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deiliamedlini · 2 years

Note

Happy 300 followers!! 🥳 first of all, I would like you to know that every single time I have sent you an ask, you have been so sweet!! You give off such good vibes! 💚 and your writing??? Omg?? It is SO GOOD like *chef's kiss* lol you're one of my favorite zelink writers, a treasure to this fandom, and you deserve many more followers!! Now, if I may 😂 I have this idea living in my mind rent free for ages: how about some zelink, modern AU, famous actor or singer!Link heavily flirting with hyrule's princess on live television. I hope it is not too specific? 😅

DO YOU KNOW WHO'S THE WORST? ME! I had this half done forever and then that's when I conveniently hit my writer's block! BUT I FINISHED IT! It's not quite what I had initially envisioned, but I wanted to make sure I got this done while my brain was working !! THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT AND i"M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG

Also on AO3 if that's easier to read! (Some suggestive themes ahead but nothing crazy)

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There was a moment when the jacuzzi jet stream hit Link’s sore muscles just the right way that he let out a sigh and sank deeper into the warm bathtub. Suds covered his mouth, and he blew them away with a small huff and ran his hands through his scraggly hair.

It was his first night actually at the hotel in… gods, it had to be a week. Night shoots and hours of being on set had left him exhausted, sleeping in his trailer, staying at friend’s rooms who were closer to the studio where they filmed The Twilight Realm, a popular television show that he was the male lead in.

If it weren’t a safety hazard, he’d have fallen asleep right in this bathtub.

Still, he couldn’t escape. His mind wasn’t blissfully empty; it was filled with pages after pages of memorized lines from his script. His ears still rang with the explosions from their pyro work on an exploding bridge today. His eyes burned from exhaustion and smoke and lights.

And still, tomorrow, he had a charity gala to attend.

A long yawn escaped him, and he grabbed the bath pillow and a glass of wine from the closed toilet seat and leaned back, trying to de-stress.

But it was a little difficult when that charity gala would be attended by none other than the Princess Zelda of Hyrule herself.

With a rueful look at his wine, he set the glass by the sink, tossed the pillow out of reach, and forced himself up, watching the water spiral down the drain almost hypnotically.

Only when it was all gone did he towel off, and throw himself onto the bed, passing out before he could even pull the comforter up.

The next thing he heard was a voice.

“Link, let’s go you’re going to be— OH! Link! What?”

His eyes creeped open at the familiar shriek of his best friend and cast mate, Midna. She flipped her red hair over her shoulder and pulled a pillow from under his head, letting him fall with a thud, before firmly setting the pillow on his lower waist. “I didn’t need to see this.”

“What? What’s even happening?”

“Do you know how late you are?” Midna chided, grabbing one of his suits off the hanger. “Get dressed.”

Finally, his eyes blinked open and he saw Midna leaving the room in a shimmering black gown.

A black gown.

The gala.

“Shit!” Link hissed, tossing the pillow off of him. There was a draft, and he chuckled seeing that in his exhaustion, he’d forgotten to put anything on. “Sorry, Mid!”

“Yeah, not like I haven’t seen your dumb ass before on set!”

Link slid a pair of sweatpants on so he could cross the room to return to the bathroom. Midna was pounding on his couch on her phone.

“Well,” Link scoffed. “It’s less embarrassing when I’m wearing a modesty sock, so I’m still sorry.”

“Accepted,” she sighed wearily.

Midna and Link had gone on one date before realizing their chemistry was solely on set and as friends, and since the popularity of the The Twilight Realm blew up to extreme proportions in season 2, he was so grateful to have Midna with him every step of the way. Even now, while filming season 4, the level of fame he had was still so wild to him. Grocery shopping in peace was a thing of the past and it was all online orders and deliveries if he wanted to have a day without feeling the flash of a camera in his eyes.

Link cleaned his face in the sink a bit haphazardly, leaving red marks everywhere before sighing at his reflection. Baggy circles under his eyes, tousled hair. He looked a wreck. But still, he brushed his teeth and returned to his room, dutifully donning the pressed suit and expertly knotting his tie before combing his hair out. In the limo would be their stylists to fix their hair and makeup before the red carpet, so he left it as it was.

“Look okay?” Link asked, coming out of his room with his arms wide to show his outfit off.

“Yes, sure, you look great. Come on, Beedle texted. They’re waiting outside.”

“Alright,” he muttered, fixing his cuffs as he grabbed his things back off the table. Nothing was ever put away. Nothing ever had to be. It wasn’t like he’d stay here long before needing to go to a new filming location anyway.

Flashing lights, bulbs so bright his vision became tinged with blinding stars blocking out his vision.

He was used to this. It was hardly his first red carpet, and with his hand firmly against the skin of Midna’s back, he felt grounded, despite his lagging tiredness and barely functioning mind.

Face slack so he wouldn’t strain his jaw from smiling, he posed as perfectly as he’d been taught. His hair flipped in the way that had the internet swooning. He tilted his head in the way that won him “Sexiest Man in Hyrule” two years in a row.

He played yet another part of his to absolute perfection.

Little did they know that the famous actor struggled with back pain, crowds, and—thanks to the list of his ‘accolades’— several self-conscious body image issues.

At the table, food was served, and he politely excused himself when he’d finished the two vegetable portions from the food that was on his approved diet plan for his role on The Twilight Realm, and instead took his checkbook around, dropping checks off to a few people that he and his financial adviser had already written out in advance.

It was all so… normal.

When the plates were cleared away, he grabbed a merlot off a passing tray and skulked to the corner.

“Did you eat enough to drink that?” Midna asked, leaning beside him.

Link shrugged and took another sip. He had, but he certainly couldn’t wait to go back to the hotel and order something he actually could eat.

“See the Princess?” he asked, watching the blonde Princess Zelda of Hyrule daintily savoring a glass from her table, surrounded by armed guards and looking about as miserable as he felt.

“I do see her. No photography allowed in here,”she muttered, watching Zelda set her glass down to stand and wander, trailed by her guards. “How the facades fall when the public stops watching.”

“They’re always watching,” he scoffed, looking around to see a set of eyes of a gossiping group watching him and Midna as they conversed. Anxiously, he took a swig of the remainder of his drink and set it down, already looking for another.

The need to drop his mask for just a moment overwhelmed him, and he gave Midna a kiss on the cheek. “I need air. You okay if I ditch for a bit?”

“Oh, of course. Go! I have mingling to do anyway!”

“Thanks. You’re the best.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

He winked before undoing the buttons on his tux and heading into the hallway. Security nodded at him as he passed, and he carefully moved past another set of suits who stood at the door to the terrace.

It was surprisingly empty. He expected it to be filled with any guests needing an escape or air, but he paid it no mind, preferring the quiet solitude he was so often denied as opposed to idle chatter.

With a relieved sigh, he threw himself down onto one of the outdoor sofas near a maintained firepit and groaned, closing his eyes in relief.

“Oh!”

“Shit!” he hissed, sitting up with a speed that would have called for a stunt double. Especially when his leg knocked against the flames of the fire, warming him with a far-too-close call, but nothing else. He swore before hopping away, brushing at his pant leg, looking up to see the last person he expected.

Princess Zelda of Hyrule.

His eyes bugged out. He’d just sworn and nearly fell into a fire in front of the princess.

Idiot.

Bowing low, he tried to shake off his nerves. “Princess!”

And then he saw her. Princess Zelda of Hyrule was watching him with a surprised look on her face from just behind a pillar where she leaned out against a railing. Her gown was long, the train was gorgeous. The embellishments alone cost more than Link’s paycheck, and he was well-paid. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back, still neatly styled with pins in an effortless look that had probably taken an hour. And her eyes; verdant greens alight with curiosity had him rapt immediately. The cameras really did lie: she was far more gorgeous up close and in person, and she was already beautiful on tv.

“I-I’m sorry, I thought I was alone out here,” he managed, rising from his bow just enough to catch the hint of a smile touch her lips before it disappeared almost naturally.

“How did you get past my bodyguards?”

“Your…?” he looked behind him, confused. “I…”

“Nevermind, it’s okay.” Her brows peaked. “Oh! You’re Link Faron! Wow! Um, hello! It’s nice to meet you.”

Shaking his head, it was almost unfathomable that the princess knew who he was. Not unreasonable, given the show’s popularity, but it was hard to wrap his head around. “No, the pleasure is all mine, Princess.”

“The Twilight Realm is one of my favorite shows. I’m… just a little star-struck.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, that, Into the Wild and—”

She cut herself off, her face flushing a bright red as she covered her mouth with a delicate hand, attempting covertness but failing.

“And?”

Her eyes glistened as she turned her head towards him, watching his deliberate steps. She'd already outed herself as a fan of not only him, but two shows when he'd showed everything off. His own face was red as he waited.

"The Bodyguard."

He bit his lip as he tried not to chuckle. A more serious role... where he'd fallen in love with the Princess he was protecting. A limited series with more sex scenes than the four seasons of Into the Wild combined.

"Our Princess has a type of show, it seems."

"And you have a type of role. It's not my fault you're a good actor."

He snorted, leaning beside her. "They don't hire me for my skill. They hire me for my ass."

"Well, who can blame them on that front at least," she muttered.

And then, eyes bugged once again, she clasped her hand over her mouth.

Link beamed at her, embarrassment and humor sending him onto a high. "Oh?"

"You'd think years of practice would afford me some grace, but I've simply fallen apart in the mere presence of you," Zelda laughed anxiously. "My apologies for that comment. It was crass and simply slipped from my tongue before I could stop myself!"

Link ran a hand through his hair and focused on her shoulder. A fine spattering of freckles caught his eye for far longer than he'd intended it to before it drifted to the strap that thinly drew more attention. And it was red. A pop of color that matched her lips, which he was dying in his attempts to avoid looking. "It's okay. I'm quite comfortable with the topic at this point. It's the modesty sock conversations that will still make me blush."

Zelda's brow scrunched, and he regretted his words immediately. Gods, had he just brought that up to the Princess?

And then, it got worse.

"A what? Socks?"

He licked dry lips. "Oh, just... it's... it's kind of like a sock that you use... to... well... it's... it's not a sock. But you use it for... modesty." He glanced at her confusion and tugged on his bowtie to loosen it. "You put it on during sex scenes and nude scenes."

Zelda's eyes, for the third time, widened. "Oh! Oh, gods, I didn't know!"

"Did you just think we wandered around bare-assed, hanging out?"

"Yes!" she laughed, running her hands through her hair. "I always just thought you were very confident in yourself."

"Hardly!"

"Really?" she asked skeptically. "With the way you look?"

"Would you strut around set with nothing on, Princess? For one as gorgeous as yourself, it would surely be easy."

Gods and godesses, why would he put that image in his mind. Why would he say that to a royal? What creature was possessing him?

"Mr. Faron--"

"Link."

"Link," she smirked, "You're far more amusing than you let on in pictures and interviews."

"Far more nervous, Princess. When I've imagined speaking to you, it was never about my full frontal nudity clause."

"Please, Zelda is fine. We've reached a level of personal conversation, at this point, that I believe you're allowed my first name. And for that matter, you think of me often?"

He let himself relax a bit. There was a comfort in knowing that the Princess of Hyrule was willing to flirt with him, even knowing what a wreck he was. He was able to pull from his stores of acting skills to play it cool, leaning against the railing a bit, stretching out. Reveling in her eyes taking a spin along him. It gave him a moment to swallow his nerves.

"Who hasn't thought of the Princess?"

"And who hasn't thought of Link Faron?"

"You?"

Zelda scoffed. "Oh, please! We've already accidentally established that you're my celebrity crush. How much more obvious could I get?"

"For what it's worth, Zelda, you've always been mine." He relished her name on his tongue, and couldn't stop himself from letting his knuckles graze against her skin as he pushed a piece of golden hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger and touch for far too long.

"I'm sorry," he said, stepping away. "I've taken up your private time with far too much self indulgence. I'll let you go."

"Wait!" she said, grabbing his hand. "I'm enjoying your presence, unlike all the donation seekers in there. Stay."

"Is that a command?"

For a moment, she considered, and a wry smile worked over her face as she watched him already inching back towards her. "Yes."

