, gn!reader, blowjob (m!receiving), ball sucking, handjob, inexperienced reader and atsumu

word count♱ ‣ 2.3k words

author’s note♱ ‣ Hopefully this makes up for the crimes I have committed against ‘tsumi in the past. I love him so I have to give him a hard time of course. Enjoy!

♱ explicit content! minors do not interact ♱

“I have a proposition for you.”

The words leave your lips before you can draw them back in. This was definitely not one of your best ideas, but you’d already begun, and you weren’t about to give up just yet.

Atsumu pauses his endless swiping and glances up from his phone, giving you his full attention. “’m listening.” 

Atsumu has been your best friend since childhood. He’d been there when you’d started your awkward training bra phase and you’d been there for his horrid bowl cut era that had lasted a total of one hour. There was nothing that you two couldn’t talk about or do together, and you were about to test the boundaries of that statement.

“Can I give you a blowjob?”

Years of listening to podcasts and reading novels describing the intricacies of doing the deed had led you to this moment, where you wanted to test out the knowledge you’d acquired before going out into the real world. And since you were both single and bored, what better test subject than your best friend.

Atsumu’s expression had turned from curious to completely dumbfounded in the matter of seconds and you began worrying that he may refuse your proposal. Although, who could blame him? It’s not every day that your best friend proposes to suck you off.  

Your cheeks burn crimson as you rush to explain yourself. “I’ve never done it before, and I can’t think of anyone I trust more than you to give me some pointers. I mean you’ve had so many girlfriends over the years that you’d definitely know a thing or two. Or ten.” You joke, hoping to lighten the mood even the slightest bit.

No response.

Your rambling continues. “It will be completely platonic. It’s just that I have all this theoretical knowledge on how to do it and I want to see if it will actually work out before I make a fool of myself.”

As the seconds tick by your hands grow clammy and regret burns in your gut but you refuse to back down now. Maybe a little push would do the trick.

“I could always ask Osamu.”

“No! No!” You’ve finally broken through his dumbstruck expression and his exclamation gives you some form of hope. “Not that scrub. I’ll do it! I was just shocked for a second.” His expression quickly turns sheepish. “But I doubt I’d be of any help though.”

It was your turn to don the quizzical expression. “Why?”

With averted eyes and rosy cheeks, he scratches the back of his neck. “Well… Because I don’t have as much experience as ya think I do in that field. Actually…To be honest, I have no experience in that field.”

Blind shock passes through you, and you immediately look at him in disbelief. “No way. You’ve had so many girlfriends before. You can’t tell me that you’ve never gotten so much as a blowjob before.”

“Said it was degrading to them and I didn’t want to force anything. ‘sides, none of them lasted long anyway.” He admits embarrassedly.

To be fair, the main reason you’d chosen to ask Atsumu was because you had the notion that his past trysts would arm him with some helpful tips. It was definitely not because every time his shirt would rise an inch, displaying his deep v-line and a glimpse of his abs, your mouth would water just imagining your tongue licking from his happy trail to a place you could only envision in the darkness of your room when your fingers managed to drift into the wetness between your legs.

And now, with your best friend blushing like the virgin he was and his consent to your proposal, you were practically ready to pounce him.

You try but fail to hide your smirk as your crawl on hands and knees from where you had been sitting on the bed to where he rests against the headboard. “Guess today is your lucky day then, Mr Miya.”

As you approach him his eyes dart from side to side, never making eye contact with yours, his cheeks still tinted pink, and hands curled into the bedsheets at his side. You slowly make your way between his outstretch legs and place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling them tense in response.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to ‘tsumu.” You appease, gently running your palms over his sweatpants absentmindedly.

“No, I want to. Just nervous ‘s all.” He mutters.

You smile brightly at him as he finally makes eye contact with you, albeit reluctantly. “All you have to do is lay back and tell me if it feels good or not. Easy!”

You hear him scoff but your focus is now on removing his sweatpants. With Atsumu’s assistance they make their way to your bedroom floor in a matter of seconds and your eyes are immediately drawn to the half hard appendage resting between his juicy thighs, only covered by the material of his underwear. Drool pools in your mouth and you can’t wait to put it to use.

With as much self-control as you can muster, you try to recall what you had learned before diving in headfirst, literally.

Anticipation is key. Always keep them on their toes.

Your palms find their way to Atsumu’s thighs once again and run over the smooth muscle, squeezing gently as you travel higher. You hear a sharp intake and the change in his breathing to quick shallow breaths only motivates you further.

Deciding to take the plunge, you remove his shirt to reveal his prominent abdominals before you connect your lips softly to the very hairline you had been fanaticising about. A barely audible groan rumbles in his chest and you can barely contain your excitement. Your kisses travel lower until you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, and his breathing audibly quickens. You teasingly trace your fingertips the slightest bit under the waistband as you make eye-contact with your best friend, his pupils blown, and eyes focused intently on your movements.

Slowly, you ease his boxers down his long legs before tossing it to the floor alongside his sweats, never breaking eye contact. Unable to take the suspense any longer, your eyes travel down the length of his torso to his naked lower half.

And there lies something you had only even imagined in your dreams, his fully hard cock lying against his stomach leaking droplets of precum, with enough girth and length to leave your throat and jaw aching for days to come. You had never wanted to put something in your mouth more than in this moment.

The tip and the underside of the penis is the most sensitive. Pay it the attention it deserves.

Gently grasping the twitching member, you settle on your knees between his thighs and place wet kisses to his tip and down the length of his shaft.

“Fuck.” Atsumu groans quietly upon contact as his head droops to rest on his left shoulder.

Lubrication is important and your mouth produces it for free.

Gathering all the spit that had accumulated in your mouth, you hover just above the head of his cock and let it slowly drip down from your tongue to his tip, watching as it trails down his length to your fist at the base.

“Fuck, that was hot.” Atsumu comments and the praise goes straight to your wet pussy.

“I’m glad. Any other words of wisdom you’d like to share?” you joke as your hand begins to coat his length in your spit with each upward motion, squeezing slightly as you reach the tip.

You momentarily lose his attention as his body focuses solely on the pleasure your right hand is bringing him, soft pants leaving his mouth and his abs clenching with each stroke.

“Atsumu?” you try to grab his attention, slowing your movements until his hazy eyes focus on yours.

It takes him a second before he finally responds to your previous question. “Other than for you get on with it, I have nothing to say.”

Glad to see that his sarcasm is still intact, you happily grant his request.

Start off slow and make sure that you are enjoying the process as much as your partner is.

Your tongue flattens as you lick the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, before engulfing the head into your warm and awaiting mouth, applying a bit of suction before sliding it out with a pop. The saltiness of his precum is something you easily get used to, and you find yourself savouring the heady taste.

Atsumu’s back arches as he feels the heat of your mouth envelop him before it disappears all to soon for his liking. His moan resonates through the room and his fists grasp that much tighter on the bedsheets, sweat beading on his chest.

Before Atsumu even has time to catch his breath, your mouth descends once again, and this time you’re able to take more of his length. The combination of your twirling tongue and suctions drives him wild while the incessant rotations of your hand at his base have his head tossing side to side and his eyes rolling back.

With each bob of your head, you’re able to take more of him, but gagging on your best friend’s dick was not in the cards for today, regardless of how badly you wanted him to fuck your throat until you couldn’t speak a word. You decide to take a more throat-friendly approach, one you were the most curious about.

The balls are your friends and not to be feared. Don’t neglect them.

Using your free hand, you trail it up his rigid thigh and carefully cup his balls into your palm, massaging them softly.

The action catches Atsumu off guard and causes his body to jerk unexpectantly, thrusting his cock a bit too close to your throat. You unconsciously retract and gather some much-needed oxygen into your lungs, breathing deeply.

Atsumu immediately reaches for you, eyes wide and frantic. “Shit! ‘m sorry. It felt good I promise. I was just shocked.”

“I’m fine ‘tsumu. I was just shocked as well. Now let me get back to what I was doing.” You push at his chest with a smirk until he’s lying against the headboard once again, returning your focus back to his still hard cock and ignoring his worried glances.

Your right hand continues its strokes while you attend to the heavy sacks dangling between his legs once again. This time, instead of your hand, you place teasing licks and kisses along each sack and Atsumu sighs in pleasure, sinking further into the mattress.

“Feel good, ‘tsumu?” you ask.

“Mmm.” He moans in return, concern long gone.

Satisfied with his response, you drag an experimental lick from his perineum to his balls before taking one into your mouth while your free hand fondles the other. Atsumu’s moans sound heavenly to your ears and only spear you on to drag more out of him. You switch to the other side so that neither go unattended before your attention is drawn to the twitching of his cock.

Wanting to feel each twitch on your tongue, your lips find their way around his length once again, spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth and mixing with his precum that leaks in droves now. Atsumu voices your thoughts.

“Fuck! Fuck! ’m gonna come soon. Ya better pull off.” His fingers tangle in your hair but he makes no attempt to move you.

Reluctantly, you slide off his dick with a pop in order to ask, “Do you wanna come in my mouth, ‘tsumu?”

Due to his unfocused gaze and unrestrained groans, his unfiltered response doesn’t surprise you. “Yes! Please let me come in your mouth!”

With renewed vigour, you swallow his cock once again, using both hands now to focus on the never-ending length that you are too inexperienced to take whole. The wet sounds and groans that resonate around you have only added to the tingling between your legs and clenching your thighs does little to quench the pleasurable burn.

