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chimcess · 3 days

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→ Chapter Ten: The Beyond Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 9.3k+Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the south and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Bridd, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the newest Bridd, a young girl who was given her position too early. Now a woman, Y/N is revered amongst the wolves as the most powerful witch they have ever known, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: ANGST, strong language, PTSD, flashbacks, self-hate, self-depreciation, talks of death, nosey birds, Moland is a lot of fun to write about, (sorta) theft, home sickness, magic, very tame A/N: We're officially 1/3 of the way through our "little" story. Sorry it's been so long between updates. I've been working on so many things as the same time that TTW got placed on the backburner for a bit. Thanks for reading!

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I never expected Clarcton to be so plain. As a girl, I used to dream about escaping the swamp, imagining a world beyond my responsibilities—a world full of beauty and freedom. But standing in the little village’s town square, those daydreams evaporated like morning mist.

Stover, the tiniest town in Clarcton, was quaint and small, with cobblestone streets and wooden cottages that seemed to lean on each other for support. The townspeople moved with the kind of slow, deliberate pace that comes from a life untroubled by haste. Their eyes lingered on me, and I could feel their curiosity as they assessed the stranger in their midst. I stood out just by being different, my scars a map of battles they couldn’t fathom.

Through a day of shopping, I learned that Stover rarely saw travelers. The elves invading the northern tip had made the locals wary, and I could hear their whispers about my scars. Ignoring them wasn’t easy, but I’d be gone tomorrow. The market was a small square, stalls offering modest wares—fresh produce, simple cloth, handcrafted trinkets. Each vendor seemed to eye me with a mix of suspicion and pity.

Northorn still held strong, its capital unfallen. King Edward had called for aid from Whopping, a fishing town on the east coast. The wolves of Viridi Gramine had decided not to help the humans, heading instead to Bangtan to protect their princess. Hearing the townsfolk speak ill of Hyuna made my stomach churn. These people were ignorant, jumping to conclusions like humans always did since the Sarkans first landed in Lustra.

Starving, I dropped off my supplies and set out for food. Hannah, a kind woman who ran the inn, had pointed me to a tavern that promised a decent meal. However, I was low on money and too frightened to barter. Drawing attention could be dangerous, especially after hearing rumors of elves in town. I’d hidden in shops, body tense, the sight of white hair sending chills down my spine.

Elves all looked the same—pale, white-haired, with amethyst eyes. This party had no women, and when I asked the tailor, he explained that their kind had a queendom where men were lesser beings. These elves were young and inexperienced, sent to weaken before the real conquerors arrived. The tailor believed Lustra would fall when the second wave came.

The tavern buzzed with an overwhelming clamor. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ale and sweat, and it was clear that I was the only human present. The elves, their pale faces flushed with drink, were loud and rowdy, their laughter grating on my ears. Ale sloshed over the edges of their mugs, splattering the wooden floor. Keeping my head down, I approached the bar and ordered soup and ale, deciding it was safer to stay than to risk attracting attention by leaving too soon.

Finding a corner table, I settled in, hoping to blend into the shadows. The warmth of the tavern was a stark contrast to the chill outside, but it did little to soothe my nerves. As I waited for my meal, snippets of conversation drifted to me. The elves boasted of their exploits, their voices dripping with arrogance. They spoke of battles and conquests, their laughter tinged with cruelty. Each word stoked the fire of my hatred, but I kept my face impassive, my gaze fixed on the table in front of me.

When the tavern maid brought my soup and ale, I thanked her quietly, avoiding eye contact. The soup was hearty, its warmth spreading through my body with each spoonful. The ale, though bitter, helped to steady my nerves. I ate slowly, trying to make the meal last as long as possible.

As I ate, a group of elves at a nearby table grew louder, their taunts more pointed. They spoke about the humans they had encountered, their words laced with contempt. One of them, a particularly burly elf with a scar running down his cheek, caught my eye and sneered. “Look at that one,” he said loudly, gesturing towards me. “Thinks she can hide among us.”

The others laughed, and I forced myself to remain calm, taking another sip of my ale. The burly elf stood, his steps unsteady, and made his way over to my table. “What’s your name, human?” he demanded, leaning in close, the stench of alcohol on his breath.

I looked up, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as I could muster. “None of your business,” I replied evenly.

His sneer widened, and he reached out, grabbing my arm. “Feisty one, aren’t you? I like that.” He pulled me to my feet, and I could feel the eyes of the entire tavern on us. The room had fallen silent, the tension palpable.

The elf’s grip tightened, and I winced, but refused to show fear. “Let go of me,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Or what?” he taunted, pulling me closer. “You’ll make me?”

Before I could react, a flash of movement caught my eye. Another elf, smaller and quicker, appeared beside the burly one. “Enough, Dalion,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Leave her be.”

Dalion hesitated, his grip loosening slightly. “Why? She’s just a human.”

“Because I said so,” the other elf replied, his tone brooking no argument. “We don’t need any more trouble.”

With a grunt, Dalion released me, shoving me back into my chair. “Fine,” he muttered, glaring at me one last time before returning to his table. The smaller elf gave me a brief nod before following.

I took a shaky breath, my heart pounding. The tavern slowly returned to its previous state, the noise level rising once more. I finished my meal quickly, eager to leave and find some semblance of safety. As I paid for my food, I noticed the smaller elf watching me, his expression unreadable. I decided to go to the bar and finish my night there.

At the bar, a hooded figure sipped clear liquor, the sharp smell cutting through the tavern's haze. The bartender, his eyes darting between me and the elves, asked where I was from.

"Leeside," I lied, knowing he saw through it but didn’t call me out. He knew my destination and that Leeside was big enough to hide in. "Just passing through."

He nodded, wiping the bar. The elves were bothering a drunk old man for money, out of coins and still thirsty.

"Heard about Azamar?" the bartender asked.

I nodded, taking a bite. "Hot. Too bad, I’ve heard it’s nice this time of year."

The hooded figure shifted, drawing my instinctive gaze. Her teeth were too large, canines sharp, and one incisor framed in gold—a mark of an assassin from Whopping, according to Hoseok.

"The plains are worse," she said, her voice rough but feminine. "Hard to see anything if you go that far south."

"The northern tip isn’t too bad," I replied without thinking. "I came in through that way."

"Interesting."

She knew I was lying. Keeping my fear in check, I ate. The bartender offered another bowl on the house, which I accepted, knowing hot meals would be scarce. The elves grew louder, and I wanted to leave. Tomorrow, I’d memorize the maps Sam packed.

"Hey! You!"

I closed my eyes, feeling their gaze. They spoke a bastardized Lustrian, discussing my potential in bed and survival odds. I resisted the urge to respond, knowing a fight would expose me. Humans feared magic, as Aldara always said.

"Girl," another elf slurred, "give me some money. I need another drink."

The bartender, catching on, turned his back. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. He knew I understood them. I was obviously not an elf, so the options were shifter or witch—either one could spell trouble if the bartender exposed me out of ignorance.

"I’m talking to you, bicce."

My eye twitched. The bartender noticed, realization dawning. He turned away, leaving me to fend for myself.

Fortunately, he didn't look disgusted by me. His face remained remarkably neutral as he returned with a refill. He carefully placed a napkin on the bar before setting down the glass. I glanced at him, then at the woman out of the corner of my eye. She was tense, her head inclined towards me, her eyes hidden but clearly watching me as closely as the elves were. They were louder now, frustrated by my lack of response. I picked up my glass and read the smudged writing on the napkin.

"I'm Vern."

I took a sip, nodding, keeping my face impassive. Quietly, I ordered another drink, placing a copper coin on the bar, and pointed at the group with my thumb. I didn’t care what they wanted, but I hoped Vern wouldn’t provoke them. With great care, I picked up the napkin.

Crumpling it in my hand, I muttered under my breath, wiping it against my lips before placing it back on the bar. I went back to eating. Vern brought the elf his drink, and their angry taunts stopped. The one who called me a bitch thanked me in a condescending tone. I wanted to tear him apart, but instead, I drank my ale and ate my vegetable soup.

Vern came back, picking up my napkin and walking over to the trash can behind the bar. The traveler next to me was still staring, and I knew she knew what had happened. They both had their secrets. She stayed hidden beneath her cloak, while Vern saw too much. Both of them were searching for something, but I couldn’t tell you what. I did know, however, that lying would only make me look worse. I had given him my first name and hoped that would satisfy his curiosity.

Another napkin appeared in front of me. Vern was wiping down glasses, back turned, and I was sure no one except the three of us understood what was going on. I glanced down.

"Moland. Etta Ketchens’ son."

So, there was another witch around. Moland was the original land of magic. All witches alive today descended from those who first discovered it in the swamps. Bangtan stole the title after witches began making deals with the ielfen. Their world was linked to the spirit realm, and the monsters that lived there were difficult to manage, so they sent them to the forests. The witches were strong enough to keep them away, but the creatures found refuge in Bangtan.

Anyone from Moland had magic, and I had heard of Etta from Thelma. She was from the northeast. I had never met her, but she was known for playing music and throwing great parties. Trusting Vern became easier. We were in the same boat, and witches liked to stick together. At the very least, I knew I had backup if it came down to a fight.

"Bangtan. Thelma Richard’s niece."

He nodded, his eyes wandering to the woman at the end of the bar. She hadn’t taken her eyes off us since the written exchange began. Her eyes seemed to glow within the darkness that surrounded her face, boring into me, waiting for something. Feeling exposed, I stood. It was time to leave. I had done what I came here to do, and the elves were starting to badger people for money again.

Vern shook his head and glanced down at my seat, giving me pause. Gaze turning to the woman, she shrugged and shook her head in agreement. I had no reason to trust either of them, but I had a feeling in my gut. Even if we wouldn’t normally help each other, right now, we had a common enemy. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Aldara would say I should listen before reacting. So, when the woman offered to buy me another drink, I sat back down.

“They’re planning on following you home,” Vern murmured, placing a glass in front of me.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m gifted. You could say I specialize in mind magic.”

Stiffening, I eyed him with new wariness. That’s how he knew I was lying; he could hear my thoughts. Vern nodded, answering my unasked question.

“I’m not concentrating on you,” he clarified. “I’m trying to watch them. I’m just picking up bits and pieces of everyone else. She’s—” He looked at the woman, “—not human either. She’s trying to decide if she should accompany you. You’re both going east.”

The elves were back to insulting me for another drink. I gritted my teeth, my anger and frustration bubbling over. I’d always been a hothead, but my emotions felt so volatile now. I hated them. I hated everything they stood for. Cordelia’s dead body flashed in my mind, and Vern couldn’t hide the horror on his face.

“Bicce!”

Beside me, the woman turned her attention to the elves.

“Don’t speak to her like that,” she growled.

Their group stopped their taunts, a thick, tense silence falling over the bar. Tensing, I prepared to defend her. She didn’t need to take up for me, but my hatred made the decision easy. I wanted to kill them all.

The elf scoffed in disbelief. Vern’s eyes widened in horror, and he reached out towards the hooded woman. I knew what was coming, and instead of waiting, I took action.

I’d always been a loose cannon, but these last few days had made me feel more unhinged than ever. Anger, sorrow, and hatred coiled tightly in my stomach, driving me insane. The nightmares. The heartache. Yoongi’s blank stare. Cordelia’s lifeless body in the flames. Jimin’s anguish. Sol’s betrayal. All of it consumed me, and for once, I didn’t try to stomp the flames out.

“Swígan!” I shouted, turning to face the elves. I had reached my limit. Knowing I had at least one other witch on my side, I felt emboldened. “Mieltan.”

The iron ring on my finger melted, searing my skin, but I hardly registered the burn. I shot the melted iron like a rocket, stabbing the elf who disrespected me through the chest. Dalion couldn’t scream. When I retracted the metal, there was a hole so large I could see through his body. The other three stared, mouths agape, before turning on me. The dead one fell to the floor with a thud.

The remaining elves rushed at me, their movements fluid and unnervingly synchronized. I didn’t hesitate. The iron ring, now a molten band around my finger, reshaped itself into a thin, sharp blade. I slashed at the closest elf, the blade slicing clean through his raised arm. Blue blood sprayed, and his scream was a piercing wail.

I spun, my instincts sharpened by adrenaline, and kicked another elf, the one who had defended me earlier, square in the chest, sending him crashing into a table. Wood splintered under his weight, and the patrons near him scrambled to get away. The third elf tried to grab me from behind, but I twisted, using the momentum to elbow him hard in the face. His nose crunched, blood spurting as he staggered back, clutching his face.

The elf with the severed arm was still screaming, trying to cast a spell with his remaining hand. I didn’t give him the chance. I lunged, driving the blade into his throat. His eyes widened, a gurgle escaping as he collapsed.

The elf I had kicked was back on his feet, rage contorting his features. He muttered an incantation, and I felt a wave of energy pulse towards me. Instinctively, I threw up a shield, the air crackling with the force of our opposing magics. My shield held, but I could feel the strain. I couldn’t let him overpower me. With a snarl, I pushed back, my magic flaring, and the shield exploded outward, knocking him off his feet.

Vern had been right about the woman. She was a shifter, and now her cloak had fallen away, revealing her true form. She was massive, her muscles rippling under her skin and a pair of black ears poked through her long, black hair. She let out a roar, leaping into the fray with a ferocity that matched my own. She tackled the elf who had been behind me, her nails elongating into claws that raked across his chest. He shrieked, trying to fend her off, but she was relentless, tearing into him with a savage precision.

The elf I had knocked down was getting back up, and I moved to intercept him. He cast another spell, a bolt of energy shooting towards me. I dodged, the bolt sizzling past my ear and scorching the wall behind me. I retaliated with a burst of fire, the flames engulfing him. He screamed, thrashing as the fire consumed him, and then he was silent, his charred body crumpling to the floor.

The last elf was still alive, barely. He was pinned under the woman, her claws at his throat. He looked up at me, eyes wide with fear. I walked over, the molten blade in my hand dripping with blue blood. I knelt down, meeting his gaze.

“You should have left me alone,” I said softly, before driving the blade into his heart.

The bar was silent now, the only sounds the crackling of the flames and the labored breathing of the survivors. The humans who were coherent enough to watch the altercation fled the bar screaming while the others were too drunk to care. I still had energy to burn, shaking with the force of my emotions. Too quickly. I wanted more time with them. I wanted to kill them again and again. I wanted to earn their hatred. I wanted—

“What’s your name?”

I looked at the hooded woman. Her face was covered in blood, and she smiled crookedly. She had deep, pitted dimples, and pieces of jewelry shone inside them.

"Y/N," I replied, keeping my voice steady.

"Lily," she said, giving me a small bow before standing up. Her muscles bulged and twitched with each movement, almost as tall as Jimin. Her hands were adorned with intricate tattoos, and her nails were a vivid ruby red. "Would you mind some company during your travels?"

"Do you know your way through Ozryn?" I asked, eyeing her warily.

She nodded. "I'm from Idris. I'm meeting some friends in the mountains."

Despite my earlier reluctance, this woman might be my only option for crossing the mountains safely. Assassin or not, she was offering her services, and my violent display earlier should deter any funny business. She might beat me in a physical fight, but I had magic on my side, fueled by enough emotional turmoil to last a lifetime. The fact that we were both shifters aided in my trust. We were both wanted citizens if the elves had anything to say about it, and her exposing herself made it hard to justify turning her away.

“You’re obviously a shifter,” I said, placing my remaining coins on the bar. Vern deserved the tip. He'd been an excellent server. "What are you?"

"Maned Wolf," she answered, already walking toward the bar exit. That meant she was half-wolf, half-fox. It would not surprise me if she was the last of her kind. "We should leave. Those humans have alerted the local police about your little... situation."

I looked at Vern, who was quick to agree with Lily’s plan. He would cover for us. Thanking him, I followed the huge woman out of the bar. She hadn't really answered my question, but given the circumstances, I let it slide. I had just murdered four people in a bar. I should have felt more shame, but I couldn't muster any. They killed Cordelia. They deserved it.

“We can collect your belongings from the inn and leave. Okay?”

I agreed. We moved quickly. No one was at the front desk when I entered, making sneaking upstairs a cakewalk. I threw my bag over my shoulder and grabbed the few personal items I had lying around. A deep sadness settled into my chest as I thought back to the fight. I hated flashbacks, but I was starting to realize there was something I disliked even more: myself.

I should have just left and minded my own business. That’s what Jimin would have done. A fight would be a last resort. Instead, I acted a fool for someone I didn’t even know, a woman whose face I couldn’t pick out in a lineup, who could easily have turned her back on me the moment I killed the first man. I didn’t stop to consider that someone else might have abandoned me back there. I was so used to being surrounded by people who loved me that hindsight was 20/20. This time, I had simply gotten lucky. If it had been anyone other than an elf I killed, they would have been disgusted by me. Hell, I felt disgusted by my actions.

Cordelia wouldn’t have been able to look me in the eye after a stunt like that.

Shaking myself out of my daze, I rushed back downstairs. Hannah was at the desk now, and three men wearing navy blue uniforms were crowding her. Quickly, I stopped and kept myself hidden in the shadows, body pressed against the wall as I listened in. They hadn’t heard my footsteps. Human ears were very weak.

“I told you I don’t have any witches staying here,” the human girl barked, clearly fed up with their interrogation. “The old man must have been confused. Vernon even said he was being ridiculous. Those elves were nowhere near the tavern.”

“Well, we can’t find them anywhere else, and it wasn’t just John. Betsy said she saw it happen as well.”

“Betsy?” Hannah drawled, placing her hands on her hips. “So you have a drunk and a schizophrenic's testimony? Have to say, Charles, I expected more from you.”

“Now Ms. Winslow—” one of the men attempted to speak, but Hannah flashed him a dark look. He quieted quickly.

“No,” she spoke in a bored, cold tone that reminded me of Yoongi. They even had the same unimpressed, irritated look. “The three of you came barging in here in the middle of the night, ranting and raving about a witch on the loose who, by the way, according to my records, does not exist. I don’t know where any of you got off waking me and my father at a time like this, but he’s far too sick to be dealing with this mess. So, either tell me a name I can work with or get the hell out. Your choice.”

I was impressed with the girl. She had to have known who they were searching for. I had suddenly popped up, and now you have four elves dead in a bar? Too coincidental. Still, she was covering for me, and I was grateful. It was a shame I was out of money.

“Sorry for your troubles, Hannah,” the man in the middle said, tipping his hat. “Hope Maurice feels better soon. We’ll go and ask Martha and Dawn about it. You could be right about the two kooks.”

I didn’t like the way they talked about John or Betsy. They might have been a bit odd, but they were not liars. I hoped their words wouldn’t get them into any trouble, at least not on my behalf. I’d much rather get arrested and escape than let anyone else get locked up. The policemen left, the wooden door slamming behind them.

“You can come out now.”

Walking the rest of the way down, I hoped my face conveyed how sorry I felt. I didn’t want anyone else inconvenienced because of me. Hannah, however, looked very happy. With a big smile, she greeted me. Lily crawled out from under the desk, hood still securely on, and patted the other girl’s head.

"Congratulations on winning your fight," the human drawled, dark hair tousled from just waking up.

"It's not something worth celebrating," I replied, handing my sack over to Lily when she held out her hand for it. "Thank you," I told the massive woman.

"You need a coat," the traveler demanded, her voice brooking no argument. "It's cold."

Opening my bag, she started digging around before finally landing on the cloak I bought this morning. It was heavy, lined in white fur, and beautifully handcrafted. The most expensive thing I bought next to the boots I was wearing. The outside of it had a beautiful ornate flower pattern spun in a delicate silver color, almost perfectly matching the shade of Jimin’s hair.

"This is nice," Lily commented absentmindedly, handing over the cloak. "Good purchase."

I tied it around my shoulders and charmed it like the rest of my clothes. Taking things on and off would take too much time in an emergency. Lily slung my bag over her shoulder like it weighed nothing, and I was glad to be rid of it. Flying would be easier without the annoyance of straps.

Then it hit me. I couldn't fly as quickly as I normally did. If I had a wolf hybrid traveling with me, I would need to travel in the only way she could. On foot. It was almost enough to make me second-guess bringing her along. Alas, I needed the extra hands, and a guide who knew the area was too good of a resource to flush down the drain. Traveling would take longer, but I would have a better chance at living through this.

"The best elves are the dead ones," Hannah yawned. "You should get going. They’re going to be looking for you all night. Vern cleaned up the mess already, so don’t worry about it. He sends his love."

I nodded. "Tell him if he wants to go back to Moland anytime soon, to stay east and travel down the Syrena River. Most of the witches are in Foxglove now. You both could find some protection there."

She smiled at me. "When my father is well enough for the journey, I’m positive that fool will be taking the two of us with him."

There was no mistaking the affection in her voice.

"You two…" I trailed off. "He loves you."

Thinking back to the moment she was brought up, I had not noticed the same tenderness in Vern’s voice. However, the fact that he had spoken to her about me in such great detail pointed to some sort of relationship. It being a romantic one made me unreasonably happy. They were both friends of mine, even if they did not see me in the same light. I was happy they were together. Witches and humans were not a typical pairing, but I could say the same about my own situation.

"Almost as much as I love him," she winked.

"We need to go," Lily gruffed, grabbing my arm. "I can hear them making their way back towards the inn," she frowned at Hannah. "They’re going to bother you for a little while. Sorry about the trouble."

"Like I said," she huffed, "You did everyone a favor. I don’t want to hear another word about it."

"Thank you," I told her. "For everything. Vern too."

"Go," she replied, shooing us away with her hands. "Go around the back. There’s a small nature reserve that stretches on for a few miles. Keep north before heading east. That should take you to Azamar Pass, but stay close to the volcano. They have encampments everywhere."