"Then how am I to disobey?"

~~~~~~~

Link hadn't even had time to register the light through his window when Midna threw herself onto him, whacking his arm excitedly.

He sprung up, looking around frantically. "What?!"

"You dog!"

"What?"

"Gods, you sleep in too often! Get up!"

He barely blinked in time to see her ponytail bobbing on her head, her sweatpants and sweatshirt hanging loosely over her. Exactly the opposite of the glamor she donned the night before.

Link grumbled, rolling out of bed in his boxers, rubbing at his eyes as he followed her to see what the fuss was about so he could roll back into bed.

"--and the Princess were seen getting extremely close last night. In exclusive footage, we can see 'The Twilight Realm' actor putting his skills to work on our future monarch, seducing her as much as she seemed to entrance him. Was it wine? Or do we have a new royal wedding to look forward to?"

The clip of him and Princess Zelda by the fire, him pushing her hair behind her hair, them laughing, even later in the evening when she'd grabbed his hand and he hadn't pulled away, and later when they'd moved to sit closer to the firepit and he'd given her his jacket. All of it aired.

"Oh, shit. They didn't get..."

He trailed off as the next clip was Zelda's tender goodbye kiss on his cheek hours later.

"Shit."

Midna watched him sit down, numb. "Link, can you call your girlfriend?"

His phone rang on cue. His agent.

Link toyed with the phone, his eyes on the screen watching the clip replay of her kiss. He could still feel the phantom tenderness of her lips on his cheek, hear the ring of her laugh, the lines of her discontentment on her forehead as they talked about their interests, their lives.

And he realized that, regardless of what he was about to hear, he regretted none of it.

#asks #legend of zelda #link #zelda #zelink #loz #writing #prompt request #modern au #actor!link #midna #THANK YOU IM SORRY FOR THE WAIT

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shebeafancyflapjack · 2 years

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Burn, with Her

(A Rhaenyra/Alicent whump ficlet - I haven’t written in a while and this is a first for this fandom and ship, so this is mostly practice writing, which I might edit into an actual work. Maybe. We’ll see.

Set after Episode 2)

Rating: Teen, No Warnings

The wind slapped her face as Syrax dived down through the clouds, descending rapidly before unfolding her wings, flapping them abruptly in order to hover thirty feet above the fields.

“Dracarys!” The princess on the dragon’s saddle hissed.

Her mount obeyed - or rather, agreed. A dragon is no slave. It’s been said many times, since the days of old Valyria, that dragonriders share a soul with their great beasts once they’ve bonded. As Syrax lets out a high-pitched roar before unleashing her fiery breath upon the set up of straw targets below, Rhaenyra almost feels a pinch of guilt at the idea that her usually sweet-natured dragon is compelled to share in her bitter rage tonight.

On the other hand, at least she can be certain there is one being in this gods forsaken realm who knows how she feels, even if her dear golden friend has no understanding of it.

She watches the dummies blacken and dissolve below as they’re consumed by flames. On their blank faces she lets her mind place the images of her father. Her uncle. Otto Hightower. And lastly, most of all...

“Rhaenyra!”

Well. Yes, she supposes she might as well put herself down there too, an act of self-flaggilation. How stupid and blind had she been to not have noticed what was going on, right under her nose? Had the grief since Mother’s death dulled her senses? Since the age of nine, she had been taught to observe. Watch and listen; learn. That was why she had been her father’s cupbearer for all these years, wasn’t it? Not just to be some pretty trinket he wanted to keep at his side. That’s what she had hoped anyway, but given his dismissal of her attempts earlier that week, as well as the complete disregard for her that was so obvious now, she couldn’t help but doubt that she had ever been invited into that room for all those years to be taken seriously.

But for as much as her father and the other lord’s lack of respect in her did hurt, the sting was nowhere near as deep and painful as the betrayal of the one who was fuelling most of her anger tonight, that which she could not release with the shedding of blood so she had to make due with her House’s other passion. Fire.

“Rhaenyra!”

Her fingers grip tight around Syrax’s scales as she grits her teeth. Why can’t she put that damn face on the targets?

A few more seconds and there are no ‘faces’ left, just a small pile of ashes that quickly scatter to the breeze. No matter, there were plently more set up, and when she was done with those she might just decide to take out her frustrations on the Red Keep itself.

With a slight tug of her left hand, she got Syrax to turn before she had quite finished her last huff of fire that scattered through the air.

Then came the scream.

Oh, fuck!

It felt as if she had fallen asleep into a fevered, red misted nightmare somewhere up in those clouds and only now was she waking up to the sound of someone below crying out in pain. Her senses snapped together, all thoughts of unleashing hell on her own castle and remaining family gone in a blink, and she looked over the side of her dragon to the ground below.

A thick layer of smoke rolls beneath her, forcing her to squint in order to see who...

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash. What the...? Aegon’s Balls, what the fuck is she doing down there?!

Her thighs clench around her saddle; “Lykirí!” She says to calm Syrax before quickly landing her on the scorched field. Both of her dragon’s feet are not even firmly planted before Rhaenyra dismounts, sliding off her saddle with the ease of a Targaryen who has been souring through the skys since the age of six, only stumbling a little in her own landing from the panic of the situation.

Rhaenyra bites at her riding gloves to remove them as she marches over. To her.

To Alicent fucking Hightower.

Alicent fucking Hightower who is currently wincing from what appears to be a burn on her arm, only having just finished batting out the flames, had there been any large ones. She’s clutching at her elbow, biting down on her bottom lip as she suppresses the obvious urge to cry.

How often have I seen her cry? Rhaenyra asks herself for perhaps the first time. When her mother died? Yes, she had wept into her arms for days then, but always when they were alone, and even then her sobs had been consciously stifled, not to mention the state of her poor, pretty fingers.

Wait! What the fuck is she thinking, pitying anything about this girl who is to blame for this show of Rhaenyra unleashing her inner dragon, which was supposed to be a private performance! One that an audience such as her father and any other dullwit lord could smell from the Keep.

“How bad is it?” She demands to know, leaving her questions for later; “Show me.”

“It’s...It’s nothing to fret about,” Alicent replies, because of course she does. Of course she never reveal any chinks on her perfect self; “I-I was calling for you, I...I shouldn’t have got so close, when you turned around there were these little balls of fire and one just...it only grazed me but...Oh, gods!” Even she can’t hide the pain anymore.

Rhaenyra clenches her fists at her sides. Yes, she should suffer. Trecherous bitch, watching her mourn for all these months, putting on a mummer’s show of being her devoted friend...no, more than that, so much more...meanwhile, in truth, she was slithering her way into her father’s bed, stealing her late mother’s crown when she’d not even been gone a year.

Burn. Cry. Suffer. Fall at your knees and beg for my forgiveness, you two-faced, lying....

Oh, Seven Hells.

“Come!” Rhaenyra grabs the hand her companion is using to cover the wound. She catches a glimpse of it, a small circle of simmering flesh. It must have only been a quick graze. Had it been normal fire, it might not have done more than ruin her dress. But dragonfire was a whole other element of its own.

There’s a tug of resistance at first, but Rhaenyra’s grip is tighter.

“I should go to a Maester.” Alicent protests.

“Fuck the Maesters, it’s too far, unless you’d let me take you on Syrax.” The princess glances back at the Hand’s daughter, seeing her weary look as she glances up at the dragon that almost unwittingly cremated her; “No? Thought not. Then shut up and follow me.” She gave Syrax a quick nod; “Sóvés!”

The she-dragon gave a soft, possibly apologetic coo, before taking flight again.

A quick walk down the steps to the beach, then the two young women entered a small cave almost hidden from plain view in the cliffs of King’s Landing. Two braziers kept the area dimly lit, seperated between them by a shallow pool of clear blue water, filled by a stream trickling softly from a crack in the ancient rock.

“How have I never seen this place before?” Alicent asks, looking around as if she were looking at one of the great wonders of Westeros.

“It’s only to be visited for emergencies. Quickly now.” She near enough drags the other woman to the stream, “This won’t hurt.”

She pulled Alicent’s burned arm beneath the flow of cool water. Her friend let out a cry.

“That did hurt! It’s freezing!”

Rhaenyra smirks, wrestling with Alicent to keep her arm in place there, making sure the wound is being soaked in the flow.

“Yes, I lied. A few dozen more from me and perhaps I’ll say we’re even.” She can’t help but enjoy the flinch of guilt on her companion’s face; “You must keep your arm there for sixty seconds. Or is it three minutes? I forget, it’s been years since I was foolish enough to get myself injured by dragonflame and need to come here.”

“You think I’m a fool for wanting to talk to you? To wish to have my say in what happened the Council chambers?” Alicent frowns, at least distracted from the pain of this remedy.

“I think you’re a manipulative, deceiptful slut. Fool would be a compliment compared to all the words that have crossed my mind tonight.” Her fingers claw a little into Alicent’s wrist.

The hurt on her friend’s face cuts like a dagger. The tears which spring to her eyes are heavier than those the stray fireball had triggered.

“You honestly think I planned this? You think that I had any idea what His Grace would say when he announced his plans to remarry?”

Rhaenyra’s lip twitched; “I thought it odd you were there. I figured perhaps Otto had some care to think I might need your emotional support. But, as it turns out, your support of me was never a priority.”

“That’s not true.” Alicent pleads.

“Oh please, I’ve already heard Father’s pathetic attempts at his reasoning for this! He tried to placate me by saying what a comfort, what a ‘candle in the dark’ you had been for him all these months, how much he appreciated your company...as if he thought...as if he knew that I would understand better than anyone else what that meant...”

And he was right. Except now, every second that Alicent had spent with her since her mother’s death, every shoulder to cry on, every weary rest in her arms or in her lap, all of it was tainted with the knowledge that she had been unknowingly sharing her with the one other person in her life who she loved and yet could barely stomach talking to her.

“You knew it was shameful, or else you would have said something!”

“I couldn’t! I swear...F-Father said it was best that I keep everything said between the King and myself in strict confidence.”

“So your father knew that you were trying to court the King?” Of course he fucking did. Otto had taken her no more seriously in any council meetings than any of the other lords. To think she had truly thought he’d placed Alicent in that room today for her wellbeing, not to show off the winning result of his own.

Alicent bowed her head, looking down at her wrist between Rhaenyra’s fingers.

“He...suggested I should...” she confesses, sounding so small.

Rhaenyra felt a hot seed drop to her stomach. She took a heated breath; “Suggested...”

More like ordered. Perhaps not so blantantly, but the Hand had been no doubt assured that his dutiful daughter would do as ‘suggested’ without question. It had always made Rhaenyra’s skin crawl, the way Otto’s very presence in a room would cause Alicent to shrink in on herself, all hint of the free and curious spirit burrowing away as she stood poised and proper, eager to please Father Dearest.

It had never been that way with Rhaenyra and her own father. There was very little sense of fear when it came to letting him know she wished to stray outside the Order of Things, or even his own wishes. They were both dragons though. The same way Syrax and her siblings roar and bite at each other, only to curl their wings around each other when resting, Viserys would snap back at her defiances, and though his eyes would betray him during each verbal sparring whenever she made a good, if snide point against him. There would be a glimmer of pride, of fondness, the only other she ever saw him give such eyes to being her Uncle.

“You should have asked your father to come call me down from the sky, perhaps the fireball might have struck him in the chest.”

“Don’t say such things, I beg you.” Alicent whispers.

“Why not? If what you imply is true then this is all his fault.” She nearly spits, “He’s the one who put you in my father’s presence when he was most vulnerable, when he needed someone most...Tell me, truly now, did he ‘suggest’ on how you should comfort my father?”

Alicent immediately gets her meaning; “No! And I swear by the Mother, there was nothing illicit between us. I never...touched...I never tried anything like what I know you’re picturing.”

“Believe me, I’d rather gouge mine own eyes out before picturing anything.”

“There was only talking. And showing me his models. Then more talking. Never about me, or any feelings he might have had for me...” Alicent shuddered; “Often times it felt as if I wasn’t even a person to him, not one he cared to ask me anything about myself or my interests. He would only speak of you, of his concern for how strained things are becoming between the two of you-.”

Rhaenyra scoffed. If her father had wanted them to be close again then he certainly had a strange way of repairing their bond.

“...And of his regrets over pushing your mother to bear him a son...”

Good. He could drown in guilt for that one.

“His disappointment over Daemon...his worry over Daemon...His fear of not having been a good King. It all came down to him. His family. His pain.” She says it as if coming to terms with the truth of it all for the first time; “I could have been anyone. I was just there...right place, right time...Just as Father had wanted it.”

Rhaenyra looks at her. A single tear rolls down Alicent’s cheek. The subtext of her words seems to echo around the cavern.

I am not his daughter. I am the hammer to his Smith. Nothing more.

The sight of her beautiful face stained with such sadness finally manages to quench the roaring flames in the princess’ chest. The rest mist fades.

She looks down at the burn on her friend’s arm. Still wrinkled and blistered, but not so red.

“...How does it feel now?” Rhaenyra asks, softer.

Alicent sniffles, wiping her face with her other sleeve; “I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s good. I think.” She shrugs, finally releasing her, the arm dropping rather loose at her companion’s side.

“...Is it magic?”

Rhaenyra can’t help but laugh kindly. The question sounded so odd, coming from someone who liked to pride themselves on being down to earth and focused on the corporeal, the perfect contrast to her ‘head in the literal clouds, dragonriding, best friend’.

“It’s just cold, clean water. It was said to be discovered by Queen Rhaenys, who thought it handy to have kept open and maintained near the roaming fields, the best and fastest remedy for minor burns.” She explains; “When I was eight, I got singed when Syrax sneezed close to me, that’s when Father first brought me here. He said it’s a rite of passage for a Targaryen to need their burns cooled at some point...I guess this does mean you’re part of the family.”

Alicent blushes at that; “I thought your family was immune to fire.”

“That’s just a myth, one we happily spread around to put fear into our enemies. When I asked my father if there was magic in the spring after it healed me, he told me it was the sewage from Fleabottom.”

“And you believed him?” the Hand’s daughter chuckled.

The princess rolled her eyes; “Long enough to squeal and for him to laugh...I can’t remember the last time he laughed in front of me like that...” The ugliness rises in her thoughts again; “...Has he laughed in front of you?”

Alicent meets her eyes. Then shakes her head; “Not...really....But I know he misses those times as much as you do.”

It was all very well him saying so. No, worse than that, not saying it to her face but to her closest friend, never to her. She had taken most of her anger out on Alicent, when her father was just as much to blame for not even preparing her for the announcement, let alone consulting her.

But why should he consult her on any matters? Heir or not, it didn’t seem to make a difference. She was just ‘the daughter’. Her opinions weighed less than the ash floating in the breeze.

“...Do you love him?” She asks, regretting it as soon as the words leave her mouth.

That far-away, duty-driven stare fixes in Alicent’s eyes, as if Otto Hightower had just darkened the entrance to the cave.

“I...care deeply for His Grace. He has been...very kind.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Alicent looks at her, face weighed down with defeat; “What does it matter, Rhaenyra?”

“Of course it fucking matters.” She snaps, her inner dragon waking again; “If you do not desire this marriage then refuse!”

Now it’s Alicent’s turn to laugh, one hand cradling her other, damanged one.

“In what world do you live in where women like me get a choice in who we marry?!” She retorts; “The gods might have blessed you with a father who adores you enough to let you choose your suitor, but the rest of us were doomed to be sold like broodmares to the highest bidder.”

“It might surprise you to know that I have actually read the Seven Pointed Star, specifically the passage that says no man can be forced to marry someone against their will.”

“Yes. Man.” Alicent cringes; “Even if that did apply to women as well, then sure. We are free to reject the marriage proposals arranged for us. We’re also free to be disowned and discarded. We’re free to be thrown onto the streets and left to beg or...worse, to make our way, and be told it’s ‘the life we chose’...”

Why is it that she can so vividly imagine Otto subtly putting such fears into his daughter’s head as he strokes her hair in a show of affection? Ugh!

Rhaenyra reaches out, grasping her hand.

“I would never allow that to happen.” She promises, fiercely. “I would turn this whole city into a smoking ruin before letting any harm come to you.”

A pause, then Alicent’s fingers start to link around her own.

She lets out a sad laugh; “You would keep me as your pet disgrace?”

“No.” Rhaenyra steps closer, moving her other hand to touch Alicent’s brown hair; “I would keep you as my Lady. Or perhaps...my Consort...”

Heat rises quickly in the shrinking gap between them. It’s hardly the first time they have been so close. Ever since the age of thirteen, they had been comfortable with the odd moment of intimacy. Pecks on the cheek had accidentally become soft kisses on lips that were seen by nothing more than ‘feminine companionship’ by onlookers, as it always was. Rhaenyra never slept as soundly in the luxurious feather bed in her chambers than she did in the nights she would fall asleep in Alicent’s arms beneath the Wierwood Tree in the courtyard, after a long night of studying-and-definitely-not-idle-gossiping-Septa.

Alicent’s eyelashes flutter before her, pupils darting to Rhaenyra’s lips with want as she gets closer. She moves her head forward, not with her own mouth taking the lead, but her forehead, to press against the princess’.

“I think we’re too old for such make-believe.” She whispers, sounding crushed herself by the thought.

“I never imagined I would be Queen back then. Now it has been promised to me. Such things that seem impossible might not be such a fantasy.” Rhaenyra’s violet eyes glint, mischeviously; “When I take my place on the Iron Throne, I will make a new order. One that does not push daughters aside for sons. One that does not forbid me to marry who I truly want...regardless of gender...”

Alicent shakes her head; “The realm is already reluctent to accept one Queen as ruler, they would never accept a Queen consort too. And I could never give you an heir-.”

“Do you think that is your only value as a wife?” She lays a palm on her cheek; “Oh, sweetling...I could acquire an heir from some Lord Boringface from Shitsdale, or anywhere. The last thing I want is for you to be sacrificed on the birthing bed as my mother was, forced to put your body through misery for the sake of giving birth to a son, until it could handle no more...I’ve already lost one person I love to that fate, I refuse to see it happen to you!”

It’s plain to see that she doesn’t look too thrilled at the prospect.

“...It’s our duty. Girls like me-.”

“There are no girls like you, Alicent. It’s high time you realised that, now, before your father hollows out all that glorious light I see in you to replace it with his own twisted ambitions.” The princess tells her; “You are not what he thinks. You are not perfect...and that is exactly why I love you so.”

To her pleasant surprise, it’s Alicent who closes the gap between them, Rhaenyra’s words having worked some sacred magic to bring her close. She wraps her arms around her, careful not to touch the still tender burn on her arm, as she feels Alicent hold onto her leather riding doublet.

She pulls back, whimpering slightly, though not letting go of her front; “F-forgive me, your Highness, th-that wasn’t proper of me, it was too forward-.”

“Yes, it was.” Rhaenyra grins; “Now you’re getting it.”

Placing her hands on her friend’s waist, she pushes her to one side, making her lose her balance at the edge of the pool. Her one good arm waves for a second in a useless attempt to straighten herself, before she falls sideways, rather ridiculously, into the water.