You receive three warnings, Atsumu’s hands tightening the grasp they have on your hair, the relentless throbbing of his cock and a breathless “Comin’!” before the taste of hot and salty cum fills your tastebuds and throat.

You try to swallow as much as you can before the need for air kicks in, the rest coating your fingers and Atsumu’s cock. Since you didn’t want to waste a drop, you lock eyes with Atsumu’s half-lidded ones while cleaning up the remainder of his cum from your body and his, licking your lips and drawing one last unabashed groan from him.

“So, how was it?” you ask cheerfully, in direct contrast to your best friends drained state, both physically and mentally.

“Ain’t no way that was ya first time doing that. My legs feel like jelly.” He admits breathlessly.

His reaction brings a smile to your face, and you’d be damned if you let this end all too quickly. “So, same time tomorrow?” you ask.

The look on Atsumu’s face coupled by his naked state is almost comical. “Wait, what?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to test out all that I’d learned. Did you think this was a one-time thing?” you ask innocently, an obvious ploy but one he falls for, nonetheless.

And when two days, turns to three days, turns to 4 years, and you’re able to wake up next to your best friend every morning, you’re glad you had the balls to go after his balls.

[thevesuvianchronicles]

Burnt Amber

I was reading something the other night about the fact that in the dark the cones in our eyes legit can't respond to light like, at all. considering my recent bg3 binge that obviously got me thinking abt a certain sassy vampire and thus... this piece. (I've also been told there's a scene that could go along with this but I legit just got to act 3) enjoy!

spoilers for vague bg3 things

If he had to explain it - which he never would- the world lost its color. Many people looked back upon childhood so happily, everything had been brighter, the world bigger, love was so easy and quickly fleeting. A babe’s eyes opened to blurry yet vivid shades, pastels, and tints. Yet the first thing Astarion’s crimson eyes had seen was only the darkness of his own coffin. Color meant nothing to a vampire who’s first vivid memories consisted of clawing his way through six feet of funerary dirt.

Though his vampiric vision allowed him to make out the different threads on a rich man’s lapel, he only ever saw it in moonlight. Only a reflection, a fraction of the beauty the sun would give the fabric. Where there had been pastels there was now muted tones, tinted colors became gray, and shades became nothing but more inky darkness.

Centuries of this and he slowly began to forget the true colors the world had to offer. Was purple always so deep that one couldn’t discern where a sleeve ended and the night air began? Had yellow always seemed so dull? And red… had red always been so greedy? Soaking up and glaring back the same sick color he saw in Cazador’s eyes.

That’s all his vampiric life had been, that was all it ever would be.

Yet there he stood, watching the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon

Despite his suave demeanor and sweetened words, he knew how to woo someone, lure them into his bed with his body and honeyed words, and later back to his master. Yet no words could describe the sun now. It burned his irises, his eyes ached for him to blink, turn away, and do anything but stare into the sun. He simply couldn’t stop; it would take away his breath if he needed to breathe.

His first realization that color was far better within the sun was, rather unfortunately, Gale. Upon falling on his ass, Gale had done the wizardly thing and began rambling. However, Astarion wasn’t paying attention at all. His eyes were on Gale’s robe. He couldn’t remember a purple ever being so vibrant, so cocky almost, as if requiring you to look at it. It fit Gale as Astarion would come to learn. Then he saw purple everywhere. Balsam blooms carried but seemed a warmer tint of Gale’s robe. Shadowheart’s armor was even darker, matching that which Astarion saw late at night in the alleys of Bauldur’s Gate. He hadn’t really thought about it but he rather thought purple and red clashed. Leave it to that wizard from Waterdeep to be a walking fashion faux pas.

Yet despite the fashion error, Astarion couldn’t stop thinking about purple, the many different shades he had seen in a matter of days. The sun making the slightest variations more obvious to his crimson eyes.

He first realized that light is what made the colors so polluted, as if the colors were waiting to leach into his eyes when he couldn’t help but stare at the color yellow. It was, by far, not his favorite color, drawing too much attention of a rouge like himself.

Yet the golden glow of the divine seemed to suit Shadowheart. The brilliance of a guiding bolt whizzing past his ear, bathing a goblin in light, setting it ablaze. The disgusting color had saved his skin to many times to count by now. All thanks to the devotee’s hands.

The vampire couldn’t say he understood Shadowheart’s devotion. But the sheer power her belief brought the color yellow, made him quirk a brow. Such polluting brillance made him wonder if light was able to redeem every color.

The color followed him after that battle. Yellow licked at Karlach’s flames, light reflected off the golden threads of Halsin’s armor, it even sparked every time Lae’zel sharpened her sword.

Yet there was nothing that could redeem the color red. No amount of light or dark could make crimson look any better. In darkness it looked like a cesspool of all things evil, an open maw waiting to swallow whatever it could. In the light of day, it reminded him of nothing but lost souls, glowing red eyes, and a sickly grin.

It was the color Cazador liked most on him, both his clothes and his skin. It was the color his life had been reduced to. Living off such crimson ichor, so much so that it stained him, stained even his eyes from what he had gathered about vampiric looks. It was the only color that he would be happy to forget, but never could.

“You know if you stare at the sun long enough… you could go blind.” The voice came from behind him, his pointed ears finally picking up on the crunch of gravel beneath feet. His eyes did feel a bit dry as he blinked, black and swirling colors hindering his vision as he looked back over his shoulder.

The leader of their little group was… interesting to say the least. So focused on the tadpole and their companion's journeys that Astarion hadn’t learned much about their own personal goals, if any. He should work on that.

“I always love to look at beautiful things, not unlike yourself darling.” Astarion let the words lilt off his tongue, but didn’t turn away from the setting sun.

He heard a small hum from you as you settled beside him, standing close enough for him to tell that you had refreshed yourself from today’s adventuring.

Neither said anything for a while, the gentle rustle of trees and soft calls of animals in the underbrush the only noise. He had been so lost in his musings that he hadn’t realized how far the sun had set, a barely visible sliver of yellow still visible surrounded by orange and red.

“Well… now that the lovely colors are gone I do believe I’ll turn in for the night. A book and a glass of red do seem to be calling my name.” Astarion sighs, as if it would be a hassle to get up and walk the few steps to his tent. It is a hassle, to leave the presence of their leader has become more and more of a hassle on his heart than he’s willing to accept.

“Don’t go now, it’s just started to change.” Your voice was soft, softer than he has ever heard it and a glance tells him that your eyes are still on the setting sun.

“No thank you darling, I do think I’ve seen enough shades of red for a thousand lifetimes.” There is a twist of pain in his voice, one that makes him wrinkle his nose. He was getting too easy, a slip like that with Cazador and he would have been reminded how much he hates red.

“But the sky is beautiful-“

He cuts you off with a flippant wave of his hand and a scoff. A change of subject was all they needed, easier territory. “It’s just red. You know they say a red sky at night means-“

“It’s not just red Astarion.” You cut him short this time, tone sharp. He didn’t understand why you would defend such a color. Of all things to fight for, a color. They saw red spilled every day, every day their leader fought, for teiflings, for druids, for their companions. Each day that color ruined everything it touched.

“Oh? Do tell darling, what is oh so special about that distasteful mix of colors. A muddled mess of all things awful-“

“I rather think red is beautiful.” Astarion snaps his eyes up, disgust curling his lips, a flaunting jab just ready on the tip of his tongue when your eyes stop him.

At some point, he wasn’t sure when, you had turned to look at him. Eyes just as soft as your voice had been. There is a sweet tilt to your lips as he turns, as if finally seeing what they had been after.

He sees the minute shift of you eyes, as if darting back and forth. He can hear the uptick in your heartbeat, the tension releasing from your shoulders. As if the sight of him was what you were after, as if waiting to catch his eye.

Then he remembered. Remembered exactly what color his eyes now were.

“I happen to like that color.” You grinned, eyes steady on his. His mind was blank, no haughty taunt or seductive words. He could do nothing but blink as a grin spread wide on your lips and you turned back towards the sun.

“When the sun hits just right… it’s beautiful, a burst of burnt amber. I think it’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen.” Astarion knew they were definitely not talking about the sunset anymore. He couldn’t help but stare at you. The curve of your nose, the way your smile seemed so giddy, the way the sun reflected in your own eyes.

Red was the color of the flowers Karlach had tried to pick for all of them. It was the color the jewels in Lae’zel’s armor, the color the hem of Gale’s awful robe. And it was the color of the blood you so willingly gave him. Had offered as soon as he had explained himself that night, without asking for anything in return. You were so different than what he expected.

He tutted, realizing he had been staring and turns back towards the sunset, listening closely as you go to sit on the ground. The bright yellow of the sun diffused into a russet orange that slowly eased into a vibrant, dazzled red. He sighed, slowly settling himself beside you, far closer than before.

“Yes darling, perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I could grow to love it.”

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Five - The Gracious Host

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Masterlist

It was everything you could have ever pictured. Books don’t do grand balls justice. Words cannot describe the beauty laid before your very eyes.

Walking through the halls of the ambassador’s home, music and laughter floats through the air. Various conversations carry into your ears. 

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling as you walked down to the main foyer, arm and arm with Seungmin. 

Gold trimmed wallpaper decorated the halls; fancy sconces as well as expensive looking vases and dishware displayed proudly on shelves. 