Azamar Pass was a small stretch of land connecting Lustra to the island where the Ula’re volcano rested. A large bridge connected it to Northorn and another to the land before the Ozryn mountains. It was likely the safest place for us to travel through despite the treacherous terrain. According to my maps, it was filled with hills and jagged cliffs that could kill you easily. Lily seemed confident enough, so I decided to follow her. She knew this place better than I ever did.

"I know the area well," Lily assured the girl. "We will be safe."

I had to trust she was telling the truth.

We slipped out the back, the night air biting through the fur-lined cloak. The reserve Hannah mentioned was darker than I expected, the thick canopy of trees blotting out the moonlight. We moved quickly, our breath fogging in the cold air. Lily led the way, her steps confident despite the uneven ground. I followed closely, every crunch of leaves underfoot setting my nerves on edge.

The silence between us stretched, only the sounds of our hurried steps and the occasional rustle of wildlife breaking it. My mind raced, replaying the events of the night. I had always been a hothead, but tonight felt different. It wasn't just anger that drove me, but a deeper, more consuming fury. Cordelia’s death had changed something in me, twisted a part of my soul that I wasn’t sure I could ever untangle.

"Are you alright?" Lily’s voice broke through my thoughts. She had stopped and was looking back at me, her eyes sharp even in the dim light.

"Yeah," I lied, not trusting myself to say more.

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "We’re almost there. Azamar Pass is just beyond these woods."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. We continued on, the terrain growing steeper as we neared the pass. The ground beneath our feet turned rocky, the air heavy with the scent of sulfur. The volcano loomed in the distance, a dark silhouette against the night sky.

We reached the edge of the reserve and paused, taking in the sight before us. The pass was a narrow strip of land, flanked by jagged cliffs and treacherous drops. It was more daunting in person than it had seemed on my maps.

"Stay close," Lily warned, her voice low. "The winds can be brutal up here, and the paths are narrow."

We started across, the wind immediately whipping at our clothes and hair. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, every step a fight against the elements. Lily moved with the grace of someone who had done this a hundred times before, her large frame somehow slipping through the narrowest of paths with ease.

Halfway across, the ground trembled beneath our feet, a low rumble emanating from the volcano. I froze, fear clutching at my heart. Lily glanced back, her expression unreadable.

"Keep moving," she urged. "It’s just a tremor."

I forced myself to keep going, each step feeling like an eternity. The path seemed to go on forever, the cliffs on either side closing in like the jaws of some great beast. By the time we reached the other side, my legs were shaking and my lungs burned from the effort.

We collapsed on the ground, the safety of solid land a welcome relief. Lily pulled out a canteen and handed it to me. I took a grateful sip, the water cool and refreshing.

"Thank you," I said, my voice hoarse.

She nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. "We need to keep moving. There’s a cave not far from here where we can rest for the night."

We got to our feet and continued on, the landscape gradually shifting from rocky terrain to dense forest once more. The trees grew thicker, their branches intertwining overhead to form a natural canopy that blocked out most of the sky. The sounds of the forest began to surround us—the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. The path ahead was narrow and winding, forcing us to move in single file, with Lily leading the way.

After what felt like hours, the cave Lily had mentioned came into view, a dark, yawning mouth in the side of a moss-covered hill. The entrance was partially hidden by overgrown vines and thick underbrush, making it almost invisible to the casual observer. We ducked inside, and the temperature dropped noticeably, the cool, damp air enveloping us like a shroud. The cave was surprisingly spacious, with a high ceiling that echoed our footsteps as we ventured further in.

Lily set down my bag and immediately began gathering kindling for a fire, her movements quick and efficient. I watched her as she worked, unable to shake the feeling that there was something otherworldly about her. Despite her petite frame, she moved with a precision and grace that spoke of years spent surviving in the wild. Her hands were steady and sure as she arranged the twigs and branches, and within minutes, she had a small fire crackling to life.

As the flames grew, casting flickering shadows on the cave walls, I couldn't help but study her more closely. Her face, illuminated by the firelight, seemed both young and ancient, with eyes that held secrets I couldn't begin to fathom. There was a quiet strength in her, a resilience that I envied.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked finally, breaking the silence that had settled between us.

She paused, looking up from her task, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made me shiver. "Because you need it," she said simply. "And because I’ve been where you are."

I frowned, not understanding. "Where I am?"

She nodded, her expression softening. "Lost. Angry. Searching for something you can’t quite name."

Her words hit closer to home than I cared to admit. I looked away, the weight of the night's events pressing down on me once more. The memories of the fire, the screams, and the feeling of helplessness washed over me, and I had to fight to keep my composure.

"You don’t have to do this alone," she continued, her voice gentle but firm. "Whatever it is you’re searching for, it’s out there. But you won’t find it by tearing yourself apart."

I didn’t know what to say, the truth of her words cutting through my defenses. For the first time in a long while, I felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps there was a way forward that didn’t involve self-destruction.

"Get some rest," she said, her tone softening even further. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

I nodded, lying down on the cool ground, using my bag as a makeshift pillow. The fire's warmth was comforting, and the sound of the crackling flames was soothing. As I closed my eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking me, I couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as alone as I thought.

I couldn't see past the smoke. It was a roiling, black mass, punctuated by brilliant yellow flames that danced like demons in the night. Shiloh's voice cut through the chaos, a desperate cry reaching out through the suffocating darkness, pleading for me to return. Inside, the screams were a cacophony of terror and anguish, and I ran, my small feet pounding the earth as I shouted for Auntie. Shiloh's cries grew louder behind me, but I ignored her, driven by a singular need to reach the cottage. I had to get to Aldara.

The distance stretched endlessly, the screams crescendoed, and Shiloh's voice became an unbearable buzz in my ears. I was sobbing, calling Aldara's name, feeling the forest around me weep. The spirits that had once tormented me now seemed my only solace, and I crumpled to the ground. No matter how desperately I tried, the cottage remained out of reach. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw it—a movement that made my breath catch.

There it was, not even ten yards away—a large, midnight-black wolf with eyes like burning coals. The firelight cast a grotesque glow on its face, revealing a blood-stained muzzle. In its mouth was an arm, the ring on it gleaming malevolently. Anger surged within me, turning my vision red as I focused on the ring—a skull etched in fiery orange and yellow. Before I could stop myself, I was chanting a spell, my voice echoing through the forest. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled in response.

The wolf dropped the arm and snarled, its eyes locked on mine. The air crackled with energy, the spell building inside me, threatening to tear me apart from the inside out. The wolf lunged, and I screamed, the spell bursting forth in a torrent of raw power. The ground shook, the trees groaned, and the wolf was thrown back, its body slamming into a tree with a sickening crunch.

I collapsed, the spell having drained every ounce of strength from my body. The forest fell silent, the only sound my ragged breathing. I crawled towards the cottage, my limbs trembling, my vision swimming. The smoke began to clear, and I could see the outline of the cottage through the haze.

Aldara lay on the ground, her body limp, her face pale. I reached her side, my hands shaking as I tried to rouse her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked at me, a weak smile playing on her lips.

"You did it," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames. "You saved us."

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. The forest had fallen silent, the spirits watching us with a newfound respect. I had faced the darkness and emerged victorious, but at what cost?

As the first light of dawn broke through the trees, I held Aldara close, the weight of the night's events settling on my shoulders. The forest might have been our home, but it was also a place of danger and despair. And I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.

But then everything started to change. The flames flickered and became stars in a velvet sky. The trees twisted and turned, transforming into towering figures that whispered secrets in a language I couldn’t understand. Shiloh's voice turned into a soft lullaby, and the ground beneath me felt like the softest bed I had ever known.

Aldara’s form began to shimmer and fade, her features blurring as if she were being drawn away by an unseen hand. "You must go," she said, her voice echoing like a distant melody. "This world is not for you."

I tried to hold on to her, but my hands passed through her like smoke. The stars above began to swirl, forming a spiral that pulled me upwards, away from the forest, away from the cottage. I was weightless, floating, the screams and flames and shadows all fading into a soft, gentle darkness.

I awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream slipping away like shadows at dawn. The morning light streamed through the cave entrance, illuminating the damp stone walls and casting eerie shapes that danced in the corners of my vision. I lay there, struggling to piece together the fragments of a nightmare that felt all too real. But no matter how hard I tried, the details eluded me, leaving only a lingering sense of unease and the whisper of a name.

"You okay?" Lily's voice broke through the fog, soft yet insistent. I blinked, shaking off the last vestiges of the dream. The cool, damp air of the cave was a grounding contrast to the surreal horrors still echoing in my mind.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice hoarse. "Just a bad dream."

Lily studied me, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see through my flimsy facade. But she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she handed me a piece of bread and some dried fruit, which I accepted gratefully.

"We should get moving soon," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "The sooner we leave, the better our chances of staying ahead."

I nodded, chewing slowly as my thoughts lingered on the dream, the name echoing like a distant drumbeat in my mind.

We packed up quickly, the remnants of the fire reduced to ashes that Lily expertly scattered with her foot. Outside, the forest was waking up, the early morning light filtering through the leaves and casting a soft, golden glow on everything. Birds chirped, and small creatures rustled in the underbrush, weaving a tapestry of normalcy that stood in stark contrast to the turmoil roiling inside me.

As we began to walk, the path ahead seemed clearer, more defined. It was as if the forest itself was guiding us, the trees parting just enough to show the way. I fell into step behind Lily, my thoughts drifting back to her words from the night before: lost, angry, searching for something you can't quite name.

"Can I ask you something?" I ventured after a while, breaking the silence.

"Sure," Lily replied, not turning around, her attention focused on the path ahead.

"Why are you going east?"

She hesitated, tension knotting in her shoulders. "I’m trying to find my daughter," she said finally, her voice low. "We got separated when the incursion started up north. I have some friends in Ozryn who might know where to find her."

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to offer. The weight of loss was something I understood all too well. “I hope she’s alright.”

"I’m sure she is," Lily continued, her voice softening. "I don’t like being away from her, but I know she can take care of herself. I’m just being cautious with the elves in the area."

“I’ll help you find her,” I promised, a sudden surge of determination filling me. “Once I’ve done what I came here to do.”

Lily chuckled, a sound tinged with both gratitude and disbelief. “Thanks, kid. But I don’t think we’ll need your help. Tinka can’t hide from me.”

“But I’m indebted to you,” I insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”

“You’re assisting me during my journey. You don’t have a debt as long as you do that magic thing and slice and dice whatever gets in our way.”

We walked in silence for a while, the forest around us providing a comforting backdrop to our shared grief. There was something about being in nature that made the pain more bearable, as if the trees and the earth could absorb some of the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm us.

After a few hours, we reached a clearing with a small stream gurgling through it. The water was crystal clear, the gentle sound of it flowing over the rocks soothing my frayed nerves. We stopped to rest, filling our water bottles, the cool water a welcome relief against the weight of our thoughts.

As I splashed some on my face, the chill sent a jolt of clarity through me, a reminder that life continued to flow, regardless of the chaos that swirled around us. And for a brief moment, I felt the edges of my turmoil soften, blending into the rhythm of the world around us.

As we sat by the stream, the water rushing over smooth stones like whispered secrets, Lily reached into her pack and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. She began writing in it with a pen unlike any I had ever seen—a sharp blade at the end, glimmering as it danced across the page without needing a drop of ink.

“Why are you going to the mountains?” she asked, her voice carrying an edge of curiosity.

“I’m looking for someone,” I replied, staring at the water’s surface, its reflections shifting like memories just out of reach. “Someone important to me said I needed to find her.”

“Let me guess,” Lily sighed, her tone a blend of weariness and knowing. “Naida?”

“How did you…?”

“She’s the only thing out there worth hunting down,” the hybrid drawled, pulling her hood down to reveal ears the color of rust, tipped in black, and hair that cascaded like ink down her shoulders. “Must be needing Khione. Do you know what for?”

I cleared my throat, the words heavy with significance. “I’m trying to get extra help in the south. I was told they might be able to assist us.”

Lily laughed, but it was a humorless sound, tinged with bitterness. “Naida might. Khione? I doubt it. That old bitch doesn’t do anything except fuck the little whores she keeps in her castle while my friends starve in those mountains.”

I stared at her, taken aback by the rawness of her words, the pain wrapped around them like a vine. “That’s quite a reputation she has.”

Lily’s expression hardened, the air thickening with her disdain. “Reputation? It’s the truth. Khione has power, sure, but it comes with a price. She doesn’t help anyone unless there’s something in it for her. If you’re seeking aid, you’d better be prepared to pay dearly for it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

Lily leaned back against a tree, her gaze drifting to the rushing water, as if searching for answers in its depths. “She’s got a knack for making deals that trap you. You think you’re getting help, but it’s usually a trap. You could end up worse off than before.”

I let her words sink in, the implications wrapping around my mind like a cold fog. “So, what do you suggest? Just forget about it?”

“No,” she said, her voice firm, slicing through my doubts. “I’m just saying to be cautious. If you really think Naida can help, go to her. But if Khione is involved… just be ready for anything.”

“What do you know about Naida?” I pressed, desperate for any insight that might illuminate my path.

“She’s a force to be reckoned with,” Lily replied, her tone shifting slightly, like the wind before a storm. “A protector of the mountains, they say. If anyone can help us, it might be her. But she’s not easily found, and even harder to convince. You’ll need to prove yourself worthy of her time.”

I nodded, determination battling with trepidation in my chest. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lily studied me for a moment, her expression softening. “I believe you. Just remember, you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Together,” I echoed, warmth spreading through me at the reassurance. It was comforting to know I had someone by my side who understood the stakes.

We resumed our journey, the path growing steeper as we ventured deeper into the forest. The sun climbed higher, casting dappled shadows on the ground, and the air was thick with the scent of pine and earth—invigorating yet heavy with the weight of our conversations.

As we navigated the terrain, our topic shifted to lighter matters, and I found myself laughing at Lily’s sarcastic quips about the creatures of the forest. Her spirit was contagious, and the laughter felt good, a welcome reprieve from the tension that had settled in my bones.

Eventually, we reached a vantage point overlooking a vast expanse of mountains in the distance. The peaks were shrouded in mist, an ethereal quality lending them an almost otherworldly presence. I could almost feel the pull of Khione’s castle lurking somewhere among them, a siren’s call promising both danger and salvation—a promise that felt too heavy to bear.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, creeping shadows across the ground, we stumbled upon another cave. This one was smaller, cozier, and had a natural chimney that promised to keep the night’s chill at bay. The entrance was framed by thick vines and moss, giving it an almost hidden quality, like a secret the forest had kept for itself. As we stepped inside, the air was cool and damp, a welcome relief from the heat of the day, and soon we had a fire crackling to life, its flickering light casting playful shadows against the damp stone walls.

Settled by the fire, I pulled out the remnants of our meager supplies while Lily rummaged through her pack. The warmth enveloped us, creating an intimate cocoon as we prepared a simple meal from what little we had left. The aroma of the dried meat she had brought wafted into the air, mixing with the earthy scent of the cave.

“You’re a vegetarian?” Lily laughed, a sound rich with amusement that echoed around us, almost like a melody bouncing off the walls.

“Yes. Do you have any nuts?” I replied, attempting to keep my tone casual despite the slight twist of discomfort in my stomach at the thought of what she might offer.

Lily shook her head, still chuckling. “That won’t keep you healthy, little one. Have some rabbit. I killed it yesterday.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge. I recoiled as she brought the dried meat closer, the odor hitting me like a wave of something unpleasant—savage and primal. “Ugh,” I flinched away, my face contorting in distaste.

Her laughter deepened, a hearty sound that seemed to vibrate within the cave’s very stones. “Don’t make that face,” she teased, her voice rich with mirth. “I have a pack of nuts and mushrooms in my bag.”

I caught the bag she tossed my way, the soft thud of it landing in my hands almost comforting. “Thanks,” I said, rifling through the contents. “You know, not everyone can be a barbarian like you.”

“Barbarian?” she replied, raising an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on her lips. “Just because I prefer my meals with a bit more substance doesn’t make me a barbarian.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” I replied, rolling my eyes as I munched on a handful of nuts, their earthy taste grounding me. “But seriously, rabbit? Did you have to?”

Lily chuckled again, the firelight illuminating her features with a warm glow, casting playful shadows on her face. “You’re too soft. A little meat might toughen you up.”

“I’m plenty tough,” I shot back, more defensively than I intended. “I just don’t see the need to eat something that was hopping around yesterday.”

“Oh, I see. You’re a sensitive soul, aren’t you?” Her sarcasm dripped like honey, thick and sweet, teasing at my vulnerabilities.

“Just practical,” I countered, crossing my arms as I met her gaze. “I like my food to be, you know, not staring at me with big, sad eyes.”

Lily laughed again, a rich, genuine sound that resonated off the cave walls. “You’re a riot. Alright, sensitive soul, eat your nuts. I’ll enjoy my rabbit.” She leaned back against the cave wall, her posture relaxed yet ready.

I shook my head, unable to suppress a smile. “One day, you’ll see the benefits of a vegetarian diet.”

“Doubtful,” she said, a playful challenge in her eyes. “But hey, I’ll give you this—you’ve got guts. I like that.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I replied, feeling an unexpected sense of camaraderie despite our bickering. “I could say the same about you.”

“Oh, you’re just full of compliments tonight,” she quipped, mock bowing as if accepting an award. “What did I do to deserve such praise?”

I laughed, the tension of the day easing like the fire’s warmth. “Just being you, I suppose.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” she said, though her eyes sparkled with warmth, a glimmer of something deeper beneath the surface. For a fleeting moment, it felt like we were both trying to shield ourselves from the weight of the world outside, a world filled with uncertainty and danger.

We settled into a comfortable silence, the crackling fire providing a soothing backdrop to our thoughts. Despite the teasing, there was an ease between us, a shared understanding that felt almost sacred in the dim light of the cave. She reminded me of a blend of Cordelia and Thelma—strong yet nurturing, the kind of ally you wished for in times of darkness.

As I lay down to sleep, the flickering flames began to blur into shadows, and a sense of peace washed over me—something I hadn’t felt in far too long. The nightmare from the night before felt like a distant echo, a whisper that faded with the growing warmth of the fire. I found comfort in the knowledge that whatever challenges awaited, I wouldn’t have to face them alone.

I glanced at Lily, illuminated by the firelight, her features softening as she lost herself in thought. There was a hint of sorrow in the lines around her mouth, a weathered quality I hadn’t fully appreciated until this moment. Her eyes were distant, reflecting something that felt ancient and haunting, as if they held stories of their own.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that swearing is rude?” she barked suddenly, her gaze flicking to me with playful accusation.

I closed my eyes, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “Once or twice.”

“Sleep, little one. I’ll try to keep your nightmares away.” Her tone was softer now, as if she understood the weight of my weariness.

My eyes snapped back open at her words. Lily noticed my surprise and smiled gently, a transformation that made her appear ten years younger, the burden of her past momentarily lifted.

“You were crying,” she said softly, concern lacing her words.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, shame flooding my cheeks, wishing I could pull the memories of my fears back into the depths of my mind.

“I have nightmares, too. One day, I’ll tell you why they haunt me and why they never leave. But for now, let me share how I manage to survive them.”

Lily pulled a band from her wrist and swept her hair into a messy ponytail. The movement highlighted her tall, pointed ears, a feature that now seemed almost majestic in the firelight. I couldn’t help but wonder about the rest of her—a creature born of both human and something wild, a mixture of strength and vulnerability hidden beneath her baggy clothes.

“On bad mornings, it feels impossible to enjoy anything because I’m terrified it could vanish. So, I play a little game: I make a mental list of every act of kindness I’ve witnessed. I just do it over and over again. It gets tedious, but after doing it for so long, you get used to it. There are worse games to play.”

Her words settled between us, a fragile bridge built from shared pain. Whatever shadows haunted her, it was clear she wouldn’t share them tonight. I was too wrapped up in my own swirling thoughts to consider her horrors—too many fears to confront, too many questions I didn’t want to voice. I didn’t think she was hoping for anything from me, anyway; she seemed content to offer her wisdom without demanding answers in return.

“Wake me if you have them,” I whispered into the darkness, feeling a strange sense of connection in the quiet. “I can try my best to keep yours away, too.”

“Thank you. You’re very sweet,” she replied, and her sincerity made my stomach twist with unease; if only she knew how wrong she was.

I rolled over, facing away from her, the warmth of her words lingering in the air like a promise. “Go to bed. We have a long day tomorrow,” she said, her voice fading into the quiet.

Lily hummed softly, but I couldn’t hear her moving around. Giving up on being social, I closed my eyes and willed myself into sleep.

As I drifted further away from consciousness, the last thing I saw was the silhouette of a deer gliding through the trees, its antlers twisted into a heart-like shape against the dusky sky. I lay there, watching the creature as I sank deeper into slumber, just on the brink of nothingness when I felt Lily shuffle closer.

“Idiot forgot about a blanket,” she murmured, and suddenly I was enveloped in warmth, her presence a comforting shield against the unknown that lurked outside the cave.

The warmth wrapped around me like a tender embrace, and I could no longer hold my eyes open. Just before sleep fully claimed me, I felt the stirrings of peace settle into my bones, allowing me to drift away into the safety of dreams—where the forest would guard my heart for just a little while longer.