She gasps, landing on her arse, the water up past her chest as she gawps up at Rhaenyra.

“You...You child!” She obviously had a much less pleasant word on the tip of her tongue that she restrained herself from using.

The princess howls with laughter, before skipping in herself, her drenched masculine riding gear sticking to her making her look a little more dignified than Alicent in her heavy, soaked gown, skirt ballooning up over her knees.

“W-what are you doing now?” Alicent can’t stop the smile from breaking on her lips; “I thought you were angry with me.”

“I was.” The princess replies, bluntly, before moving close to kiss her again; “I wanted to kill you.” Another kiss. “I wanted Syrax to eat you.”

And yet she couldn’t bring herself to even visualize burning her face on those dummies.

Alicent breathes, heavily, already unlacing Rhaenyra’s doublet to help remove it; “What changed?”

The princess smiles, wickedly; “I thought ‘why should my dragon have all the fun?’”

She places a kiss on Alicent’s burn, so tender that her lips barely brush against the wrinkling skin. There. Now it’s a kiss from two dragons.

The daughter of the King’s Hand looks aghast, then a blush rises in her cheeks, a forbidden smile twisting in her lips. Oh if only Otto Hightower could see his precious, perfect daughter now. She almost hopes there is a little spy looking in to report the news to him. Not because she wished for Alicent to be shamed, but purely to inform him that she wasn’t some mindless doll under his control.

Niether was she.

“You...You really forgive me?I truly am, sorry, Rhaenyra...F-for not telling you about your fa-.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, sweetling.” Rhaenyra assures her, stroking her thumb across her bottom lip, “Now, we’re going to stop mentioning our fathers. The Others take them both. There’s no one here to harm us, no one to use us, not gods nor men...Just us. Let’s just be imperfect together.”

#hotd fanfic #rhaenyra x alicent #house of the dragon #my fics #sapphic #friends to lovers #game of thrones #asoiaf #whump #hurt/comfort #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #rhaecent

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officerjennie · 4 years

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Commission for the ever so lovely @bouncyirwin - who spreads joy, happiness, and support as freely and easily as some people breathe (this fandom wouldn’t be the same without you 💜💜💜💜💜)

---

How anyone could so much as breathe without adoration hitching their efforts around her, Shisui really didn’t know.

This wasn’t even the first time this week he’d found himself staring in awe without a word able to escape him. Sakura had a way of making him dumb to the quick wit and playful flirting that usually came as natural as most any other social interaction to him - he’d always been the social butterfly of his clan, berated for it at times and having his hair fondly tousled at others. And yet here he sat, in the corner of the little restaurant Sakura and her team and her team’s families had all crowded into, unable to absorb any of the chatter or whatever joke had Kakashi snickering behind his book or even what had Naruto and the brat arguing this time.

Sakura seemed content enough to sit back and soak it all in as well, pride in the soft smile that graced her lips, a cup of tea cradled in her hand near her chest in lieu of the spirit that many of her companions had chosen to partake in this evening. And who could blame them? Rare was the day any shinobi party could come back unscathed along with their success, and given the tentative peace between Konoha and Kiri could have been destroyed at the smallest misstep their celebration came with relief felt by the entire village.

It warmed him to no end to see her so content and sure, so proud, none of the hesitance that used to haunt her expressions and tense her body anywhere to be found - the kunoichi that had chased and chased after her teammates had long since caught up and surpassed them in so many ways, and even without being privy to the intimate details of her internal battles Shisui could feel emotion trying to choke him.

Gods, but he had it bad, didn’t he? He forced some of his own tea down, looking away from the woman who had no idea she held his heart so tightly in her grip, scrubbing his face with his free hand in an attempt to clear his head. Admiration was one thing - very understandable in this case, given Sakura set the precedent for strong and capable shinobi who could punch a ravine into existence - but they could hardly even be called friends if he was honest with himself. So openly staring at her with his heart in his eyes could definitely count as creepy.

Maybe he needed more hobbies.

“Not really like you to hang out on the sidelines.”

It was a bit embarrassing to be snuck up on like that. He hoped his surprise wasn’t too obvious as he peeked through his hands, finding the woman who’d been occupying his thoughts all night now occupying the seat next to him. Up so close he could see her cheeks were dusted pink, though he couldn’t really tell if it was the chill from the night air or just some blush she’d painted on.

Either way. It didn’t really matter which one it was. All Shisui could really do with the information is filing it under “she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met” and keep the simple image of her tucking some pink hair behind her ear firmly in his mind’s eye for the rest of his days.

“Not a place I’d expect to find you either.” She blinked at his words as if confused, pursing her lips even, so despite how obvious it seemed to him Shisui clarified, “You more the frontline type, right?”

“Ah, yeah, I don’t really care for ‘supporting others’ to mean ‘being left behind.’ But today,” Sakura turned just enough to look over at her teammates, Shisui following her gaze to see Naruto gesturing wildly in horror at something that had Sasuke snickering unashamedly. “Today, I think I’m alright with not being in the middle of them. There are some conversations I’d rather they have without me.”

“What even has them going, anyway?”

“Relationships,” Sakura said, a little too quickly. But she didn’t let the awkwardness stay, her eyes flicking down to her tea which she held between her hands as if her fingers might be cold. Shisui wished he could warm them between his own. “Well, not exactly relationships. More like things people do in them. They seem to find it amusing to list all the people they’ve managed to kiss or make out with.”

With a snort, Shisui said, “I’m guessing they’re both at the top of each other’s lists then?”

He was very glad to see the tiny bit of tension relax right away from Sakura as she laughed, her eyes alight with mirth. “Somehow, they always seem to forget to mention that.”

“Bet you love to remind them.”

“Bet I do.” She flashed him a smile that had his ears heating up, and for the life of him Shisui could not say why it made him feel bold.

Despite how calm people saw him, despite his rather laid back nature, Shisui often found himself tongue tied where feelings were involved. But past his beating heart he somehow managed to not make a fool of himself, his nerves not overwhelming him - perhaps it was simply how welcomed he felt in her presence? How inviting and warm she was even as all she did was sip her tea, simply existing but existing there, next to him, when any number of seats were available next to those she was far closer to. And didn’t that make him feel lucky.

“Do you have a list?”

The gods only knew how he managed to make that sound casual. Even when Sakura’s eyes widened and blinked up at him (he swore his favorite color used to be blue but damn if that shade of green wasn’t going to change that) - and for a terrifying moment he remembered just how easily this woman could demolish any wall that stood in her way. With her fist.

Even if that wall was made with solid concrete, or was, say, a whole ass mountain. He was pretty sure he wasn’t anywhere near as solid as a mountain.

When she chose to not punch him, every single last bone in his body heaved a sigh of thankfully unbroken relief. “No, I...don’t have a list.”

No list? That was a little surprising. “A name, then?” Maybe not the best thing to ask someone, at least not before he was sure she would be comfortable with answering. Shisui was quick to add “Unless it’s a secret or something” - the last thing he needed was to drive her away by pushing into her own personal life.

Though, then again - and something in Shisui rose up in slight saddened panic at the thought - what would he do if she did have a name? A significant other? Itachi was out on another of his long missions, who exactly was he supposed to lean on and eat comfort chocolate with if it turned out his growing crush was, well...crushed, before anything could come of it?

“No. No name.”

It took physical effort to not sag with some sort of relief at her words, but it wasn’t a relief that Shisui had much time to process. Because as much as he wanted a chance with the woman of his dreams, as much as he had wanted to hear that...

“Eh? Really? You?” Shisui found it beyond the realms of possibility that Sakura, of all the people in Konoha, had yet to have her first kiss, and that shock was perhaps a bit too loud in his tone.

Definitely not good for his health and wellbeing. The nerve on Sakura’s forehead was suddenly twitching, and the sharp look she sent his way had him gulping.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, no! No no, nothing- I didn’t mean like that!” He shook his head a little more than necessary, horror dawning on him as he realized his unintentional insinuation. “I just meant- you’re just, well, beautiful! Beautiful and an exceptional shinobi, a damn good medic, and from what Sasuke’s told me in confidence you make a mean blueberry tart. Not to mention you could punch through steel if it offended you.” By some grace of the gods he managed to bit off his rambling there, scratching nervously at the back of his head, almost mumbling as he ended his poor excuse of an explanation with, “I just expected, you know… You might have kissed at least one of the people who admired you.”

The moments of quiet after his words were probably the most terrifying seconds of his life, though by some mercy Sakura did not seem angry. Maybe his apology/explanation was acceptable after all and he wouldn’t have to-

Sakura said something under her breath, and Shisui blinked back out of his thoughts, frowning a little in confusion. “What?”

“It’s just that I…” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth for a moment, drawing Shisui’s eyes. “I’ve never really had an appealing offer. You know?”

Had she always been sitting that close to him? Their thighs were touching and Shisui couldn’t remember when that had happened, but his pulse picked up, the whole of him keenly aware of every inch of her.

And how bad would it be, really, to be buried in the ground by those deceptively slender fingers?

“Would I,” Shisui started, with a smooth tone that belied how his heart beat frantically in his chest, “qualify as an appealing offer?”

A breath. Two. Sakura’s gaze flickered down to his lips as hers parted the barest bit - and even before she nodded Shisui knew her answer - though he knew not how he'd been so lucky as to get a yes.

Her hair was soft under his fingers as he cupped the back of her head, her pupils wide as she tilted her chin to look up at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that they were not alone, their friends and coworkers laughing and drinking and chattering away not even half a small restaurant away from them, but all of him preferred to focus on Sakura’s hand now coming to rest on his arm, the way she shifted forward as he leaned closer, how intimate it felt to brush their noses together, her breath tickling his lips.

And then their lips met, and the rest of the world fell away.

#shisaku #shisui #sakura #fanfiction #mywriting #commission #thank you!!#I'm sorry it took a while to write T^T #fluff #some humor #also on ao3 #link in the source!

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 79: The Rites of Blood and Knowledge

Chapters: 79/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13(Blood)

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, In Reference To Blood Mixing Mentioned In The Eddas

Summary: The great ceremonies begin.

The dreams were powerful that night, whisking you off to far away places, off to the increasingly familiar form of the gargantuan space artist. There was a strange nostalgia out here that you were slowly coming to recognize as being not your own. How could it be? You had never physically been here, only visited in dreams.

With green and blue sparkling at your right and left, you drifted along in their orbit, yet another asteroid in a primordial star system.

First Wielder.

The concept filtered through your mind, trailing a warm and wistful longing behind it.

Peace. Eternity. Creation.

Before battle. Before separation. Before imprisonment.

Before all.

The star system was strange: every time you came here, the sun was a little different. A variable star, its brightness oscillating, it was still young and new.

There was only one planet in this system, located fairly close to the star. The presence of the colossal giant perturbed the asteroids and gas around the star, but their great mass prevented them from coalescing.

Comets formed in great numbers from the gas and ice beyond them, whizzing past them, inspiring new drawings. Asteroids clumped up against them; a brush of their great hand sent them flying, to collide into one another, to spin away from their unstable orbit, and join the comets on their cross-system journey, to crash into the singular planet.

The colossus watched with the patience of true immortality, as the planet burned and erupted, filled up with water, and clouds, and sky.

Thoughtfully, they regarded an asteroid they held in one hand, then, with their color-stained fingers, they began to draw.

The wistfulness and regret reached their peak, and you woke up in the empty bathtub, with a thought ringing in your head.

The Wielders always came to a bad end.

******

Loki was somewhat disgruntled to discover that you'd been having these dreams without him. He didn't scold, but his concern was clear. You described them in as much detail as you could, but, to your dismay, he didn't have any explanation for what you'd been seeing while you slept.

It would just have to remain a mystery. The upcoming day was going to be far too busy to dwell on it.

Both you and Loki had dressed in your absolute finest, your armor polished bright, your skirt covered in embroidery, your chest and neck festooned in beads of carved gold and pearl. You still felt a little bit like you were so buried in finery that you became invisible, but you tried to carry it with pride. All of this had been put together especially for you, and that hard work deserved to be shown off.

Loki was so magnificent in his fur-trimmed cloak, and elaborate helmet, you had to firmly tell yourself not to spend the whole day just staring at him all moon-eyed.

Maybe just a few hours.

Today, the Second Feast, was really the main event, as far as this Buridag was concerned. At noon, you would participate in the Blood Taking ceremony, wherin you would 'mingle blood' with the royal brothers, in order to be formally adopted into Asgardian high society. This would cement your status as high enough to advise Loki as one of the most important members of his personal entourage. And before the evening feast, you would perform the ritual that would confirm you as an official Seidkona.

But before that, you would have the time to run around and enjoy the festival.

It was set up like a combination job fair and reenactment fest. Stalls lined the streets and filled courtyards, peopled by the crafters of Asgard. Smiths, armorers, and carpenters, goldsmiths, lapidaries, scrimshanders, and glassblowers. Weavers, spinners, leatherworkers, and dyemakers, artists, musicians, chefs, academics, mages, stonemasons, construction workers, scribes, dancers, and cheesemongers. All the sights, and sounds, and scents, and flavors that made up Asgard were being demonstrated and celebrated.

Your Father and Tara joined you in the streets, and Loki reluctantly released you into their care, having some preparation left to do.

Tara, flouncing around in an apron dress and domed brooches very much like your usual style, gushed over how beautiful you looked, and your father, rather sheepishly dressed in an Asgardian greatcoat and cowl, agreed openly.

“You look like a princess.” he said. “A real one. You...You walk different now. Talk different. You look so strong.”

“Is it me, or are all these people following us?” Tara asked, not very quietly. A few chagrined people in the crowd that flowed in your wake down the street peeled away, and wandered in different directions. The rest either had less shame, or had orders to keep watch over you.

You spared the group a glance. There appeared to be a solid mix of Asgardians and humans, several of which had their phones out. You surmised there would be a new wave of photos of you on the internet over the next few days.

“Keep your cowl up dad.” You advised.

“Want me to run them off?” he offered.

“Nah. I don't really mind if they take pictures of me. Can't really hurt anything.”

“Wasn't so great last time.” Tara pointed out. “I spent a lot of time stanning for you.”

“Well, last time was sensationalized bullcrap. This time is a nice festival. I mean, check out that guy!”

That Guy was a glassblower in his stall, spinning a huge, bubble thin amphora of rose pink glass. You had seen its like before, but never seen one made.

“Oh, they age crystal mead in those! The pink lets in the right wavelengths of light that give it it's shimmering quality.”

“What's crystal mead?” your father asked.

“Don't try more than a few sips, if anyone offers.” you warned. “Asgardians have iron guts. Their booze is way too strong.”

“Yeah, they warned us about that on the plane.” Tara said. “And yesterday, it looked like they had everything divided up by species, so no one got the wrong thing.”

You took them around to various demonstrations: spinners spinning yarn, brewers preparing several of Asgards many alcoholic beverages, apothecaries showing how basic medicines were made, a cobbler putting together a nice pair of boots.

“So, Asgard's really advanced, right?” Tara asked. “Why is everything like Ye Olden Times?”

“Asgard's never had that big a population, even at it height. There just isn't that much demand for mass production. Most things are bespoke, or self-made. Quality depends entirely on the maker, so that, of course, becomes a competition. And that, in turn, becomes a matter of cultural pride. Also, they have thousands of years to get good at what they do, so Asgardian made goods are super high quality, and they judge personal worth by that. I don't think they'll ever automate; it would go against a lot of what they stand for.”

You snagged the three of you a traditional Asgardian snack; fat sausages, wrapped in savory pastry. You thought it might be good to have something else in your stomach before the first ceremony.

Tara called them Asgardian corn dogs, which you couldn't wait to share with Loki, if only to watch his nose wrinkle with disdain over the undignified term.

“So when do we have to let you go?” Tara asked.

You checked your phone for the time, stuffing the last of your sausage into your mouth.

“Eh, I've got a few minutes left. Better start heading over though.”

Your winding path through the courtyards took you past minstrels, impromptu dances, and games, to a large, tall dais that had been put together as a temporary mirror to the throne room. It towered over the City Hall courtyard like a ziggurat. You'd be up there soon enough, but currently...

“Who's that?” your father asked, pointing at a man standing at the top. “Doesn't look like Thor.”

You squinted up at the figure, his bright armor shining in the rarefied sunlight.

“Ah, That's Heimdall. He's the Guardian of Asgard, and god of...uh, sight? I think? Vigilance? It's not quite that neat and simple, you know? The whole 'God Of' thing is a bit more complicated than that.”

“So that's a god?” your father asked. “How can you tell? Are they all gods? What does that even mean?”

“All good questions. Mostly because they are very hard to answer.”

Your father and Tara jerked at the sudden new voice, and, not for the first time, you found yourself amazed at how easily a man of the sheer size and importance as the king of Asgard could sneak up on people.

“Your Majesty.” you said calmly, inclining your head. Your father and Tara dipped into awkward bows, a little awed by the mythical figure before them. Thor didn't necessarily demand obeisance, but he didn't exactly discourage it either; he let people act as they felt appropriate.

“Not every Asgardian is a god.” Thor explained. “Those that are go by the term 'Aesir', a common name through most of the realms for beings of that type. You are born Aesir; you cannot become one by outside influences. However, Aesir nature doesn't always become apparent at birth, it often doesn't manifest until adolescence. As for what it means to be Aesir...that doesn't have so straightforward an answer. I leave it to the philosophers, who, incidentally, are in booth seventy-eight.

Anyway, I have come to collect your daughter for the ceremony. There isn't much time left, so we'd all better get in place. If you go through those two poles there right now, you can get very good seats.”

“This could get a bit weird.” You warned. “It's a ceremony more ancient than any recorded human practices, so it's probably going to seem archaic.”

“Oh, it's not so bad.” Thor said. “It's been updated and refined over all those years. For instance, everyone remains clothed now, and there are at least seventy percent fewer entrails used.”

Your father coughed, and you rolled your eyes. Thor's sense of humor was difficult for you to understand, considering how serious he was about everything. The thing about Thor's jokes was that he might have been joking about something that had really happened, or he might have been joking about something he'd completely made up, but he would never specify which.

“On that note, I've got to go.” you said. “Entrails to sort, and all that.”

Your father coughed again, Tara patting him compassionately on the back.