The purple and white banners of Inuin hang proudly in different, precise areas; there was not a single way you could turn without seeing one. 

The smells that wafted into your nose made you want to run to the nearest kitchen staff worker and steal every single hors d’oeuvre on their platter. 

When you arrived last night, you weren’t able to get a proper look at the home.

Every single person was dressed to the nines in their fancy dresses and suits. The masks that adorn their faces are miniature pieces of art. 

“I almost forgot,” Seungmin pulls your attention before you round a corner. He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a small corsage for your wrist. Dark purple and silver flowers decorate the piece. 

It matches your outfits perfectly. 

You smile at the small bundle and look up at him with sparkly eyes. “It is beautiful.”

“Fitting,” he hums and holds out his one hand. 

Biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling, you give him your right hand.

With the gentlest of touches, Seungmin slides the corsage over your wrist.

You turn your wrist around a few times, admiring the tiny, beautiful bouquet. “I have never been given flowers before,” you say wistfully. Looking back up at Seungmin, you beam at him. “Thank you.”

Seungmin watches you like how a painter would admire a finished work of art in a museum. The grin on his face is gentle and absentminded. Small dimples appear right by the apples of his cheeks.

Before you can even point them out, he grabs your arm once more and proudly marches you down the hallway again. 

Heads turn as you walk past them; men and women alike. Jealous looks are shot at you and Seungmin. You watch as some conversations pause completely as you approach their direction. Some ladies cover their mouths and giggle while pointing at Seungmin, others look you up and down with sneers. 

Men nudge one another and motion to you by cocking their heads and jutting their chins.

Seungmin’s arm tightens around yours. “You seem to be drawing everyone’s attention, my lady,” he whispers, leaning down to your ear. 

“You are as well,” you respond without turning your head. You keep your eyes in front of you to watch where you’re going; the last thing you need is to trip and fall in front of high society. 

“I think those ladies behind us would gladly stab a dagger in my back if it meant having you on their arm.”

Seungmin hums lowly and then snickers. “I would not desire any other woman on my arm besides you tonight, my Lady Sigyn.”

A flush threatens to creep up your neck; your heart thuds heavily in your chest for a beat. 

Your lips press together and you look up at Seungmin, he’s already staring down at you with dark, mysterious eyes. Something else stirs beneath the surface in those dark pools. You can’t quite put your finger on it.

But the slight twitch in his jaw gives a little bit away. 

He smiles smugly and pats your arm with his free hand, then he curls his fingers around your wrist to squeeze once. 

“Fear not, my lady.” His voice is smooth. “The only person I will let come near you is our target. No other soul will lay a finger on you, I can assure you of that.”

Seungmin holds your arm tighter to his body, his free hand dropping but the arm wound around yours stays possessively tight. 

It gets harder and harder to fight the blush on your face. Thank The Six for the mask. 

The music gets louder and louder as you get closer to the ballroom. The live band sounds magnificent. Violins and cellos play strongly accompanied by flutes, clarinets, trumpets, and lutes. 

Two grand double doors are open towards the end of the hallway. When you both step through, you’re thrust into a grand world of wealth and extravagance like you’ve never experienced before.

Couples twirl gracefully around the grand dance floor. At least a hundred others line the outskirts of the floor at standing tables, champagne flutes in hand. 

Your mouth drops open a little at the sight before you. 

At home, you live in Miroh’s Keep, and yet, this is the most grand room you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

The largest crystal chandelier hangs in the middle of the dance floor, hundreds of candles burn on it. Ribbons and garlands wrap around the support pillars in the room. 

Gentle fingers push your chin up to close your mouth. Seungmin looks down at you with an amused smirk. 

“Close that pretty little mouth, my sweet.” He murmurs with a low voice. It shoots right down your spine. “You see balls like this all the time back in Miroh, right?”

Your mouth snaps shut so fast your teeth clack. 

Where did that come from? What in the world?

“Aye, of course I do. This is not my first ball by any means.” The words nervously tumble from your lips.

He takes his arm away from yours and places his hand on your lower back. 

“Come with me, Lady Sigyn, I have people for you to meet.”

“Lord Skye,” you stutter out. He hums in acknowledgment. “Remind me again where we met and how you got your title.”

He turns his head, lips pressing into your temple, to anyone else, they would think he was giving you a loving kiss. 

“You are from a wealthy family in Miroh.” Seungmin kisses your temple, warmth spreads out through your face. “We met at your father’s charity event, it was love at first sight.” Once more, he kisses the side of your face. “Remember?”

“Of course I do, I would never forget that.”

His hand on your back leads you to an empty high-top table on the outskirts of the dancefloor.

As soon as the two of you settle around it, a waiter comes by with a tray full of fancy champagne glasses.

“Champagne?” he asks the two of you.

Your fingers itch to grab a glass, Seungmin is way ahead of you, grabbing one for both of you.

He nods to the waiter who walks off and hands you the flute. You take it quickly and bring the glass to your lips.

“Remember to sip it slowly, my blushing bride.”

The nicknames are starting to swirl around your head. ‘My lady’ you were able to handle, ‘my sweet’ was something else, and then he comes out with ‘my blushing bride’? How were you supposed to keep up?

You take a rather large swig of the champagne and place the glass back on the table. It goes down your throat so fast, you don’t even have time to relish the expensive taste of it.

“Lord Skye! I would recognize those shoulders anywhere!” A male voice comes from behind Seungmin.

You peek around his shoulder to see a younger looking man swaggering up to the two of you.

Dark blond hair pokes over the top of a gold encrusted owl mask with jewels covering the expanse of it. One of the classiest suits worn on his body, shoes shined to perfection; the man exudes wealth in every sense of the word. A large dark purple Amethyst tie pin sat right above his heart.

He looks like he bleeds money. 

Seungmin takes one final swig from his drink and turns around. It’s like a switch is flipped with how quickly his personality takes a turn– you’ve never seen anything like it in your life. A bright smile beams at the new man, Seungmin’s arms outstretched wide. 

“My Lord Tybesin, I was wondering how long it would be until you found me!” He chuckles and grabs the man’s hand when he gets closer.

Your heart freezes and sinks. This is the ambassador. Lord Tybesin Faefiel of Inuin. This is the man you need to seduce tonight.

“I could not possibly stay away from my new friend for long, now could I?” Lord Tybesin smiles right back at Seungmin, he then peers around his shoulder and right at you.

Your eyes meet his piercing blue ones. It’s a different type of blue than you’re used to. After gazing into Felix’s ocean eyes for so long, you became accustomed to the warmth that the color owns. Tybesin’s were entirely different.

They were deceitful– fake. Whatever surface emotion he was trying to portray was not how he felt at all. 

His eyes reminded you of merchants along the streets of Erbus that would spew whatever spiel they needed to in order to sell you their wares.

“And is this who I think it is?” Almost like Seungmin isn’t there anymore, Lord Tybesin steps around him, eyeing you like prey.

Normally, under any other circumstances, you would never let a man, let alone a stranger, look at you the way he is and not bite back. But now, with the situation you’re in, you have to internally fight your instincts tooth and nail.

Putting on your acting chops, you allow your body to shrink under his slimy gaze for a moment. 

You drop into a deep curtsy, your eyes dropping to the ground. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tybesin.”

Cold fingers grab your chin between their thumb and forefinger and lift your gaze. When you look back up, stone cold blue looks right into you. 

He is entirely too close . You can smell the tobacco on his breath.

Your fists are itching to connect with his jaw. Are we sure we need that key?

“Lady Sigyn Reylar, I have heard a lot about you.” He still has not released your chin.

Play the part, Y/N.

“Only good things, I hope, my lord.”

Tybesin keeps your gaze, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours under the mask. He finally drops your chin, only to reach down and grab your hand.

How can cold hands be this clammy?

“The best,” he says smoothly, bringing your hand up to his lips. He kisses the back of your hand longer than anyone ever should. Never once do his eyes leave yours.

Seungmin shifts around in your peripheral vision. You can just tell by his antsy movements that he’s struggling with what he wants to do: should he butt in or should he leave it be? You’re not too sure of the best course of action either.

All you know is that you want Tybesin’s lips off of you .

Finally, after what feels like minutes, but it was only mere seconds, Seungmin clears his throat. “I have been telling Lady Sigyn about the Dove Waltz.”

Lord Tybesin puts your hand down back at your side, but not without swiping his thumb over the back of it a few times. He half turns back to Seungmin, whose upper lip twitches almost imperceptibly. 

You’re getting better and better at reading him; and right now, you can tell that he’s angrier than you are about everything.

Lord Tybesin’s shoulders do not even turn all the way to acknowledge the rogue. His hawk eyes stay glued to your face, scanning over each curve of your facial structure.

It makes your skin crawl. The owl mask is fitting.

“Have you? Does that mean the two of you will be participating?” Tybesin asks, the direction is fully directed at you. 

“We will,” you answer. It takes a great deal of effort, but you manage to say the sentence with a seductive tilt to your tone. It comes out sultry. “Will you be dancing as well, Lord Tybesin?’

The corner of the ambassador’s mouth twitches. “I will, yes. A man of my status should always dance in the ceremonial waltz. I am the host after all.”

So he’s a narcissist that wants his ego stroked, understood.

You hum and take a step closer to him, despite all of your nerves and muscles screaming to stay away. “And what a gracious host you are, allowing us to stay in your home, housing and feeding us, showing us a good time.” Deeper and deeper your voice goes, especially on your last statement.