Translations

Bicce - Female dog (bitch)

Swígan - Quiet

Taglist: @greezenini @adventures-in-bookland @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @zae007live @jimin-neverout @nikkiordonez12 @canarystwin @yamekomz @chimthicc @michiiedreamer @amorieus @mima795 @yunki-yunki-yunki @vskhn016 @keiarajm

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mrburnsnuclearpussy · 11 months

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#all you have to create is something about skinny white men in love and everyone will care about you and them #anything else is just nothing to you ppl lol #what’s the point of trying to be an artist I swear I just wanna give up coz I can’t create enough finished art in general #WHY CANT I DRAW LIKE I DID WHEN I WAS A KID. it felt so easy and now I’m scared to do it for no reason ugh!!#i wish I was interested in the same things as everyone else coz at least then the quality wouldn’t matter and people would care anyway #sorry I know this comes across as really childish and mean and yeh it is I’m just venting #coz sometimes I look at certain popular profiles and stuff and it makes me ache coz I’ll never be a part of the big club where you can feel #love and I’ll never be able to coz I’m just a robot thing with no humanity!!!#even the LITERAL ROBOT is still reduced in the fandom to being shipped like just fuck off all of you #one of my bigger recent passion Roberts is a story and even when I have some motivation and energy I just remember that literally not a sing #single person on earth has any reason to care about it and why should they! so I just feel like crawling into a hole and sulking like a piss #pissbaby which is what I’m doing lol #just because it’s not about young skinny men and the ‘purity/beauty/divinity/superiority of romantic love </3’ and #and YUMMY SQUISHY ORGANIC RED PASSIONATE things because illl never be a part of all of that anyway #I’m not amazing I don’t have the inherent drama and meaningfulness of romantic love in me as a potential so I’m basically nothing #my life means nothing because i can’t feel the one thing that matters #-(one thing that matters according to the world and like all communities and societies and any place to feel like you’re a part of somethin #)#and if your broken (empty of romantic love) like me you’re told to go play by yourself in the corner and not complain that #everyone else gets to be in the group #‘just do your own thing it doesn’t matter what society thinks’ is well meaning and <3 but for me I just hear ‘don’t be a part of us’#what if I want to be a part of something? what if I want society to know and understand me?

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creatingblackcharacters · 5 months

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"Let's Have a Talk, First"- Stereotypes, pt 1

Come sit down. You and I, before we get into any of the things I'm sure you're impatient to know: we need to have a come to Jesus talk, first.

There are some things that I've been asked and seen that strengthens my belief that we need to have a reframing of the conversation on stereotypes in media away from something as simple as "how do I find the checklist of stereotypes to avoid". Because race- and therefore racial stereotypes- is a complex construct! Stands to reason then, that seeing, understanding, and avoiding it won't be that simple! I'm going to give you a couple pointers to (hopefully) help you rethink your approach to this topic, and therefore how to apply it when you're writing Black characters- and even when thinking about Black people!

Point #1: DEVELOP THE CHARACTER!! WRITE!!

Excuse my crude language, but let me be blunt: Black people- and therefore Black characters- will get angry at things, and occasionally make bad choices in the heat of the moment. Some of us like to fuck real nasty, some might be dominant in the bedroom, they may even be incredibly experienced! Others of us succumb to circumstance and make poor decisions that lead to crime.

None of those things inherently makes any of us angry Black women and threatening Black men, Jezebels and BBC Mandingos, and gangsters and thugs!

Black people are PEOPLE! Write us as such!

If all Black characters ever did was go outside, say "hi neighbor!" and walk back in the house, we'd be as boring as racist fans often accuse.

I say this because I feel I've seen advice that I feel makes people think writing a Black character that… Emotes negatively, or gets hurt by life and circumstance, or really enjoys hard sex, or really any scenario where they might "look bad" is the issue. I can tell many people think "well if I write that, then it's a stereotype" and to avoid the difficulty, they'll probably end up writing a flat Black character or not writing them at all. Or- and I've seen this too- they'll overcompensate in the other direction, which reveals that they 'wrote a different sort of Black person!' and it comes off just as awkwardly because it means you think that the Black people that do these things are 'bad'. And I hate that, because we're capable of depth, nuance, good, evil, adventure, world domination, all of it!

My point is, if you write your character like the human being they are, while taking care to recognize that you as the writer are not buying into stereotypes with your OWN messaging, you're fine. We have emotions, we have motivations and goals, we make decisions, and we make mistakes, just like anybody else. Write that! Develop your character!

POINT #2: YOU CAN'T CONTROL THE READERS!!

Okay. You can write the GREATEST Black character ever, full of depth, love, nuance, emotional range, all those things…. And people are still going to be racist about them. Sorry. There is absolutely nothing you can do to control a reader coming from that place of bias you sought to avoid. If it's not there, TRUST AND BELIEVE, it'll be projected onto them.

That passionate young Black woman who told the MC to get her head out of her ass? Yeah she's an angry Black bitch now, and bully to the sweet white MC. Maybe a lesbian mommy figure if they like her enough to "redeem" her. That Black gay male lead that treats his partner like he worships the ground he walks on? Yeah he's an abusive thug that needs to die now because he disagreed One Time with his white partner. That Black trans woman who happened to be competing against the white MC, in a story where the white MC makes comparable choices? Ohhhh they're gonna be VILE about that poor woman.

It really hurts- most especially as a Black fan and writer- knowing that you have something amazing to offer (as a person and creative) and people are gonna spit on that and call it "preference". That they can project themselves onto white characters no matter what, but if you project your experiences onto black characters, it's "pandering", "self insert", "woke", "annoying", "boring", and other foul things we've all gotten comments of.

But expect that it's gonna happen when you write a Black character, again, especially if you're a Black writer. If you're not Black, it won't hurt as personally, but it will probably come as a shock when you put so much effort in to create a lovely character and people are just ass about them. Unfortunately, that is the climate of fandom we currently exist in.

My favorite example is of Louis De Pointe Du Lac from AMC's Interview With The Vampire. Louis is actually one of the best depictions of the existential horror that is being Black in a racist White world I have ever seen written by mostly nonblack people. It was timeless; I related to every single source of racist pain he experienced.

People were HORRIFIC about Louis.

It didn't matter that he was well written and what he symbolized; many white viewers did NOT LIKE this man. There's a level of empathy and understanding that Black characters in particular don't receive in comparison to white counterparts, and that's due to many of those stereotypes and systemic biases I'm going to talk about.

My point is, recognize that while yes, you as the author have a duty to write a character thoughtfully as you can, it's not going to stop the response of the ignorant. Writing seeking to get everyone to understand what you were trying to do… Sisyphean effort. It's better to focus on knowing that YOU wrote something good, that YOU did not write the stereotype that those people are determined to see.

POINT #3: WHY is something a stereotype?

While there are lists of stereotypes against Black people in media and life that can be found, I would appreciate if people stopped approaching it as just a list of things you can check off to avoid. You can know what the stereotypes are, sure, but if you don't understand WHY they're a problem and how they play into perception of us, you'll either end up writing a flat character trying to avoid that list, or you're going to write other things related to that stereotype because "oh its not item #1"... and it'll still be racist.

For example: if you wrote a "sassy Black woman" that does a z formation neck rotation just because a store manager asked her something… that's probably stereotype. If you thought of a character that needed to be "loudmouthed", "sassy", and "strong" and a dark-skinned black woman was automatically what fit the profile in your mind, ding ding ding! THAT'S where you need to catch your racist biases.

But a dark-skinned Black woman character cursing out a store manager because she's had a really bad, stressful day and their attitude towards her pushed her over the edge may be in the wrong, but she's not an "angry Black woman". She's a Black woman that's angry! And if you wrote the day she had to be as bad as would drive anyone to overstimulation and anxiety, the blow up will make sense! The development and writing behind her led to this logical point (which connects to point #1!)

I'm not going to provide a truly exhaustive list of Black stereotypes in media because that would ACTUALLY be worth a college credited class and I do this for free lmao. But I am going to provide some classic examples that can get y'all started on your own research.

POINT #4: WATCH BLACK NARRATIVES!

As always, I'm gonna push supporting Black creators, because that's the best way to see the range of what you'd like. You want to see Black villains? We got those! Black heroes? Black antiheroes? Assholes, lovers, comedians, depressed, criminals, kings, and more? They exist! You can get inspired by watching those movies and reading those books, see how WE depict us!

I've seen mixed reviews on it, BUT- I personally really enjoyed Swarm, because it was one of the first times I'd ever seen that "unhinged obsessed murderous Black fan girl" concept. Tumblr usually loves that shit lmao. Even the "bites you bites you bites you [thing I love]" thing was there. And she liked girls, too. Just saying. I thought it was a fun idea that I'd love to see more of. Y'all gotta give us a chance to be in these roles, to tell these tales. We can do it too, and you'd enjoy it if you tried to understand it!

POINT#5: You are NOT Black!

This is obvious lmao, but if you're not Black, there's no need to pretend. There's no need to think "oh well I have to get a 100% perfect depiction of the Black person's mind". That's… That's gonna look cringe, at its best. You don't have to do that in order to avoid stereotypes. You're not going to be able to catch every nuance because it's not your lived experience, nor is it the societally enforced culture. Just… Do what you can, and if you feel like it's coming off hokey… Maybe consider if you want to continue this way lol. If you know of any Black beta readers or sensitivity reviewers, that'd be a good time to check in!

For example, if your Black character is talking about "what's good my homie" and there's absolutely no reason for him to be speaking that way other than to indicate that he's Black… 😬 I can't stop you but… Are you sure?

An egregious example of a TERRIBLE way to write a Black character is the "What If: Miles Morales/Thor" comic. I want to emphasize the lack of good Black character design involved in some of these PROFESSIONAL art spaces, because that MARVEL comic PASSED QA!! That comic went past NUMEROUS sets of eyes and was APPROVED!! IT GOT RELEASED!! NO ONE STOPPED IT!!

I'm sorry, it was just so racist-ly bad that it was hilarious. Like you couldn't make that shit up.

Anyway, unfortunately that's how some of y'all sound trying to write AAVE. I promise that we speak the Queen's English too lmao. If you're worried you won't get it right, just use the standard form of English. It's fine! Personally, I'd much rather you do that than try to 'decode AAVE' if you don't know how to use it.

My point is, if you're actively "forcing" yourself to "think Black"… maybe you need to stand down and reconsider your approach lmao. This is why understanding the stereotypes and social environment behind them will help you write better, because you can incorporate that Blackness- without having to verbally "emphasize how Black this is"- into their character, motivations, and actions.

Conclusion

We need to reconsider how we approach the concepts of stereotypes when writing our Black characters. The goal is not to cross off a checklist of things to avoid per se, but to understand WHY we have to develop our Black characters well enough to avoid incorporating them into our writing. Give your Black characters substance- we're human beings! We have motivations and fears and desires! We're not perfect, but we're not inherently flawed because of our race. That's what makes the difference!

And as always, and really in particular for this topic, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black character design #black culture #stereotypes #antiblackness

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softspiderling · 2 months

Text

and i burn for you (and you don’t even know my name) | j.v

summary:

“Something like that, “ you sighed, eyeing him briefly. Jacaerys tried not to flinch at the clear rejection and pressed his lips together.

“I should leave-”

“No, please, don’t leave on my behalf…. My prince.”

OR; Jacaerys is usually a lot more suave when it comes to ladies. That was before he met you.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: SMUT! 18+, MDNI, p in v, oral sex (fem receiving), doesn't follow canon, Jace has been aged up to 20!

word count: 7,5k words (oh)

author's note: this is very much is an indulgent story bc i miss Luke and Jace🥲 also inspired by close to you by gracie abrams ! pls let me know ALLL YOUR THOUGHTS!!! happy reading🫶🏼🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Do you think my hair will get just as luscious as yours did after you got back from Winterfell?”

Jacaerys’ rolled his eyes at his brother. They were on their second day of journey from King’s Landing to Winterfell. It was to be Cregan Stark’s name day and he had cordially invited Jacaerys and his family to the celebrations. His mother could not just leave her throne at King’s Landing, and Daemon wouldn’t go without her. Joffrey, Viserys and Aegon where still too young to go, so only Jacaerys and Luke rode to Winterfell on dragonback. They could’ve made it in one day if they had wanted to, but they were in no hurry. Well, Jacaerys wasn’t. He knew what temperatures were expecting him. Luke didn’t, which was why he was so antsy to get there and almost didn’t pack the fur lined gloves their mother had laid out for them. Jacaerys couldn’t wait until the biting, cold winds hit Luke’s face for the first time. He would treasure the memory forever.

“Har har, good one,” Jacaerys said dryly. “The court jester should watch out or you will be going for his position in no time.”

Luke grinned at his older brother wickedly, opening his mouth once more to say another jest, Jacaerys had no doubt about it, but the words died on Luke’s tongue when the winds suddenly turned cold, whipping his hair around like icicles.

“Seven hells!” he cursed and Arrax let out a soft whine, not used to the coldness, just like his rider.

“Nyke ivestretan zirȳla, paktot Vermax?” Jacaerys whispered to his dragon, stroking Vermax’ neck with his gloved hand and the creature let out a puff of smoke. I warned him, didn’t I Vermax?

It wasn’t much longer until the two brothers reached Winterfell, their dragons landing just in front of the gates of town. Jacaerys could already see Cregan’s imposing figure standing by the gate as he climbed off of Vermax, carefully patting his snout. He took the bags off his saddle, Lucerys doing the same before leaning his forehead against Vermax’.

“Sȳz valonqar. Umbagon va, ao rȳbagon issa? Se jurnegon hen syt Arrax” Good boy. Stay near, you hear me? And take care of Arrax.

Vermax let out a soft rumble, pressing his snout against Jacaerys’ hand, before he and Arrax leapt back in the air, disappearing across the woods with few wing flaps. Jacaerys wasn’t sure where exactly they went, but he assumed it was some warm cave. Winterfell didn’t exactly have a dragon pit.

“Woah,” Luke gasped, astounded by the amount of white surrounding them.

“I told you,” Jacaerys said, shouldering his bags as Cregan approached them, several pages in tow.

“Prince Jacaerys!” Cregan’s voice boomed across the snowy field, before he stopped in front of the two princes. “What an honor to have you.”

The two men sized each other up, before breaking out in laughter as Cregan pulled Jacaerys into a hug.

“It is good to see you, my friend.”

“And you, Cregan,” Jacaerys replied, patting Cregan’s back that was cloaked in a warm fur. He really ought to ask him what animal pelt it was, he never seemed to be cold. Luke was shifting on his feet next to him and Jacaerys took a step back to introduce his brother.

“Lord Cregan, this is my brother.”

“Ah, the infamous Prince Lucerys,” Cregan said with a smile, shaking Luke’s hand. Based on his face, Jacaerys could tell his brother was struggling to keep a straight face; Cregan’s handshakes were nothing but firm.

“Lord Cregan, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

“I have heard much about you.”

“Ah,” Luke sighed, hand still enclasped in Cregan’s. “I’m sure all lies.”

“Only good things, your brother has shared high praises of you.”

Luke glanced over to his brother in surprise and Jacaerys only raised his eyebrows at him. Cregan finally let go of Luke’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder, sending the younger man nearly flying.

“How old are you, Lucerys?”

“Ten and eight, my lord. And please, call me Luke.”

“Very well,” Cregan said with a grin. “You’re the prime age of a young prince, Luke. Are you courting anyone?”

“No,” Luke replied, his cheeks reddening. Jacaerys only snickered, ignoring the deathly glare his younger brother sent him.

“No worry. There are a few of very beautiful ladies that will be attending, maybe one or two will catch your royal eyes.”

Cregan gave Jacaerys a knowing look, but he only rolled his eyes, stretching his hands, the coldness starting to seep into his gloves.

“I am about to lose feeling in my limbs, can we continue this dreadful conversation inside?”

“Of course. I apologize, I forget that you are not accustomed to our weather,” Cregan said, motioning for the pages to help the them with their bags. “Let’s get you into the warm, shall we?”

Cregan lead the two brothers towards the Great Keeps, giving Luke a very brief rundown of the grounds as he did. Jacaerys could already feel his fingers warming up; he even dared to take off his gloves.

“We are currently having tea, I would love for you to join but if you wish to get some rest, we can meet again after,” Cregan said, stopping in front of the dining halls.

Jacaerys glanced over to Luke, who only gave him a shrug. “I could do with some food.”

“As do I.”

“Very well.”

Cregan pushed open the door to reveal a lively dining hall, one that Jacaerys was familiar with. He spotted faces he recognized, when his eyes stopped in the middle of the table, surprised to see Lady Alysanne Blackwood sitting next to you, someone he didn’t recognize. Immediately, you turned your head to look at him, as if you had felt his eyes on you. Jacaerys tried not to falter under your gaze.

“Who’s that?” Luke whispered and Jacaerys fought the urge to elbow him.

“The Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon!” Cregan announced, causing a ruckus as everyone pushed their chair back to stand. You only followed after Alysanne gently nudged you, folding your hands in front.

“Thank you for having us,” Jacaerys said, him and Lucerys both bowing. “Please, sit.”

As everyone took their seats again, Cregan led him and Luke to the middle of the table, where three seats were empty next to Alysanne and you.

“My princes, may I introduce Lady Alysanne of House Blackwood and Lady-”

Jacaerys almost tuned out Cregan’s voice as he introduced you, but it was like your name was ringing in his ears. He was sure he had never been quite taken with any lady as with you right from the first meeting. Jacaerys cleared his throat, hoping his voice would come out even.

“Lady Alysanne, it’s nice to see you again,” Jacaerys said, bowing to her as Luke followed suit.

“The pleasure is mine, your graces. I hope your journey was swift,” Alysanne replied. “I hear you travelled on dragonback.”

That seemed to pique your interest as you straightened your back, eying Jacaerys with a new found interest. Jacaerys tried to ignore the heat unfurling in his lower stomach. He had seemed to take beat too long to reply, because Luke cut in, throwing a look at his older brother.

“Yes, my lady. It only took us a day and half’s journey.”

“Ah, I envy you. To travel on dragonback and have a short journey. It took me a moon’s turn to get from Raventree Hall to Winterfell,” Alysanne said with a small sigh, turning to you. “Nearly took you two moon’s turns, didn’t it?”

Jacaerys had kept his eyes steadfastly on Alysanne as she spoke, but when she turned to you, he took the chance to do the same. You nodded, fingers between the stem of the chalice you had been drinking from. His eyes lingered on your slender fingers for longer than they should have.

“Two moon’s turns is quite a long journey,” Jacaerys finally pressed out, hoping his voice didn’t sound odd. “Where in the Seven Kingdoms does your house lay?”

Your eyes met his for the first time and Jacaerys felt like he was looking in the eyes of a predator, as if he hadn’t been riding a dragon for nearly all of his life.

“I am from a land beyond Essos,” you finally spoke, voice as smooth as honey. Before you could continue, Alysanne whispered something under her breath and you let out a small laugh, shaking your pretty head, speaking again. “I’m afraid we’re not part of the Seven Kingdoms, your grace.”

The way you accentuated the honorific had Jacaerys sweat, something he never thought he’d do in Winterfell. He managed to give you a wry smile; luckily, Cregan finally gestured towards the empty seats and as Jacaerys sat down - two seats away from you - he let out a breath of relief, desperate for a quick respite. His behavior was mortifying and unbefitting for a crown prince.

“Are you alright?” Luke whispered from his left as he reached for a particularly large meat pie. “It is unlike you to let me do the talking.”

Jacaerys waited as the butler poured him some mulled wine, only stopping him when it was nearly full to the brim. He lifted the chalice, taking a big drink from it, feeling Luke’s eyes on him the whole time.

“It appears the journey has tired me more than I had expected.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at him, but as soon as he bit into the meat pie, the suspicions slid of his face.

“Seven hells, what kind of meat do they put in these?” he almost moaned, already reaching for another. Slob, Jacaerys thought, reaching for some bread himself, leaving his brother to his own world as he discovered the cuisine of the North. Jacaerys glanced over to his friend, but Cregan was in the middle of a conversation with Alysanne; they were speaking in hushed tones, Jacaerys could barely make out a word even though he was sitting right next to them.

The way Cregan was whispering to Alysanne suggested a certain familiarity; a familiarity that Jacaerys was surprised by; he hadn’t known that Cregan had taken on a lover, and Alysanne no less, though he could see what had drawn his friend to her.

Jacaerys didn’t pay attention for half a second before his eyes impulsively laid on you. He didn’t want to be caught staring, but you seemed preoccupied listening to Alysanne as she talked, so he allowed himself a few moments to take you in. Your hair fell over your shoulder in soft waves, the bodice of your dress was snug around your chest. The more he looked, the dryer his throat became, suddenly the bread in his mouth tasted days old. Letting out a soft cough, Jacaerys reached for his wine, nearly finishing all of it in one to, desperate to quench his thirst.

He wondered if all women from your land looked like you or if it was just you that had him so enthralled. Jacaerys was lost in thoughts so deeply, he didn’t even realize that Cregan had turned his attention to him.

“Did someone catch your eye?”

“What?”

Jacaerys teared his eyes from you to look at his friend, who was sipping on his wine, eyebrows raised. Despite trying to seem nonchalant, the crown prince knew a pink flush creeped on his cheeks; he’d blame it on the wine if Cregan would ask.

“I was enjoying the festivities.”

“You’re surely enjoying something.”

“I’m positively not enjoying this conversation,” Jacaerys sniffed. Cregan laughed, placing his heavy hand on his shoulder. Jacaerys tried not to falter under it.

“I like her. She’s a good friend of Lady Alysanne’s. Though if her behavior grates you: her land does not have a king or queen, so she might not be familiar with our customs. She is also especially forward; I fear that was a given, considering the company she seeks.”

Jacaerys knew immediately what Cregan was alluding to. Alysanne had a reputation for not holding her tongue when something displeased her, there were a good handful of people who quite dislike her for it.

“I’m sure you will get along with her fine, my prince.”

Jacaerys hummed, glancing over to you for a split second before looking away for fear of being caught again, but in doing so, he missed you looking back at him with raised brows. After the table was cleared, you and Alysanne excused yourselves to your chambers. Jacaerys stared after you until you disappeared from sight, his hands clasped.

“Let me show you to your chambers for some rest,” Cregan offered. “Jacaerys, I had the same chambers prepared as last time.”

The three men walked through the hallways of Winterfell once more, stopping in front of Jacaerys’ chambers.