“Good luck!” she called to your receding back.

******

“Now, you've been fully briefed on what will happen during this ceremony, correct?” Thor asked, as the two of you loitered near the back stairs of the temporary dais. People were filtering in to seats and standing room around the courtyard, waiting for things to start.

“I think so.” you said. “If I've got this right, there's going to be a special dance-”

“The Alignment of the Celestial and Worldly bodies, yes.” Thor said. “It symbolizes everything that must come together to bring the 'adoptee' to the greater 'family'. In this case, it will tell the story of how you came here to join our family.”

A soft warmth crept up your neck, and heated your ears beneath your helmet. You knew it was all socio-symbolism, but the notion of 'joining the family' hit differently now that you were on intimate terms with Loki.

“And then all the braziers will have some kind of incense thrown in, and in the smoke, we'll all go up the stairs like we're magically appearing. Honestly, it sounds like it'll look really cool.”

“All ceremonies contain a bit of theatrics.” Thor agreed. “Perhaps that is the most important part. Or that's the part that makes it important. I wish we still had some of the traditional ceremonial incense, but we just don't have access to the materials anymore. You would have liked it; it was much more floral than most of what you have here. We did manage to get some lavender though. That should be nice.”

“Maybe one day, when the Bifrost is more stable.” You said. It did sound very nice. “Loki said that you, and he, and Heimdall will sing a blessing song?”

“Yes, a divine blessing from a trio of Aesir. It's got to be three. And then...”

“Yeah. And then.” Loki had told you about the bloodletting. He had been very frank about it. “I know. I'm nervous, but not afraid.”

Thor nodded. “Sometimes there are unforeseen effects, but never anything bad. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“I know. The nervousness just comes from knowing it'll hurt. Even if just for a short time.”

You buckled under Thor's hand when it came down on your shoulder, enveloping the whole thing.

“Loki would rather slice out his own guts than draw your blood, trust me. He's been trying to figure out how to get around it for weeks. Unfortunately, the blood is the most important part of the magic. It carries all of the power. It's very old magic: according to him, this is practically the only part of the ritual that has remained unchanged from the beginning.”

“Did there really used to be entrails and naked people, or was that a joke?”

“Ehhh, well, yes and no. This ceremony originated with the Vanir, and they are not opposed to nakedness under certain circumstances. In this case, everyone who attended was expected to leave the clothes they came in at the door, and wear a special loincloth instead. This was actually to prevent violence, by barring hidden weaponry from being brought to ceremony grounds. So rather than pure nudity, everyone was dressed as scantily as was possible.

As for entrails...unfortunately yes, that was also a part of it. A seer would perform a divination using the entrails of a slaughtered animal. That practice was going out of fashion, even before the war, and I don't think anyone today even remembers how it was done.”

You shuddered. Yes, it was a different culture, and a long time ago, but it still grossed you out.

“I'll have to remember to thank Loki for trying to get me out of it, even if he wasn't successful.” You said. He really did put in a lot of effort behind the scenes. If only he were more open about some of that effort, so you could appreciate it more.

“He was adamant about the bull.” Thor said. “Demanded a private ritual the night before. Put your helmet up on the pillar, then sacrificed and butchered the beast himself. Insisted on it. Did our ancestors proud, but you know he knows his way around a knife.”

“I wish he'd told me. I was really stressed about that whole thing. I'm glad, in the end, that he was thinking of me, but I really wish I'd known. I wouldn't have lost so much sleep!”

“It was a little last minute.” Thor admitted. “I approved it the instant he explained, but we had to do it pretty much immediately afterwards. He really should have told you, but I fear my brother is usually more invested in the making of plans, rather than what to do once they come to fruition. I feel you will be a positive influence on him, though.”

Even though he was wearing his eyepatch, rather than the mismatched prosthetic, his one blue eye was open and sincere.

“I think so too.” you said. You already were influencing each other. It was impossible to live so close, to sleep in the same bed, without doing so. But Loki did have a bad habit of assuming things, a by-product of his upbringing as a leader, you supposed. You would simply have to speak up more.

Perhaps you had gotten too comfortable. But perhaps you wanted to be too comfortable. It might be a holdover from your year of struggle, but having someone who wanted to do so much for you was very tempting. You knew it would be better to strive for a balance, but you also knew that, unless Loki somehow diminished himself severely, the two of you would never truly be equals.

But you admired that greatness, and somehow, those all too common flaws in him made him easier for you to love. They made him so real.

An ambling drum beat started up, accompanied by the brassy ting of zills, and a flute. Loki joined you and Thor in peeking out around the dais, just as a group of dancers spread out around the courtyard.

You'd been told that the dancers represented personages from history and legend. You were pretty sure that the three women who orbited the dance stage equidistant from one another must be the Norns, and you assumed the cluster of people standing beneath a glittering tree branch and clanging their zills were probably meant to be the ancestors of the royal family.

The dance told a story of a woman dressed like you, and a man dressed like Loki, wearing silver bells at their wrists and ankles that jingled with every step. They made everything look so much more graceful and sensual than it really had been: Holding hands like the rune branding had been on purpose, dancing circles with each other, like everything had been friendly and not at all awkward from the very beginning. How elegantly 'you' swooned into 'his' arms, while the assassin was caught. How triumphantly 'you' defended 'him' against the Huldra. And how beautifully 'he' clasped 'you' in a romantic, yet properly chaste embrace.

There was none of the blood, none of the fear, or anger, or petulance, or confusion. No loss, or loneliness, or uncertainty.

But that was how it worked, wasn't it? None of those things could be shown to the general public. This was ceremony. This was spectacle! This was what would be remembered.

The pair danced away, out of sight, the ancestors retreated, and the Norns raised their arms in unison. All around the courtyard, attendants dumped incense into the torches and braziers, sending thick smoke and mysterious perfume wafting over the entire area.

“Show's on, darling.” Loki said, grasping your shoulders, and leading you up the stairs. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you rose above the sweet smelling clouds like a legend. Heimdall stepped aside to let you pass, Loki and Thor leading you right up to the edge of the elevated platform, where waited a podium, upon which rested a brass bowl. An unfamiliar rune was stamped on its bottom. So that was where the magic would happen.

Thor held his hand out over an unlit brazier just in front of the podium and concentrated. Scarcely a moment later sparks danced between his fingers and jumped to ignite the fuel. The light illuminated the clouds of incense, obscuring the audience. Cut off thus from every other person out there, you didn't flinch as the trio of gods each placed a hand on you, and began to sing.

You couldn't help but wonder if they had done this before. It was a complex song, with rising and falling harmonies, parts layered over one another, something that couldn't have been easy to learn. As their voices dipped and flowed, you felt the power rising, just like out in the camp, months ago. Why could you sense divine power? Was it because of your magic? Was there anyone out in the crowd that could feel it too?

Thor's good eye had begun to sparkle with crackling white energy, the power of the blessing he was singing into you. You assumed Heimdall, behind you, was lighting up orange, and when you turned your head to glance at Loki, you were suffused with the gentle glow of the blue light from your dreams.

All of the anxiety drained out of you at the touch of that light, your arms dropping to your sides as relaxation took over.

Everything was all right. Loki was right beside you. Thor and Heimdall were with you, their voices reverberating through you, their blessing upon you. The rare winter sun filtered down over you like a blanket, as the last notes of the Aesir's song filled your head.

Loki gently took your hand, gazing earnestly into your face as the calming light faded from his eyes.

“Forgive me, my love.” he whispered.

A sudden, painful jab, ripped you out of your cocoon of sunny calm. With a sharp cry, you turned to stare at your fingertip, pierced deeply by the tip of one of Loki's knives.

Loki held your hand over the brass bowl, letting the blood drip, enough to cover the rune at the bottom. Then he tenderly bandaged the tiny wound, lines of regret around his eyes. Thor held his hand out for a slash, and then Loki turned the blade on himself. Blood slowly filled the little bowl, as a light throbbing started in your head. Every drop that rippled its surface was like a giant heartbeat within you.

Once it was full, Thor and Loki began singing again, lifting the small bowl between them. They held it up to the sun, and then poured it onto the burning brazier. The fire sputtered, sizzling, sending a huge cloud of smoke directly into your face. You gagged on the scent of burning blood, practically bathed in it, a layer of death-scent on your skin. The song cut through it, thrumming in your ears, an echoing promise of cherishment and fidelity.

The blood burned down into nothing, the smoke slowly clearing. All of the people in the courtyard came back into view, the upturned faces solemn. The dancers below picked up the chorus.

And you understood them.

Loki took your hand and lifted it up, flourishing to the crowd. They cheered, while you stood there, stunned. You understood what they were saying, their enthusiastic calls, their songs. The blood smell lingered in your nose, the throbbing swiftly receding from your head.

He led you to the stairs down as you wobbled, but you never made it all the way down. Dizziness overcame you, and you collapsed into Loki's arms.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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unholyplumpprincess · 4 years

Text

Claudette Sandwich

Commission for someone who would like to be left anonymous. The basic idea was Huntress and the Plague making a Claudette sandwich and having a sorta silent war over her. And oh, don’t we all wish to be adored by two massive lady killers with kissable faces?

Summary: In which the Entity is tired of its killers and survivors not taking its games seriously and gives them a break. A break in which many survivors use to go fuck their respective lovers. Claudette takes this time to spend with her two favorite women.

Reblogs > Likes. Please Reblogs if you hit Like! :D

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked on sight!!!

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Relationship: Claudette/Huntress and Claudette/Plague

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Both Claudette and Huntress are trans women with lingo being cock/dick, Claudette has autism and there are notes of it, Mentions of taking E and the side effects that come with it, possessiveness, outside sex, but for the most part p tame! No ‘out there’ kinks here!

Words: 4.2k

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Each trial was made just right, just so, just enough to be a challenge and to provide the Entity with what it wanted. Bloodshed , fear, screams, anything to feed its sadistic desires.

When it came down to it, the survivors were getting better at surviving, and the killers were losing their patience. The void and stretch between the two separate teams of pawns in the Entity’s never-ending game were starting to get tired. Some survivors would mock its killers, and the killers would equally taunt back- neither hitting the other.

Well, the Entity supposed a game was only fun with variety and breaks, were they not? All of their pawns had been mortals at some point with...feelings- the spidery creature could gag at the very thought. Feelings.

How unfortunate.

~Rest under the cut~

It’s not as if it does not notice how its killers play the game either. As long as they bring a necessary amount of sacrifices and play the game in a way involving blood and screams, the Entity is normally pleased. No, recently, its killers have gotten...attached to certain survivors. Not in the fun way of obsessions like The Shape, The Nightmare, or the Demogorgon had, where their paired survivors were in their blood to hunt down first.

No, examples being like how The Trapper would never miss anyone, and yet Meg Thomas always just barely escaped his clutches. And if she WAS in his clutches, somehow, she’d always escape. How curious, the Entity had thought, until it had watched closer as she taunted the big beast and went so far as to pull up her top and flash him and leave its most skilled predator at a loss of what to do.

No. No, no, no, these games would need a break just like any other game.

So, what’s an all-seeing Entity to do?

It sneaks into the survivors’ dreams to let them know what the new rules are. It requests a council from its very own group of killers to explain the circumstances without letting them know who it had seen becoming ‘merciful’ to who. However its killers played their game and got their own satisfaction was their own interests.

The situation was simple. Survivors and killers would be allowed to mingle for two weeks, and then the games would begin again.

And oh, how did the Entity love the thought of the inevitably delicious taste of agony and betrayal when they would become friendly, only to realize in the upcoming matches they would be downed by the very hand they held. Whether out of duty, or the thrill of the kill.

What it can feel currently, however, is the joy coming off specific survivors in their dreams when it alerts them to the changes.

Sweet little Claudette had always been a favorite of the Entity’s. She had come into this world meek and kind, and still was ever so kind, even when she bared her teeth and held her ground against killers. How kind, she was, standing in the way of a hit to rescue her fellow survivors. Or take the last few daring seconds to finish a generator, just to buy her team some time. Always there to be the optimistic sunshine in the time of fog and gloom.

So kind, and so idiotic, if you asked the Entity.

Yet, it seems her kind, sweet nature had gathered the attention of two of its killers.

The Huntress was a woman that the Entity adored for her simplicity. Her own agony in inability to carry child had been delicious all on her own, then the desire, the hunger to kill anyone who stood in her way. And yet, she found some sort of requiem in Claudette. Somewhere where her mortality and morals lie. Claudette brought something out in her that was protective and...human.

Claudette liked to explain various herbs and insects to Anna, holding a book she had gotten in reward for escaping one day. She holds it up high for the taller woman who points at the pictures and then to her mouth to ask if they are edible. In small ways they bond in the small moments when they are not running away or at each other. In these small ways, they grow to adore each other.

And a newer killer, yet still old enough to not be considered a new addition; The Plague. Oh, how her agony was worn on her cheek for all to see. The acts of killing were acts of devotion in her eyes- the Entity her new god to appease and to serve. She had no Disciples to guide, no need for her selflessness from the past. She devoted herself into each kill and looked to the Entity like a god from her realm and served it as such.

Yet with Claudette, the kind survivor had held her hands as if they had not been scarred. Kissing each fingertip with murmured words of sweetness that had left Adiris speechless and shy. A new look for her, since the devotion became more interesting whispers as she was on her knees. Words that others may not know the tongue of, but to a god of many voices, the Entity could make out the...love.

It could gag.

But truly, was the Entity not the god of this realm? In the end, it didn’t matter who thought what, as long as they all played the game and gave the Entity what it always wanted. Who was it to matter if a god played a role here?

As always, it would keep playing its game. For now, the Entity lets its presence stop overwhelming the surrounding area of the survivor’s camp. Paths lead into the forest all around, marked with wooden signs stating the area it would lead as well as a dirt or cobblestone path leading in that direction.

There is no sun to be provided, the overhead still dark and clouded with a full moon serving for most of the light. Fireflies blossom in surrounding areas, orange rather than their normal yellow glow.

At first, most survivors are wary. Claudette can’t blame Nancy and Steve for not being too thrilled to move from their cabin, nor Laurie or Quentin for avoiding the areas marked with familiar realms that make their skin crawl. She could almost laugh at the eagerness from Nea and Jake, however, both eagerly talking of the Wraith as if he were some shared boyfriend that they were gossiping about.

It almost felt normal.

Almost.

The first day, Claudette finds herself wandering into the woods through a split path. The Red Forest splitting into a grounded area, wet, muddy area with a wooden path leading there. Small flowers sprout from the wooden planks beneath her feet, the pleasant aroma being revealed of the forest that never seemed to stop sprinkling small amounts of rain. The heavy treetops overhead almost acted like their very own light, filtering deep blues through the area.

Anna is a territorial woman; It is no surprise for her to find Claudette before the survivor can find her. There’s a quietness that edges between them, a good few feet of distance as Claudette waits patiently where she’s at, shuffling her feet a bit.

Claudette was not a person who spoke very many words. She found it hard to get it out, preferring to delve into books and be in her own little world. Bugs, botany, rocks- those she could talk about for hours, hands fidgeting as she could show and tell without Anna being upset. Anna thought it was interesting how she could go from not saying a word to suddenly exploding over her interests. It was cute.

So, Claudette does not speak, merely letting her shoulders fall from their tight position and taking a step forward just as Anna’s arms outstretch and bring her into her arms. Their height difference makes Claudette nestle against her breast, smiling in a way that makes the killer’s heart stutter and a warm smile to find her scarred lips.

Anna makes love to her that day, in her very own home. Strong body framing Claudette who had held her arms around her neck and pulled her closer with the softest of sounds from her throat. There are soft murmurs from Anna that Claudette does not understand. She kisses over her neck, brushing Claudette’s curls from her sweaty, warmed face and watching her get overwhelmed with each and every thrust into her smaller frame.

Claudette can’t meet her eyes- eye contact was a big no. Nor did she seem to enjoy the stimulus of kissing when Anna was inside her. So, they compromise. With Anna’s forehead to hers, both sets of eyes closed, and Claudette’s hands pawing at her back or one clutching the back of her head to draw her closer.

It made them feel more alive than either had been in what felt like ages.

The following day, after a day well spent with Anna and explaining to her quietly that Claudette would be seeing Adiris tomorrow, Claudette makes her way towards the path of the Red Forest again, the next pathway seeming to be made of fallen stones set firmly into the ground. It led a path to an open forested area as well, but instead of a warmed cabin, there was a temple. Broken down from age and time, moss growing along its walls and left-over religious memorabilia scattered.

Adiris is a calm and quiet woman. Her way of caring and speaking was soft spoken and gentle, English heavily accented with each word and one of the languages she struggled with. That was fine by Claudette, who wasn’t very verbal herself- whether that was from lack of wanting to speak or the killer stutter she got on single syllables was up to anyone.

Though it did amuse her on end how Adiris seemed so stoic, yet the simplest hand on her cheek or a hand on her own would make the firmer flesh of her face flush red. Stoic, yet so easy to fluster.

Adiris was a beauty that was different than the woman who ran in a rabbit mask. She was slightly taller than The Huntress, but certainly not even comparing in physique. Her physique was leaner and willowy with a soft, curving flare out of her hips. It made her entire sense of self seem like a walking goddess. Her face she preferred to hide with her headdresses- kissing was always a nervousness of her own.

Claudette supposes that’s who she was before all this- or a loud devotee. But, now, she takes to sitting with Adiris and tracing the scarring on the backs of her hands. Mummified was a good word for how her skin was, almost scabbed up and burned. Yet, Claudette touches her just as she would anyone else with utmost care.

Now, Adiris finds herself sitting with her knees off to the side, propping her side up on a rock as well with her arm. She lets Claudette sit in front of her, the girl on her knees as well and finding her palm resting on Adiris’ warmed cheek. There are no words to share, but Claudette still lets her eyes flicker to Adiris’ to get the message across.