The ambassador’s eyes darken slightly, his eyes leave yours to unabashedly stare at your exposed cleavage. 

Again, you feel your muscles twitch.

“It is no trouble at all, Lady Sigyn. You know… I was wondering why the halls seemed a little brighter this morning while I was on my way out to my daily morning stroll in the garden. It seems a new source of sunshine entered my home while the moon hung in the sky.”

You give your best fake giggle and smile sheepishly. “You flatter me, my lord.”

Behind Lord Tybesin, Seungmin grows more and more restless. From foot to foot he shifts his weight. He can’t keep his hands in one spot. One moment they’re clasped behind his back, the next they’re fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket. 

He runs his tongue over his teeth, poking and prodding under his lips. He really is trying to endure the flirting for as long as he can.

Seungmin bounces once on his heels before quickly turning and downing the rest of his champagne. He slams the glass onto the table.

Lord Tybesin jumps, you do not.

His hand flies over his heart and he makes a startled noise. Tybesin’s head whips around to stare at Seungmin who gives him a fake, tight-lipped smile. 

“Well,” Lord Tybesin says, turning to look back at you. The cockiness to his demeanor doesn’t leave. He brushes off Seungmin’s tiny outburst as if he was no more than a speck of dust on his shoulder.

If he knew exactly who he was dealing with, you’re sure everything about his ego would change. This man has no idea that he’s doing more than playing with fire, he’s tightrope walking over an active volcano.

“I should get back to the party, then.” Tybesin bows at the waist only at you. “I will see you on the dancefloor for the Dove Waltz, then.”

“I look forward to it, my lord.” 

He stands up. “Likewise, my lady.”

Tybesin turns to leave. 

“Oh! Wait,” you stop him.

Immediately, the ambassador turns back to face you with an inquisitive look.

You take the last few steps towards him and grab the lapels on both sides of his jacket, making minute adjustments. 

Carefully, you brush your hands over his jacket. “Your jacket was a bit crooked, my lord. I could not possibly allow you to greet other guests like this.”

Tybesin says nothing, but under your palms you feel him flex his pectoral muscles.

Honestly, it’s more than a bit pathetic. 

As a final touch, you reach forward and straighten his tie. “There we are, my Lord Tybesin.” You brush off his shoulders and take a step back.

He’s so smug, it makes you want to take out the dagger early and just get this over with. Instead, you muster a sickly sweet smile and curtsy at him again.

“See you soon.” You wink.

He smirks and winks back before walking off without so much as a word to Seungmin.

Said rogue stares at the back of the ambassador’s head as he walks away. If looks could kill, Tybesin would be dead on the ground five minutes ago. 

Daggers are practically shooting out of Seungmin’s eyes.

After Tybesin disappears among the throng of people, Seungmin snaps over to look at you. His hands twitch at his side. 

He tongues his cheek and bites his lower lip, his head moves from side to side to loosen up his neck a bit. You’ve never seen him this frazzled before. 

Quickly, he steps towards you and grabs your hand faster than you can blink. He holds it in both of his hands and flips it around, inspecting both sides.

Without another word, he brushes both of his own thumbs over the back of your hand, like he’s wiping off any remnants of Tybesin’s touch from you.

He plays with the petals of the corsage daintily. 

“So,” he strains out, not able to meet your eyes. “Where is it?”

“Left jacket pocket.”

---------------------------------------

The night continues like this. Seungmin stays close by your side while you’re introduced to various lords and ladies all over the ballroom.

Every single one of them begins to blend in with one another. They’re all the same. It’s all about money and land, money and land, whose father owns what farm, money and land.

After meeting a larger group of people, Seungmin whisks you away to stand at yet another table. His arm drapes around your waist tightly, like someone is going to try and yank you away from his side.

One hand curls into your hip where your corset ends. Even through the thick layers, you can feel his fingers pressing into you.

You turn your body into his. 

“How do you keep them all straight?” you whisper in Seungmin’s ear. To make it look more playful and flirty, you run your hand up his arm while your lips hover by his ear.

A shiver goes up his spine, you almost don’t catch it. His arm tightens around you even more, it brings your body flush against him.

Well, as flush as you could be in that dress.

“Years and years of practice, my beautiful lady.”

Your fingers curl around his jacket sleeve, throat bobbing as you swallow thickly. A musky cologne invades your senses and curls around your nose. 

“Are you ready for the dance, my darling? I imagine it will take place any moment now.” Seungmin asks, he turns his head to come closer to yours. 

Knowing him, he’s most likely scanning over your shoulder, reading the entire room for any lingering eyes and potential threats. 

“I must say, the nerves are close to eating me alive.”

Days and days of preparation led to this night. Hours of dancing the same steps over and over until you could do everything right. 

“Worry not, you will do brilliantly.”

“I only have two chances to succeed.”

“You will only need one.”

There’s a loud flourish from the orchestra on the stage in front of the dance floor. Jumping a bit, you turn your head to see Lord Tybesin standing in front of the stage with his arms outspread in a grand manner.

You pry yourself away from Seungmin reluctantly, but stay glued to his side.

That same fake smile is plastered on Lord Tybesin’s face. It turns your stomach. 

The entire room erupts in applause for the host. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen! I thank you all for attending this very special evening! Each and every one of you has earned a special place in my heart, and I am glad I am able to share this night with you.”

The audience coos. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

Seungmin’s thumb rubs up and down the fabric on your hip. 

“The night is still young, honored guests. But, it would not be a proper Inuinan gathering without the Dove Waltz, now would it?”

Faster and faster your heart hammers in your chest. 

Excited noises and cheers sound around the room from various patrons. 

A waiter with a tray full of champagne walks by your table. You reach out and skillfully lift one flute from him and bring the glass to your lips in a fluid motion, downing the contents.

Seungmin chuckles under his breath, but you hear it.

“If our participants could please take their places on the dancefloor, we can get this night started!”

You look up at the stage across the ballroom and lock eyes with that predatory gaze. 

Lord Tybesin bows at the waist as everyone applauds. The staring contest between the two of you continues. 

All noise fades into the background as your focus zeroes in on him.

In the back of your mind you can only wonder how you look. Do you look flirtatious or do you look as if you’re casting a hex upon his bloodline?

The empty flute in your hands is the only thing that keeps you grounded. 

Play the part, play the part.

A hot huff of air is blown out on the back of your neck. “You are getting too good at this, beloved.” Seungmin whispers in your ear. 

His one hand comes up and rests on your bare shoulder. The heat from his palm ignites the nerves underneath your skin and lights a fire within you. 

“You already have him wrapped around your finger, the rest will be easy.” The first part of his statement is said with a bit of venom in it.

Finally, you rip your gaze away from Tybesin, looking off to the side where Seungmin is grabbing you.

“I cannot wait for this to be over,” you respond just as quietly. 

Seungmin leans down slowly, the heat from his body radiates onto your bare skin. The ballroom was not cold by any means, but his body heat feels like a safety blanket being wrapped around your shoulders.

“You and me both, Lady Sigyn.” He leans down and his lips press right where your neck meets your shoulder.

Gasping in surprise, you make no move away from him, instead, your head leans to the side to bare more skin to him.

A shockwave of sparks flies down your arm and into your fingertips at the contact. 

His lips pull away from you just as fast as they came. You can feel the chuckle against your back, the choppy exhales brush over you.

“Let us get this over with then, shall we?”

Seungmin comes around and grabs your hand with a bow, you curtsy with an uneasy smile. He leads you out onto the dancefloor with the dozen or so other couples on the ballroom floor, all of them preparing for the ceremonial dance. 

Lord Tybesin takes his place with his lady, who you haven't seen a hair of until now. She’s gorgeous– absolutely breathtaking– with golden lochs that curl and flow around her shoulders.

The ambassador truly is a daft man if he gets bored with a lady like that on his arm.

Each step onto the polished wood floor makes your heart beat faster and faster. At this rate, you won’t be able to hear the band playing, you’ll only be able to hear the blood rushing in your ears.

What were the steps again?

It was four– no five– no, four box steps into … into what? A twirl out, then back in.

Just like Minho taught you. Come on, Y/N. You can do this dance in your sleep now, stop second guessing yourself. 

It’ll just be muscle memory as soon as the music starts. You don’t even have to lead the dance, Seungmin does. 

The rogue leads you to a point in the grand circle of people and turns to face you fully.

His eyes shine from underneath the mask and scan all over your face.

“You are going to do amazing, my dear.” 

Another nickname for the ever growing list.

You blush and look away at the other couples around the dance floor. Lord Tybesin is six or so people away from you, meaning you’ll have plenty of time to get comfortable with the dance in this dress.

Maybe you should have practiced in heels. 

Are you even sure that you won’t trip over your own two feet? Where are you going to put the key once you have it?

A nervous look creeps up on your face, your skin begins to pale with nerves. 

Why can’t you just charge into battle instead? You’d much rather use your fists and sword right now rather than your wit. You haven’t been this nervous for anything in so long. 

“My love,” Seungmin grabs your attention. “Remember I will be with you, even when you are dancing with other partners.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

With a smug look, he motions down to your wrist.

The corsage. 

Kim Seungmin, you clever, clever bastard.

He winks just as the music for the waltz begins. He holds his hand out for you and you take it without a second thought. 