“Someone will fetch you for supper, please get some rest in the meantime,” Cregan said, clasping Jacaerys on the back. Jacaerys glanced over at Luke, who waved him off, so he entered his chambers as Cregan walked Luke to his, with the latter chattering excitedly.

As the door shut behind Jacaerys, the chambers were engulfed in silence and he was finally able to breathe. The room was comfortably decorated, of course in no way as lavish as his chambers in King’s Landing, but everything he would need was there. Taking off his cloak and his doublet, Jacaerys hung them over the small bench that sat near the fire, before he laid down on the bed, staring up the canopy with a sigh.

Gods, he really needed to get it together. He would not allow himself to act like such a fool in front of you again. He couldn’t even understand what it was about you that had him so shaken to the core. Jacaerys had never been the kind of man who stuttered around when it came to women. He knew what he had to offer, he knew a lot of women found his status appealing. But something about you was just…. Infuriating. It made him lose his footing.

Jacaerys was still questioning his life choices that led to this moment, when the door suddenly flung open, and he knew immediately who it was without having to move; there was only one person in whole Winterfell who would barge into his chambers like this.

“Your chambers are so much nicer than mine!” Luke crowed, throwing his hands up in the air before he dropped onto the bed next to Jacaerys. “I do have to say, even though it is freezing outside, the Northeners know how to keep it comfy in their chambers.”

Jacaerys let out a small sigh.

“What are you doing here, Luke?”

“Gods, why are you such in a sour mood?”

“Maybe because I am tired from the journey and you’re sitting here talking about meaningless things,” Jacaerys lamented with a pointed look in his younger brother’s direction, who only pursed his lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Let me move onto meaningful topics then,” he agreed. “You didn’t tell me Lord Cregan is betrothed to Lady Alysanne.”

“He’s not, as far as I know,” Jacaerys replied, resigning himself to the fact that Luke wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. “I was taken by surprise just as you were.”

Luke didn’t answer; for a brief second Jacaerys wondered if he had fallen asleep, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be happy about or not.

“What did you think of her friend?” Luke finally asked and Jacaerys rolled his eyes. There it was. “She’s pretty, right? I think she might be interested in me.”

“What makes you think she would be interested in you?” Jacaerys pressed out, annoyed. He knew Luke was baiting him, but what if he wasn’t? His younger brother turned over to look at him, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“I knew it. You’re absolutely smitten with her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely exchanged two words with her,” Jacaerys said defensively.

“Exactly. She makes you shiver in your boots like a child and swallow your words like Vermax does goats.”

“Blasphemous,” Jacaerys snapped, his cheeks growing hot. “I’m the Crown Prince of the Seven Realms, I do not get flustered around a lady.”

“I cannot wait until you talk to her again,” Luke remarked gleefully.

Jacaerys reached over to grab one of the fluffy pillows that was resting against the headboard to whack Luke in the face with it.

The next day, Jacaerys found himself with some time by himself. Cregan was greeting some more of the guests that were arriving for his celebration that evening, and Luke had wanted to see the training grounds of Winterfell, so Jacaerys ventured out by himself, walking the walls. He passed a few guards, who bowed respectfully as they marched past him. They asked if he got lost, if they should walk him back inside where it was warm, but he declined.

Despite the cold snow that was falling from the sky, Jacaerys enjoyed leaving the castle for a few moments. Winterfell was peaceful, the white that covered the grounds allowed him to breathe, a stark contrast to the grounds of King’s Landing. As the cold winds started to pick up, Jacaerys turned to head back, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by yourself at the wall, staring out at the distance. Jacaerys hesitated.

His interaction with you last night at supper was… Passable. He had managed to keep the conversation going, he still wasn't happy with himself. But this was unfamiliar territory, he hadn’t ever been alone with you. What if he made a fool of himself?

Before Jacaerys could decide what to do, his feet already carried him over to you. At the sounds of the snow crunching under his soled shoes, you turned around, your eyebrows risen in surprise. Your cheeks were red from the cold, despite the fur-lined cloak that engulfed your shoulders.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Only me,” Jacaerys confirmed, bowing his head slightly in greeting. You did the same. “Come out here for some quiet?”

“Something like that, “ you sighed, eyeing him briefly. Jacaerys tried not to flinch at the clear rejection and pressed his lips together.

“I should leave-”

“No, please, don’t leave on my behalf…. My prince.”

You added the honorific after a brief pause, and Jacaerys stayed rooted in his spot. You seemed like you were in deep thought, and your voice was hesitant when you spoke again.

“I am unsure as to what the difference is, if I’m being quite honest. Do you want me to refer to you as my prince or as your Grace?”

“You can refer to me as anything you want,” Jacaerys said quickly. Too quickly.

The frown on your face smoothed, a grin growing in its stead. “Indeed?”

“I meant,” Jacaerys pressed, trying to sustain any sort of dignity. “You’re not from Westeros, you do not need to address me as your Grace or my prince.”

“I wouldn’t want to seem disrespectful,” you added. “Folks are already whispering about the “foreign lady”, I do not wish to give them more reason to be suspicious.”

Jacaerys felt a flash of hot anger coursing through him at the belief of anyone uttering a bad word about you.

“Are you being mistreated, my lady?”

A laugh escaped your lips. “I did not tell for you to fight in my honor, I have endured worse than some meaningless gossip.”

You tossed your hair back, and for a brief second, your scent carried over to Jacaerys’ nose. You smelled… Sweet. A scent that was unfamiliar to him, but not exactly unwelcome. With a small sigh, you turned your head to look at him. Damn it, did you say something?

“So... Your grace or my prince?”

For some reason, either address didn’t feel right. Well. They felt right, but not right. Never before had Jacaerys felt anything when being referred to with the correct title except for a sense of respect and pride that he was being recognized for his status. But for some reason, having you address him with either had Jacaerys feel things in regions where he shouldn’t. And both seem equally catastrophic.

“Either is fine,” he finally settled on. “But if no one is around… It is alright for you to call me by my given name.”

“Jacaerys?”

A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of his name rolling of your tongue so easily. He was done for. No matter what you referred to him as, it made him weak in the knees.

“Or Jace.”

“Is that not improper?” you asked. “I would hate for folks to think I’m getting too familiar with the crown prince.”

He definitely wouldn’t mind getting too familiar with you.

“My friends call me that… And people that I’m close with.”

A corner of your mouth tugged up in a grin. “You wish to be close with me?”

Jacaerys flushed, stuttering. “I-“

“I’m only jesting,” you said, your gloved hand reaching out to touch his arm and even though there were about five layers between, Jacaerys could *feel* your skin on his. He was in trouble. “I will address you properly in public but if no one is around, Jacaerys….”

Your voice trailed off and you took a step towards him, leaning in so you could speak to him in a small whisper.

“I hope we can become friends.”

With that, you bowed your head, stepping back and turned to depart, leaving Jacaerys standing by himself. He exhaled a breath - a breath he had not realized he had been holding this whole time.

Somewhere in the distance, Jacaerys could hear Vermax screech out, no doubtedly feeling exactly what his dragon rider was struggling with.

“Yes, Vermax, you and me both,” Jacaerys muttered with a small sigh, enduring the cold for a little while longer before he retired inside, knowing he had to start getting ready for Cregan’s celebrations soon.

“How much longer are you going to stare at your reflection?”

Jacaerys resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He was tense enough as it was, giving into Luke’s teasing was not going to help it.

“I’m representing mother at this celebration, a single hair out of place and rumors about my legitimacy as heir might start,” Jacaerys pointed out, wiping off the fleck of dusts that sat on the shoulder of his doublet.

“Of course, we would not want that,” Luke said, his voice taking that annoying tone which Jacaerys knew meant he wasn’t taking him serious. “You are most certainly not trying to look absolutely perfect for a certain lady.”

Jacaerys met Luke’s eyes through the mirror, his forehead creased. “I did not ask you to wait for me. No one is stopping you from going by yourself.”

Luke sighed, pushing himself off of the bench to approach him, hands reaching out to smooth out Jacaerys’ cloak.

“And who is going to tame that one wild curl that always does whatever it wants at the back of your head?”

Jacaerys winced when Luke gently tugged on said curl, setting it in its place, before the younger prince grinned at him through the reflection as the two of them stood in front of the mirror, Luke's shoulders slightly higher than Jacaerys'. He despised the fact that his younger brother was starting to overtake him in height. Jacaerys hoped that Joffrey would stay shorter than him.

“You look fine, Jace,” Luke assured him. “And even if a hair might be out of place, she will think it charming.”

Jacaerys decided against deeming that comment with an answer, instead straightening his shoulders.

“Let’s go then.”

The two brothers headed the the Great Hall and the closer they got, the louder the music became. Jacaerys tried not to pick on his clothes as they walked through the hallways, knowing he was just being antsy at this point. When they finally reached the threshold of the hall, the herald bowed to them both respectfully, waiting until the music quietened down, the guests looking at them.

“Presenting His Grace, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne, and his brother, Prince Lucerys Velaryon of House Targaryen!” the herald announced.

The guests all bowed, which Jacaerys and Lukereturned, before they were being led to their seats and Jacaerys tried not to stumble over his feet when he realized that Cregan had sat Luke to his right, whereas Jacaerys sat next to him.

Right next to you.

Jacaerys ignored Luke’s smirk as he sat down, and instead offered you a small smile.

“My lady.”

“Your grace.”

You sent him a conspiratorial smile, before your attention refocused to Cregan, who suddenly stood, lifting his chalice.

"Good evening, my dear guests. On this occasion, the celebration of my name day, I am deeply honored to be surrounded by such loyal friends, family, and allies. I thank everyone who made their long and burdensome journey to celebrate this day with me. Raise your cups, my friends, enjoy the festivities, the music and most importantly, the food. Now, let the feast begin!"

Everyone clapped as Cregan took his seat again, the lively music beginning to play. Immediately, people rose to occupy the dancefloor. You stayed seated, sipping on your wine and Jacaerys watched you out of the corner of his eye, reaching for his own wine, hoping it would ease his nerves. You looked pretty; wearing a dark red dress, the fabric seeming to melt against your skin like it was sown onto your body. Jacaerys tried to not let his gaze linger too much on your cleavage, which was tasteful, but still incredibly distracting. He couldn’t help but think how you and him seemed to be dressed to compliment each other.

“You look very beautiful,” Jacaerys blurted out. You turned to him, eyebrows risen in surprise and his cheeks reddened. “I apologize if it was too forward, I-”

“You look very handsome yourself,” you said, returning the favor with a grin. “At least I know what took you so long to get here.”

By now, Jacaerys was sure that the color of his face rivaled the color of your dress.

“Thank you,” he said, fingers tracing the stem of the chalice. “I try to look my best.”

“It is working in your favor, my prince,” you all but purred quietly, making Jacaerys grip his chalice so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jacaerys pressed out, letting a small sigh pass his lips. “I apologize. I am usually more… Composed,” he admitted. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he couldn’t help but feel like you were biting back a smile.

“And you’re not composed right now?”

“No. You…” he paused, letting go of the chalice, stretching his hand out. “You make me nervous.”

He dared to look up to you, searching for any sign of distaste, only to see your gaze focused on his hands, before you lifted your eyes to meet his.

“How?”

“You vex me.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

Jacaerys let out a breathless laughter, shaking his head. “In a very much not good way. This is not behavior befit for a crown prince.”

“Well, it’s just your luck that I have not a single idea of what behavior is befit for a crown prince,” you assured him, placing your hand on his, presumably to console him. It had quite the opposite reaction. “It is just me, you may speak freely.”

“I-” Jacaerys paused, his eyes darting around the countless of guests mingling in the Great Hall, the threat of a listening ear everywhere. “I cannot.”

You nodded in understanding, but Jacaerys could tell that his answer had disappointed you by the way you turned your head away from him. Silently, he cursed himself, feeling the desire for you coiling in his stomach, but unable to act on it.

For the rest of the night, Jacaerys tried to pick up the conversation with you again, and while you did speak with him, it seemed dull, like you were uninterested. He felt incredibly stupid, knowing he had messed up, but despite that, he couldn’t jump over his shadow to address the problem. So he didn’t. He pushed his disappointment in himself aside and tried his best to control the jealousy he felt whenever you accepted the dance of another man, acting like didn’t care at all, especially when Luke was watching, shaking his head.

Cregan was luckily too busy to entertain his guests to meddle, occasionally drawing Jacaerys into his side to clink their cups. Overall, (despite his personal failings) the celebration was a success. It was late in the night, nearing the hour of the wolf when Jacaerys finally retired to his chambers. He had dropped Luke off at his own chambers just before, his younger brother having one too many of the mulled wine and immediately dozing off in clothes.

Shutting the door with his foot, Jacaerys unpinned his cloak, tugging his doublet off, draping it over the small ottoman. His hands were in the collar of his tunic, ready to take it off when short raps on his door made him pause. Was that Cregan fetching him for another drink?

Jacaerys opened the door and his eyebrows rising in surprise when he saw who it was.

“My lady…”

You were standing in front of him, dark cloak slung around your shoulders, about the last person he had expected to come knocking on his door after his last conversation with you had gone. Your face was bare from any trace of cosmetics, but your cheeks still held a rosy glow. Jacaerys peered out into the dark hallway, expecting a handmaiden or anyone accompanying you, but alas, you were by yourself.

“It is late. Is something the matter?” he asked, concerned.

“Everything is fine,” you assured him. “I was feeling a bit restless, I was wondering if you were up for some company?”

Despite feeling exhausted just a few seconds ago, Jacaerys was wide awake now, his heart thrumming with excitement at the prospect of spending time with you alone. But he couldn’t help but hesitate, questioning whether it was smart of him to put himself in a situation he couldn’t control, especially with you.

You sensed his hesitation, tilting your head curiously.

“I can leave, if you wish.”

Before you could even attempt to retreat, Jacaerys’ hand shot out to stop you, and as he saw the amusement on your face, he knew you had never intended to leave.

Minx, he thought to himself, opening his door wider to let you inside. Swiftly, you passed by him and Jacaerys made sure no one saw you enter, before shutting the door. As he turned around, he found you had already settled on the cushioned couch, appearing comfortably at ease.

“These are usually my chambers I stay in when I visit Winterfell,” you said nonchalantly, taking in the chambers and Jacaerys’ possessions that laid scattered around. “You can imagine my surprise when Cregan told me it was occupied for someone else when I arrived.”

Jacaerys tried not to imagine you laying in his bed as he sat down on the bench.

“They are the chambers I stayed in when I visited last time. I assume Cregan wanted me to feel comfortable.”

“The lengths we would go to to make sure you felt comfortable,” you said with a look in his direction and Jacaerys flushed, clearing his throat.

“Do you like these chambers for a reason or are you merely a creature of habit?”

“These are the only chambers that don’t have the fire place directly facing the bed,” you explained, your arms gesturing to the layout of the chambers.

“I know the Northeners like to keep the fire on at night to feel cozy, but I tend to get a little… Hot.”

Oh.

His mouth ran a little dry and he only managed to blink at you, as you grinned, your eyes slowly trailing down his body.

“I imagine it is the same for you. What is it again, the motto of your house?”

Jacaerys opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out of it.

“Fire and blood?” finally pressed out and you arched an eyebrow at him.

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling.”

Your mouth quirked up in a smirk and you brushed your hair back with a flick. “I must say, I have to admit that I thought you less nervous when no one was around.”

“You thought me less nervous when it is just you and I alone in a room?”

“Now when you say it like that…” you mused. “I told you that you do not have to worry about your behavior, I do not know any of the rules you have to abide by.”

“That’s not why I’m nervous,” Jacaerys said with a small laugh and you creased your forehead, looking at him questioningly.

“Is that not what you told me at supper?”

Jacaerys sighed, a chuckle leaving his lips and he had no other choice than to confess.

“You make me nervous because I do not know how to act around you. You make me stutter, lose my footing. I was never anything less than charming when it comes to talking to ladies, but you for some reason…”

Your face contorted from confusion to understanding and then glee.

“And I was starting to think you were letting me down easy.”

“I- what?” The indignation in Jacaerys’ tone made you laugh. “Let you down? Surely you must be jesting.”

“What was I to think? I was not exactly being subtle, my prince.”

Jacaerys bit down on his lower lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, but he eased off.

“I’m trying my best to uphold my honor. And yours.”

You let out a small laugh, lifting your hand to deftly unhook your cloak. Jacaerys averted his eyes as soon as the cloak slid off your shoulders, but he could see out of the corner of his eyes that you were wearing nothing but a nightgown with long lacey sleeves. Jacaerys had never seen a nightgown like that before.

“Would it not be dishonorable to deny yourself what you truly want?”

Jacaerys dared to glance at you, swallowing thickly when he realized that you had come closer, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin. He exhaled sharply, feeling his cock stirring in his breeches, thankful that his tunic was untucked, covering his excitement.

“What if your future husband would cast you aside knowing you have laid with another man?”

You smiled at him, your hand reaching out to trace the neckline of his tunic.

“I think if my husband were to cast me aside for enjoying the pleasure of sex, he is not the right man for me.”

Jacaerys held his breath as you looked at him through your lashes. He managed to stay strong for about three more seconds, before he let out a frustrated groan, his hand curling around to pull you close, pressing his lips on yours.

You sighed softly into the kiss, your mouth pliable as Jacaerys moved against them, the kiss nearly driving him insane.

He needed more.

Tightening his grip on your waist, Jacaerys pulled you into his lap, situating your legs on either side of him.

“I have been going insane,” Jacaerys whispered against your lips, his finger tips dancing up your arm. “Trying to keep my composure, act like a prince, but one look from you and I lost the ability to string a sentence together.”

“Please,” you gasped as his hand wrapped around the back of your head to tilt it back, placing featherlight kisses on the column of your neck.” Cregan was telling me to behave - for once - because his great friend, the crown prince of the Seven Realms was to attend his nameday celebrations, but how could I when you’re just so-”

Your sentence trailed off in a sigh and Jacaerys pulled back to look at you, an eyebrow arched.

“I am so...?”

“Infuriatingly handsome.” Your voice was breathless as you spoke, hands slipping under his tunic and Jacaerys lifted his arms to help you take it off before you discarded it to the floor carelessly. “Like you were carved out of marble.”

You caressed him with your fingertips over his chest, your touch so tantalizing he had to shift his hips to ease the pressure on his breeches, a motion that did not go unignored by you at the sound of the small whimper that left your mouth, a sound that went directly to his south. He leaned in to kiss you again, before maneuvering you off his lap, standing so he could lead you over to the bed. His touch was gentle, but firm as you followed his lead to lay down at the edge of the bed, your nightgown bunching up at your calves.

“You don’t even know the affect you have on me… You had me on my knees,” he murmured, pushing your gown up. “I’m the crown prince of the seven realms. I don’t kneel for anyone.”

He might make an exception for you.

With his hands on your calves, pulling you closer, Jacaerys got to his knees, peppering small kisses on your inner thigh, making you squirm. He could smell the warmth of your musk as he neared your cunt, your smallclothes displaying a small patch of wetness he couldn’t help but be thrilled by.

“Lift your hips,” Jacaerys said, and when you did, he tugged your smallclothes off easily. He let out a soft breath when coming face to face with your cunt, sliding one finger through your folds. The moan out of your mouth sounded like heaven to him.

“Jace…” you sighed and his breeches got impossibly tighter, but he wanted you to finish first before he could even think about himself. Jacaerys applied a little pressure on your pearl with his thumb, inching closer, his breath hot on your lips before he licked a strip up your cunt. You responded with a small groan, your hands tangled into his locks and he knew he was on the right track.

He kept drawing circles on the small nub over your cunt, his tongue exploring between your folds, trying to elicit every moan and sigh out of your mouth possible, repeating his motions that seemed to please you the most. Soon, Jacaerys had you writhing on his bed, your hand tightened around his hair in a grip that nearly hurt, but he didn’t care.

“Jacaerys…” you breathed out, your hips lifting from the bed; he merely pushed it down with his free hand. “Don’t- I’m so..”

Jacaerys nuzzled his mouth even further into your cunt he not thought possible, the circles he was drawing onto your pearl becoming tighter, smaller until you let out an especially loud moan of his name, your cunt pulsating.

With a breath heave, you fell back into the cushions and Jacaerys pulled back from between your legs, not without leaving a lingering kiss on your inner thigh. You looked absolutely marvelous, blissed out on his bed, your sweaty hair sticking to your forehead. If he had to guess, he must not look any better, his entire face must be covered in you.

“Is this behavior befit for a crown prince?” you asked, chest still heaving. Jacaerys quirked a smile at you, brushing his hair back.

“For a lady like you, without question.”

A small laughter escaped your lips, and you tugged him down to kiss him, your hands slipping beneath his trousers and then his breeches, wrapping around his cock. Jacaerys hissed, bucking into your hands, realizing he was still fully clothes from the waist down. Giving you one last kiss, he reluctantly pulled away from you, taking his boots off, and then slowly pushing his trousers off, his smallclothes along with it.

He couldn’t help but flush as he stood in front of your inquisitive eyes, still wearing your nightgown but looking incredibly debauched, your gaze… Hungry. He got on the bed, crawling towards you on his knees, fingers gingerly pushing your nightgown off your shoulders - you didn’t lift a hand to help him, but merely watched as his eyes grew wide when he finally pushed your nightgown down, as it pooled around your waist.

“You were made by the gods,” he mumbled into your skin, mouth latching on the sensitive skin of your tits, his other hand gently rolling your nipples until it formed into a stiff peak. He leaned up, kissing you deeply and as he moaned into your mouth, he pulled away, breathing hard.

“Do you…” he trailed off, unsure how to word it.

“I will die an immediate death if I don’t,” you said, extremely serious. “Lay back.”