The first kiss is gentle. Adiris feels herself squirm to sit up fully on her knees to match, height overtaking as her shaking fingers gingerly cup Claudette’s cheeks warmly. The softness of her lips is supple against Adiris’ scarred ones. They can only peck, the headdress’ sharp edges coming down into two slots over her lips, but they still find ways to touch. With Claudette’s cheek against her own, feeling the warmth of her skin, able to inhale the earthy scent of her- it's almost too much for Adiris.

In a moment where both parties both desire the other and both are too shy to proceed, one has to make the next move. It’s not as if Adiris’ religion had been surrounded by purity- no, polytheist was the ideology around it with multiple gods. It was not her religion that stopped her, but her own fears. She’d seen her followers naked, when they bathed in the communal rivers- but seeing someone INTIMIATELY naked would be new. Let alone...herself being bare before another.

“Please,” Claudette murmurs so quiet against Adiris’ cheek she hardly hears it. There’s a moment’s hesitation, the shaky breath exhaling from Claudette as her warm hands brush down Adiris’ shoulders just as Adiris’ own arms slide around her neck to hold her closer. “Let me to-touch- touch you?”

It must be hard for her to ask, a woman of few words, and even then, it’s a forward question. But, Adiris would expect nothing less of someone more interested in sciences. Her words fail her, so she nods, lying herself back on the grass floor as if she were to be her lover’s offering underneath the full moon. The forest’s winds shaking the treetops gently and creating a soft ambiance that would leave a blushing maiden breathless.

If this were perhaps the mortal realm, perhaps Adiris would feel the need to be more modest.

Claudette is almost methodical in her touching. She strokes over the flesh of her thighs, sitting between Adiris’ legs and warming her up. It must look ridiculous for such a smaller woman to kneel between her thighs, but Adiris can’t help the breath that leaves her when Claudette’s hands climb. Skirting over the swell of her hips, up her slender frame and to her breasts. Her clothing is loose, easy to push down her shoulders with curious fingers dipping into the fabric of her tunic and gently pulling it down.

Her breasts are smaller and not as perky as someone with a bra might have had- as bras were way after her time. But Claudette doesn’t mind, even when one has scarring edging the outskirts.

Adiris’ nipples are a dusty color, perked and easy to brush her thumbs over. Claudette should have expected her sensitivity, but the gasp makes her freeze, only spurred on when she looks up and sees Adris has raised a hand to cover her mouth and her burning face.

More brazen at the situation, Claudette allows herself to lie overtop her, sealing her lips over a bud and suckling. The reaction is instant, slender hips coming up into her own and making Claudette hum softly in appreciation. Adiris’ other hand comes to rest on Claudette’s hair, pressing gently as if to urge her to continue.

When Claudette switches and raises her hand to squeeze at the now neglected breast, Adris lets out such a soft sound, her hips coming up again as if she doesn’t notice her own body doing it. Her hips naturally roll and press up in small humps, pressing herself to the front of Claudette’s jeans with desperate little ‘nnhhh’s leaving her throat.

It was difficult for Claudette to get hard so quickly- in the mortal realm she had been on E since she was a teenager. The side effects she had discovered were that it was harder for her to get hard, that her breasts developed to about a B cup, her cock had become smaller from what it had been, and producing cum had once been something she could no longer do. Yet, in this realm, she could produce cum. An odd side effect, but she assumed that the Entity somehow knew of aspects of their survivors and gave them what it assumed was correct or wanted.

Regardless of her own unsexual thoughts of the moment, she finds herself filling out and pressing against her zipper. Having been focused longer than she thought she had been when she can make out how Adiris whines now, hips firmly trying to hump up into Claudette without yet noticing.

When Claudette releases her breasts, there’s protests and needy hands grabbing at her, but she shushes softly. Letting her hands fall to Adiris’ waist and methodically pulling her robes up and to the side. No underwear either, she finds quickly. She finds that Adiris has scarring on her upper thighs, her cunt covered with thick hair and the slit parted open like a blossoming flower. Allowing Claudette to see how wet and flushed she was, her flesh still supple here with her clit engorged and wetness sticking to Claudette’s fingers when she experimentally brushes her slit with two fingers.

The sharp reaction of Adiris humping upwards and letting out an echoing ‘ah!’ will fill Claudette’s dreams. She offers a smile of comfort when Adris flushes, covering her face with her arm, but Claudette doesn’t stop her.

Scientific research on bodies that were different than her own had been conducted in the case of something like this happening. With Anna, it was easier since their bodies were much alike. With Adiri , she had, well, to put it bluntly- a pussy. One that Claudette was now inspecting, pushing her lower lips apart and then sandwiching her clit between two fingers. Dipping her fingers down to feel at her hole and prod just a bit and then circling back up.

Through methodical testing she finds quickly what Adiris likes. Ending up with two fingers inside her, stretching her out with her own mouth back on Adiris’ chest. Suckling and letting her teeth scrape across the hardened, abused bud in her mouth.

When Adiris cums, the sound she makes is quiet and overwhelmed. This sound like ‘ nnnhAH -’ leaving her and making her hand smash over her mouth. Her hips convulse, humping up into Claudette’s hand as she moves her fingers inside of her, scissoring and experimenting with pressing different areas.

When Claudette can find it in her, she finds herself sitting up and almost frantically pulling off her boots so she can pull off her jeans. She stays in her shirt and flannel, but only once her pants and panties are off does she pause , looking down at Adiris with flushed cheeks. “May I? I-I-I mean- can--” Claudette’s gesturing again, hands moving with her words despite one being covered with cum, fingers and palm shiny with slick.

Adiris’ eye that has yet to be sealed over with scar tissue narrows in amusement. A little braver, she lifts her hips up in a show that she wants her.

Claudette bites her lip at the gesture, carefully scooting up to be aligned with her. Her cock was about four or five inches now, still a good girth around with foreskin that covered a small portion of the flushed head. When she strokes, she pulls the skin back to reveal the flushed, shiny head, sliding it through Adiris’ lower lips and making both women shudder.

It wasn’t often Claudette wanted to penetrate someone else. But when she’s fully sunken in and lying on top of Adiris and clinging to her? She can’t imagine it any other way. But, she’s overwhelmed, tucking her face into Adiris’ neck and shuddering as she tries to adjust to the heat around her.

That’s when Adiris makes a sound, not of pleasure nor pain, but of surprise. A gentle embarrassed sound and Claudette figures out why when a calloused hand brushes her hip, sliding down over her ass and making her cheeks burn.

“Anna-” She breathes out, turning her head to peek back and up at the Huntress. Anna stands comfortably behind her, having snuck up. Her mask remains on her face, the veil behind her head offering clarity to see the way her head tilts at her name, scarred lips forming a smirk.

“Shhh,” Is the reply she gets back. Claudette’s face burns when she realizes what’s happening once Adiris’ arms go around her neck possessively and holding her tighter. Just at the same moment Anna gets on her knees behind Claudette, cupping her ass and sliding slicked fingers between the swell to tease at her hole.

Overwhelmed enough already, Claudette takes to burying her face in Adiris’ neck with a choked noise. One finger slides inside of her and her entire body jerks. She feels almost like a prize, Adiris now boldened by the competition lets her hands slide down Claudette’s body to grab her ass, pulling gently to bare her to the killer behind her.

“God-” Claudette sobs out, hips jerking forward despite having no space to move.

When two calloused fingers sink into her, Claudette swears she’s going to die. She squirms atop Adiris, who has now taken to stroking up her back, her nails lightly scraping across the soft flesh Claudette had to offer.

After a few moments there’s a shift behind her, her ass thoroughly stretched and her head dizzy with pleasure- Claudette is sure she’s drooled into Adiris’ shoulder by now. There’s shuffling and then Anna’s much bigger body is crowding her into the woman underneath her, making Claudette effectively sandwiched between the two women. Anna takes her cock, lubed up and a good sizeable amount.

A speculation Claudette had was that Anna was unable to take E or any supplements in life, so the Entity rewarded her with however she wanted. Perhaps not the best time to ponder when she’s holding her breath now as Anna sinks into her with a melodic groan behind her.

When Adiris presses her cheek to Claudette’s, her voice is gentle as she whispers, “Breathe.” A simple word that sends shivers down Claudette’s spine as she quickly lets go of the breath she was holding. A shuddering, shaking one escapes her, nosing at Adiris’ neck with a broken sob escaping her.

Too much, too much-

Then Anna starts moving, rocking her with a possessive grip to Claudette’s hips to angle her better. Forcing her to start rocking a bit into Adiris as well and effectively making her head spin. Claudette’s body quakes, soft whines leaving her body as she clings onto the woman underneath her for dear life.

The war she does not feel over her shoulder is, however, brewing. Adiris has her chin tucked on Claudette’s shoulder, making her soft noises as she’s rocked into, but her one good eye trains up at Anna. Anna, who is smirking cockily and her eyes narrowed behind her mask, going so far as to hum in pleasure as she slams her hips hard into Claudette to make her cry out.

They would share, oh, they could share, but both women were trying to be the best. To be the one making Claudette whine like that.

Adiris focuses on holding Claudette like a lover, arms wound around her, legs spread and turning her head as much as she can with her headdress to kiss adoringly at her neck with encouraging sounds to follow.

Anna focuses on yanking and moving Claudette like a doll, fucking into her hard enough that her body bounces with the effort. Claudette’s body responds willingly to the motions, trying to keep up and fuck into Adiris at the same time. You really can’t blame her when she’s suddenly sobbing out and sinking her nails into the dirt beneath her when she cums. Hips stuttering and filling up Adiris, her internal walls fluttering around Anna until all three women are gasping.

Normally, Claudette just needs the one and she’s exhausted, but she quickly finds that the killers she’s sandwiched between aren’t going to let just a ‘one and done’ be the end of this.

She vaguely hears a snarl beneath her, followed by a taunting little hum behind her. She’s vaguely aware of it with Anna still fucking into her like a rabbit, hips slamming home and cock practically never leaving Claudette’s body. It makes her shake, whimper, beg for no more, that she can’t take it, it’s too much -

“One more,” Anna manages to get out with a low groan, nails sunk into Claudette’s hips. “One more.” She repeats, a small chant under her breath that Claudette nearly sobs with. But, she nods, frantically into Adiris’ shoulder and mumbling it back helplessly.

Adiris is the second to cum with a cry. She’s never too loud, soft noises, but she makes a high-pitched sound akin to a squeak into Claudette’s neck. Her nails press into Claudette’s flesh, digging in uncomfortably but the way she squeezes around her? Claudette can’t find it in her to complain.

When Anna cums, Claudette manages a dry orgasm not seconds after. Body trembling, overstimulated, eyes glassy with tears and her head foggy. She’s shaking by the time Anna pulls out, calloused hands appreciatively spreading her ass to watch her cum undoubtedly spill down onto the grass.

There’s a pull and she’s vaguely aware of being pulled into Anna’s embrace and away from Adiris. Her cock feels cold out in the air, wet and no longer warmed inside of the killer. She makes a sound in her throat akin to a complaint, but quiets down when she’s settled across Anna’s lap with her heavy arm across her lap. It grounds her, the weight of it, and even more so when Adiris comes crawling over and rests their foreheads together. Nothing more.

Claudette smiles her tired, silent thanks. She near falls asleep in this realm, if it weren’t for the two women soon seeming to argue over who could hold her.

Ah, the Red Forest, truly a beautiful place.

#Claudette x Huntress #Claudette x Plague #Claudette Morel #The Plague #The Huntress #Dbd #Dead by daylight #dick by daylight #nsft #lemon #commissions #princess writing #Trans Huntress #Trans Plague #omg so many tags

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randomnameless · 3 years

Note

what annoys you the most with 3H? The fandom or the missed opportunities from the game?

Oh.

The fandom takes the first place, because while it was funny to craugh seeing those bad takes, 2 years after the release of the game those takes are still endorsed and built upon and it’s just impossible to discuss about FE16 without being sure that the person you’re talking to is talking about the game, or the redshit takes.

Still, I firmly believe fandom wouldn’t be that cesspool of incessant drama if the localised version (especially NoA?) didn’t take wild directions with the game. It’s incomprehensible how a game in its OG version can be saying green but the localised version everyone talks about “corrected” it to “blue”.

Scripts are more or less the same, but the directions given to the VAs?

rant under the cut about directions, voice acting and people arbitrarly pushing an agenda despite the media they’re supposed to translate/bring to non-jp crowds.

I pointed it in an earlier post (or earlier posts?) but as a french person I grew up with the 4Kids dub, which was infamous for, uh, “translating” things for western audiences, even at the cost of coherency and let’s not even talk about the source material this thing doesn’t exist. Remember the Shadow Realm from YGO? .

I watched a short anime a few years ago about the anime industry (Shirobako?) and I remember a character trying to become hired as a voice actor/seiyuu - she had to learn and to feel the character - she has to know the character as much as the author who created them.

A few years ago, I didn’t feel as if the dubbing cast worked on their characters as much as the OG!voice actors. For a recet exemples I was rewatching a certain anime with the fr dub - basically a former underling fights against his superior who became a traitor, and even if his superior doesn’t regret turning into a traitor and ultimately became a giant fly, the underling always respected his superior and treated him with proper forms of adress. In the “early 2010 dub” I watched yesterday? Yeah no, guy’s talking to him as if he is talking to his friend in a pub.

Even now, while the quality of the voice acting has improved (and I feel like people take their jobs way more seriously for the dubbing industry) - i was the first surprised with SoV’s VA - we have now directions. Because the manga/anime/game isn’t, uh, good enough or whatever, the dubbing team decides to go off and do its own thing, regardless of coherence or, worse, what was the intent/core of the og game.

I am playing MH:Rise, the game is set up in a more or less traditional “ninja” village, with a lot of old japanese (? feudal? idk) aesthetics. The devs said they wanted to return to the roots of the saga and based new monsters on Yokais, mythological monsters from the japanese folklore. When you meet a new giant monster to hunt, you have small cutscenes to introduce said monster sung with a Noh theater aesthetic (i just looked up on wikipedia i thought it was kabuki but kabuki isn’t the only form of theater whatever the more you know).

NPCs in the MH series speak their own language, often called the MHese (a bit like the sim language). IDK if it is because this opus has a japanese aesthetic, but you can pick a jp voice acting instead of the MHese (same voice actors but talking in a different language). Or you can pick the US/ENG dub, with, I suppose, US VAs. I’m not complaing about the lack of FR dub, I’m rather happy with it tbf. But, for some reason, despite the aesthetic, the yokais, the pagodas in the background, the samurai flagship cat, the katanas and whatever, I thought the Noh style cutscenes weren’t going to change, or maybe someone would try to sing in English. But it isn’t the case, the US/ENG version of those cutscenes aren’t Noh style sung, they were completely revamped, so no traditionnal songs and instruments in the background, instead have a dude describing the monster you’re about to face in a cheap National Geographic imitation.

Why remove this? Was it because US!Capcom thought the western world wouldn’t understand the Noh references (but could still understand the general “aesthetic”, just, ban on the songs?) or some shit? They couldn’t remove the flagship cat’s samurai armor to swap it for a GI uniform, so they banned the Noh cutscenes? Why?

It is the same shit NoA pulled out with the Fates localisation, Suzukaze became Kaze because... reasons?

Maybe I’m biased because I’m french, and apparently Wonder France is one of the biggest consumer of anime/manga outside japan, but the mere idea that something can be changed because it’s not “western enough so the audience wouldn’t get it” pisses me to no end, and this is why, in the beginnings of Internet (YT videos with 4 parts, megaupload etc etc) everyone I knew who watched anime ditched everything dubbed to watch the very same episode but subbed (one of my friends even worked on her english with subs!).

Back to FE16 because this is your question and I ranted enough, I cannot stress it enough regarding Rhea, but while I do not doubt Cherami Leigh made a great effort and worked her best with the tools given to her (to this day I still cannot fathom how she managed to dub Mae and Rhea, they’re so different or not seiros is genki!rhea if only leigh was given that script) Leigh!Rhea isn’t Inoue!Rhea. NoA (I harp on NoA but I suppose NoA oversaw the dubbint process/effort, NoE is inexistent) had an agenda and a reading of Rhea that isn’t the same as NoJ.

“You worthless piece of garbage” doesn’t exist in the og!script - but more importantly, delivering this, Inoue!Rhea isn’t furious, she is upset and desperate. Leigh!Rhea is furious, Cherami Leigh does an admirable job at conveying NoA!Rhea’s fury - but this is not the same character NoJ wrote. If NoA gave the same directions NoJ gave Kikuko Inoue to Cherami Leigh, I’m pretty sure the “Rhea BaD” crowd, the eating babies takes and whatever shit redshit comes up everyday would be way reduced.

Maybe @nilsh13 has redshit take saved talking about this, but if we’re not talking about the same character, what kind of discussion can even happen? (I’m sure someone someday pulled the “well i played the localised game so i’m not talking about the og script with you but with the localised script” to defend some smelly take)

Missed opportunities can be fuel for fanfics.

Discourse based on fandom drama (at this point NoA itself is part of the fandom with their “religious extremis/zealot” take)? Nothing can salvage it. I genuinely like to talk about FE16 (especially lizards), but since every topic became a landmind because of the fandom drama, even making posts in good faith can be used as a fuel for drama, or completely diverted from their original goal to suit, again, some faction war between lizards and a certain someone.

Tl; dr : Fandom.

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lipshinee · 4 years

Note

Any soft scenatios or headcanons with Lucifer or Mammon would be precious ^^ welcome to the obey fandom!!!

.Fluff scenario🥺🥺 Okay I chose Mammon bc I’m a simp for this man. It’s like the most cliché thing ever but I still loved writing it bc I’m a sucker for clichés. Ur first kiss w/ Mammon ♡

Warning: a lot of fluff and cheesy stuff

Mammon X reader

Adjusting your skirt, you stared at yourself in the mirror for a few seconds. Your outfits consisted of a light and tight crop-top, a black skater skirt accompanied by your black shoes. You didn’t really feel like wearing something fancy, today you were simply having a fun time with Asmo.

The vibration coming from your phone suddenly caught your attention. As Mammon’s name appeared on screen, your face quickly turned red. « Oi! What’s all that about you going out with Asmo?? » Startled, you didn’t have any time to respond before he sends you another message.

« Ya ain’t going anywhere without me around!! Like I would leave you alone with that pervert <(｀^´)> » You couldn’t help yourself but smile and giggle at his message.

You really can’t tell when you first started liking him. Maybe it was recent, maybe it was when he started getting all possessive with you, or maybe it was just the first time you saw him. However when you realized your little crush it was already too late, he was already firmly ingrained in your heart and there was no way getting him out of there. His smile, his loud laugh, his blue eyes, every single detail about him was intoxicating. It drove you crazy how much power he held over you, a single look from him and you would melt right then and there.

‘Pull yourself together!’ You reminded yourself and responded to him with a simple sticker. After learning that information, it was unavoidable for you to take a few more glances at the mirror before finally getting out of your room. Going down the stairs, you could already hear Mammon and Asmo bickering. « You can’t just invite yourself whenever you feel like it! »