Once more, Seungmin bows at the waist at the same time you drop into a curtsy. The entire circle of men and women do the same.

You both come up and he wraps his arm around your waist, holding your hand in the other. Your bodies are brought together, not even a sheet of paper could slip in between the two of you.

The Dove Waltz begins.

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Twice now I have tried to make a reblog reply about Walter and twice now Tumblr has eaten it. So let's try it this way @chaos-bringer-13

Allow me to take you back to the ✨QUARANTINE DAYS✨ and tell you the tale of a pumpkin that may or may not have housed a god

So back in good old 2020/21 we are in the thrall of the COVID-19 pandemic. My state in particular had super heavy quarantine restrictions, and as someone with lung issues, my mom and myself were not taking any chances. I haven't left my house in maybe 5 months. Nor have I seen any of my friends outside of video calls. Senior year of High School so far has sucked.

I'm talking to my friend, we'll call her Marie, and I mention off hand "Yeah I'm starting to feel a bit lonely." Now Marie has known me for a solid 8 years at this point. She knows my type of humor and attachment to what we would now and days call "skrungly" objects. She decides "hmm. I can fix this!"

Marie's mom (who was... certainly a human being) for some god forsaken reason decided to buy a white pumpkin and give it to Marie with the idea that she would harvest the seeds from it and plant them in the garden (why she did this instead of just buying pumpkin seeds I will never know). Instead of doing this, Marie takes this pumpkin and draws a realistic face on it that can only be described as similar to the handsome squidward meme. She drives to my house, sets the pumpkin on my doorstep with a note, and then FUCKING BOOKS IT.

I open the door to see this pumpkin with a note that reads "Hello Momther, I am Walter."

(Not the best photo but this is in fact Walter sitting in the dark in my front yard while Marie (not pictured) stands on my driveway holding a single candle and chanting).

Anyway immediately I take him inside completely smitten and unknowing as to what this pumpkin will create.

At this point of quarantine, we have gone back to classes but they are completely online. I decide that the best thing I could possibly do with Walter is set him on a stack of notebooks behind me so that when I turn my camera on he would be there... watching. Notably, one guy who never unmuted himself did so just long enough to ask "Void... what the fuck is that."

Needless to say I got endless entertainment from the reactions, but all good things have to come to an end. Unfortunately, I live in a desert and pumpkins simply don't survive. They typically would rot within a few days where I was living at the time, so my Mom told me to move it outside at least. I decide to put him by the front door. This front door has a little half wall that leads up to it. I put him on top of it facing the walkway so whenever a package is delivered the mailman would be faced with Walter and have to make eye contact before leaving the mail. I figure I'll probably get a couple more days out of him before he rots.

This is where it starts to get weird

Another week passes. Two. Unlike every single pumpkin I've ever had for Halloween, Walter shows no signs of rotting despite being exposed to the elements. The pumpkin is at this point about a month and a half old and still perfectly fine. Marie, our friends, and I all kind of laugh it off as a random one time thing and expect it to rot within another week.

IT. FUCKING. DOESN'T.

4 months into having Walter and he is still as good as new. Around this time the vaccines for covid started rolling out, so my friends and I get to see each other again. They are just as baffled as me about Walter. Of course, us being us, we have been referring to Walter like an actual person this whole time because that's just our humor. We give him little head pats and forehead rubs as we enter or leave my house and say hello/goodbye to him.

Also around this time, my mom and myself are beginning to prep for moving to another state. We have also started doing some in person classes again. I had been cleaning out my room one morning, and just so happened to leave a piece of sea glass in front of Walter as I left for school. I had a strangely good day. Managed to get an A on a test if I remember right. I come home, see the glass in front of the pumpkin, and start thinking. The next day I leave him something else. Another good luck day! I try this again and every single time I leave him an offering something good happens! I tell my friends about it and they start doing it too and experiencing the same results. We decide that he must be some god of luck inhabiting this pumpkin vessel and rewinding time on it to keep it from rotting.

At some point someone gave him an orange and I swear to god the pumpkin started getting orange marks on its forehead. He still wasn't rotting though! We decided that he obviously has been absorbing the power from the offerings.

Around this time I realise the I have somehow created a partially serious cult and decide I might as well lean into it. I actually enlisted the help of the neighbor kids to take this photo.

Time passes. Walter is about 10 months old now and still going strong. We have graduated highschool and I'm going to be moving in a week. I can't take Walter with me, so Marie decides she will take him. But first, she is going to help us move. It's a 6 hour drive. We put Walter in the passenger seat window so that all the cars passing us can see him.

After she helps us, Marie and Walter continue on to yet another state where Marie will be attending university. Walter is almost if not a year old when he finally starts to rot. Marie, in her dorm room mind you, makes a plaster cast of his head and redraws his face on it. To this day Walter hangs in his new, more durable vessel, guarding her spice cabinet.

By the end of Walter's reign, he had reached his 1st birthday, scared who knows how many mailmen, met 3 of my teachers in person, visited 3 USA states, and briefly had an instagram account.

[lavareview]

x - x - x

MODEL: THE WIZARD

Brand: Lava Lite

Introduced: 1998

Discontinued: 2003

Base and cap colors: black, blue, red, silver

Wax colors: blue, pink, purple, red, yellow

Glitter colors: blue, purple, red, silver

Fluid colors: blue, clear, purple

Size: height 16 1/2", diameter 4 1/2"

The Wizard is a rework of Lava Lite’s earlier 1974 Carlisle model. Like the Carlisle, it has a conical shape and small cutouts around its base allowing light from the bulb to shine through. It is however distinguished from the Carlisle by some notable features: where the Carlisle’s cap had a flat top, similarly to more classic lava lamp models, the Wizard’s cap is pointed, giving it a shape reminiscent of a wizard’s hat. The cutouts in its base are moon and star-shaped, as opposed to the Carlisle’s pinholes, and there is a row of matching cutouts circling the cap.

The Wizard also offered very different colorways from its predecessor: notably, while the Carlisle’s base and cap only came in a brass color, the Wizard offers four different base/cap colors, none of them brass, and it came with many more wax and fluid options, as well as glitter options.

Pictured: every wax color combination offered for the Wizard.

When examining pictures of the Carlisle and the Wizard, it also seems that the Wizard’s globe protrudes over the sides of the base slightly less, giving it a less pronounced “muffin top” effect, though this may be due to perspective. The Wizard is also two and a half inches taller than its predecessor (perhaps owing to the added height on its pointed cap).

Like some other Lava Lite models, the Wizard has a dimmer “for quick start”: the user would initially set the light bulb to 100%, making the wax heat up and flow faster, then dim the light as desired.

Though discontinued, the Wizard remains popular with collectors. It originally retailed for $44.99. Second-hand, Wizard lava lamps are usually sold for $80 to $200. While many Wizards are sold second-hand and it isn’t hard to find one, it may be more difficult to find a specific colorway, and glitter Wizards are more commonly found than wax ones.

MY REVIEW:

The Wizard is my second-most desired lava lamp, but I’ve yet to find one sold in the specific colorway I want (blue base, blue liquid, purple wax) for a price within my means.

In this review, I won't be considering the glitter options of the Wizard, though they're numerous and appear more popular than wax versions. This is because I personally dislike glitter lamps, so including them would negatively impact the review.

SILHOUETTE: 10/10

The 1999-2000 Lava Lite catalogue describes the Wizard as having a “magical draw to its mystical shape”, and I’m tempted to agree. Whereas I find the very similar silhouette of the Carlisle to not be particularly appealing, the Wizard makes a tremendous improvement if only by changing the shape of the cap; and by recontextualizing its conical figure as a wizard’s hat, what could have been an awkward-looking lamp becomes evocative and magical.

DETAILS: 9/10

If any lava lamp model expresses boundless personality through simple and effective detailing, it has to be the Wizard. It avoids being gaudy or insisting upon itself; the wizardly appeal is apparent without the need for tacky visuals. When lit in darkness, the cutouts around its base create a constellation of light pinpricks, further increasing its visual appeal. The only thing I would change about it is the thick black circlet at the very bottom of its base, which isn’t very pleasing to the eye. (In 2013-2014, Lava Lite offered their "Heritage Collection", a throwback to some of their earlier models. The collection included three of the Wizard's colorways, and this time the black circlet was not included - the red Wizard pictured above is a Heritage model.)

COLORWAYS: 7/10

Several of the available colorways are particularly well-chosen: the black base and cap, the purple and pink waxes, and the blue and purple fluids particularly appeal to me. The red base/red wax/clear fluid variation, while not my personal favorite, is also striking. These colors definitely fit my mental image of “wizardry” and add to a magical atmosphere.

Unfortunately, I can’t in good conscience give it full points, as I feel some of the other color options just don’t quite size up. The green wax/blue fluid colorways evoke some sort of alien goo more than any wizard’s spell. The yellow wax/purple fluid and blue wax/blue fluid options are forgettable and don’t do the lamp’s unique design justice. I also generally feel that the silver base just doesn’t look that good with any of the wax and fluid colors.

If I had it my way, the green, purple and yellow wax options and the silver base would be replaced with a variety of new colorways using mainly purple, blue and black in different combinations (such as: a black base/black wax/purple fluid version; a black base/purple wax/clear fluid version; or a purple base/pink wax/purple fluid version, among other potential variations).

My take on alternative Wizard colorways I would have preferred to see.