As Jacaerys settled into the mountain of cushions, you knelt in front of him, nightgown long gone. You positioned yourself over his lap, just as he had earlier, hand wrapping around his cock to guide it to your cunt, which was still sopping wet. Jacaerys let out a slow, guttural groan as you lowered yourself onto his cock, until he was fully sheated inside of you.

“Are you feeling alright?” he pressed out, his hands finding your hips to pull out incase you were feeling uncomfortable.

“Perfect,” you breathed, lips parted and eyes hooded. You leaned a hand on his chest, impulsively rolling your hips and Jacaerys moaned, throwing his head back. Slowly, the two of you found your rhythm as you rode him, in slow, but deep hip thrusts. His chambers was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, whispers of his name and moans of yours. It wasn’t long until Jacaerys felt the familiar tension in his lower stomach, knowing he was close, while you were still moving on top of him, head thrown back.

If he had it his way, he would shoot his load into you, making you his, but the last thing he wanted was to trap you, so he stilled your hips, holding you in place and turning you so he was on top of you. Your hair fanned out on the bed, and Jacaerys kissed you, tongue licking into your mouth as he drove his cock into you with deep, but slow thrusts; his thumb was pressing into your pearl simultaneously.

“Jace,” you whined, your walls clenching and he nearly lost it right then and there. “Please…”

Jacaerys snapped his hips into you harder, leaning his head against yours as he did and after one particular deep thrust, you held onto his bicep as you moaned his name in a way that would ingrain into his brain for the rest of his life and he quickly pulled out, before he emptied his load in thick, white spurts onto your stomach. With a small groan, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed next to you, neither speaking for a few seconds, catching your breath.

Jacaerys was the first to rise, pushing his hair back, standing to find a wet rag to clean you up. His touch was gentle as he cleaned your stomach, disposing of the dirty rag, lingering on the side of the bed.

“Do you want to stay? For a little while, at least?”

You turned your head to look at him, corners of your mouth tugging up. “If you’ll have me, my prince.”

Jacaerys snorted out a laughter, settling into bed next to you, making sure to pull up the blanket to cover your naked body, even though a warmth was emanating from you, it was rivaling his own.

“Are you sure you’re not a distant kin of Aegon the Conqueror?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder. “You would fit right into our house.”

“I find it very flattering that you think I have royal blood in me,” you laughed as your fingertips traced along his arm.

“It is only a question,” Jacaerys mused. “I think you would get along well with my mother.”

“A foreign girl in front of the esteemed queen of the Seven Realms? I wouldn’t stand a chance. Her royal knights would behead me as soon as I curtsied the wrong way.”

And as the fire crackled in the far corner of the chambers, pressed against your side, Jacaerys knew that while you spoke in jest, he wouldn’t mind you meeting his mother, even if that was highly unlikely. Coming the following morning it seemed like he would never see you again, with you returning home and him returning to King’s Landing.

And while he was a dragon rider, he wasn’t sure if that distance would be easy for him to cover, considering the fact he had duties he had to attend to, he couldn't just leave whenever he pleased, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I really enjoyed your company,” you then said, your voice a bittersweet tone. Jacaerys pressed his nose against your neck, biting back the question if you wanted to come with him, see King’s Landing. He knew he was being foolish.

“As did I yours.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: hehehehehe did u like it?

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x you #jacaerys smut #hotd #house of the dragon #jace x reader #jace x you #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fic

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undreaming-fanfiction · 8 months

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I am massively busy with work and finalizing my Big Bang, but this idea just won't leave...

Steve and Eddie are both actors. They're in their mid thirties, well established, but they never starred together in anything. Steve tends to be cast in the same type, the dumb but pretty love interest, Eddie has lots of indie and disturbing movies under his belt. But this time, they both landed something big.

They get cast in the new Batman movie.

Steve is, of course, Batman. He insists on doing his own stunts. He refuses to get dehydrated for his shirtless scenes because he knows how damaging it is to both young men and women alike, he's not going to contribute to shitty expectations. The director (Dustin, duh!) sees something in him other directors never have - a potential for depth, for internal turmoil. He gives Steve the chance to prove himself as an actor and Steve pounces on it.

He's still very hot.

Eddie is cast as the Joker. He is a fan of the comics and scoffs at how absurd and deranged the character is becoming. He gets hired because he immediately says he doesn't think the character needs to rely on cheap tricks and shock value to be terrifying. Cutting off his face? Not cool. He suggests to play the Joker according to one of the older comics he has - one where the Joker is actually absolutely sane, but hides it to never be held accountable for his actions. The only person who ever saw through his ruse was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Joker took care of that issue very quickly.

The chemistry between Steve and Eddie on screen is insane. They go toe to toe, it's impossible to look away when they interact. Eddie utilizes his bright smile to the maximum, tweaking it just right within moments so it becomes unsettling. The first time he laughs, Steve gets goosebumps.

Steve encompasses Bruce's loneliness so well Eddie's heart breaks for him. Dustin finds him in the trailer, giving himself gentle slaps over the face and muttering "you're evil, damn it, you don't want to comfort the Bat!!".

Batgirl (Robin) and Harley Quinn (Chrissy) find their slow descent into love hilarious. They all become good friends on the set.

Hopper, an acting veteran who plays Commissioner Gordon, grasps Steve's shoulder after an intense fight scene and mutters: "Good job, Steve, but maybe don't stare at his lips so much?"

Robin doesn't give him the same courtesy and once Dustin yells "Cut!", she screeches: "NOW KISS!"

The movie is a hit. People love the cast and the story, some of the OG fans complain as they always do, but the ratings are great, there are many interviews, panels, all of that.

And of course, there's gossip about Steve and Eddie being a thing, which enrages the macho Batman fanbase. Their Batman isn't gay!

But the rumors quickly disappear after an award ceremony where Eddie is nominated for the best supporting actor. He wins, of course. And as he gets up to accept the small statue and deliver a speech with enough "fuck"s to give the censor a headache, he drags Steve up and kisses him in front of the whole world.

A week later, Steve and Eddie are together in front of a camera again, answering questions in an interview.

The host asks: "What do you say to those fans that are disappointed, who say that their Batman isn't gay?"

Steve just snorts, pulls Eddie closer and answers: "They're right. Their Batman isn't gay. But he's definitely bi."

Also the comic story I'm mentioning exits and is short but fantastic. 10/10 recommend.

Oh also. The first spark happens when Steve sees Eddie's hair and blurts out: "Please tell me they're not making you cut it shorter. It's too gorgeous for that."

Also because people were asking about the comics - it's Batman Black and White - Case Study and it can be found on Tumblr HERE

#steddie #steddie drabble #steddie au #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #actor au

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gyuzgrl · 6 months

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food chain IIksyII

summary- a couple handsy young men have your boyfriend reminding you who truly is on top of the food chain.

wc- 3k

Soonyoung watches with clenched fists as you talk to his friends. On hindsight, perhaps introducing his beautiful, funny, smart girlfriend to 12 handsome young men, wasn't his brightest idea yet. He hadn't thought this through.

You sat on the couch, sandwiched between Seungcheol and Mingyu- both of whom appeared to have taken a particular interest in you tonight. A pretty white dress clung to your curves, stopping a little above your knees, your hair lay perfectly. You looked stunning.

They all seemed to think that.

"...which is how my love for literature started, really," you conclude your story, offering Jihoon a gentle smile. He blushes, lowering his gaze.

"what about college? how's that treatin' ya?" Mingyu urges, nudging your shoulder as if you've been friends for ages.

His friendly manner leaves you feeling eternally grateful. It isn't easy sitting in a room full of strangers. Especially when everyone knows the other person. Everyone except you.

You respond, grinning as you gesture wildly with your hands. A fond smile settles on his face and on the others, but you play this off as them being nice.

Soonyoung, however, does not.

He knows his friends. Knows them well enough to see that behind their smiles and innocent touches, lie lust-blown pupils and something akin to desire.

Seungcheol tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as you talk, and you break off into a clumsy stutter. He grins, hand lingering on your hair with an evident fondness.

Your boyfriend grits his teeth. He rises from his seat, which ironically happens to be the one furthest from you, and walks over to you.

Everyone watches.

"baby," he grumbles, "can't hear you from all the way there"

You pout.

"come sit closer then, you're so far away soonie"

The petname pierces through all their hearts, like cupids very own arrow. Just when they thought you couldn't get any cuter, you had to go and prove them all wrong.

"no space" Soonyoung motions to the packed couch. "why don't you sit on my lap, pretty?"

"hosh-" you smack his chest, face heating up.

"wha- it's not like they mind, do you, guys?"

He turns to look at each of his friends, staring them down as if to say- 'she's mine. she's mine and you will watch her be mine.'

Gulping, Vernon and Joshua look at each other, a lingering guilt in their eyes. In all their eyes.

Seungcheol speaks up, forcing a smile onto his face- "of course not! go ahead, go ahead"

Wasting no time, Soonyoung hoists you up, making space for himself between Mingyu and Seungcheol, before tugging you onto his lap. His arms wrap themselves securely around your waist, and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing a gentle kiss there.

There's a sudden shift in the atmosphere. What once was a lively, active air, has shifted into a still, stagnant one, charged with envy and guilt.

There's a pause.

"y/n," a voice calls from the side, with a sultry edge- it's Jeonghan. "you never told us what your type is-"

"oh..."

You're a little taken aback by the sudden question, but the people-pleaser in you can't help but respond.

"well, I like Hosh, so I'm sure that tells you everythin-"

"c'monn" he pushes, "tell me what I can do to steal you from Hoshingie"

Your eyes widen. Surely, he was joking, yes?

You laugh, hesitantly, following a couple of the boys around you, but Soonyoung's lips are set in a firm, hard line.

"you're funny-" you offer, patting your boyfriend's hand reassuringly.

"I mean it can't be looks- cause frankly, you'd have been on my lap instead of his"

The men laugh, poking your boyfriend as he gnashes his teeth. He had to remind himself that he wanted this. He wanted you to meet his friends. He wanted to call them over to the house. He wanted them to like you.

Look where that got him.

"oh- I got it!" Chan exclaims, pointing at you, "you must like cute guys- y'know they're s-"

"cute?" Soonyoung interrupts.

"cute?"

They all fall silent. The laughs and giggles that erupted from all over suddenly ceased to exist.

"if you think what you've seen of me so far is 'cute' I'd better straighten up. seems like I've been too nice all this while."

His voice is dangerously low. The stares he shoots at the younger boy are nothing short of menacing. If you didn't know any better, you'd think there were literal daggers shooting out from his eyes.

"Hoshi let's calm do-" Dokyeom tries, only to find his voice shrinking back when your boyfriend turns to him.

"calm down? oh I'm calm. I'm very calm."

You feel his grasp on your stomach tighten, pulling you further into his lap.

"as glad as I am that you all like my girlfriend, I think it's time for you to go. getting kinda late, isn't it, Seungcheolie hyung?"

The older man jerks to his feet, agreeing embarrassingly quick.

"yeah we've overstayed, haven't we, guys? we should um, we should get going."

Like clockwork, the other men rise to their feet, mumbling pathetic little 'nice to meet you's before scurrying after Seungcheol, right out the door.

You scurry after them, holding the door open as you call out a quick "it was lovely meeting you! get home safe". It surprised you how easily Soonyoung got them to leave at his command.

There's a presence behind you, an arm stretching out to slam the door shut. You turn around to meet the gaze of your very angry boyfriend.

Like a deer, stupified under the watch of a tiger, you stood frozen under Soonyoung's glare. Behind his pupils danced a dangerous kind of rage- one that made your knees weak and your heart quicken.

"Hosh-"

"save it"

Biting your lip, you look away, feeling so incredibly small under him. Feeling so powerless. You're reminded that he's the one in control here and nobody could even begin to compare. Not Seungcheol, not Mingyu, not even Jeonghan. With the way they all ran off at his command, it was evident who really sat at the top of the food chain.

He leans in, lips ghosting over yours.

You were trapped.

"thought they were funny, did you?" he seethes, pushing his hips flush against yours, "hm? smiling away when they touched you, when they stared at what's mine-"

A soft whimper is all you can manage, chasing his lips as he pulls away just a little.

"no, Hosh-"

"I said. save it."

A familiar heat pools between your legs at his commanding tone. God he was so sexy like this- all angry and rough.

"I think you've forgotten, pretty girl" he rasps with a condescending furrow in his brow, "forgotten who you belong to."

Oh you were in for a long night.

"n-no Soonie m'yours- only yours"

"yeah?"

"mhm"

A hand works its way up to your chin, digits cradling the tip, tilting your head up. Your eyes flutter closed.

"mm, so eager for me" he coos, inching forward. You move to pull him closer, but he catches your wrists with his other hand, yanking them above your head, pinning them against the door.

You gasp, now completely at his mercy. He grins.

"patience, baby"

He closes in, lips finally meeting yours in a sloppy kiss. It's a mess of teeth and tongue and desperation, but you love it. There's a fire, a passion, when he kisses you- one you've seen when he dances. His body rolls into yours, hips pushing hard against you, and you moan.

His tongue shoves its way into your mouth, licking over the surface of your palate like he'd go crazy if he didn't.

It's dizzying how intense he is. His presence is overwhelming- he's all over- and you're helpless to it all.

Your lungs scream for respite, begging you to pull away, to breathe. Like a fire alarm, your heart thuds in your ears, almost in warning, as if to say- 'breathe! breathe before you lose consciousness!'

Hesitantly, you listen to your panicked heart, pulling away with a gasp. Your chest heaves under him, filling you up with sweet, sweet oxygen.

"can they get you all worked up like this? hm?" he mumbles, trailing his fingertips from your chin to the divot of your collarbones.

You shake your head.

His voice drops to a whisper,

"can they touch you the way I do?"

The solid muscle of his thigh parts your legs, bullying it's way in between. He pushes up, right against your sex, and you whimper at the contact.

"tell me."

"nobody t-touches me like you do Soonyoung- please," you breathe, head tipping back, giving him complete access to your throat in silent submission.

He trails hot kisses along your jaw, down your throat, sucking purple stains into your skin- so harsh and opaque, you wouldn't be able to hide them from the world.

"what will Seuncheollie hyung think, hm? what will he think when he sees how you let me mark you like this for everyone to see?"

You moan, the thought of his friends seeing the hickeys he left only adding to your arousal. The heat between your legs, the wetness, is unbearable. Your body yearns for Soonyoung, aches for him. There's a feeling only he can give you and you both know it. You need him now.

Picking up on your desperation, your boyfriend decides to move on. After all, he can't keep his pretty girl waiting, can he?

Firm hands grip your thighs, and a single command is uttered- "jump."

Instantly, your legs wrap around his waist and he hoists you into his strong arms, lips clashing in a messy kiss as he carries you to the bedroom.

Soonyoung lowers you onto the bed, pressing you into the mattress with his weight. His arms cage you in, his hips roll into yours, his eyes- now narrowed at you in the way a predator would look at its prey- held a fire that made your skin grow hot.

"you need me to make you feel good, don't you, baby?" he grins wickedly, breath fanning across your face.

You nod, pathetically.

"say it"

He pauses, leaning closer- so close, his lips touch yours as he speaks- "tell me you need me,"

Tears prick your eyes- a mix of desperation and overwhelm taking over your senses completely.

"only you Hosh, I need you- I need you so please-"

"I know, pretty, I know" he interrupts, mumbling against your lips.

"please,"

And with that, Hoshi's all over you like a storm. Feverish hands grip and twist at your dress, yanking it off carelessly. He didn't care if it tore. He didn't care one bit. He'd just buy you five more tomorrow.

What he saw underneath was worth every penny he'd spend on your dresses.

A matching pale pink lingerie set. All for him to see.

"fuck baby, you're- you're killing me" he groans, shoving his face into your covered breasts. He pulls away, taking you in for a moment, before his hands tug eagerly at the fabric, leaving your chest bare.

"so fuckin' pretty, y'know that? y'know how goddamn pretty you are, baby?"

Bashfully, you turn away, biting your lip with a stifled grin.

"I mean it- god, if you could see yourself right now"

"stopp" you whine, covering your face.

He grins before his lips move back to your breasts, swirling his tongue over each nipple, pressing kisses, sucking bruises into the tender flesh.

With every flick of his tongue, you arch off the bed, pressing yourself further into him with a lewd moan. It was true, what he said. Only he can make you feel like this.

Soonyoung travels further south, tracing a path down your breasts to the hem of your panties. He places gentle kisses on your tummy, while his hands move swiftly to reveal what he considers heaven.

Feeling the wetness soaking through the pretty pink fabric, he can't control the groan forcing its way out his throat.

"so wet-" he says, almost frustrated by how perfect you are, "all this for me, baby?"

"mhm- all for y-you Soonie"

You squirm under his touch, feeling particularly ticklish with every soft kiss he places on your skin. That gentle manner is long gone, however, once you're left completely bare. It's as though the sight of your bare cunt flips a switch in his head- turning him into an animal; rough, messy, greedy.

His voice takes on a raspier quality, his breaths turn shallow, his arms tremble as he lowers himself to face your heat.

"oh, you're dripping"

You whine, wiggling your hips to get him to touch you, and he smirks. Large hands splay you open and yank you down by your thighs, straight onto his tongue.

There's no controlling the noises you make now.

You yelp when his tongue makes contact with your clit, toying with it so effortlessly tears well in your eyes. Every flick, every roll of his tongue has shivers running along your skin, with goosebumps all over your body.

"Soonie please- please, please, please-" you moan, unsure of what you're even asking for.

He responds with quicker motions around your clit, slurping loudly at your cunt. A knot builds in your tummy, tightening, tightening, until it's ready to snap.

His lips cradle your clit and provide just a little more stimulation as they suck around you, drawing the sensitive nerves out of hiding.

"d-don't stop fuck- m'gonna,"

All you hear is a hum, muffled by your cunt, shooting vibrations right through you. The added stimulation is exactly what you need, sending you over the edge in record time.

The knot in your stomach snaps, and you moan his name as you come, chanting it like it's all you know- 'Soonyoung, Soonyoung, Soonyoung'

He slips a finger into you, wanting to feel your orgasm. The way you tighten around his digit sends blood rushing to his dick. There was nothing he wanted more than to feel your walls tighten around him, to feel how eagerly you'd keep pulling him back in for more.

"that's it, baby- fuck," he drawls, licking his hands clean, "taste so fucking good"

Rising back to his feet, Soonyoung glances down at you, lips curling at the corners. He unbuttons his shirt, popping each disk off meticulously as he stares down at you.

What a tease.

Your breath hitches when he slips off the fabric, revealing his shockingly sculpted torso. While your boyfriend did appear less muscular than most- owing this to his cute baby face- he was easily one of the most chiseled men you'd seen.

He moves to his jeans next- unbuckling his belt with such dexterity you find yourself even more aroused than before. The button comes undone, zip tugged down, and he steps out of his pants, leaving him in his black boxers as he makes his way back to you.

Firm pectorals greet your eager hands, delicious striations, and defined ridges make your mouth water- god, you could just eat him alive.

"you're staring again" he mumbles, now hovering above you.

"am not" you grin.

"are too"

"am no-"

"shut up," he breathes before pulling you into a messy kiss. It's a clash of tongue and teeth but lord it feels better than anything you've done with anyone else.

Your eyes widen when you feel his cock rubbing up against your folds- when did he lose the boxers?

Before you can even process his speedy undressing, Soonyoung shoves his length into you, earning a particularly loud moan on your part.

He grins against your lips at the sound, and moves back to kiss you properly, now swallowing your whimpers and cries. His hips roll into you, driving his cock further into your cunt and back, repeating the process over and over again.

There's an ease with which he moves into you, like liquid metal. His movements are powerful and fluid, giving you so much pleasure you feel like you're losing your mind.

Sweat collects at his temples as he pounds into you, clumps of hair sticking to his forehead- nothing, no one, could even begin to compare to how gorgeous he is.

He throws your leg over his waist, angling himself deeper, just enough to kiss that spot no one else can. Your head tips back into the pillows, chest heaving as you moan helplessly under him.

"can they make you feel like this?" he rasps, picking up his pace, "can they even come close to how good I'm fucking you?"

"no- no one but you- fuck Soonie don't stop"

Sliding a hand down your torso, Soonyoung rubs tight circles into your clit, sending waves of pleasure rippling over your body. You cry out, back arching off the bed as tears spill from your eyes, staining your rosy cheeks.

"so pretty like this," he grits, "taking me so fucking good-"

You feel yourself right on the edge of pleasure, waiting, anticipating, until you finally fall. A wave of relief washes over you, muscles twitching as you let go. Soonyoung follows right after, gritting his teeth as your walls tighten around him, greedily coaxing out every bit of his release.

"fuck," he breathes, his thrusts growing slower before he stills in you.

He leans his forehead against yours, mumbling "I love you" over and over until you calm down.

"m'gonna run us a bath, kay?"

"mhm"

Lifting himself off of you, Soonyoung heads to the bathroom, to set up. In a couple of minutes, he comes back out with a warm, damp towel in hand, crawling between your legs to gently wipe off the mess you've made.

He cradles your thigh so gently, it makes your heart swell. Each swipe is tender and soft, making sure he doesn't touch you when you're this sensitive.

"thank you," you mumble, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

He looks up at you, cupping your face right away with concern painted all over his features.

"baby what's wrong? did I do something? did I hurt you?"

"no I just- I just really love you. And I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you with me"

His face lights up, little crescents forming in his eyes.

"I love you" he grins, "I love you and you're gonna be mine forever"

He pauses to kiss the tip of your nose-

"now c'mere lemme clean you up"

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nthspecialll · 3 months

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The fandom glorifies Arthur Morgan

Now I am not talking about about low honor, I play high honor and got it as the top at the end of every damn playthrough but my Arthur, as it is the cannon Arthur, is not a good guy. I am not going to talk about all of the murder, robbing and stuff he does, because we are majorly aware of it, I am talking his sexism, casual ignorance and disrespecfulness.