Your laugh caught the attention of the two demons in front of you and they were both silents for a few seconds. Those seconds were all it took you to realize how breathtaking the avatar of Greed was. He was wearing his usual signature yellow jacket that fit him perfectly, his glasses were resting on his head and his white snowy hair was a bit messier than usual, which only made him more mesmerizing.

You must’ve stared for longer than usual because you noticed that Mammon started to get a bit flustered. « W-what are ya lookin’ at?! » You shook your head and responded that you were just spacing out. You could feel your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you were almost surprised no one was able to hear it.

« Darling you look so beautiful! » Asmo said while hugging you tightly. A huge smile appeared on your face, and just when you were about to wrap your arms around him, he was pulled out of your grasp. Mammon was behind the younger demon and was glaring at him. Within seconds, they were arguing once again. You rolled your eyes and stopped them by announcing :

« Can we please go? Otherwise, you’ll be done fighting by the time the mall closes. » You didn’t wait for them to respond and turned around walking towards the front door, they quickly joined you. You decided for a walk since the mall was a bit close and hoped for a peaceful stroll but your wish was quickly stopped by the usual screams of Mammon.

On your way there, you noticed a garden that was full of flowers that looked similar to the ones you had in the human realm. You began to daydream about your life before the Devildom and how it completely changed you as a person. They brought you happiness when you thought you were a hopeless cause, and you were endlessly thankful for that.

You stopped listening to the demons’ conversation a long time ago until Asmo’s sentence got you back to reality. « I don’t understand! If you like MC so much why don’t you ask them out yourself instead of barging into MY alone time with them?! » While Asmo first had an annoyed look on his face, his expression changed into amusement when he saw you and Mammon turning red from his comment.

« H-huh? W-what are ya talkin’ about?! Why would I like a mere human anyway? » He desperately tried to argue, but Asmo wasn’t born yesterday, he could obviously through crushes with ease. Needless to say, he also knew about your crush as well. Actually, it was obvious for about anyone but you two.

You were pretty silent about the whole thing. Looking down at the ground and playing with your fingers, you tried your best to ignore the situation that you couldn’t possibly handle. Staring at you, Asmo’s face lit up, and had you met his eyes, you would have known he was preparing a mischievous plan. Finally, the avatar of Lust sighs and replies with a sad tone :

« If you say so. » Mammon was a bit taken aback. No teasing? He would give up just like that? No way. The demon was suspicious of his brother but preferred to stay quiet. The rest of the walk was really quiet compared to the beginning which only confirmed Mammon’s suspicions.

The three of you were walking around the mall. It’s only been a few minutes since you got here but Asmo has already started to whine about going to Majolish. Not really surprising, it was the avatar of Lust we were talking about after all. Heading to the shop, you couldn’t help but notice the malicious smile Asmodeus kept wearing, and only grew wider once you got in front of the store. Entering Majolish, the demon started to pick random clothes and threw them in Mammon’s arms.

« What the actual hell are ya doin’?! » He was even more confused once Asmodeus pushed him towards the changing room.

« Shh, just try these out, I wanna see those on you! » Witnessing the scene in front of you was quite amusing, even though you were just as puzzled as Mammon. Once he was in the fitting room, Asmo turned around and winked at you. « Well, I guess I have to go now. » What? What was he talking about? You must’ve seemed baffled because he sighed and continued :

« I pushed Mammon over there because otherwise, he wouldn’t have let me go, he doesn’t have the guts to stay alone with you. This way you can finally get the little date you always wanted to have! If he asks anything, just say something came up. »

Bewildered, you weren’t able to place a single word as he mumbled: « I’m way too nice. » and waved at you before leaving you alone. Shit. Your thoughts were racing as the anxiety kept rising. What were you supposed to do now? You weren’t ready for this! You weren’t even sure if Mammon really did like you! ‘Maybe I should just leave as well? Maybe we can just leave the mall right now?’ But the familiar voice behind you stopped all of your reflections.

« There ya go! Obviously, the great Mammon looks amazin’ in any-...Oi, where did he go?? » You turned around and looked at him only to be left breathless. Fuck. To make matters worse, the clothes he was trying on fit him like a charm. His button-down shirt had a few buttons undone which revealed the top of his chest, his skin-tight black jean which showed you perfectly the shape of his ass left you drooling all over him for a while. Mammon practically had to clear his throat for you to raise your head and look into his eyes.

« U-uh, he left. He...he had to go, something came up. » Mammon didn’t seem too phased at first and just replied: « Oh. » Then it hit him and his calm face rapidly turned to a worried look. Oh. He was going to be alone with you.

You both didn’t say anything for what felt like hours. It’s not that you didn’t have anything else to say, you had so many things you wanted to say but nothing was able to come out of your mouths. Finally, the demon ended up saying :

« O-oh, well I guess it’s yer lucky fay! Some people would kill to have me all for themselves for a day, ya know! » He claimed with a confident smile even though you could clearly see the nervousness in his eyes. You were a bit relaxed by the fact that both of you were apprehensive about spending some time alone. Mammon ended up going back to the fitting room in order to change into his own clothes. When you finally got out of the store, the atmosphere felt tense. What are you supposed to say right now? Your mind was clouded with endless speculations and doubts, you couldn't think of a single topic to chat about. Peering at the demon, it was clear he was in the same situation.

Bur for once in your life, you wanted to be bold. What did tou have to lose anyway? You knew you would regret it for to rest of your life if you didn’t take this chance Asmo gave you. Biting the inside of your cheeks, you went ahead and held his hand. His hand felt so warm and so big compared to yours, god it took all of your willpower to not melt instantly. He was the only one able to make you feel like this, he was the only one able to cause this warm feeling in your chest that was always so overwhelming. A single touch from him was enough to make your day, and it drove you crazy.

« W-what are ya doin' right now?! » It was the only thing he could add. As if speaking without stuttering wasn't already hard enough for him, the poor demon was now a blushing mess. You found him so adorable, his eyes were fixated on your hands and the silence didn't feel so awkward this time. Walking around the mall like this made you realize just how much you liked him, you wanted to hold his hand like this every day, you wanted to be in his arms cuddling every night, you simply wanted to be his. After all, he's the reason for your smile. He's the one for you. He's your first man. With him, you felt like you belonged somewhere as long as he was next to you.

Your eyes widened when you sensed him intertwining your fingers together. This time, you were the one freaking out. Especially when he turned you so you could face him. With his other hand, he held your chin with his fingers and approached his face towards yours. He was so close to you, you were certain he was able to hear your loud heartbeat.

« I...I want to kiss you. » His electric blue eyes were piercing through yours, like he was waiting for an answer from you. ‘Can he get any more adorable than this?’ Smiling at him, you nodded your head. And without another word, he kissed you. At first, your mind blanked out from the surprise. His soft lips were the only thing you could focus on. The world around you stopped for a moment, and, just for the time of this kiss, you both were in your little bubble. As if life in itself paused just for the two of you to enjoy every single bit of that kiss.

For so long, you had sleepless nights dreaming of this day, and now that it was finally happening, you had a hard time believing it. It was so gentle yet enough to make your heart explode from his touch. You loved this feeling so much, you were drunk from this warm feeling only he could give you. And when he kissed you, you could feel the reciprocity of his feelings. He liked you as well, the avatar of Greed himself liked you and absolutely nothing could make you happier.

Finally, he pulled away from you, and though you didn’t say it out loud, you were very clearly saddened by it. Noticing it, Mammon laughed and gave you a quick peck on the lips.

« C’mon! Let’s buy some matching stuff. » He said with a huge smile on his face.

And you couldn’t help but notice that during the whole afternoon at the mall, he didn’t let go of your hand a single time. He was hanging to it like his life was on the line if he let go of it, you kept biting your lower lips to stop yourself from giggling like a middle schooler.

You spent hours in the mall, checking every single store available and laughing so hard your stomach started to hurt. You were happy. And he was the reason for it.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me characters #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #obey me fluff #lucifer #mammon #leviathan #satan #asmodeus #beelzebub #belphegor

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lostcauses-noregrets · 4 years

Note

lost just imagine erwin kneeling before levi and saying he’s proud of him and did well when the time levi joins them. oh my i can die in peace too (jk😂) my delusional heart says paths thing will bring us levi-erwin reunion.😭

Stop Anon, you’re going to make me cry....Never in my wildest, shippiest, dreams did I ever imagine that there would be the slightest possibility of Erwin and Levi being reunited in canon. Heartfelt reunions in the afterlife belonged purely to the realm of fanfiction*. But now... The possibility that Erwin and Levi could actually be reunited is almost too much to bear. There are so many “what ifs” I hardly dare think about it. What if Levi doesn’t die? What if the afterlife is a dimension of Paths that is destroyed if the power of the Founding Titan is destroyed? What if the ghosts of the departed disappear before Levi can join them? What if Levi dies, but Erwin fades away to nothing just he is reaching out to take his hand? Damn, it’s too much for my angsty heart to bear.

* I’m aware there’s a section of the fandom that would prefer to believe that this afterlife, or whatever it is, still belongs firmly in the realms of fanfiction, and that it’s nothing more than a nice symbolic ending for Hanji. I don’t believe that. Even amongst all the flashbacks, memories and Paths woo, Isayama has never shown us anything that is not “real” in the context of the world he has built. So until Isayama shows us otherwise, I’m perfectly prepared to believe that this afterlife is as real as Paths or timeloops or any of the other fantastic elements of the SnK world.

#asks #eruri #erwin smith #levi ackerman #snk 132 #lostcauses edits #snk

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merryfortune · 4 years

Text

Day 6 / Royalty

All The More to Love You With 2021

Event: @aiballshipping

Fandom: Yu-gi-Oh! Vrains

Ship: Ai/Yusaku

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tales

Once upon a time, there was a boy with wide, green eyes and he was taken by forces unseen. Led into a glittering realm of freedom and whimsy. Where every day was dreamy and idyllic. For a young child, it was strange and paradisiacal. He played there, with them, those strange folk with long ears and eyes like jewels, in the flowers and ate well with them. Gorged himself on sweetmeats and desserts, it was all so good. But he was only allowed three days. Three days and he was returned to where he had came, yet when he was returned amongst the humans, it had not been three days that he been missing.

It had been six months.

And even though those memories were made in fantasy and delight, the experience changed this boy as it became difficult for him to adjust to the more mundane life of humans. The food was bad so he hardly ate and what he did, was in a farce of recreation of what he had eaten in the Hills and in the Mounds with the Fair Folk, glutted with sugar and syrup, whatever he could do to recapture the experience of that sweetness and that grease.

Aside from hungry, he became colloquially lazy. Unable to do things for long shifts and even though he did not dream, visiting the Fair Folk had stolen that away from him as well, at least in sleep his body did relax and it remembered what it was like to live in such sublime bliss and hedonism.

So, this boy became a young man who resolved to get back to that realm. He was more of them than he was of the humans he had been borne of. Everyone could tell, just from a look at him, that he had been spirited away as a child. There was an unnaturalness in his green eyes; a slender look in his body which hinted at unearthly beauty were it not for the clumsy humanness that he actually embodied.

Alas, the Fair Folk did not want to be found by him. He had to be found by them. He could traipse through the fields and forests all he liked, sashaying in and out of mushroom circles but it was for naught unless they wanted him back and apparently, they did not.

It was frustrating, to this young lad, Yusaku but he burnt with a quiet certainty, he would return, and he would not come back a second time. On the interim, he lived with the baker’s family and worked in their kitchens. The older son had taken him in under his wing; the younger son was similar to him in that he had been spirited away once by the Fair Folk as well but whatever he had seen, it had left him rattled to the core. Yusaku quietly understood, though. But it was a good working life regardless.

Working at the bakery was full of repetitive things. Grinding the flour, kneading the dough, putting into the oven and checking it at various intervals. It was the sort of work that Yusaku could keep straight in his head with plenty of time to rest since he was just like the yeast in that regard. It was a good little gig which rarely had Yusaku see the outside world when he didn’t want it as he was kept far behind the counter because his interpersonal skills were, admittedly, not all that great.

Hence why Yusaku found it quite unusual that something had gotten past all the foot traffic from out the front and made it all the way to back – and wasn’t a mouse, either. Then again, perhaps the little creature had come in through the window which was presently open and allowing a perfectly acceptable cool breeze but that would be odd too. It was cloudy but not stormy nor rainy and this little fellow that Yusaku had found was a frog and didn’t frogs prefer that sort of weather? It was even dryer in here so Yusaku went to scoop up the frog and let him outside.

Coming down to his knee, Yusaku was stopped with a realisation. This was a peculiar looking frog and he had been advised, once or twice, here and there, that the stranger a frog looked, the more poisonous it was. He curled a hand in the air and the frog looked up at him, all quizzical and innocent. He looked back at it scowling with thorough thought.

The frog had gleamingly yellow eyes and dark purple skin that made that gleam all the brighter. Like a glow. It had swirling patterns on its body which were a lighter purple than the rest of its skin. It stood, on all fours, toes pointed in, and was waiting to be rescued. It blinked. One eye and then the other, lazy, like a yawn.

Yusaku frowned and then found his voice, “I don’t think I should pick you up, little buddy.” He brought back in his hand and rested it on his knee.

“I think you should.” The Frog replied back to Yusaku.

“Huh.” Yusaku murmured.

He wasn’t all that taken aback by the talking frog. The frog seemed displeased with his utter lack of a reaction, its eyes bowed and furrowed with irked disappointment. It just so happened to be unfortunate that Yusaku had seen much stranger things in his mere ten and six years than talking frogs, much to the talking frog’s annoyance.

“Well,” the Frog began testily, “if that’s not a shock, then you’ll have no hesitation in fulfilling my actual request, I’ve come in search of thee and thee alone.”

“Interesting, interesting… but, suspicious.” Yusaku mumbled.

“I am the errant Prince from Across the Hills and Over the Mounds and in the Dark, in my wild ways, I have attracted much attention, both positive and negative. In a case of the latter, I now have a curse attached to me which has transformed me into a frog. The only way to undo this curse is with a kiss from a youth whose visited the Fair Folk before and lived to tell the tale. So, someone exactly like you.”

Yusaku hummed at hearing the frog’s tale. “I see. Very well then.” he said after mulling it over for what he thought was long enough.

“Really? Really truly?” the Frog gushed.

“Yeah, sure. Just a quick peck and you’ll be on your merry way, right?” Yusaku said.

“Well, I mean, I guess, if you don’t want to have any fun with it.” The Frog replied, scandalised.

Yusaku shrugged but against what was likely his better judgement, he took his hand off his knee again and scooped up the Frog. He was pleased that he didn’t feel anything like poison immediately seep through the skin of his fingers as he lifted the creature up. He swallowed a lump in his throat and the Frog lifted itself up slightly, lifted his head to him. Yusaku looked away, a scant blush in his sharp cheeks.

“This is ridiculous…” he muttered under his breath.

His nerves prickled when he heard the Frog make kissy noises at him. A frown bowed upon Yusaku’s brow. He was not known far and wide for having an amiable nature and he had never been curious either, kissing mirrors or whatnot so even if it was with a Frog, this would be a first kiss of any kind for him. Yusaku huffed.

“Let’s get this over with.” He muttered once more.

His head snapped back to in front of him and he rushed all into it just to get it over and done with. His lips locked with the Frog’s and he felt the distinct feeling of slime on his mouth. Yusaku clenched his eyes shut and he felt something on his eyelids. He grimaced and he had to let go of the Frog as he grew heavy.

He transformed in a blinding light and when Yusaku opened his eyes, he had to look up. A very handsome young man was now staring him down, toying with a stray curl of his wild mane of dark coloured locks, save for where it was streaked yellow. He smiled, coy and cruel with fluttering eyelashes.

Yusaku scrambled to his feet, “Y-You,” he stammered, “I know you, it’s you!”

The Frog, now transformed to the Prince like he claimed, laughed. “I don’t appreciate being pursued,” he purred, “I prefer to be the one doing the pursuing but I’m glad you remember me and my good looks after all these years.”

“How could I forget…?” Yusaku’s voice was quiet as he got over his dumb-foundedness. “You were the one who took me to that place.”

“And I hear you want to go back.” he said.

“I do.” Yusaku murmured.

“Well, as Prince Ai of the Unseelie Fair Folk, I dub thee… my crown consort.” He said with a wink.

Yusaku hazarded out a laugh. He thought that was a joke, but he wasn’t sure. He was too starstruck that after all these years, he’d finally reunited with the creature who had changed the course of his life. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was smiling with what was almost glee for the first time in ten years. Prince Ai couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself to have had that effect on Yusaku.

“Well?” Prince Ai prompted him, sticking out an arm yet keeping his hand on his hip rather firmly. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Yusaku agreed and with quivering fingers, he did reach out and latch onto Ai’s offered arm.

#aiballshipping #aiballshipping week #aiballshipping week 2021 #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #fujiki yusaku #yusaku fujiki #ai (vrains)#writing tag #all the more to love you with #all the more to love you with 2021

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maximumsnow · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Link & Tetra (Legend of Zelda), Linebeck & Link (Legend of Zelda) Characters: Toon Link, Linebeck (Legend of Zelda), Tetra (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: spoiler in the tags, The first half of the story is very much a nightmare, There is a character death in the nightmare but it's not real, Also Linebeck says a single swear but I couldn't think of a way around it when he's an actual sailor, I want to emphasize that the relationship between Link and Linebeck is Platonic, Or familial, But you can read whatever relationship you want between Tetra and Link though

Summary: Phantom Hourglass and Wind Waker end with Link fighting and defeating a man at the end, and sometimes nightmares don't like keeping the facts straight with how things actually went.

It was raining. (It shouldn’t be raining.)

Link didn’t know when it had started, but when he woke up to Ciela’s pleas, the first thing he noticed was Linebeck swinging the Phantom Sword wildly around.

The cowardly man had stabbed Bellum. For him. And was keeping the monster at bay while Link recovered. The memory and urgency of the situation drove Link to his feet.

Then Linebeck made an error no experienced swordsman would make and turned his head away from the enemy. To check on Link.

Bellum took the easy opening and grabbed Linebeck’s arms. The horror that flashed on his face was replaced with determination as he struggled against the hold long enough to throw the sword to Link.

It was easy to catch it despite the haphazard way it had left the older man’s hands. But he was forced to watch as Bellum wrapped more tentacles around Linebeck and latched itself onto his back.

Dark energy flowed around them until thick phantom armor materialized on Linebeck’s body and forced him to stand up.