A number of custom Wizards in various colors do exist and pictures can be found online from collectors - these may have been DIYed (painting bases, switching fluid or wax...) or achieved using alternative globes, such as globes purchased through Lava Lite's Custom Program. While browsing, I even found one matching my imagined "black base/purple wax/clear fluid" version!

POWER: 10/10

Though there are many lamps far more imposing in size, the Wizard dominates through sheer force of personality. The Wizard has no need for unnecessary frills and does not cross the line from “thematic” into “gimmicky”. It is disarmingly pleasant, yet not so whimsical as to become meek or juvenile. Where, had its styling been more heavy-handed, it could have been an inelegant children’s toy, its restrained and confident design instead makes it both esoteric and tasteful. In short, the Wizard is an extremely powerful lava lamp.

MY FINAL SCORE: 9/10

Is my information wrong? Did I miss a detail? Do you have a better picture of this model? Is there another model you’d like me to look into? Please send me an ask or submit relevant pictures!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Stranger’s Blood (3)

Summary: a moment of tension threatens to let loose all of those emotions you have for the Prince, and he for you.

Warnings: fluff, men hitting women, blood, slight smut, Minors DNI

Was inspired by this song.

A Stranger Masterlist

Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 

The night felt never-ending. As if the sun had taken its leave of the world and from everyone below it. Plunged into an inescapable darkness that not even the silver sheen of the moon could help. The land before you was washed with a silvery-blue, the grass swaying back and forth almost lazily. You pulled the shawl around you tighter, trapping in any warmth you could. But you couldn't deny that being outside was the best cure you could think of for your tiredness.

You leaned back against the tree you had made a home at, your hair braided to one side as it often was when you slept. Now frayed with some frizz, the odd strand having slipped out of its intricate plait.

When you were a child, you never told your father about the ceaseless bullying and when you did with your mother, she was not usually sympathetic. So in an effort to self-soothe, you often tiptoed out your bed, relishing in the fresh air of the outside. How the outside calmed you was a feeling you could never describe.

And although your mother was never sympathetic to your seemingly endless bullying and taunting, that did not mean she was not a caring mother. And when she passed and the taunting continued harder than it ever had before, you found yourself outside more often than usual. Your arms instinctively went to cradle yourself within them, not for warmth but for some kind of comfort. A comfort you had dreamed someone else could give you one day.

Your father while, yes, he was always happy and jolly, when it came to women, especially you, he was very much at a loss. Always having grown up with brothers, when it came to the feelings of the opposite sex, he was always questioning. In lieu of this, he mostly allowed you to do as you pleased. A sad look was on his features whenever you returned with more bruises than you had left with.

Even as you grew, it was not the nightmares that kept you from sleep, but those little reminders every day of the pain endured at such a delicate time in your life. In the weeks you had been at the Red Keep, it was those old faces that seemed to draw you back into that period. The only time, you truly felt happy and content, was with music and dancing.

Your eyes were lost in the landscape before you, a content but saddened sigh escaping your lips. Your fingers fiddled with the sapphire in your necklace, a horrible thought ran through your mind as quick as a flame. Did you even remember what your mother looked like?

You had closed your eyes for a moment, wandering into a sleep like state, until your breath caught in your throat with panic. You felt your heart hammer in your chest, like waking up in the middle of the night with a hand in front of your face. And it was so quiet, you could feel your blood pulse through you.

Your eyes met a maid's as she stood next to you, "My Lady, we should get you inside" she said quietly, shivering from the cold. You gave her a small smile and closed your eyes again,

"I am fine, please do not worry"

The warm embrace of sleep took you, and all your mind could conjure for a dream, was his silhouette before you.

Fixing his eyepatch into place, Aemond took in a deep breath in preparation for the farce that was a feast that was supposed to take place tonight. Unfortunately for him, it would not be the busy, energetic feast that he had enjoyed see her at that night, but a more intimate, possibly even boring one.

All he knew for certain was that Tyland Lannister intended on joining in the festivities. And this thought alone set every nerve in Aemond's body to set off in annoyance, fists clenched at the mere thought of having to see his face.

As Aemond took his spot at the end of the table, he huffed in annoyance as more people poured into the room, various lord and ladies he had no idea what their names were. Ser Tyland seemed to be seated dead in the centre of the table, having a good view of the other people already seated. Aemond attempted to not meet his eyes, worried he might give away his distaste for the man too much.

His attention was peaked however, when alongside his sister arm in arm was you. He could not help it but his eyes raked over the dress you were wearing tonight. It was a darkened gold, silk dress with small embroidery details around the hem. She seemed to not clock the Prince in his spot yet, so enamoured in her conversation with Helaena that she could scarcely scan the room before being sat down next to the Queen. It made Aemond close his hand around his thumb, seeing how you had been sandwiched between Helaena and none other, than Tyland Lannister.

He could tell you looked visibly uncomfortable next to him as he tried to lean over and speak to you in hushed tones. As much as you attempted to push your body away from his, he never seemed to take the cue.

Luckily, help seemed at hand as the King and Alicent arrived in the room together, taking their respective seats next to Otto. A quirked brow was evident on some people as some noted how far away the Queen seemed to sit from her husband, but nobody questioned anything.

"Music" Aegon commanded and without hesitation, the band in the corner of the room seemed to come alive with some happy, yet slow music. Aemond could do nothing more than push the food around his plate, occasionally taking a glance up to see you sipping more and more wine in an attempt to steady yourself.

This man was really pushing his luck, Aemond thought as the man leaned in once more to whisper something into your ear.

Pushing his chair out, making his mother look up at him in question, Aemond made his way over with wide steps to pause at your side, offering a large hand out to you. He could feel a smile appear on his face as your striking eyes made their way to his figure, instantly lighting up once you had realised it was him.

"I know how much you like to dance, my Lady" he said, gesturing to his hand.

Your eyes quickly flicked to the man next to you for a moment, before allowing your hand to glide into his in desperation. For a moment, you ignored the spark that came from the touch feeling his grip on you, at this moment being more relieved to be taken away from the man who was still staring at you both from the table.

You barely looked up at him when you started to sway with the music, hands still connected. It could have been that you were nervous, but the Prince still had a smile on his features staring down at you.

"Is this how all of our meetings begin? With you stepping in to rescue me from Tyland Lannister?" you ask, hushed, so that the man in question did not hear you. Every now and then he would turn his head, a jealous look on his features as he regarded you both.

Aemond huffed a laugh, "That is how these last few have begun, yes. But I could not just sit and watch you squirm in his presence"

You cock your head, eyes finally looking up to meet him to smile back, "Well, thank you anyway"

As you both slowly twirl around, Aemond briefly meets his mother's eyes, whose expression is difficult to read.

"What was he saying to make you so disgusted" Aemond asked. You shook your head in disbelief,

"A few things really, but the theme seemed to be marriage"

Aemond almost stood stock still in his position and you noticed how tense his body became, betraying how he wanted to hide his emotion. His hand seemed to grip yours a bit harder and the smile seemed to fall from your face for a moment, which made his heart drop even more. Aemond eyes seemed to roam to his side to land on the man in question, a stare burning in the back of the man's skull.

"Do not worry" you said suddenly, making him face you once more "I obviously said yes" you joke.

This joke did seem to cut the air a little and he let out a 'hmm' which you interpreted to be a chuckle.

After a moment of silence, Aemond spoke again, "I saw you this morning" he said. You passed him a questioning look, "You were outside, asleep I think. Do you not sleep, my Lady?"

The slight hint of concern in his voice seemed to catch you off guard and you smiled sadly back, "Not really, I never have much luck with sleep"

"Nightmares?" he asks quietly,

"No" you shake your head, and he believes it, "Just…alone with my thoughts, I can get lost in them sometimes. It is a struggle. As soon as you lay your head against the pillow for your rest from the day and that is the moment where your thoughts have their own time. I get no rest from it"

He seemed to contemplate what you said for a moment, eye averted, "So you seek fresh air? Out in the cold? It must be awfully lonely"

A beat.

"Sometimes…" you answer quietly, and he can no longer avoid the way you look when you speak, words with such sincerity. It drives a pain through his chest like no other, "…alone does not always mean lonely, my Prince"

"And yet, I am so often alone" he answers, digging in his head for his own memories of abandonment, "Would you judge me, if I said I was lonely?"

You furrow your brows, sincerity dripping from every syllable, "I would never blame a living creature for feeling lonely"

These words seemed to silence him again, and it is at this point you notice you are barely dancing anymore. His thumb ran over the skin of your hand.

"It is sometimes a lonely road ahead. To walk it alone is the bravest thing a person can do" you say.

The atmosphere between you was thick and weighty, but you chose to not avert your eyes from his and instead study his features. His own gaze ran down your neck to the sapphire laid against your chest, a smirk seemed to grace him once again. He could not shake the feeling that you were meant to be his. These few weeks he seemed to watch you as you went about your life, figuring out ways in which he might present himself, to slot himself into yours with ease. The way you walked about like a confident young woman and yet were plagued with your very thoughts once the sun had gone down.

You look up to him once again, the music picking up once again and remembering that you at least had to dance.

"We don't always have to be brave. Nor alone" you say quietly. His eye one seemed to flit from your differing-coloured eyes erratically, perhaps trying to see some deception behind them. And yet found nothing.