I quite often see people say that Arthur Morgan is a woman lover, and he definitely is, he is better than a lot of men from that time (which isn't hard), but he would not hold up in modern times, because he is not from modern times.

Generally speaking, Arthur Morgan is a man who believes in gender roles, he believes in the idea of "a man being a man" and "a woman being a woman." He has opinions about what a woman should do and what a man should do.

I think the biggest hint at this is his relationship with Sadie, because while he accepts her running with the boys he doesn't seem entirely happy about it. "You got a pair of pants and all of a sudden you think you're Landon Ricketts?" "You want to ruuuunnnn with the men?" and also "can Ms Grimshaw spare you?" when the girls asks if they can come to Valentine with him.

Talking of that quest, when he runs off to get Jimmy Brooks he puts Uncle, a lazy old bastard, in charge of getting the girls home even though they are more than capable of doing it themselves as they are healthy young women who knows how to handle horses.

In several antagonize lines against women performers (which are just as cannon as his greet lines) he shouts things like "That isn't very ladylike!" or "Go back to the kitchen" and "go make someone supper."

People keep saying Arthur would "treat them right" and he would, to an extent, he would care for you, he would be nice to you, but he would force those gender roles. He does have a belief women are somehow "softer" and that he as a person with a provider gene should do more of the harsh work.

So now we covered that, lets talk about the racism, or as I probably should rather call it, ignorance, because it is very commonly know Arthur does not judge by the color of skin.

The first one is that Arthur uses the whites-only saloon in Rhodes. Tilly mentions it to Arthur that they don't allow people of color into it, and yet he still supports it, it isn't a big thing but it is something of notice.

Secondly, when he talks to Eagle Flies where he "sets him in his place" Arthur, honey, you are so wrong here. Eagle Flies is being chased by the government for the mere fact that he exists with a different culture, you are being chased because you murdered so many folks, you can run across the sea and live a good life, they are fucked regardless.

When we first arrive in Lemoyne Lenny and Arthur talks about the Lemoyne Raiders about racism and Arthur says "These boys got a manner about them but I haven't particularly noticed," Arthur of course you wouldn't, you are a tall, muscular, white man with sun kissed hair and blue eyes, you are the poster boy for eugenics.

Lastly, which will also bring me to the third point, the casual disrespect:

Arthur causally calling Javier a slur on the boat for no reason, did you really need that one-liner so badly? That goes for a lot of times in the game such as: "are you secretly normal" "what a lunatic" "we should find a better story for that scar" "But you continue to irritate me, I will kill you and make my appologies to the lady" "stick around and you might die for her as well" "oh I didn't know I was talking to a lady." All those were a slight bit disrespectful, enough to be able to annoy the majority of us if he said it to us, and they were also unnecessary.

He is also canonically chronically late, most notably we can hear Sean saying "that man will be late to his own funeral," and when you go around antagonizing characters in camp they are not surprised at all, rather they go "back at it again huh?"

All of this is just to sum up, Arthur is a pretty bad man (also counting in all the illegal stuff) and we tend to glorify him and forget some of these things, partly is also because Rockstar are amazing at hiding them, at making them seem natural, and they are because this is a historically accurate game! It is set in 1899 and this is a man from 1899 he is going to be casually sexist and disrespectful, and again, considering that he is from 1899 he is a decent guy because the majority of folk would be like Micah, not Arthur.

I definitely love Arthur, and I love Arthur exactly because the point of his character is him not being a saint but a human. His redemption is choosing to do good where he can, but even so, this is a man in 1899 and he is going to have a 1899 mindset. If you want to play a game that is set in the past but don't have that type of accuracy it is not Red Dead you want to play.

Also here is an Arthur pic as a thank you for reading all of that. I love him.

#rdr2 #rdr2 community #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #john marston #rdr john #red dead redemption community #dutch van der linde #rdr2 john #character analysis #red dead redemption two #red dead fandom #nthspecialll

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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 9 months

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A DC X DP IDEA # 24

A Chill Protector

Imagine dis…

We all heard about the different spirits hidden beneath the thick blanket of snow, and how winter and ice were always associated with death. As many succumb to the winter cold weather.

Parents tell their children myths and legends to their children as the snow spirits will drag them out of their warm home if they ever misbehave. Snow spirits both legends/ myths alike walk along the icy path and will drag any unsuspecting traveler to be their next victim. The horror stories he saw and heard as to why no matter how officials try to recover the bodies that might have been lost to the blizzard and snow could never have a body to return to.

But not all snow-related spirits from any legend or myth are there to lead us to a cold death. Some are protectors, to children who simply lost their way or even they join in the play.

But did you know there was a protector from the old?

Danny Phantom edition

…

Little Bruce Wayne is running to where no one knows, not even himself. That year will be the first Christmas without his parents. In the cold harsh winter in Gotham, tears never stopped flowing through. Alfred tried his best he did but some holes could not be filled with gingerbread cookies or hot cocoa. Little Bruce kept on running and running, he wanted his parents to be here, his mom who could be heard singing Christmas carols in the manor while his dad secretly put the gifts under the Christmas tree and signed the gifts from Santa, he missed the times where they would decorate the Christmas tree with both his mom and dad.

Little Bruce ran until he found himself in the middle of nowhere. There were street lampposts but no people, perhaps they had already begun to hide themselves from the upcoming harsh winter. Little Bruce tried to go back, he turned and turned but could not remember where he came from. A harsh blizzard heading towards Gotham that day, Little Bruce remembers as the dark grey clouds started to form out of nowhere.

Little Bruce tried to hide from the upcoming blizzard by squishing himself in between the dumpsters in the far corner. He knew that even if he asked for help there would be a likely chance for him to be kidnapped and be ransomed than be helped. He may be born from the higher class but he is still a Gothamite and knows of the dangers of outing himself.

Unluckily some homeless men saw and recognized him and tried to corner him, Little Bruce ran again into the unknown. He tries to lose his pursuers by sandwiching himself in between dumpsters. He had held his breath when the said pursuers ran past his hiding spots in their midst of angry grunts.

As he tried to warm himself a stranger went and crouched in front of him. Little Bruce never heard the crunching of boots when he walked so he was understandably startled, thinking that he was one of the men who were after him. A young boy with soft white hair, probably dyed a thought passed by, the bluest of eyes he had ever seen from anybody, freckles that looked like snowflakes decorating his cheeks, and an impish grin as he wore a white hoodie and cargo pants with sneakers and carrying a blue umbrella staring at Little Bruce with clear playfulness in his eyes.

Little Bruce knows that winter in Gotham is far worse than anywhere in the States yet he never seemed to question the stranger to only have a hoodie and shorts.

Little Bruce is wary of the stranger but he just puts an umbrella on top of him and puts his finger on his lips making a shushing gesture and noise as he winks playfully to Bruce.

Bruce who already sensed that this stranger had no malice but pure playfulness copied him giving his grin and shush.

Next, he was there holding an umbrella on top of his head the next time Little Bruce blinked he was gone.

When he tried to look for the kind stranger, he saw Alfred running towards him with clear relief and exhaustion. Alfred tried to scan him for any injuries, when little Bruce tried to ask about the kind stranger Alfred mentioned how it was a miracle, that he was still alive after 3 hours in this kind of weather.

Little Bruce kept telling Alfred that there was someone, someone who was kind someone who hid him someone who put an umbrella over his head. As the years went by Bruce kept looking for that kind Samaritan who saved him that day but over the years that memory made Bruce think that it may have been the light and the snow that made him imagine that stranger, how he was still grieving over his parents at the time. He concluded that the stranger was nothing more than a figment of his imagination to deal with his grief at that time.

…

Years later Batman along with his sons Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin were on a mission in the high ridge in Antarctica on the East Antarctic Plateau. About a suspicious sound wave which resulted in them botching another alien invasion. But before they could even go back to the plane another dying alien had shot an explosive in their direction, it may have missed them but their transportation was destroyed. Another blizzard was expected in a few minutes which brought the temperature to -135.8 F. They may have some heat built in their suits but not enough to warm them into the upcoming blizzard. It will take hours before Oracle and the others back send help to them. Superman is on a mission in outer space and cannot hear them.

As they make a makeshift shelter from the debris of the broken plane each then starts a quiet yet somber conversation with one another. Without the screaming and the death threats some of them had a few things to say to each other, Dick tried to be optimistic as they have survived far more dangerous situations and scenarios surely they can survive this and remove it from their bingo card. Maybe it’s an unconscious belief of their upcoming death, the heat sensors in their suit are already working overtime to give them warmth when fighting off the aliens, they could already see the battery in it draining as fast as they see the strongest snow storm approaching.

Batman had his entire arms surround each of his children. Wishing that his children survived this as he could hear the howling icy wind coming through the tiny cracks in their makeshift shelter.

Suddenly Batman heard the unmistakable sound of crunching of boots in the snow. He also noticed that all of his children fell into a deep sleep with how deep each breathing was. He slowly looked up and widened his eyes at what he saw.

There standing is the same white-haired teen wearing the same hoodie, the same pants, the same shoes, and carrying the same umbrella looking at him with the same playfulness twinkling in his eyes.

The teen once more opened his umbrella and put it over the head of Bruce along with his children who were huddled together. Slowly put his finger to his lips and made the same shushing sound and gesture as if they were back in the alley in between dumpsters hiding the little Bruce Wayne as if they were playing hide and seek.

Batman was just staring at him, one moment he was there next moment he was gone, like back then. Spoiler and Orphan found and came rushing to their location as they had been looking for them for 6 hours the snow and wind made it difficult to look for them.

…

Danny had fully died when he was 78 years old, he formed and turned back into his ghostly prime of 14 years old and turned into some sort of protective spirit of the winter side. Frostbite explained on how the great one can finally stop the stigma against winter spirits. Frostbite explained that the majority of the winter spirits are vengeful to the mortals, sure his tribe to end the stigma but many people just kept running away from them and when they went near a mortal they were already dead and buried them for the death rites, As Danny is both protector and a winter spirit he can finally stop the stigma as well continue fulfilling his obsession. Clockwork then added that he had the perfect dimension as a tutorial for Danny.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton

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kandlewick · 3 months

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In the Queendom of Roses, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes. gn reader x rook, a howl's moving castle au pt. 1

You, being born the eldest of three, always knew you wouldn't make it far in life. It was to be expected after all. You were fated to fail first and worst out of your siblings. When your siblings both were able to conjure magic from a young age, you could hardly blow a breeze. It would have been embarrassing if you hadn't already humbled yourself as a child. Of course you weren't anything special. The world needed normal, ordinary people too after all. So what if you weren't able to attend fancy colleges and gain the attention of the headmage Ambrose like your sibling had. There was nothing for you to be jealous of because you never aimed higher then what you could reach.

And so, here you were, employed — stuck — at your family's prized hat shop, sitting alone in your little alcove with only your hats as company. It was quiet, some might think too quiet, but it was where you were most comfortable. No expectations, no commentary, just you, your utensils, and your craftsmanship.

You handled your hats with care, quietly whispering blessings with each stitch. They were your creations after all. You might not amount to much but your hats would. They would settled themselves on to the heads of the busy housewives, the men of the army, and the young lovers, each with their own story to tell. You would flatter the hats, just as you would your customers.

"You," handling a small cap adorned with a veil and knot, "will surely be given to someone of glamor and beauty. They won't be able to keep their eyes off of you" You set it out amongst your most prized hats, quietly adjusting it atop the display. This one was made using expensive but durable material. It wouldn't do to have it placed sloppily. It deserved the best.

"And you," you smiled with a small chuckle, picking up a white fedora with a gaudy ribbon tied around it, "will go to a wonderfully handsome man with a good heart, I'm sure of it." It was a rather silly hat, made last minute with some left over materials, but it was sturdy all the same. The colors were also popular in the Queendom of Roses, especially amongst the card soldiers employed at the castle. Maybe one of them might stumble upon your little hat shop and spy this hat in the window.

You talked to your hats more and more as the weeks went by. You were good at selling them so it wasn't hard keeping yourself afloat. Just the other day, one of the Queen's card soldiers had come in to your shop, a man with hair the color of clovers, and sheepishly asked if he could see that one white fedora in the window. He claimed that for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it when he had gone off shift and needed to know if it was still available. It was a good sale and you're glad your hat went off to a good owner.

But then one day, on a particularly strenuous and busy day, you found yourself stuck wit horrible artist block. No matter how much you tried, you couldn't find any sort of inspiration for a new hat. Hours were wasted while you wiled away at your desk. Nothing worked and you found yourself teary eyed, sniffling loudly as you rubbed at your burning eyes, spools of ribbon and fabric lying all around you.

"Truly," you sobbed, heart aching, "being the oldest child is the worst curse you can be given."

What good were you if you couldn't even do the one thing you had some modicum of talent for? So what if your shop was popular?Surely this is where you peaked, alone with only the company of your hats. While your siblings were off making their fortune, surrounded by friends and loved ones, you sat here alone in an empty shop. You had no friends to speak of, the only time you ever talked was when your customers gossiped at you and finally it seemed the dam you had tried so hard to ignore had finally broke. The waves of your bottled up emotions drained out of you in waves and you could hardly stand it. What was the point of youth? Compared to others your age, you felt so old, so decrepit. Your bones ached from your poor posture, your hair thinning from the stress, and your eyes were circled with what could be mistaken for charcoal. You have never felt more unfit of your young age in your life.

In your sorrow, you spotted a purple hunter's hat — an incredibly gaudy thing you had made in an attempt to create something, anything of worth — and for the first time in your life, you cursed one of your creations.

"Surely only someone who finds beauty in anything will find any use of you!"

But the days go on whether you liked them to or not. You opened your store once again and quietly pushed down your feelings. You sat in your little alcove again today, quietly and mindlessly stitching something on to another, when you heard the tall tale sign of someone entering your shop. A small jingle followed the stranger as they ducked in almost silently. You inwardly sighed, slouching against your seat, but got up all the same. It wouldn't do not to be polite. You didn't have the fortune to afford it.

"Good evening," You plastered on a small smile at the stranger, a man, before you stopped and actually got a good look of him. He was quite tall, casting a lovely slender figure with his elaborate blonde hair, and was garbed in a bright and obviously expensive purple. His sleeves trailed longer than any you've seen before, all delicate trim and golden weaves. He even wore perfume too. The subtle smell of hyacinths followed him as he turned and smiled, his bright emerald eyes crinkling with delight.

"Bonne soirée!" He eagerly returned your greeting, with a bob of his head, his hand to his chest. You blinked up at him, mildly surprised at his mannerisms but chose not to acknowledge it, instead choosing to respond in kind.

"I've never seen you before," You admitted softly, watching as he slowly turned to admire your work. It wasn't too uncommon for customers to want to see everything but there was something different about this man. The way his eyes never glazed over as he looked, almost as if he was inspecting each one in great detail, almost made you embarrassed. Most people would just mindlessly look for something to catch their fancy but this man seemed almost entranced, as if each piece was a work of art. You both stood there in silence until the strange man seemed to snap out of his trance, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Were those tears in his eyes?!

"Ah, forgive me," He apologized, "I was simply admiring them. Is this all your work?" He appeared almost eager for a response, his head bobbed to the side.

You nodded sheepishly, "Yes, these are all my work. It's my job. When I'm not up front with the customers, I'm in my workshop creating them."

His smile, once subdued and quiet, widened. He took your calloused hands in his own and squeezed them. You flushed and scrambled away but his grip was too tight, not uncomfortably so, but enough that it felt too rude to rip your hands away...

"You're incredibly talented, mon ami!" He spoke with such reverence, "All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!" The strange man spoke with such conviction, he almost had you believing him. You could smell the hyacinth even clearer now from your close proximity to him and it nearly made your head spin. What a courtly person!

The stranger, his hands still firmly clasped around your own, turned back to admire your hats. "Each stitch is full of magic, I've never seen anything quiet like it before."

"I - sir, I appreciate your words but I fear they're wasted on me," You let out a nervous laugh as your heart thumped in your chest, its excited beating feeling like it was about to jump straight out or your chest, "They're just hats."

The blonde man was quick to deny this, his hair rolling down his shoulders in waves, "I beg to differ, mon petite souris! Even someone such as I can see all the hard work you've put in to these! There's no need to be so humble!"

Humble! Hardly! If only he knew how you've been the past few days, stuck in your artist block, unable to dig your way out of it. He was wrong! So, so so wrong! You were nothing! This wasn't talent, this was just you using up all the luck left that had been given to you. With an almost annoyed huff, you were quick to free your hands from the strangers embrace and hid them away in your aprons front pocket. Your fingers were shaking.

"I... appreciate your kind words but I do have a business to run," You put on your best customer service voice you could muster and looked away from the man, not seeing the soft crestfallen expression forming on his face. His eyes narrowed but he made no move to reach back out and instead, his voice lowered in to an apologetic tone.

"You're right, mon petite souris. Perhaps in my admiration, I got a bit too excited." The blonde man's gloved hand came to rest against his chest and he gave a small nod of his head towards you, trying to catch your eye, "My apologies."

Well, now on top of your horrible mood, you felt bad. You let out an equally remorseful sigh, and turned back to him but he wasn't looking at you anymore. Instead, his gaze was over your shoulder, looking past you to the lone purple hunter's cap hidden away in the back. The very hat you had cursed.

"If I may be forward," He began slowly while his eyes reluctantly looked away to meet your own, "As an apology, I'd like to purchase that hat from you. Name your price."

You gave him a look but turned to grab it. The feather tucked inside of the red around the brim bobbed as you picked it up.

"This thing?" You asked, "I don't think it's any good. I made it on a whim and —"

Rook slowly plucked it from your hand and admired it for himself, turning it this way and that. His smile was sad but he accepted it all the same, "I think it is a lovely hat," he lowered his head and slid in on top of his blonde hair. It was strange, the hat seemed to... belong with him. While the hat itself was hardly anything to look at on its own, it matched his whole ensemble, like it was a piece of the puzzle that had been missing the whole time.

"How much?" He asked, utterly enamored by his reflection.

You watched from beside him, eyes avoiding your own form, but you offered his reflection a small smile and a shake of your head, "It's free. I couldn't charge you after I was so rude to you."

The stranger's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his bright green eyes meeting your own, but they were quick to narrow in delight. His lips curled into a smile.

"Thank you, mon petite souris, I will treasure it."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" As much as you wanted to get back to your work, you couldn't help but silently wish for a few more moments with this stranger. He was so oddly charming.

"Non, non, you've done more then enough for me today." He bowed his head, the feather on his hat bobbing with the movement, and quietly made his way to the door. His steps were silent all the way. "I have much I need to do an I have left two others waiting for my company long enough." And with a final wave of his hand, the strange man exited the shop.

You stood there longer then you should've, staring at the door, his words quietly echoing in your mind.

"All of these hats, each more enchanting then the next, were obviously created from the hands of an artist!"

You scoffed but smiled all the same. Courtly men like that just say things to gain favors. He must've been just trying to butter you up. You shook your head. It was almost a shame you'd never see the man again.

The quiet was soon shattered by a bustle of women worriedly entering the shop, each one calling out for you in worried tones. One of your regulars, an elderly woman was quick to push past the others and hurry her way to you. Her arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders and pulled you down to her height, "Oh, you poor thing!"

"Huh?" You blinked as she pulled away to look you over. Why was everyone so worried about you? "Whats gotten in to you all?"

"Whats gotten in to us?" She shrieked, her feet stomping into your worn floor, "What's gotten in to you! Do you know just who that man was?"

The man? The blonde, courtly man?

"Yes! That man!" She hollered, "That's the wizard Rook! Rook Hunt! The man who eats the hearts of those he sets his sights on! The one with the moving castle!!"

Oh? Oh! Oh.

You just gave the great wizard Rook Hunt an ugly hat.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #reader insert #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader

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flowerandblood · 11 months

Text

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

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

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

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twilightarc-gm · 6 months

Note

Why do you like jiang cheng?

At the risk of liking him for the wrong reasons, let me be verbose and annoying about it.

A short anecdote: I finished the donghua before the novel and I liked JC's aesthetic so I was happy to have that imagery in my head for the novel, but mostly I came out of the donghua like "cool story, the ending was frowny face though" and I came out of the novel like I was lost in the IKEA store "there's stuff here but it's not what I want and it's organized in a way that's hard to navigate through." Bit like giving me a puzzle to solve.

Anyway, imagine a cat bapping at a thing trying to get fandom to show me what to do with MDZS (i.e. reading fanfic) and then I come across anti-Jiang Cheng stuff.

//record scratch

I'm sorry what?

Why?

NO.

I started then on Shuangjie reconciliation fic and quickly evolved into Jiang Cheng "Apologist" ((I actually don't think he has anything to apologize for even if he would do so anyway.))

I've been in the xianxia/wuxia sphere of media consumption for a year or so before trying out MDZS and JC just fits so well as the main character of his own story; destined for a position of power through birth, friends with someone in his life that causes conflict, seemingly betrayed by said friend when needing that friend the most, losing and losing and losing as his trust in said friend proves unfounded because the friend walks a path he can't follow, and then he's left with the tragedy that befell the world because--ultimately he trusted this friend too much.

It's a classic story of love and attachment and how good intentions can have massive consequences. Two men entwined by fate and in the end there's a battle on a hill (off screen in this case) where one is forced to "kill" the other.

MDZS could have ended with the past timeline, and I would have liked it more but at least in the present timeline we get Jiujiu and a-Ling.

Anyway: Excerpts and Commentary Below about WHY I LOVE JIANG CHENG, courtesy WANYIN

Of all the clans to offend, you don’t offend the Jiang Clan, and of all the people to offend, you never offend Jiang Cheng.