His face was tinted an unnatural purple (like a drowning man), and his eyes were glazed over with white.

Despite the almost dead appearance, he was able to wheeze out, “Link...”

A helmet appeared before he could say anything else, and with far more grace, the possessed Linebeck swung a heavy sword at Link.

The blow was easy to dodge, and Ciela was already shouting instructions at Link about how to deal with their problem.

After a few swings of the Phantom sword glancing off the armor with no effect, Link tried running and tumbling to get behind Bellum. But, no matter how fast he ran, the armored front would always face him in its inexorable march.

Finally, Ciela was able to let loose a Phantom Sphere, and Link stopped time long enough to run behind the large Phantom.

There was no weak spot to attack.

(There was no sign of Bellum’s body that should have been sticking out of Linebeck’s back.)

Ciela tried hovering behind Bellum to see if there would ever be a weak spot, and she was grabbed by a tentacle that was somehow still there.

The fight continued. (Different this time.)

No matter how many times he landed distracting blows and picked up and used Phantom Spheres, no eye ever opened.

He was getting tired.

Bellum wasn’t. (Bellum never did)

The large Phantom started another spin attack, and Link noticed just how unbalanced the helmet was when that attack was performed.

(Oh goddesses, please no.)

Another dodge, another parry.

He called on Neri’s aid to just help him get to the next spin attack. The blue fairy’s power coursed through him in time to block a would have been fatal blow from Bellum (Linebeck).

Their blades met time and time again. Just when Link thought he would never get another hit in, Bellum couldn’t recover quickly enough to avoid a cheap shot that knocked it to Linebeck’s knees.

Ciela took the opportunity to throw another Phantom Sphere at Link, and as soon as he caught it, Bellum stood back up. The way it grabbed the sword told him that it was about to do another spin attack, and Link prepared.

As soon as the attack started, Link stopped time and ran.

With a jump and a flourish, he slammed the helmet upwards and away from the Phantom’s head.

(Linebeck’s head)

Once again, the familiar face was exposed. Still with the purple hue and unseeing white eyes.

No sign of Bellum’s black and orange eye.

There was only one way Link knew how to finish it. But he couldn’t do that to his friend.

(The same way he killed a man a year ago.)

Linebeck (Bellum) staggered as he lost his balance before fixing him with that dead stare and marched towards him.

(Was Linebeck even still in there?)

Link shook his head as he tried to repeat the process with other pieces of the armor.

Nothing worked.

He could faintly see the eyes on the tentacles near the joints, but even when he tried to stab them directly, it was like a forcefield would cover them and make the blade glance off.

He couldn’t keep this going. His arms and legs were burning with exhaustion, and his lungs were begging for a reprieve.

If he kept putting this off, he would die. And so would Tetra. And Ciela. And Neri and Leaf.

The realm of the Ocean King would be destroyed.

(I’m sorry, Linebeck.)

The last Phantom sphere pulsed as he activated it.

With ease, he took a running jump, and plunged the sword nearly to its hilt into Linebeck’s forehead.

(How he killed Ganondorf.)

Link jumped away so that the heavy body didn’t crash onto him, but once he was on his feet again, he could only stare in horror as the armor turned into a purple mist with black and orange eyes staring at him. Mocking him. Before they inevitably exploded into bright yellow sand and fell into the water below.

It left the body of his friend face down on the driftwood.

He wasn’t moving.

Link stumbled towards the body left and collapsed to his knees near Linebeck’s head and tilted the face upwards.

Linebeck’s eyes were green again, but dull and unseeing. Bright red blood leaked out of the wound where the sword was still lodged.

He was dead.

(I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry.)

Link didn’t know when he started to scream the words aloud, but when hands grabbed his shoulders, he shoved them away violently.

“Link!? Wake up!” Ciela’s voice sounded wrong, like it was mixed with someone else’s.

(Tetra?)

He stopped struggling, and the scene went dark as he realized his eyes were closed. He was laying down on something instead of standing on wooden planks.

His eyes shot open, and it took a few seconds to see in the faint candlelight. Tetra was hovering nearby, a worried look on her face and her hair in even more disarray than usual.

Link tried take a few calming breaths, and the fact that she didn’t comment on how he managed to choke on air must have meant he looked bad.

“You were shouting.” The words lacked any of their usual bite and contained an unspoken question.

He rubbed at his face, which was noticeably wet, and tried to answer.

The image of a dead Linebeck, that he had killed, came back.

All that came out was a low whine that was cut off by a sob, and he curled his legs forward to bury his face into his knees.

With surprising care, Tetra approached him and sat down on his bunk nearby. “We’re on our ship. We just docked at an island for the night.” She looked at the door before continuing. “We’re all safe.”

Before he could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard accompanied by shouting. It spiked his heart rate briefly, before he recognized the voice.

“Hey, put me down!”

Relief. Link let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and tears threatened to fall again.

Gonzo kicked in the door, and slung over his shoulder was a very much alive, if annoyed, Linebeck.

“Captain’s orders, yeah?” He dropped the sailor onto the cabin floor before looking to Tetra.

Link didn’t pay mind to the silent conversation he knew they were having thanks to zeroing in on Linebeck. The sailor had a hand up brushing his hair out of his face, and that allowed Link to see that there was no injury marring his forehead.

He had figured out by now that it had to have been a nightmare, but he still couldn’t help checking.

Linebeck staggered to a standing position, and without his coat on, he looked even smaller than Gonzo. It didn’t stop him from pointing a finger at Gonzo’s chest and saying, “Just because I’m traveling with you doesn’t mean you can drag me out of my cabin and manhandle me like a dead fish!”

Gonzo just rolled his eyes before turning on his heel and leaving Linebeck without a response.

Linebeck was about to follow him out, offense written all over his face. “HEY! I wasn’t-”

“Read the room,” Tetra spoke up firmly. The lack of sarcasm and playful nicknames must have registered something in Linebeck’s head, for he quickly turned around, and the annoyance vanished.

Link vaguely wondered how pathetic he must look. Sure, Linebeck had seen him hit some lows at night when they traveled together in the Ocean King’s realm, but now he knew just what Link was capable of.

Some legendary hero he was. Wrapped in a blanket with a wet face and faintly shaking in the aftereffects of a nightmare.

“Aw shit. You’re not okay, are you, kid?” Linebeck scratched his head as he asked. The rhetorical question hung in the air as neither teenager was willing to bother with the obvious answer. Waving it away, he took a few steps closer to the huddled mess.

He stopped and gave Link a pointed look that the boy recognized well. Can I come closer?

Link froze. The guilt of literally having just killed the man in his dream was telling him that he had no right to ask for the simple comfort that Linebeck somehow managed to give.

Just knowing he was alright should be enough.

It wasn’t.

While fighting to keep another sob down, Link nodded and scooted closer to Tetra. Permission given, Linebeck sat on Link’s other side, and Link instinctively leaned against him. He felt Linebeck’s arm carefully settle on his shoulders, and Tetra’s hand started to rub circles in his back.

The contact settled the racing feeling in his chest in a way their presences hadn’t been able to. The part of his mind still affected by the nightmare couldn’t ignore the fact that Linebeck was alive and breathing right next to him.

With little preamble, Linebeck started, “So, kid, did I tell you about that time I-”

Link couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at the unexpected topic change and met Tetra’s eyes in mutual sarcasm. Given how often Linebeck embellished his stories and changed them around for fun, Link probably hadn’t heard whatever nonsense he was about to spill.

But, just the segue had managed to stop fresh tears from falling, Link wasn’t going to say no to the obvious attempt to keep his mind off of the nightmare.

The first one hadn’t quite worked. The second nearly did. The third one managed to make him laugh so hard, that he rolled backwards and out of the mess of blankets. By the middle of the fourth story, his eyes were getting heavy, and he didn’t get to hear how that one ended. The sound of Linebeck’s storytelling voice and Tetra heckling every now and then lulled him to a deep sleep.

His dreams were blissfully blank.

#My writing #Legend of Zelda Phantom Hourglass #Loz Phantom Hourglass #Phantom Hourglass #Linebeck #PH Link

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 5 years

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Oooo the end of the Yennefer one gave me an idea. Can you do the trope of memory loss? Reader (even temporarily) loses her memory on a journey and Jask starts asking questions. Without remembering why she wouldnt admit this, she asks Jask if they're dating or married, and hes shocked because shed always kept her feelings from their friendship, but now shes very insistent on her attraction (Though in fairness, she asks everyone who was helping if they were related/dating/etc 😂)

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 744Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak a/n: Curses are fun, thanks for the prompt!

“Are we dating?”

He knew the question was coming, he’d heard you asking Geralt and even Yennefer when she came in to check on progress with retrieving your memory, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“No,” he answers and turns to give you what he hoped would be a convincing smile. You’re considering him thoughtfully and your brow is furrowed.

“Hmm… are we married?” you ask, perking up a little and placing your hand on his. He pulls his hand away, gently, but firmly.

“No we’re just… very good friends,” Jaskier says, the words like ashes in his mouth.

“No that’s not right,” she insists, shaking her head. He doesn’t know if this is some part of the curse but if it is, it’s exceptionally cruel. When Geralt and Jaskier had found you after being separated in that cave you thought the worst possible fate would be that you’d never regain your memory. But false memories, teasing at a future he’d secretly longed for but never sought out of respect for the friendship you both valued, well that was just another realm of hell he hadn’t even considered.

“It’s true,” he says, holding up his left hand, “See? Not so much as an indentation.”

You look down at your left hand as well but you don’t look any less confused, just more frustrated.

“Well we were definitely something,” you say. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. For a moment, just the briefest moment, he considers going along with it. Living in this reality with you and jumping past the risk and awkwardness of confessing feelings. But he could never live with himself if he took advantage of you in this altered state and he knew it wouldn’t be real.

“Y/N, why do you think we’re together?” he asks, trying another tactic to help guide you to the truth.

“Well for one thing when I look at you I feel… warm,” you say, trying to find the right language to describe the feelings the man in front of you summon.

“Warm?” he echoes.

“Yes but not just like a familiar face, like… hmm. Maybe I was better with words before the curse.”

You weren’t, but he doesn’t interrupt you as you try to work out what you’re trying to say.

“You know when you see a face and you can’t place it but you know that you know it? It’s like that except I know, deep in my heart, that there’s more. First of all I’m far too attracted to you for us to just be friends,” you continue. Jaskier freezes and replays the last sentence over in his head a few times before going,

“Um. What? Sorry, repeat that?”

“I’m just saying you’re a very handsome man and I’m keenly aware of it,” you explain. If a person could be “broken” that’s how you’d describe Jaskier as he stares at you, unmoving, unblinking, uncertain what to do.

“Oh dear, is this a conversation we’ve had before?” you ask, suddenly aware that your feelings may not be reciprocated. And that part rings a bit truer than you’d like to admit.

“No,” he says quickly and laughs, “No this is definitely new.”

“Well I’m sorry if I’ve made it awkward but I’m just trying very hard to figure this all out and you’re the only thing that makes sense.”

“Oh,” he breathes the word, his heart in a strange half-ways place between swelling and breaking.

“So we really aren’t… anything?” you ask again. He shakes his head again.

“Hmm,” you say, and then another question, maybe the more important question comes to mind.

“Do you want us to be?”

The question hangs in the air a moment as Jaskier considers ethics, morals, the rules of courtship decorum, and any other metric he can think of to help him decide how to, or if he even should, answer you.

“I want us, very much, to reconsider that question when you have your memory back,” he says. It wasn’t the answer you wanted but you also knew it wasn’t a no.

“Very well,” you say, “Is there something you think I may remember that could change my mind?”

“Oh loads of things,” he says, laughing, “But we have been very good friends and none of them seemed to stop you from that so that seems promising.”

You share a smile and when you rest your hand on his he does not pull away.

#Anonymous #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagines #fluff #reader request

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levyfiles · 5 years

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helloooo!!!! since you are my fave blog about shyan content, i must ask: what are your favorite fics???

AHhh! I–OK well, Lately I’ve been finding more and more fics that fill my heart right up with every gorgeous headcanon there is, but If we’re talking all-time favourites, I have finally compiled a List from the moment I started reading shyan fic in 2018 of fics that have ruined my life; all of them here in no particular order.

Be All My Sins Remembered by spoopyy

Summary: In every lifetime, they find each other.

Review: This fic manages to take you on a long journey through what feels like a series of AUs and they all weave in and out of the wealth of their relationship with some vivid descriptions of the historical settings their journey takes them through. As someone who grew up reading Anne Rice’s epics through historical events, this fic is right up my alley. A vampire Shane passing through the wave of human society’s climb searching for a reincarnated Ryan again and again, trying to hold on to him and keep him through great tragedies and timeframes that just don’t let them be together. This was one of the first fics I read when I was only a lurker and to be quite honest, I need to give this one a nice re-read, maybe for the book club which would be loads of fun. Either way, 10/10. Would be Hurt in the heart again.

Perfect Fit by @beaniegara

Summary: There’s a legend that says anyone able to take all of statue Shane’s cock will summon the god to the mortal realm. Given the statue’s excessive size, no one has ever succeeded to prove or disprove the story.Until Ryan that is.

Review: Listen. You wanna talk actual fandom legends. This fic is one of them and it pulls out all the stops on being delicious and evocative. Also features one of my favourite incarnations of size queen bergara. Good stuff and you’re really rooting for Ryan in this lol.

Everything’s Weird and We’re Always in Danger by the beethechange

Summary: Ryan perches on the edge of the bed, an indistinct shape that Shane can only just make out in the dark, so he turns the lamp back on. He wants to see Ryan’s face, wants to know that he is alright. Ryan’s cheeks are damp, his hands fisted in the hideous flowered duvet.

“It won’t go away,” Ryan says miserably. “I’ve been like this since we got here, basically, and it won’t fucking—”

“Ah,” Shane says. “Well, you know, sometimes fear…adrenaline…they can affect people. Physically.” He waves his hands indistinctly crotchward. “It’s a, a scientifically known phenomenon.” Shane feels a little better staying in the realm of scientifically known phenomena.

Review: Word of advice. You see a fic is authored by beethechange, run don’t walk because you’re absolutely always going to be treated to the best of banter, the best of prose, chemistry, organic execution and feels right up the bottom end of your heart. This fic, this changed everything I thought I knew I wanted out of a bed-sharing fic. It’s got a little bit of two treats here. You got a sex-pollen-esque situation mixed with bed-sharing and holy fucking damn that is more than you think you deserve, but read this because you do deserve the best of the best. The build up, the dialogue, the surprisingly hilarity of it, the hotness woah, and The Aftermath. When you think you know what you’re in for, you’re wrong and you’re most pleasantly surprised. Get this fic in your life and honestly? while you’re at it, you could do a clean sweep of every fic in her list of works and while my less than adequate reading time management may still be short on some of her most well-recommended pieces, I have an adamant faith that Bee doesn’t disappoint. Go get y’all juice.

Maelstrom by thewindupbird

Summary: Here’s the thing about driving halfway across the country to see someone. You can’t really deny, after that, that you’re pretty much head over heels for them.

Review: Listen. One morning on a day off, I just laid in bed and read this– all 40k+ words– while lying there clutching my pillows, hurting and loving every moment of it. The descriptions of Americana, the slow steady metronome rhythm of Ryan’s feelings as frightened and helpless as they feel when you’re relating deeply to them juxtaposed with the deep-seated struggle of understanding what it is to be with someone you love so much but your mental health is burning quiet holes in your ability to express it in a way that can be understand. Ryan’s fierce determination, breaking through the silence of their non communication is really Everything to me in this fic. i think I really left my heart in the scene in Shane’s parents kitchen. That finished me. Read this fic and understand the deep relief you get when you’ve finished a fight with someone you fiercely care about and they understand you and you understand them and it’s OK; it’s gonna be all right. Augh.

A Burial on Box Hill by InkStainsOnMyHands

Summary: The Celtics believed that the yew flower symbolized both immortality and death. Meanwhile, for centuries, the buxus flower was seen as a symbol for safe passage into the afterlife.

Or,Shane and Ryan were never the same after investigating the Black Forest of Germany alone.

Review: Let me just quote my bookmark comment here. Usually I flee from tragedy like a cat spotting a cucumber but the brevity and the prose dragged me in and now I’m a functioning mess. Bless this fic. Oh my god it’s short and reads like one of those quick horror stories you’ll read to your friends just as the scary stories are transitioning from the urban legends to the ones that feel real. Big warning for main character death but still read it if you appreciate a good story told.

Body Farming by shiphitsthefan

Summary: Failed suppressants and a surprise heat: the worst of cliches, and here Ryan stands, living the trope on location with the alpha he’s hopelessly in love with. Even worse, they’re spending the night in the famous Bell Witch Cave, completely alone and with no way to contact the outside world.

Ryan knows he can survive and keep his preheat a secret, as long as Shane will stop being so protective and concerned. After all, it’s not like Shane wants to bond with him.

Right?

Review: Now judging from the reactions of many people I’ve spoken to, big heavy ABO kink is not popular here but guys, GUYS. This one. Let this one in I promise it is not what you think it is. The dynamic is organic and the worst side of the trope is subverted in all the best ways and lord help us, the smut is hot, like swelteringly smoking. It’ll stay with you.

Believer by cellard00rs

Summary: Some demons and otherworldly creatures love climbing up the power ladder. Shane is not one of these. He likes where he is (thank you very much) and has no interest in moving up. All he wants is to give his friend Ryan a nice birthday gift. So, naturally, everything goes to hell.

Review: This fic is another fandom legend. When I think demon!Shane. It’s this and one other one that always pops right into my mind. This was my first exposure to the bureaucracy meets the supernatural!Shane trope and I was sold from the get-go. The Shane in this fic is everything I imagine a demon!Shane is and his ginger care for Ryan, the concept of their bond and how even though Shane is a demon and responsible for keeping the supernatural a firm secret from Ryan and the rest of the world, his skepticism is relayed through his status as a demon. I want to talk more about it but I think so much of the enjoyment comes from the surprises as the plot unfurls.

Heartbeat by quackers

Summary: So the guy Ryan sits next to at work is a vampire. That’s no big deal, right?