The hand that had been resting on your waist seemed to wrap around you slowly to the small of your back and a gasp had almost escaped you, feeling his large hand seeming to pull you in closer. His finger ran across the line that he imagined down your back, his eye fluttering closed at the thought, imagining his thumb running across your lips to catch them…

"Prince Aemond" a voice rang out behind the couple, the dancing stopping almost immediately. But the action that seemed to shock you the most was that when Aemond stood to attention to Ser Tyland, his hand was placed protectively on your shoulder. This gave you a smile that warmed your cheeks.

Aemond narrowed his eyes to the desperate man, "Ser Tyland"

Ser Tyland shuffled with need, hands clasped behind him and wanting nothing more than to steal you away from the Prince, "Allow me to dance with the Lady"

He seemed to almost bark out an order, simply wanting rid of the Prince's presence. Aemond glanced towards you and you offered a small nod to say it was okay, simply wanting to just give Tyland what he wanted so he may leave you alone.

Aemond did not simply sit idly by though, once he had sat himself down, he was turned to watch as you awkwardly took Ser Tyland's hand and his own rested slightly lower on your hip than you were comfortable. The Prince could clearly see how tense you were dancing with him as he seemed to almost drag you around in a dance of his own liking.

Aemond could feel his anger prickle up his shoulders to his neck as he watched every time he leaned in close to whisper something to you. Watching as you kept your eyes averted the entire time, a dissociated look on your face.

He could not hear what he was saying to you, but for the most part you simply seemed to ignore him.

"Brother" Aemond almost rolled his eye at the presence of his brother beside him, do doubt here to give him some grief,

"What do you want" he simply replied. Aegon had already been a few goblets deep, despite the early evening. Aemond could always tell when his brother was particularly stressed, drinking to excess faster than before. But of course, it always meant that the young King would crash earlier than others, retiring to his chambers before others.

Aegon draped an arm around his brother's shoulders drunkenly, "Why the fuck are you letting her dance with him"

Aemond attempted to shrug his brother's grip off him, "And why do you feel the need to stick your fucking nose into anyone's business?"

Aegon feigned offense, his half-lidded eyes meeting Aemond's, "Is that any way to speak to your King"

Aemond had to shake his head, not bothering to amuse his brother with a response.

"I thought I told you to act quickly. But here you are letting that slimy cunt dance with her?"

"I don't let her do anything. You forget, she is not mine to order about as you do to yours"

Aegon was almost taken aback, but he knew it was just because he was inebriated, "And when exactly, are you going to make her yours? Hm?"

Aemond bit his lip, infuriated with the conversation but also at the way that Ser Tyland's hand seemed to be wandering lower and lower which each passing twirl. Your face said it all. Disgust.

But the air seemed to become thick with tension when he had leaned in to whisper something and you squirmed to be release from his grasp as he pulled you towards him. With much resistance, you pushed against his chest with a huff and served a sharp slap across his face, muttering what could only be heard as a 'how dare you' to the man.

The slap seemed to stop the band and the music ceased immediately, all attention from the guests now on the formerly dancing couple and the altercation. Ser Tyland placed his hand at his cheek and threw a gaze at you that seemed to almost pierce straight through you.

"Foolish child!" he snapped, delivering a loud, firm and heavy slap to your own face. His hands were so big that it was a slap not only to your cheek, but almost straight on and feeling very much like a punch, his clumsy, brutish strength surprising you. You resisted the urge to stagger back, raising a hand to the now sore area to look back at Ser Tyland, "Your father is not here to protect you, watch your tongue, whore"

You had not realised that almost as soon as the slap was delivered, Aemond was stood, dagger unsheathed. Almost without thinking, the young Prince took Tyland's shirt in his grip, pushing him against the cold wall behind him, a dagger was immediately placed at his throat, which sent Tyland's eyes wide with fear.

"You dare lay a hand on the Lady. I should gut you where you stand" he said, poison dripping from every word, spat at the lord before him. Tyland, now feeling the pressure of the situation he had placed himself in, screwed his eyes closed, praying for mercy from the Prince.

Having Tyland easily in his grasp, Aemond looked over to you, heart stuttering at the look of the red mark already staring to appear on the left side of your face, almost fully encompassing it. You were staring over at them both, half lidded as if not fully understanding the weight of what happened. Once your eyes met Aemond, it was a look he could not seem to decipher. But if he had to interpret the look you gave him, it seemed to imply that you very much wanted nothing more than for Aemond to slice Tyland's throat open.

Most other women of your disposition would rush to his side, prevent the violence. But you stood stock still, watching, watching the violence and Aemond's protectiveness preside.

Luckily Alicent came to her son's side, her hand resting on his arm to pull him away, "Aemond, step away. Now"

Her voice was not loud, but it was stern, like a true mother's. And the sheer tone of it seemed to snap Aemond out of his anger for a moment, his lilac eye still staring at the man before him, not a shivering, trembling mess.

Instead of just letting him go, Aemond pushed him to the cold, stone floor. Twirling his dagger in his hand for a moment before putting it away, his softened gaze went to you once again, but you were simply staring at the man on the floor with an indescribable expression.

As you stared down at the man, little taps seemed to echo on the stone beneath you and you looked down further to find three of four drops of blood. It took you a moment to bring your fingers to your nose, to find you had been bleeding from it from the sheer force of Tyland's blow to your face. Aemond was at your side almost instantly with a black handkerchief he had produced, he squeezed your arm softly to get your attention, placing the cloth to your nose, already seeing how much blood was dripping down your face to your neck, staining your golden dress.

You nodded in thanks, accepting his help wordlessly. Alicent also approached you swiftly,

"Come, we'll take you to the maesters to get you cleaned up"

You were about to take a step but Aemond's grasp on your arm seemed to tighten, but did not hurt,

"I will tend to her" he responded. After a moment of contemplation, Alicent seemed to step back and give Aemond an earnest smile, nodding to allow your leave.

The short walk to Aemond's chambers was silent and once he pulled you inside, you allowed yourself to look up and scan the room.

It was all now lit with just candlelight, the servants having been in and lit them all once they changed the bedsheets. There was a large bookcase next to the fireplace, which was lit and crackling in an almost relaxing way, all the books looked well read and were organised neatly. And then there was a large window that stretched across the entire length of the room, the view of the gardens of the Red Keep stretched out beyond the glass as far as the eye could see. You were no longer surprised that he saw you that evening.

Then there was his bed, made to perfection with sheets that looked luxurious. So this is what it was like to live as the Prince, is what you thought.

After examining his room for a moment, he guided you to sit on the edge of his bed while he pulled up a chair of his own to sit himself in front of you, a bowl of hot water and a rag at his side. He hadn't said a word yet, which made the tension in the room even more palpable, sending your heart racing to an unmeasurable degree.

He wringed out the cloth with the warm water and shuffled up to you, tall enough even sat in his chair that he slightly towered you now.

"Let me take that" he said, pulling the black handkerchief away from your nose, where the bleeding had now luckily stopped. You felt slightly embarrassed at how your face might look with all the dried blood on your cheek and running down your neck to your chest, so you kept your eyes averted.

He placed the bloodied cloth into the bowl and looked back at you, "May I?" he asked. Meeting his eyes finally, you nodded, allowing his surprisingly soft touch against your face.

He started with the blood on your cheek, wiping away some of the dried blood before dunking the cloth back into the warm water to rinse.

"I could kill him" Aemond finally said, breaking the silence. You huffed a laugh through your nose, remembering the image of Aemond coming to your aid, a dagger at Tyland's throat only waiting for the go-ahead and he would have certainly done it.

"I know. In truth, he may deserve it" you answer. Aemond only responded with a 'hm', perhaps being slightly angry still. His touch with the cloth wiping the dried bits of blood from around your nose.

"What did he say to you?"

You went silent for a moment, thinking back to the hushed conversation. In truth, you didn't entirely wish to tell him, fearing that his view of you might differ. But eventually, the silence became too much, and you needed to tell someone and Aemond seemed more than happy to hear it from you.

"Well at first it was all just mindless chatter about marriage. How he has had no wife, fathered no children and that he had hopes for children with different coloured eyes like mine…" you droned on, relaying his words sounded even more stupid the more you thought of it.

Aemond paused to listen to you, urging you to go on.

"I said he was a hypocrite…and that he should not wish for children like me if they have him as a father…Gods, I may have stepped out of line-"

"No" Aemond suddenly said, a warm hand placed on your arm in comfort. The action itself felt just right and you could not explain the feeling you had inside when you met his gaze, "Go on"

You muster all your courage and continue, wiping some leftover wet blood from your nose, "He said that because my father had returned to Green Hill and left me here, he could have me whenever he saw fit and that it didn't matter as I was a whore anyway…and that he would break into my chambers if he must and have me bear his bastards...”

You meet Aemond's kind gaze once more, shrugging, "So I struck him"

A relived look seemed to wash over Aemond as he continued with his work at wiping the blood off your neck, he swallowed thickly at being so close to your skin like this, watching as all the contours of your body seemed to ripple with your movements.

"And then he struck you" Aemond finished. You take a deep breath, staring at his intent look at his work.

"Do you think of me different?" you ask warily, fearing his reply. But he did not move his gaze from wiping the blood from you.

"Of course not, my Lady" his voice was dark, low, as if his demeanour had all but changed.

His touch seemed to lower significantly to your chest, a line of blood disappearing beneath the bust of your gold dress. Aemond licked his lips in concentration, not only at the job in hand, but at the need to contain himself as he felt his member became tight in his breeches at seeing the delicate skin of your collarbone.