We stand by a badass mf in this house. The first thing we learn is that he gets credit for killing a big baddy and the second thing we learn is how fierce the rest of his reputation is. He brooks no shit and leaves no quarter. Amazing 💜

Well, I was done for at "gaze like two streaks of cold lightning" so RIP me, I guess. Reminds me of some antis that are like "you only like him because he's hot" which isn't true but it is a nice plus. He's described as inferior to LWJ so like, if it was only about hotness then wouldn't I like LWJ???

“I am his uncle. Do you have any last words?”

At the sound of that voice, every drop of blood in Wei Wuxian’s body seemed to surge to his head but then immediately drained away again. Thankfully, his face was already a mess of ghastly white, so it didn’t look strange when he went a little paler.

A man in purple attire strode over. He was dressed in a narrow-sleeved light robe, with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. A silver bell dangled from his waist, yet there was no sound when he walked.

This young man had fine brows and almond eyes, with a chiseled handsomeness to his features. His eyes were deep and intense with a hint of aggression, his gaze like two streaks of cold lightning. He stopped and stood three meters away from Wei Wuxian. His expression was like that of a nocked arrow on a bow, ready to shoot, and even his composure was suffused with arrogant pride.

Jiang Cheng ruled the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng alone, so it could have been said that he was in a state of isolation.

🥺 Alone?? And he could still afford 400 Immortal Binding Nets? Self-sufficient king 🤩 And like, his reputation is so fierce and he's boiling over with anger in that scene, but still he restrains himself because he did the cost-benefit analysis! And then later he takes a huge risk on WWX, like he always does for WWX, and that doesn't work out for him--like it always does.

Seeing that nothing had happened to Jin Ling, Jiang Cheng was greatly relieved. However, that relief soon turned into a furious reprimand:

Parent behavior. Enough said.

He has a twisted smile when encountering a trigger for his PTSD and then he decides to fight it instead of letting it paralyze him. He's such a doer. Like, every other moment of the day he's carefully calculating pluses and minuses to every choice (valid) but when it comes to facing his personal demons he's ready to throw down. Excellent.

A moment later, Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand subconsciously began stroking that ring once more.

He said softly, “Excellent. Back, are you?”

He let go of his left hand, and a long whip dangled from it.

“Oh? Then please enlighten me, what is your type?”

Walking A-Spec flag very concerned about what the man who might be his shixiong thinks about him, more at eleven!

Wei Wuxian waved him off and then hooked his arm around Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. “Who cares? I’ll tease him a bit more before I go. You’ve already collected my corpse so many times. Once more won’t hurt.”

Okay but big lol that JC doesn't get to collect WWX's corpse that final time. //sounds of sobbing

A smile appeared on his face, but then he immediately humphed.

He's so grumpy and adorable! I love him! pre massacre JC is precious and I just want him to have someone to bring out that smile again.

He literally didn't have to do this. He makes all these excuses how he'll be embarrassed if WWX is rolling around 😂 Perfection. Boy, you are still carrying him and he doesn't want you to stop.

Jiang Cheng, walk slower, you’re gonna throw me off.”

Not only did Jiang Cheng want to throw Wei Wuxian off, but he practically wanted to bash his head into the ground to create a human crater. “So fussy even though I’m carrying you!”

“I didn’t tell you to carry me,” Wei Wuxian reasoned.

Jiang Cheng flew into a rage. “If I didn’t carry you, I think you’d hang out at their ancestral hall all day, rolling around on the floor. I can’t afford this embarrassment! Lan Wangji took fifty more strikes than you, but he walked away on his own, and you’re not embarrassed, pretending to be an invalid? I don’t want to carry you anymore. Get the hell off!”

“No, I’m wounded,” Wei Wuxian said.

Alrighty, like I'm just going through the entire book at this point.

Let me see if I can make this more concise:

Sacrifices himself despite his very dutiful nature that would oppose this. He throws away all his responsibilities for WWX, again and again, carrying on a tradition of favoring WWX over his own health and happiness. Citing: JFM favoring WWX to the detriment of his marriage, JYL dying to save WWX, and JC (exhausted and with little or no power) running into danger to save WWX ala distracting the Wen patrol and 2nd Siege.

Can't be honest in his affections and makes up excuses to do nice things for others.

Loves and understands his sister. She wanted JZX so he made it happen when LLJ had absolutely no reason to reinstate the marriage contract between Xuanli. JGS notes in the CR arc that he didn't want the marriage for his son in the first place and that there were better options than YMJ, and that was before the war! JC helped her get to Yiling to show off her wedding dress! Even though she married out he still felt so attached to her son he couldn't not co-parent Jin Ling.

Yes, he has Zidian, but he also has a second horsewhip that he keeps on him which is very exciting to know.

The narrative hates him but he survives. (He survives because the narrative hates him).

Most BAMF entrance in the novel at the temple scene with the busting the temple doors down and coming in from the rain with an umbrella. Like sure the narrative hates him but small blessings that rule of cool still counts for something.

Mama's boy.

Just some dude, shows up late to treasury room nonsense, knows all the gossip, no one has faith in him including himself, but he keeps going and doing what needs to be done even when he's so so tired and his shixiong shows up 3 months late with a ghoul lady and a latte, or disappears to liberate slave property without warning first and now he's called into a midnight meeting after trying to get some much needed rest and now he's got consequences to deal with. Someone help him!

An expert at sneering. Threats as a show of worry and care. This makes all the little and brief smiles so much more endearing.

Sandu Shengshou is an amazing title, get out of here if you don't agree. Holy Hand of the Three Poisons? Brutal, perfect 💜 It gets used like, ONCE. Crime against me personally.

Link to Blorbo Sheet for JC

He loves, he hates, he wants to hate he's not allowed to love. Zero middle ground, he's all in and there's no way out.

//is shot and dragged off stage

But just as the Wei Wuxian of the past who’d extracted his golden core for Jiang Cheng had been unable to tell him the truth, the Jiang Cheng of the present could no longer bring himself to speak up.

#jiang cheng #canon jiang cheng #asks answered #twi posts #yunmeng shuangjie #quotes

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s4toryuu · 7 months

Text

guard dogs — geto suguru, gojo satoru

on the way through a dangerous street to meet your friend, suguru and satoru protect you from a couple monkeys

notes; protective besties, afab!reader, implied crush on suguru, reader is tinier than the boys, reader teases satosugu, based on true story

m.list

satoru and suguru are tall. suguru’s muscular body shows through the uniform sometimes and satoru’s white hair and sheer size collects stares like a curse.

you had just finished a solo assignment when it was time for you to meet your friend. she’d texted you the night before about a new cafe that opened in the middle of tokyo where your assignment was conveniently around the corner.

“where’s your boyfriend?” you tease satoru when he walks to you. he scoffs.

“he’s coming, don’t worry.” he checked his phone and suguru taps the top of your head from behind you. an easy thing to do seeing as you barely reached the middle of his bicep.

“yo.” he smiles. “where you going?”

“oh, that new cafe with my friend. I don’t think it’s that far.” you reply to him while fixing your hair.

“can we come?” satoru looks at you.

you answer quickly, “no.”

the last time the three of you went out, satoru ordered fourteen drinks which you guys ended up having to carry most of them all the way back to school because this white-haired idiot couldn’t finish them. and also he was “saving them for later.”

“oh, come on, please? it’s so early, I don’t wanna go back yet.” satoru pleads. he’s right, the sun blared high in the sky after a cold and cloudy spring week.

“go somewhere else!” you start looking around for the right direction.

“but we already tried everything here, right suguru?”

“yeah, he’s right.” suguru looks up at a sign.

“I’ll buy you your order!” satoru reaches out to you and you halt your steps. “yeah, that tempted you huh?”

you laugh. “fine. but don’t be weird to my friend.” satoru waves this off and lets out a lazy agreement.

“nice, satoru.” suguru whispers. you hear them.

there was an real reason you didn’t want to take the two to meet your friend. annoyingly, you admit the two are really fucking handsome. they get stares and get approached a lot, and you know your friend wasn’t immune to their charm. you almost fell victim back in your early years too.

you were more worried about satoru. he’s handsome and he knows it, so he’s cocky and doesn’t shut up. suguru’s humble nature makes people want him more, but it also makes them delusional. even worse, he was exactly your friend’s type. you wanted him for yourself.

the three of you start walking with you leading the way and your friends following side by side behind you. you ignore the stares from the entire city—you were used to it when you were with satoru and suguru. the harder issue was trying to ignore jealous energy directed at you.

you know the general area, but you look down at your phone to pull up the map. you turn a corner and feel a change in energy—desire and lust that were at the edge of becoming a curse.

you still feel the boys as they chatted behind you, which gave you the courage to look up. surely enough, there was a group of nine men sat and gathered around, and you look farther to see a suggestive sign for what you assume poses as a club. you’ve dealt with many terrifying things being a sorcerer, but dirty men gave you an innate fear you couldn’t just exorcise.

“wow, look at that.” one man says. the rest turn their heads and two stand up. you assume they haven’t seen satoru and suguru behind you yet. you hear suguru sigh in frustration.

“how old are you, girl?” one of them sitting down says, eyeing you down. he wore a red extremely faded graphic tee. “just got outta school? what school’s that uniform from?”

you freeze. you don’t know whether to respond, ignore, or turn around. it was a small street and there was no one else in earshot. a perfect place to coerce young women. you back up into satoru. suguru walks in front of you, his hands in his pocket. your view is now obstructed by the middle of his back. satoru doesn’t move behind you and bends sideways to watch whatever his best friend is about to do.

“are we gonna have an issue here?” suguru speaks in a voice you rarely hear. you hear anger bubble in it.

“ha! you gonna do something if there is?” the man scoffs. the men standing start walking toward you and the one in the red shirt stands up. you see a shift when he stands at his full height and still has to look up to suguru.

“yeah.” suguru deadpans. he puts his right hand out to his side to summon a curse but you grab his arm to stop him.

“no, don’t! that’s not allowed. just… kick his ass or something.” you whisper nervously.

“hey, girl, don’t you wanna make some money? it’s easy work for you, pretty.” the man starts again. “especially with those nice tits, yea?” he looks back to his group and some laugh.

satoru clicks his tongue. “tsk. gross! suguru, you gonna get rid of them now or what?”

suguru scoffs and summons a curse quickly. it was a pink creature and it reminded you of a cat mixed with a fox. “sorry y/n, but a curse will attract less attention than us beating them up.”

you bend sideways to get a look and to your surprise, the fox swirls around the man in the red shirt lovingly. the man looks confused and looks to his group. he starts hyperventilating and sweating, then the fox wraps its tail around his crotch and leg—like a zipline harness.

“what the fuck?!” the man yells. he starts screaming in agony as both your friends watch.

“oh wow, is this a new one?” satoru asks happily. suguru hums and the fox lets go.

the man screams in agony holding his groin, and two come to help him up. the rest of the group is confused, and some walk off. the curse switches targets and the man starts groaning.

“what the hell did you do?” the other asks.

“you wanna find out?” suguru almost growls. the group runs off, leaving the first victim on the floor swearing at the air and grabbing at his groin.

“hm. fucking monkeys.” sugu mumbles. “disgusting.” he dissipates the curse and the three of you walk past the man on the floor.

“jesus.” you mutter. “thanks.”

“you’re welcome!” satoru puts his arm around your shoulder and weighs you down.

“you didn’t do anything!” you fake-yell at him.

“yeahuh!” he protests. you shrug off his weight.

“whatever, let’s just go.” you walk ahead again, but this time your two friends split and walk by your side.

“does that happen a lot?” suguru asks you.

“nah.” you reply with a comforting tone, knowing suguru he would get worried. “plus, I’m always either with you two or shoko—no one messes with shoko—and you two are just scary.” the two chuckle.

you knew you were always safe with your two friends especially because they were the strongest. and for the record, satoru standing behind you gave you a sense of security.

suguru patted the top of your head. you think your heart stopped.

you hear amusement in his voice. “that’s good. we’re like your guard dogs.” he smiles.

[requests open]

m.list

#𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺𝘶𝘶’𝘴 #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #satosugu #fanfic #x reader #geto fluff #gojo fluff #fluff

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archangeldyke-all · 7 months

Note

GRANDPARENT SEVIKA , but hear me out Grandparent COWBOY Sevika. She’d so be the old woman telling the kids stories about her heist.

EEEEEEEEEEEEK

men and minors dni

three years after both girls flew the coop-- vi hitting the road with caitlyn and jinx moving in to a little home a few blocks away from your inn with ekko-- you and sevika finally decided to 'retire.'

while you weren't willing to give up your business completely, you did decide to close down and board up the inn, transforming the upper levels of your building into a lovely little two-story apartment for you, sevika, and the girls to reside in when they decide to crash at yours.

vi and cait visit about once a week when they ride past town.

powder and ekko come over almost every night for dinner, apparently mature enough to live on their own but still unwilling to learn how to cook on their own.

you don't mind. despite the constant teasing you shoot at the young couple, you like having them around. (and you know that deep down, they're both so hesitant to take you up on cooking lessons because it would mean they'd no longer have a reason to come over so often.)

although you closed the inn, you kept the bar open because you love the people in your town and you've become somewhat of an establishment over the years. plus, you and sevika wouldn't know what to do with yourselves if you didn't have something keeping you busy.

in the evenings, the two of you open the bar to the public, serving stew and fresh baked bread and drinks and beers to your loyal patrons and keeping up on local gossip.

it's been great. working at the bar scratches the itch you and sev have to do something, but without the inn to manage or the kids to raise, you've both been enjoying the extra free time you have to... re-connect. (which means you've been fucking like animals on every flat surface in your home. loudly.)

but just when you thought you got rid of your kids for good-- jinx got pregnant. with twins. and then four months into her pregnancy, violet and caitlyn stumbled upon a pair of orphans living in the desert on their own.

so, in a matter of a few months, you and sevika went from child-free and retired to up to your neck in new children.

the moment you learned that jinx was pregnant, you and sevika set out to refurbish jinx's childhood bedroom-- rearranging the furniture to fit a king size bed for her and ekko, a desks, and a wardrobe. you also managed to cram two cribs at the foot of the bed.

jinx and ekko never asked to move back in with you two, but you insisted and they didn't protest. you and sevika had a hard enough time raising two little kids with the help of half the town, you could only imagine how fucking hard raising two newborns on your own would be-- you weren't gonna let your daughter and son-in-law go through that alone.

you cleared out one of the old inn rooms to become a nursery. it was sparse at first-- just blue walls painted with fluffy white clouds and a rocking chair in the corner, a little wardrobe, and a short bookshelf with a few of the girls' old picture books filling the shelves.

but as your patrons found out that jinx was expecting, the room quickly became filled with toys, books, stuffies, and hand-knit baby clothes and blankets.

vi and cait spent a few weeks on the road with the orphans, trying to find where they came from or who they might belong to. but after a few months, they gave up the search and gave into the fact that the kids were theirs now.

they wrote to you and sevika, their letter coming about a month before they would be, asking to live with you until they got back on their feet after the new addition to their little family. you enthusiastically agreed.

for them, you did the same thing, transforming violet's old bedroom into a suitable bedroom for a couple, and filling one of the four remaining spare bedrooms with drawers, bookshelves, and bunkbeds.

you, sevika, jinx and ekko spent the day of vi, cait, and their new kids' arrival out on the front porch, anxious to meet the new kids of your little mismatched family.

as they rode into town, you burst into laughter at the sight of vi, looking more haggard and tired than you've ever seen her, a little boy in her lap rambling on and on as she sluggishly nodded along.

"not so easy, huh?" you asked as you wrapped your kid up in a hug. violet melted in your arms and groaned.

"how the fuck did you do it?" she asked. you snorted.

"you'll get used to it."

violet and caitlyn's new kids are a pair of brothers, aged five and three. the eldest's name is jo-- talkative and curious and protective of his younger brother. dorian, the baby of the boys, is quiet and observant and incredibly funny without even trying.

despite violet's complaints and the dark bags under caitlyn's eyes, they both adore the kids. on their first night back home, you caught the couple standing in the doorway of their sons' room, watching them sleep and whispering to each other about how fucking sweet their boys are.

the boys are sweet. dorian becomes incredibly attached to sevika, to the point where he sleeps in between the two of you once or twice a week when he's not sleeping between his moms.

one of the cutest things you've ever witnessed is your wife out in the stable, feeding the horses with little dorian clinging to her back, squealing as he feeds handfuls of hay to teddy bear.

jo becomes your 'little buddy.' he's fascinated by the garden and tends to wake you up before sunrise to drag you out into the garden and ask you about various plants, putting all the strength his tiny body can muster into pulling stubborn weeds for you.

jinx gave birth on a hot summer night, right in the middle of the bar. luckily, one of your loyal patrons is the local doctor.

you watched in horror as jinx laid on the floor of your filthy bar, ekko's hand in her right and violet's hand in her left, doctor between her legs, caitlyn dabbing her head with a cold towel as she delivered her babies.

sevika passed out the second she saw blood between jinx's leg, and didn't wake up until much later-- when jinx was all stitched up and sleeping.

when she did come to, though, you had the pleasure of watching ekko introduce your wife to her newest grandchildren. one girl and one boy, summer and augustus.

she burst into tears as she cradled the babies to her chest, pressing sweet, gentle kisses to their heads.

"they're so small." she cried. "they're so fucking tiny babe, look at their itty bitty hands."

they're cute kids. augustus looks just like his daddy ekko, but he's got jinx's bright blue hair. summer looks like jinx, big blue eyes and thin nose and lips, but as she grows up her natural brunette hair forms a bright streak of white, inherited from her dad.

jo and dorian are obsessed with their 'baby cousins.' neither of the boys ever call the babies by their names, they call them 'sweet boy' and 'sweet girl,' just like sevika does.

jinx and ekko are surprisingly successful parents. ekko has a level-head and an abundance of patience in the areas where jinx lacks, and jinx isn't scared of anything-- vomit, diarrhea, tears, and snot-- nothing phases her. her endless energy comes in handy as the mother of newborn twins, and you're shocked and mildly concerned when jinx is back on her feet less than twenty four hours after giving birth, tinkering away at a desk in the livingroom, one hand holding a screwdriver while the other held summer to her breast to eat.

you catch violet outside the twin's room one night, crying as she looks down at her niece and nephew.

"you okay, baby?" you ask. your daughter sniffs and leans on your shoulder.

"did you ever think jinx'd have kids?" she asks. you shrug.

"honestly i thought you were gonna be the child-free one. i always pictured jinx with half a dozen kids." you say. violet laughs.

"i dunno. i didn't like, want kids, but i didn't not want them. and then once the boys came along there was nothing anyone could do to convince me to give 'em up. but powder? i never thought i'd see the day." she says.

you kiss her head, wrapping an arm around her waist as you listen to her talk.

"she was so fucked up as a kid... you know our mom died holding her?" violet asks, her voice wobbly. you did know this-- powder told you and sevika one night many years ago in a fit of tears-- but hearing violet talk about it breaks your heart all over again. "and i kinda always thought that my poor sister's never gonna be able to be a normal person. not that kids make you normal... but you know what i mean. i never thought she'd be able to make friends, or talk to strangers, or even sleep in a bed without me beside her, but fucking look!" violet whisper-shouts, waving at the sleeping twins. "she made those! all on her own!" she cries.

"ekko helped a bit." you joke. violet laughs through her tears and slumps against you.

"i'm so proud of her." she says. you smile, tears brimming in your eyes.

"me too." you say. "proud of you too, y'know."

violet snorts against you but doesn't deny it.

"you know neither of us would be here today if it weren't for you and sev, right? like, we'd be dead. or in jail. or dead." violet says. you chuckle.

"we're pretty great, aren't we?" you tease. violet huffs and elbows you.

"i'm serious."

"i know." you say, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "and i'm serious when i say you two are the best thing that's ever happened to us. it wasn't even a question whether or not we'd take you guys in-- it's like you said. we weren't expecting the two of you but once you were here there wasn't a thing on this planet that could get us to give you up."

"you aren't upset?" violet asks. you blink at her.

"about what?"

"the fact that your grown daughters have crashed your retirement to have you help raise their kids?"

you burst into laughter, muffling it with the back of your hand so you don't wake the sleeping babies in the room beside you.

"no, vi. we're not upset. i mean, don't get me wrong, i definitely enjoyed being able to walk around the house half naked-- and i'm gonna miss having sex whenever and where--"

"EWW?!" violet interrupts. you snort and pinch her side.

"but no. we're thrilled you're all here. just a little pissed that we're grandmas at such a young age." you joke. violet laughs.