Review: I could talk your literal ear off about this fic. Vampires, man. I love the trope; you don’t know me as a person if you don’t know this at least. And this fic kept me fed all damn year. It was a readable garden. If there is one thing I can guarantee about quackers’ work, it’s that their world-building is a festival of detail. The realms and alternate universes they work with while still managing to keep Shane and Ryan’s voices so familiar and real is a talent not attributed to your everyday author. This fic propelled me into wanting to write more and more because quackers makes stories so much fun! Reading their work is, to me, not unlike the feeling I got when I was younger and finding series that speak to my need to escape this crummy existence, made me want to believe in fun spicy things like a vampire that lived through centuries, cynical but still searching, navigating a world where people are still people, adjusting to differences and prejudices, finding comfort in a guy that understands that and more. I’ve talked about this fic in more than a few different posts so I’d just be reiterating a lot of things I loved about the more historical aspects of Shane’s journey, the way Ryan is so firmly curious and inventive in ways to connect with Shane. Look, even if vampires aren’t your thing, I can promise that if you visit quackers list of work, you will find something for your supernatural-lovin’ palate that speaks to a gentler side of your own curiosity about monsters and the jocks that love them. lol.

I’ll Crawl Home by carrieonfighting

Summary: “Shane was almost unnerved by how quickly he’d settled into this body, this name, this life - his friendship with Ryan was the most time he’d spent with any human before, and yet the man fascinated him.”

Review: This is the second fic I think of when someone says the words ‘demon!Shane’ to me because ohhhh my word, this fic is a masterpiece. I really am hard pressed to find anything better than the feeling I get when I think of demon!Shane headcanons interwoven with the irl Buzzfeed reality and the idea of the Ryan as we know him being protected and watched and loved so deeply by a demon that found him so long ago and wanted nothing but to protect him. I feel an almost vicious glee reliving that moment when Ryan and Shane are on goatman’s bridge and man, I just really love canonical fic mixed with a slight twist. The writing in this makes it work so well with lines that still haunt my heart and soul like “Ryan liked popcorn. So did the demon. Genuinely, not just out of a desire to please the human – he liked the way it crunched between his vessel’s teeth. There were some aspects of taking a corporeal form that were…nice; laughing, coffee, feeling warm. Ryan made him laugh.” FUCK! The beautiful agony of it, watching the demon fall in love with Ryan through the eyes of his vessel. Just stark with pain and unspoken, well-written angst and pain with a perfect ending, I wouldn’t change for anything. I love this for us as a fandom and will always love that author crafted this piece and shared it with us. (Also every time I hear Work Song by Hozier, I think of this fic again and sigh).

Like I said at the beginning, thanks to @skepticbeliever-bookclub I’ve been discovering and re-discovering some fics I hadn’t had the chance to read and or have never even heard of before and my bookmarks list is growing with each new week. So if you get through this list and need more in your life, here you go. Every fic in my bookmarks deserves the community’s attention. If I can just make one special request of you guys? If you do happen to click any of these and enjoy what you read, please take the time and tell the author what you loved about it. It really changes the game out here for fanworks and fan-creators like you wouldn’t even believe and the people who shared these works with us worked hard to make the stories what they are and put a great deal of emotional investment in sharing it. Share more than your silence in return.

Hope you find something you like here, nonnybabe..

#shyan fic #shyan #skeptic believer #recs #love tag #Anonybae

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grimmseye · 4 years

Text

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Eight (Interlude)

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual)

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss,

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Dissociation, Imagery of bugs on/inside the body, description of corpses/decomposition, Accidental self-harm, non-explicit sexual fantasy (this is unrelated to the previous tags)

I’m behind on posting chapters here. Ao3 is actually caught up to chapter ten as of Just Now, but I’ll be scheduling the next two chapters to post over the next few days.

— — —

When the Nein arrived, Mollymauk listened from his bedroom.

Beauregard, Caleb, Fjord, Jester, Nott, Yasha. The names pounded in his head, nails that refused to be hammered down. One stood out stronger than the rest, the ache deeper, the emptiness more terrifyingly complete, but not one passed without a sharp stutter in his heart.

He died. He had, hadn't he? Somehow the thought had never really, truly clicked. He had been cold and still in the ground, festering amid the worms. Had they made a home of him? Burrowed into his body while the mud dripped into his mouth, boring holes through his flesh and eating at his innards, ants and centipedes all marching their unending parade through the rot underneath his skin, thousands of legs too small to feel and yet there was a crawling deep inside.

He knew what dead bodies looked like. He felt liked he'd created a few himself. The swords he carried had tasted blood that was not his own, and a prickle on his tongue told Mollymauk that he had as well. His body had, at least. This body had done many things that Mollymauk had not. Maybe it was his Other, the echo that had given up his skin, who had brought his teeth to another's flesh to drink their life away.

He gagged, both from the sudden stench of copper he swore he could smell, and from the images it painted. He knew what dead bodies looked like. Molly's hands flew to his belly, prodding at the skin to make sure it felt as it should, a layer of fat softening the muscle underneath, currently smooth and flat as he hadn't eaten a thing. The Nein's presence left his stomach twist into knots too tight to let him get a proper meal. What should have mattered was that his belly was firm, where a corpses would be spongey-soft and bloated with gas, and yet it did not comfort him.

He was alive, but he couldn't convince himself of this. Molly scrabbled at his own jaw to find the pulse beneath it, fluttering far too quickly.

A heartbeat meant life. A beating heart meant pumping blood and blood was the essence of the life was what rooted the soul to the body. That's why they studied it: the blood. That's why they spilled it over their blades and that's why he, the Other, that Lucien, had drank it down, because endless blood meant endless life and an immortal sustained on the blood of those beneath them was unto a god —

Molly didn't realize he was scratching at his arms until he felt himself prick into a vein. The stinging made him wince, suddenly registering the scores of red lines he'd dragged over his forearms, and the one small arc of crimson where a nail had dug too deep.

His throat worked in a swallow. Blood was life. If he bled, he was alive. If he breathed in fresh, clean air, from the open window, then it meant that he wasn't buried feet under the earth with only worms and fungal spores for company.

The voices downstairs went quiet. Mollymauk went still, straining to catch a word. The thought that they were gone should have been a relief. It meant that he could move at last, emerge from this tiny, claustrophobic room that might as well be a coffin.

And it meant he was completely alone.

A panic caught his chest, Molly scrambling to his feet. "Essek!" He shouted. They were gone, weren't they, so it was safe to come out now. They were gone, but so was he, so Mollymauk was all alone with no one to distract him from the gaping wound underneath his ribs.

"Essek!"

No response. Trembling hands wrenched the door open. He thudded down the stairs and nearly toppled in his frenzy. He needed to find Essek. He needed to find someone, anyone, he needed to not be alone, he needed something to fill the empty void in in his chest where a soul was meant to be so he could stop feeling so Empty.

His skin crawled for contact, and he hugged himself tight. No one was there.

Eventually, Mollymauk would slink to a couch and find the thickest, heaviest blanket in the house. He hunkered down in the cushions with it, the soft texture until his fingers grounding and the pressure even better. A warm, living, breathing body was what he needed, but this would work. This would have to be enough.

Essek did return, sooner than expected. He had a parasol in his hand, a lacy pink thing. Mollymauk didn't know if it was relief or despair he felt when the drow strode right by, eyes so firmly fixed on the item in his hands that he hardly even noticed the tiefling on his couch — let alone his trembling. Mollymauk did not miss Essek's own.

If he'd been here five minutes prior, Mollymauk might have scrambled to him. Even now, after catching his breath so just the smallest of tremors seized him between the seconds, he was starving for contact. It would be so warm tucked up against someone else's body. He wanted Essek to hold him. Hell, he would hold Essek himself, the gods knew the drow needed a fucking hug.

Mollymauk would do a lot with Essek, really. He'd happily take any of it. Just a hand, fingers laced together. They were clever hands. Some memory — his own, not the Other's — told him that wizards were good with their hands. Long, nimble fingers, trained to weave odd shapes in the air or paint them in their books. He'd love to just play with his fingers and watch how each section folded in, drag his own over the protrusions of the knuckles and maybe lift Essek's hand to kiss each one.

Kissing Essek was the next thought that flitted into his mind. He let it come and savored it, happy to entertain a fantasy, especially in favor of the panic that seized him before. Essek didn't strike him as one who spent a lot of time in bed with someone else. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that the man had never kissed at all. Either way, Mollymauk thought it would be hesitant at first. It was easy to imagine how Essek would falter, breath fanning out across his lips. Mollymauk would have to cup his face, press slow, chaste kisses to his lips, again and again until the wizard followed suit. Wizards were curious things, and Essek had an attractive dedication to his work. He was sure that he'd get his bearings in no time.

And then there was further. Picking that mantle away, taking a moment to admire him in the garments that clung close to his body. Molly had averted his eyes in the spa, but like this he would be allowed to drink it in. First with his eyes, and then with his hands, his teeth, his tongue. He wondered how Essek would sound. Soft whimpers, maybe. Or could be be noisy once his restraint cracked in half, crying out and panting. Or low growls and hisses of pleasure, his quiet intensity taken to bed.

It would all be music to his ears. But while he knew Essek looked at him — he wasn't blind — somehow he was sure that Essek wasn't going to act on that any time soon.

But the craving wasn't going to go away, either. Now that the thought was lodged in his head, Mollymauk knew what he wanted so badly. It barely scraped against arousal, just desire making him ache. He just wanted to spend a night with the reminder he wasn't alone.

Maybe he'd take a tour around the city, tomorrow, and see if he couldn't find someone to share his bed.

It had been more than enough. Hands on his body to sooth the crawling under his skin, warmth and heat and pressure that became the soul focus of his mind, and a sleep so deep there was no room for nightmares of blood and burials. And with a clear head, Mollymauk came to a conclusion:

Essek Thelyss was difficult to read, and that both impressed and worried him.

Mollymauk was a liar. Spinning tales was as easy as it was fun, and while he might not have been the most charming of trinkets, he knew how to walk the line that bordered absurdity, keep a story just strange enough for someone to want to believe his words were true. The deeper sort of lie, he could manage that as well — deception, not just tall tales, the kind of words that sang of danger in their wake.

Essek wasn't necessarily a liar, as far as Mollymauk could tell, but he was certainly a deceiver. There were gaps in his story, things he didn't like to talk about, subjects he was quick to change.

There was a heavy guilt that followed in his shadow after the Mighty Nein's departure, one that grew deeper as the days passed. Mollymauk wouldn't care about lies — whatever person Essek didn't want to be, that was his business. Molly didn't care for other people's baggage. It was dead weight, best left behind so you could keep moving forward without so much as a glance over the shoulder. But whenever Mollymauk brought up the Nein, he could no longer miss the way that Essek's breath caught, his words stalled, his face pinched.

Essek had a good mask, but Mollymauk was even better at prying them off than he was at wearing his own.

#mollymauk tealeaf #essek thelyss #shadowmauk #cr #cr fic #my writing #abith

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years

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tendrillar

Part 21 of Whumptober 2020

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Basira Hussain, Melanie King, Georgie Barker, Helen | The Distortion Tags: Whump, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Unreality, Mild Body Horror, Hurt/Comfort

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The Archivist sees himself in a warped and twisted mirror, just for a moment, before it shatters with a scream of agony. It ripples through corridors that twist right, and right, and right, and shards of silver-sharp litter a carpet that isn’t. Doors appear and disappear, red and black and hardwood and steel and all folding under the weight of a thousand eyes trying to understand that which is by nature unknowable and should remain a spiraling mix of uncertainty and distrust.

He’s on the ground, if you could call it a ground. He retches up a shimmering cloud of static and curlicues that bore into his eyes in a desperate, furious plea to get out, Archivist. Get. Out!

Pinpricks turn into slices of red-hot pain as knives that are fingers and fingers that are not his turn his mind upon its axis, and he’s falling up, through a series of reflections of versions of himself that are not quite, and he’s shattering.

You do not belong here, Archivist. I. Did. Not. Invite. You.

A yellow door flickers at the edge of his vision, and he focuses on it with every strength of Seeing and Knowing and Beholding he still retains in this place so removed from sanity, from anything within the realm of corporeality. It shudders and ripples and snaps into place for just a moment, its handle an irradiant glow of tremoring existence.

The Archivist grips it tightly, feeling spiral scars scald themselves onto his skin and veins and mind, and pulls.

Georgie and Melanie spill out first, stumbling through a once-there-now-gone yellow doorway with eyes like stained glass and hands that grip the other’s white-knuckled and shaking. Basira’s there in an instant, gripping Melanie by the arm and asking, firmly, who she is. What’s her name? Yes, she has a name. She’s safe. She can’t see because she’s blind. No, it’s not from�� from in there. Yes, Melanie. Her name is Melanie.

Georgie just stares at Melanie, like she’s seeing her for the first time, and whispers, “It… it was supposed to be safe. She said it would be safe.”

Then, the door shudders, in a way that doors should not be able to move. It twists, and implodes and explodes in equal measure, and becomes everything that it is not and everything that it has always been, and then, in a transition that Martin’s brain refuses to process, the door becomes not a door becomes Jon, slumped onto the hard-packed dirt of the in-between that exists in places that aren’t feared.

“Shit, shit, Jon!” Martin cries, and then he’s kneeling at Jon’s side, and oh god, is he breathing? There are curling lines pulsing just beneath the surface of Jon’s skin, stained a color that it hurts Martin’s eyes to look at and shifting in impossibly intricate patterns that fold in on themselves in ways beyond the confines of dimensionality. Martin places a careful hand on Jon’s face, and then pulls it back with a bitten-out curse. It’s like touching an open flame. “Jon, can you hear me? I- I need you to wake up, Jon. You’re- you’re out of there, you’re safe. I- I think she’s gone. Helen. It. Whatever. So you- you can wake up.”

Martin looks at Jon, at the stillness of his face, at the lack of rise-and-fall of his chest, and feels a nausea born of six months of waiting and grieving and loss rising within him once again. “Jon, please.”

He hesitates, just a moment, before steeling himself and placing a hand on Jon’s face once again. The heat is instantaneous, and Martin feels a scream of agony well up within him; he bites his tongue around it and refuses to move. With fingers on fire and spiral lines beginning to wind their way up his wrist, Martin moves his hand over Jon’s eyes, and tries, very hard, to remember what it felt like when Jon had done the same, standing outside yet another domain of fear and staring at the Panopticon in the distance, and had said, in that gentle voice that Martin adores more than anything, “Can you see it?”

“Yes,” Martin said, in a voice strangled by tears. “Yes, I- I can see it.” The cabin, where they had spent three weeks—three lovely, fleeting weeks—that might be the only weeks they would ever get, now dissolved into an eager host for those who wished for respite. And everything else, as he felt Beholding rush into him and through him, and he finally understood, if only a little, what it was to be an Archivist. Though he hadn’t told Jon that. And Jon, true to his word, had never looked.

Martin Looks now, as he calls upon a connection he so desperately wishes were not there, but that has been hardened through curiosity and certainty and a love for that which the Eye holds dearest above all else, and hopes desperately that it’s enough. “Jon, I need you to look,” he says, voice strangled in agony as the spiraling lines begin to thread through his chest. “Can you see it? Can… can you see me?”

The tears that drip from his nose sizzle into vapor against a hand that wishes nothing more than to let go. In a voice barely audible over the sobs threatening to rip their way from his throat, Martin says, “Can. You. See. Me?”

The Spiral curls and pulses against his heart, and Jon opens his Eyes.

“For the last time,” Jon says stubbornly, “I am fine—”

His words dissolve into a series of stuttered, distorted noises, not unlike that of a record skipping or a tape recorder rewinding, as the spirals still laced under his skin dance with quiet laughter and he glitches. Martin really, really tries not to laugh when Jon snaps back into himself with a sulking frown etched onto his face, but, well.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says at the affronted look Jon gives him. “Look, I know you want to get back to our terribly journey into Mordor, to throw the ring into Mount Doom and all that, but it’s going to be really hard to travel when you’re still not recovered from- from the supernatural equivalent of a really bad infection. You almost died, Jon.”

“It’s not—” Jon cuts off with a frustrated groan. “I just. I don’t like waiting.”

“I know.” Martin places a hand on Jon’s arm and pulls him in for a gentle embrace. Jon folds into him, and Martin tries to ignore the way that the spirals still entangled with his veins and tendons pulse in quiet relief as they’re brought closer to that from which they came. Tries to ignore the way that Jon’s eyes, just for a moment, swirl with a thousand colors never seen. “But we have time. Basira’s still trying to hunt down that lead on Jonah’s weakness, whatever that means, and Melanie and Georgie are still recovering.” He lets out a sigh and holds Jon just a bit tighter. “Christ, they spent two years in there, Jon. Or, at- at least what counts as two years in that place. And Helen never told us. She smiled, and laughed, and told us she was here to help, and the entire time two of our friends were just- just lost inside her!”

“I think she meant to,” Jon says quietly. His breath tickles the side of Martin’s neck as he pulls back, just enough to look Martin in the eyes, then away at the ground. “To help. The corridors, they- they were safer than what’s out there, at the start. She was safer at the start. But over time she just…” He sighs. “This world, it isn’t kind to those who cling to their humanity. And I suppose she just found it easier, in the end. To let go. After that…”

“… Melanie and Georgie were just an unfinished meal,” Martin says, and Jon reluctantly nods. “Yeah, I get it. That doesn’t make it right. You’ve clung to your humanity well enough.”

With a smile, Jon says, “Well, I certainly had help.”

“Flatterer,” Martin says, and presses a light kiss to Jon’s lips. There’s a static that lingers after Martin pulls back, prickling his mouth with pins and needles; he wonders, absently, if that’s something he’ll have to get used to. The static, and the glitching, and the spirals inked upon their skin in mirrored concentricity. Perhaps it’s a part of them now, just as the eyes that gaze lovingly upon the Archivist stare within and through him and the swirling mist that longs to claim what once was its still lingers within Martin. Perhaps it’s just another mark: another story for the Archive.

Jon flickers once more, the distortion sending shockwaves of staticky laughter and dizzying wrongness through Martin. This time, when he groans, it’s in resignation.

“I… see your point,” he concedes, and he sounds so grumpy that Martin can’t quite fight back another smile. Jon pulls free from Martin’s embrace, though a hand lingers on Martin’s before he threads their fingers together and squeezes lightly. “But soon.”

Martin squeezes Jon’s hand in return, and feels a bit of that unnatural heat return as he does so. “Soon.”

Jon smiles softly, the lines that spiral through his face and cluster around his eyes smiling in kind, and Martin can’t help but feel that this is not a sickness that can be cured by time. Soon, he promises himself, as he guides Jon back to the cluster of blankets and sleeping bags they’ve been calling a bed, and hopes that the lies he tells himself will appease those that now make themselves home within their souls.

#whumptober2020 #no.21 #i don't feel so well #the magnus archives #fic #unreality cw

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