You placed your hand on his thigh to steady yourself as you leaned forward to allow him to gain better access to the area, in doing so he observed how he was able to see how your body disappeared into the golden dress through your cleavage. Your faces were impossibly close now and the sheer touch of his thigh made Aemond stiffen in desire.

He leaned in closer to get the remainder of blood, his lips extraordinarily close to your neck now and he could feel the hot aura of your skin radiating off. He felt you lean closer into him and it took everything in his power to not push you down onto his bed behind and pull up your skirts. He could feel his cock harden at even the thought.

All seemed to come undone when you grasped his hand that had been ghosting over your chest and guided it to your clothed breast, urging him to give you the pressure you needed. Your eyes fluttered closed at the contact and a gasp escaped your lips, nearly sending him over the edge with just that.

It was this permission he needed to land open mouthed kisses to your neck, increasing the pressure on the soft mound of flesh at your chest. Your other hand was still at his thigh, squeezing him there in need as his own kisses seemed to intensify, only travelling closer up your neck to your jaw. His other hand cupped your face and moved you so that you now faced him, with your half-lidded gaze finally meeting his, you lick your lips with anticipation.

He seemed to smile at you, his touch warm against you, "Stop doing that" he warned.

You could barely think of a quip before his open kiss descended onto your lips, starting with no gentleness, and taking your mouth with his in passion, desire and need. One thumb cradled your cheek, his fingers ran through your hair, pulling slightly at your scalp and you'd realised now that he had pushed you back down against the bed. But he did not cease in his attack on your mouth, and you found your hands reached up to his shoulders to keep him there.

You struggled to hold back a moan as he placed a knee between your legs, placing himself there and you felt the vibration of his own rumble through your body. His hand softly landed on your shoulder where you dress had slipped past your shoulder, his touch sending a shock of electricity through you that settled between your legs, where his own stiffness was pushing against you. This action itself made Aemond emit a lewd sound which in itself set your senses on fire.

You made a whimper as his lips left yours to look down at you, your noses barely touching as your bright eyes looked up to him.

You bought your hand to his face, your thumb tracking his scar and he closed his eyes, halting in his tracks.

"Do not stop…" you whisper.

He emits a small 'hm' in reply and looks at you once more. He had something different about him now. A door had opened and desire was on the other side. But Aemond being Aemond, something was in the way. Duty.

He raised his finger to your lips to trace the shape of them, now wet and swollen with your passionate kiss.

"If I continue, I will not be able to stop" he replied.

The hand you had placed on his face travelled to the front of his tunic, grabbing the fabric there in an effort to pull him closer. He could smell her perfume, her scent, it was all-consuming. And it was here he thought of all those nights he spent, fisting his cock in his hand for some semblance of what it was like to have you. To imagine what you would feel like surrounding him. And here you were before him almost in desperation.

His gaze flitted from your sapphire necklace to your face quickly as your lips almost touched once more. Even though both of you were completely clothed, this felt intimate, hot and close. Like a wedding night.

"Do you want to stop…" it was not a question and therefore not one he could answer with ease.

Fuck, he thought to himself. The Prince was enamoured.

[leggerefiore]

If you are so inclined and have the time, could you give us some Yandere Colress headcanons? I want to be this man's personal pin cushion...

cw: yandere, unhealthy relationships, dark content, kidnapping,

Minors DNI

🥼Yandere Colress General HCs🛸

🧪 The scientist often puts his own feelings down in favour of entirely dedicating himself to his research. That was why he managed to work under a man as despicable as Ghetsis for so long. The blond did not necessarily care for legality either. He solely wished to continue to see the full potential of pokemon brought out. Yet, he seemed so far from that. A trainer caught his attention. Not the usual amount, he felt strangely mesmerised by them. Something more than just their bond with their pokemon had made his attention remain on them. He could not escape a strange spiral that occurred inside him. He seems to wander across you more frequently than he should, to make everything worse.

🧪 He is lost as to why his notes focus on you after your battles with him. Pokemon were his interest, not humans. Yet, you seemed to imprint in his mind. Every little thing you did was memorised and categorised for future recollection. Colress did not understand why he felt so panicked when you were away from him. He felt himself growing oddly unfocused even during random moments when you would creep into his mind. A strange time when he stumbled upon you talking to another mixed in with laughing and smiling caused some strange emotion to swell in his stomach. He interjected politely, finding a way to bring your attention back onto him. The scientist could not understand why he felt so distressed.

🧪 He rereads his notes related to you over and over again in a desperate attempt to find out what any of this means. Maybe the oddity would leave him once he found the words to describe it. The more he goes through them all, the more lost he feels. His glasses are slipped off as he rubs his eyes and groans. He begins to realise that he is following you around. Endless notes about your movements and usually behaviours are documented and saved to his tablet. They are read again by him as he attempts to figure out what any of these compulsions mean. Everything felt confusing. What were these desires that gripped him? Colress almost felt tempted to ask someone else if he were not aware of how odd they were.

🧪 Then, he finds you out on the beach with another man. He stands far too close to you both look out towards the ocean. Colress felt something painful eat at him. In all his years, he never felt so unsettled and hurt. His feet brought him back to his hotel room, but he had to draw the curtains closed as the sight of the sea suddenly causes his stomach to churn. It hits him hard, what has been tormenting him all along. Romantic attraction. You inspired such feelings to grow inside him like bacteria in a petri dish. Whether it was conscious or unconscious, it had happened nonetheless. A bond, he thought. Bonds truly had such power, be they between human and human or human and pokemon.

🧪 He meets you again, your routine memorised by him. You think nothing of the blond and ready yourself for a battle. Instead, the scientist invites you to join him in his hotel room to discuss your training regiment and battling style for his research. Declining would seem natural, but you felt that you could trust Colress. His odd behaviours were easily dismissed by his eccentricity for his research. As soon as the door shut, your fate was sealed. A needle pierced your flesh and injected a clear fluid. You collapsed into his ready arms in seconds. For a moment, he stares at your unconscious body in mild uncertainty. He had moved past Team Plasma, yet here he was doing something like this. The idea of you being with another forced those rational thoughts down and away.

🧪 You awoke in an unfamiliar room. Bright, artificial light shined down from built-in light in the ceiling. A light sheet covered you. No windows were on the walls and there was sparse furniture. There were also two doors, of which one was locked. The other led to a small bathroom. Opening a drawer of one of the chest of drawers revealed your clothing inside. More and more of your items seemed to reveal themselves as you went through various things. You completely lost yourself in searching through everything that you missed the sound of the door unlocking. “Ah, you are awake then,” a familiar voice called out to you. Your attention whipped to the scientist who had entered. Recollection of what had happened before you woke up here entered your mind. “… I understand that this is not a favourable situation,” he continued, “But… I realised that the possibility of you finding a relationship with someone else was too high. My calculations are rarely wrong.” You felt ice in your veins at the words.

🧪 Colress is aloof and sometimes too callous, but there is also a sickening kindness from him. He still does not entirely understand romantic relationships (clearly), yet he does his best to establish something like that with you. You do not suffer overly, as he clearly gives you nearly anything you request for your room. In exchange, he does expect you to sit near him and perhaps listen to his rambling about his research. There is no forced affection, mostly as he does not overly into physical touch. Simply being able to look at you is enough for him. You opt against asking how he knows what you enjoy for your own sanity.

🧪 Punishments are simply something he usually avoids. After all, he knows harsh discipline will cause an inverse effect to what he wants. All that he observed in bonds between trainers and pokemon made that apparent. Letting you do whatever you want is simply not going to work either. Typically, he takes away your forms of entertainment and leaves you alone with your thoughts to reflect on your actions. Though, there have been a few times when you were especially violent towards him that he brings out drugs. He hates to leave you in such a state, but violence is especially not allowed. You are restrained to your bed that following week.

🧪 Freedoms are granted as he feels you grow increasingly accepting of the relationship. He gives you electronics with limited communication capacity to keep you entertained or lets you explore more of his home. If you somehow fully gain his trust, you can even explore his lab and learn more directly about his research. He knows that you might be faking to try to escape, but he is also aware that it is next to impossible for you to. The scientist was more than aware of how to prevent any chance of you from getting away from him. Besides, if you did, you would have absolutely no idea where you were. You can almost have a normal life, just without communication with anyone else outside of Colress and his pokemon.

🧪 Escaping truly is difficult. The doors are made from a metal and impossible to brute force through, the home itself appeared to be underground and sparse windows did not seem too easily broken nor are they exactly an easy way to crawl out even if you did. The doors to the outside or Colress's lab both had impossible to solve keypad locks and a biological reading kind. Even if you figured out the pass code, you still did not have his DNA to get out. Yet, somehow, just somehow, if you managed to – say in a power outage when his back-up generator failed activate – you would need to go far away from the scientist in a place where there is no chance you could end up online nor easily traced. His determination to satiate the feelings that torment his mind and return his work with ease simply is next to unbeatable.

🧪 Though, if you give in, staying with him is not so bad. His obsession with your bond is something he truly does find positive, and he has no intention of making you suffer. Simply stay with him and accept him as your lover, and he will let you have whatever you want. He even will return your pokemon to you if he feels like you sufficiently will not attack him. Even rarer, he will take you out on his work trips once he fully has your trust. Colress only wants a relationship, after all. Just indulge him and let your bond with him give him the power he desires.