"god, kids really do get in the way of sex, though, don't they?" she asks. you snort and shake your head, half cringing at the idea of your kid having sex, half laughing at the truth of her statement.

you and sevika grow into grandparent-hood with relative ease.

the kids grow up like siblings rather than cousins.

the girls' 'temporary' move back into your home becomes permanent, just like their 'temporary' stay in your inn after they tried to rob you as kids became permanent so so many years ago.

the kiramann's come to visit once a month, riding into town with a buggie full of toys and gifts for their grandchildren each and every time. occasionally they'll bring a bottle or two for the adults to share, but their main priority is always the four rugrats.

silco, vander, mylo and claggor all come to visit once a season. sometimes the boys come without their dads, sometimes the couple comes without their boys, sometimes only one member of the family can make it-- but each time any of them show up it ends up being a party.

caitlyn gives up her life on the road to become the new sheriff of your little town after marcus took it upon himself to retire and get the fuck out of dodge. she's an incredible sheriff-- you'd never say it in front of her, but you think she's even better at the job than grayson was.

vi gets a job on the same ranch sevika used to work on, working as a rancher for ernie junior.

it's adorable watching the young couple in the mornings. vi always straightens cait's shiny sheriff's badge and cait straightens' vi's cowboy hat in return. then, they share a kiss, only to be boo'd by the kids, who then have to run away to avoid the smooches the women try to plant on their cheeks.

jinx starts a business of her own that runs out of your bar-- 'jinx's fix it shop.' she's got a designated booth in the corner where clients can visit her, bringing her various machines and tools to be repaired-- all of which she fixes in less than a day. from time to time, jo will sneak into her booth and watch his auntie pow-pow work-- fascinated by all the little screws and tools she uses. she just sits him on her lap and talks him through her process, their eyes sharing the same fascinated sparkle as they tinker together.

ekko decides to forego an official job, staying at home to help you and sevika with the kids. his days consist of reading lessons and chores, and by the time vi and cait get home you're guaranteed to find him passed out asleep somewhere hilarious-- in a haystack in the stable or spread out in the garden or standing straight up behind the bar. summer shares his love of naps, and more often than not, you'll find the kid sleeping right beside her dad.

most times, you send jinx to wake them up for dinner. she always wakes ekko first-- a gentle kiss on his forehead is all it takes for his eyes to snap open, which always makes jinx laugh. her laugh makes ekko's eyes go all big and sparkly, but before they can do much more kissing, summer's usually awake to see what her momma's laughing about.

before the twins could talk, the kids called you and sevika by your names, just like their parents. but once summer got the hang of english, she proudly declared that you and sevika were now 'gramma' and 'nana sev'. (she calls cassandra and tobias 'mimi' and 'old man.' benzo, of course, becomes 'peepaw.') the rest of the kids start calling you all the same things once they realize how much you all hate it.

despite the fact that the titles make you feel old, there's no denying that hearing the names make you smile.

sevika starts sprouting greys a few months before you do. she notices only because dorian points it out to her one night, asking if she's trying to copy summer's hair.

"you're so old!" you tease. sevika just rolls her eyes and proves how young she is by throwing you over her shoulder and marching you to bed.

most nights, your little family can be found scattered around the bar downstairs, the adults taking turns making drinks for the patrons while the kids play together behind the bar. but on sundays, the bar closes, and unless it's freezing out, you eat your sunday family dinners out on the front porch.

tonight, caitlyn insisted on cooking. it's your and sevika's anniversary, and as such, you've both been banned from doing any sort of chore or errand.

the two of you are cuddled up on your porch swing, watching violet as she chases jo and summer through the garden, the three of them laughing and screaming as they play.

ekko, jinx, and caitlyn are sitting on the stairs in front of you, chatting away as they share a pipe. (the perks of caitlyn being the sheriff means that any marijuana she confiscates from local teens comes straight home to your own stash.)

augustus is playing dress up-- a trunk full of outgrown clothes dragged out on the porch for him to rifle through. occasionally, when he's happy with an outfit, he'll run in front of you and sevika for your approval. once he gets it, he heads to the stairs to get his parent's attention, before strutting up and down the porch, modeling his creation with pride. you all clap and cheer, and he grins like he's won the fucking lottery.

dorian is squished between you and sevika, drifting off to sleep before snapping back awake.

you sigh, smiling as you take in your happy family in front of you.

"happy anniversary." you whisper to your wife. she smirks, tearing her eyes away from the playing kids to look at you.

"how many years is this now?"

"twenty fucking five. can you believe it?" you ask. sevika grins.

"time flies when you're havin' fun, darlin'." she says. you giggle.

"yeah? you've been havin' fun?" you ask. sevika furrows her brow, tilting her head in confusion.

"what're you talkin' about?" she asks. you shrug.

"i mean... you used to be the weary woman of the west. now you're just nana sev." you say. "you don't have any regrets?"

sevika gawks at you. "are you fuckin' serious?" she asks. you shrug again, and sevika scoffs. "baby, before i met you, i had no ambitions beyond stayin' alive 'til the next sunrise 'n stealin' the shiniest shit i could get my hands on. it was fun, sure, but... it was empty." she says. "this though? you? all the crazy shit you brought into my life like, love and family and friends and a buttload of kids? honey, there ain't enough treasure in the world for me to give this up." she says.

your eyes get a little watery at her words, and it takes you a second to collect yourself enough to lean over dorian and plant a firm kiss on her cheek.

"i'm so happy." you say. "you make me so happy. i love you so much."

"i love you too, darlin'." sevika says, blinking back her own tears.

between you, dorian groans and blinks awake.

"nana sev?" he asks. she quickly swipes her eyes before looking down at the boy.

"what's up kid?" she asks.

"i needa bedtime story." he demands, cuddling into your side as he prepares himself to be lulled to sleep by his grandma's voice.

sevika snorts, ruffling his hair. "which story?"

"mmm... cowboy story."

"what about the time me and gramma and your mom broke your ma and auntie pow-pow and uncles outta prison?" she suggests. dorian considers this, before shaking his head no.

"y' told that one a few nights ago." he says, yawning. you giggle at the picky little boy, pressing a kiss to his head.

"tell 'im about that train robbery you pulled off." you say. dorian perks up a little and sevika smiles.

"oh shit. i forgot i did that." she says, laughing. "right before i proposed to you, right?" she asks. you smile and nod, and sevika laughs. "my grand finale." she reminisces.

dorian nudges her. "i never heard this one!" he complains. "tell me!" he demands.

sevika nods, taking a moment to collect her memories, her smile growing as she thinks. you and dorian wait in anticipation as sevika clears her throat, putting on her 'serious storytelling' voice.

"alright. don't do any of the shit i'm about to tell you." she says. dorian nods with wide, sparkling eyes. "a long time ago, back when the west was even more deserted than it is now, your nana sev was a cowboy." she starts. dorian squirms in excitement, and you smile, ducking down to press a kiss to his head.

"the weary woman of the west!" he exclaims. sevika laughs heartily and nods.

"you got it kid. i was a fuckin' badass, but i had a problem." she says.

"what was it?"

"i was in love." she whispers. dorian gasps.

"with who!?" he asks. you scoff and tickle his side.

"with me, silly!" you say. he giggles.

"with your gramma." sevika confirms, nodding. "but this was before we were married. she was just a beautiful woman who worked in this very bar, and she refused to take my hand in marriage." sevika reaches up to dramatically clutch her heart. dorian glares at you.

"gramma! that's rude!" he cries.

"she was a criminal!" you say, laughing. "and she was always out riding through the desert."

"it's true, i was. but i had a plan to change that and make your gramma my wife-- i just had to do one last hurrah before i gave up my life of crime and settled down." she says.

you sink back in your seat, slowly swinging the bench with your foot as you listen to your wife's raspy, relaxing voice.

in front of you, jinx and ekko lean against one another as caitlyn and augustus do a slow waltz-- augustus dressed in a silky purple dress that's dragging a foot behind him as he twirls under his aunt cait's arm.

violet runs by with summer in her arms, both of them squealing as dorian chases after them with a stick.

the crickets are chirping, a cool evening breeze is blowing by, and the last rays of golden sunlight are breaking across the sky as it slowly sets on the horizon.

you're happier than you've ever been.

"it was a quiet night, just me, the moon, and my trusty old mare shimmer..."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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bbgghost · 1 month

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lot to love: chapter 4

blurb: you are the nineteen year old, younger, mutant sister of Mystique. you go to Professor X's school and have been since you were young. slow burn with wolverine ♡♡♡

a.n. thank you for all the support! this one was way shorter than the last but hopefully still good ♡ anyways remember if you have any suggestions, requests, etc, send them my way!

c.w. angst! mention of past abuse, almost being killed (this is to align with Mystiques story in the movies), age-gap obvi cos Logan is 200+ yrs old, alchohol!

masterlist | tags: @white-wolf-buckaroo

"Although the mission did not go to plan, you cannot let it discourage you." Ororo said as she grabbed your hand. "I mean, you don't even have your super hero name yet!" She exclaimed. You laughed at her comment. It was about a week after your first ever mission as part of the X-Men. It had obviously not ended very well, and in result of that, you were reluctant to attend another. "Charles really thinks that you're ready, I do to. It's what we've all been fighting for." She pleaded with you.

"Okay, okay." You stopped her from continuing. You know that it was almost fate that you had to join the X-Men. "I'll come to the next mission." You told her, albeit reluctantly. She nodded and smiled happily at you. "I'll tell Charles right away." She said before letting go of your hand and rushing down the hall.

You truly admired the way she was so patient with you. Although that last conversation didn't reflect it, she was talking the whole situation out with you the entire week. You knew you could be helpful to the team, and shapeshifting was merely just the start of your powers. After watching her walk for a bit, you decided that you should tell the good news to Logan. I mean, he has been one of you most kind supporters.

Looking for him was a little difficult, he often left the mansion without telling anyone, so that needed to be taken into account. Lucky for you he was sat outside, nursing a beer. You stepped through the open glass doors and walked towards him softly. He sensed you coming near him, and merely cocked his head slightly to take you in. You were clad in a lacey black tank top and blue shorts that stopped high on your thighs. Your feet were adorned in what he though to be the cutest pair of white socks he has ever seen. Maybe they were merely that way because they were on you. 9ol,

"Hey." You said softly. "What's up, kid?" He asked in true Logan nature. "I'm not quitting the X-Men." You said with a smile. You really hoped that he wanted you to stay, and that he didn't think it was ridiculous that your first mission had left you with mascara running down you cheeks. "Good on you." He said before taking a sip out of the beer. His eyes shifted back from you to the garden infront of him. "What? You not excited to have me back or something?" You teased him.

He laughed softly, and twisted the beer in his hand. You eyed him werely. You didn't want to admit it, but the smell of the beer was making you mildly disgusted. You wanted him to view you as someone who could handle alcohol though, so you ignored the feeling. "I'm glad you didn't let your sister get in the way of your decision." You dropped your smirk and looked out to the gardens. You shrugged and sat next to him, similarly to what he did to you the night before the mission.

"I have a shit older sibling too. So I, uh, know how it is." He said, making eye-contact with you. "Yeah?" You urged him to continue. He sat back, and draped his arm over the back of the bench. You had a brief thought cross your mind of him putting his hand on your shoulder and pulling you in, but yet again, you ignore it.

"His names Victor. We've never really gotten along well. I don't even know where he is right now." He said looking down at his lap, taking another swig of his beer. "What did he do?" You asked innocently. "You don't gotta worry about that sweetheart." He told you. You felt your heart flutter at the nickname. God you wished he would call you that again. "What did Mystique do to you?" He asked, looking into your eyes. "You know her?" You asked. "Used to." He answered. You tucked your hair behind your ears and looked to the gardens. You wonder how he got so curious about you so quickly.

"Well, before I was even born, my parents noticed she was showing signs of mutation. For a while they were trying to get rid of it, but eventually they realised they couldn't, so they tried to kill her." He nodded along as you spoke. "She ran away, I think that's when she became an X-Men. I don't really know, she wasn't ever crystal clear with stuff like that. But I was born, like when she was in her 20's and when she found out, she tried to take me away from them almost immediately." You stopped talking as you felt his hand on your knee. You almost felt caged, but it was so comforting having him so close to you.

"She...uhm..." You looked away from him, hoping it would help you concentrate. "She raised me from when I turned 13, but eventually she wanted to join Eric. I didn't, so instead I came here." He raised his eyebrows, urging you to continue. "I haven't really seen her before yesterday. But she was like a mother to me, Logan." You said, tears brewing in your eyes. You blinked them away. You wouldn't let your composure be ruined again. "God, I really thought she was going to kill me yesterday." You exclaimed.

You felt his hand move further up to your thigh. His thumb began stroking you softly, it was his own way of comforting you. "It's okay doll. You're alright."

It's all you can think about. The way he spoke to you, the way he wanted to know more about you, they way he touched you. It was driving you crazy. You're note-taking abilities were impacted too, half of your page was just love hearts and the letter 'L' or 'W', depedning on the day. You prayed yet again that the Professor didn't feel like reading your mind or checking your papers.

Either way, the start of summer exams were about to happen, and you would then officially be able to be a Professor. You had always though of being one every since you sat in your first class with Storm as your teacher. You knew you would pass, but still you remained anxious about the tests.

"The first test will be next Monday. I want all of you here at exactly 7:00 in the morning. It will be on analysing the impacts that mutations have had on the following historical figures..." You took that as a queue and began writing out more important things.

#wolverine x reader #wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #x men

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fredwkong · 1 year

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Virgo Season: Shane

Today, Virgo is associated most with the astrological sign. Virgos are rigid, conscientious, prudish, stubborn. It is often forgotten that Virgo is the sign of the harvest, when inedible grass turns to edible wheat in a yearly miracle. This plenty inspired the ancients to name innumerable mother goddesses for the harvest, to remind all people that, with patience and care, even the most stubborn ground can be tilled to bear fruit.

When Virgo rules the heavens, it is a time for things that have been growing to ripen and let loose. This is especially true at the Astra, a hotel and conference centre somewhere in central Florida. The cornerstone houses an ancient, mysterious artifact that resonates with the desires of the hotel’s guests, bringing out the things they have been hiding deep within. It is especially powerful in Virgo season.

At 3:32 AM on August 23, 1 hour and 30 minutes before the Sun entered Virgo, Shane Blanco walked out of the elevator and across the lobby, nodding to the dozing receptionist. He tried to act normal, but every few seconds he smoothed back his short blond hair or dried his hands on his conservative black slacks as he stood waiting by the automatic door, belying his nervousness.

Shane and his father, the famous evangelical pastor Adam Blanco, had arrived at the hotel yesterday afternoon. Pastor Blanco was the guest of honour at a month-long conference for his reactionary evangelical organisation, which was to host a parade of noteworthy men from the far right over the next month, including media personalities, politicians, and other evangelical speakers like Pastor Blanco.

His throat dry, Shane checked his Tinder messages again. Nothing yet. Shane was here… well, Shane was here because all of his brothers and sisters had said “not it” faster. He was meant to be the perfect young Republican, his father’s “success story.” It showed in his fresh blond Ivy League cut, his well-tailored suits, his handsome face, and his white, perfect smile. Shane was going to have an aneurysm.

Even entering his twenties, Shane was still terribly repressed. He’d kissed a boy once, under the bleachers during a school football game, and immediately had a panic attack. This trip was the farthest that he had travelled from his little midwestern hometown, and it wasn’t like Pastor Blanco was keeping close track of what he did. If Shane wanted to get the taste of gay life he was desperately craving, now was the time.

He had matched with Rodrigo while sitting in the back seat of the rented SUV Shane and his father had ridden in to the Astra. He was a Latino hunk, his Tinder pictures showing a tantalising carpet of chest hair on his thick chest. There were pictures of him bearing rainbow flags at pride parades, hanging out with other equally undressed guys of all shapes, sizes, and colours, and one where, just at the bottom of the frame, Shane had seen the top few inches of a pair of leather pants. They had been messaging all night.

Rodrigo was at some other nighttime event in town, but he had begged off early and had texted that he was on his way to the Astra. Shane shifted from foot to loafered foot, trying to pretend he didn’t have cold sweat dripping down his back. What if he got stood up? What if Rodrigo was actually working for his father, waiting to catch Shane in an act of temptation? What if Rodrigo had decided that he actually didn’t want to have a hookup with an inexperienced, repressed white prep?

Just as Shane was about to scurry back upstairs, the front door opened and a man in a long leather jacket stepped inside. Rodrigo looked even bigger in person, and even more out of place, a burly, bearded, tan hunk in big combat boots standing in the opulent foyer of the Astra. Shane hurried to his side, trying to look like something other than a gangling prep.

“Hey man.” Rodrigo took Shane firmly by the wrist and walked deeper into the hotel. “Good to see you again. It was a total bitch to find parking around here.” He sounded so natural, like it was perfectly normal for two people as different as them to meet in a hotel lobby at 4 in the morning. He held Shane tight, forcing him to walk briskly, but not urgently. Shane felt leather at his back, and the smell of cigarettes tickled his nose, emanating from the jacket. Rodrigo took a turn into the richly carpeted hallway leading past the conference hall. “You know where we’re going?” he murmured in Shane’s ear. He had to lean down to get close enough, a sensation which made Shane shudder with lust.

“Y-yes,” Shane breathed. While Pastor Blanco had organised the conference hall to his exacting needs, Shane had scouted the whole first floor, and he’d found a mysterious, unlocked door that opened to a set of stairs. He directed Rodrigo there, and the two men stumbled down the dark steps into the sub-basement of the Astra.

Using his phone flashlight, Rodrigo found a light switch. They were in a disused storage room with unfinished cinderblock walls, some of which had some kind of strange carving on them. Shane assumed that they must have been leftovers from the ornate facade on the Astra’s front. There were sinuous patterns, some twisted together to form some kind of indiscernible script.

Grabbing Shane by the shoulders, Rodrigo spun him around, and Shane found himself pressed against the concrete, surrounded by leather and man. “Can I kiss you, cutie?” Rodrigo asked.

Shane nodded desperately, and Rodrigo surged forward, catching Shane’s mouth.

Shane could barely think about anything but the feeling of Rodrigo’s moustache and beard against his face, and the electric sensation of firm, confident lips on his. Then Rodrigo’s tongue was in his mouth, and Shane could taste his saliva, made a little smokey by the cigarette he must have smoked in the car. Shane could feel his cock straining against his briefs as Rodrigo flattened his body against the wall.

“Hold on.” Suddenly, Rodrigo was gone. Shane opened his eyes to see him efficiently stripping off his leather jacket. Underneath, shockingly, was not a shirt, but a leather harness.

Rodrigo caught Shane’s shocked stare. “Sorry,” he said, looking less than confident for the first time. “The other event I was at was a, uh, kink night at a local club. Didn’t have time to change. I know it’s not a lot of people’s, you know, thing…”

Shane swallowed. Marshalled his thoughts with an effort. “I’m just surprised,” he said. “I think I, uh, like it.”

Rodrigo’s gaze followed Shane’s down to the visible bulge in Shane’s slacks. Rodrigo suddenly grinned. “Wow, you are repressed.”

Shane nodded. “Can I touch it?”

Still grinning, Rodrigo stepped forward, back in range of Shane’s hand.

With shaking fingers, Shane reached out and stroked the supple leather. “God,” he said, “I wish—”

What he was about to say was lost as Rodrigo crowded back against him and kissed him, but he had already said more than enough. A spark arced from the heel of his spare hand, pressed against the wall, into the magical channels carved into the cinderblocks. Shane’s mind suddenly let loose the desires he had repressed for all twenty-two years of his life, half-formed thoughts of leather, rubber, and lycra gear filling his mind as he tugged on the harness’s handle. Newer ideas of hair, dark skin, and the masculine scents of sweat and smoke flowed in too as Rodrigo gently slid Shane’s feet out of his loafers.

The magical artifact responded, and a soft orange glow filled the room, unnoticed by Shane or Rodrigo as Rodrigo’s slick fingers entered Shane’s virgin hole. Shane’s offering, of a mind grown and strengthened by repression suddenly ripened, harvested by sexual experience, unleashed an unexpected magical effect.

Shane lay on his back on Rodrigo’s leather jacket, his polo shirt rucked up under his shoulders as he continued to maintain his grip on Rodrigo’s harness. He moaned as Rodrigo’s fat Latino cock entered him, his own cock rock hard against his belly.

Along with Rodrigo’s dripping cock came some of the power building in the air. Rather than pain or pressure, Shane experienced only blinding pleasure as his hole relaxed, and Rodrigo easily bottomed out. With each thrust, Shane’s skin started to smooth out and darken, first around his hole and across his ass, and then up his belly and down his legs.

When Rodrigo grabbed Shane’s cock, a foreskin suddenly grew from the shaft, and Shane’s eyes rolled back in his head at the sensation of Rodrigo’s firm hand on his newly sensitive cockhead. Shane’s darkening balls tensed, then relaxed lower, growing slightly to match a slightly larger, darker cock. The thatch of sparse blond hair around his cock and balls shrank away, as if shaved with an experienced hand.

Shane’s slight belly dissolved, revealing a toned, but not huge, set of abs, and his pecs became flat and firm, wrapped tight on his toned chest. The blond hair in his armpits vanished like the rest of Shane’s body hair, leaving sparse black stubble. The polo shirt shrank and hardened into a black leather harness.

At the same time, the transformation reached both Shane’s darkening feet and his long, lithe fingers. Only partly aware, Shane watched as his fingers darkened and his feet, up on Rodrigo’s shoulders, flexed just a little larger, with mobile, sensual toes. The nails of both darkened with black nail polish. That was bad, Shane thought, trying to organise his mind through the blinding pleasure of Rodrigo's fucking combined with the magic coursing through his changing body. His… His someone would be upset.

With a thrust that brought Rodrigo’s cock straight home on Shane’s now extra-sensitive prostate, Shane threw back his head and the magic followed. All his thoughts dissolved. His jaw sharpened and his lips filled out as they darkened, matching both the nipples he was using one hand to twist and the cockhead peeking out of Rodrigo’s big, callused hand. His eyes darkened, his brow lowering to give him a hooded, seductive gaze.

Finally, the magic entered Shane’s hair follicles. Beginning from the roots, blond became black, and the strands tore free of the gel Shane had carefully combed in yesterday morning. Tousled curls fell across Shane’s forehead.

Like a flick switched in his mind, Shane suddenly looked up at Rodrigo with a cocky, lustful gaze. “That’s it, you big bear,” he said in a deeper, slightly smokey voice, pulling harder on Rodrigo’s harness to make him gasp. “Fill my slutty boyhole. Take this virgin hole.”

Rodrigo gasped as he was pulled closer to Shane’s torso, the fucking becoming somehow more intense. He suddenly felt close to the edge. “Gonna… cum,” he gasped, trying to pull out. No way this virgin bottom was gonna outlast an experienced guy like him.

Shane pulled harder. “Cum in me,” he growled, dragging a ragged sob from Rodrigo’s throat. “C’mon, I need your load in me.”

At Shane’s command, Rodrigo let go, filling Shane up with his load. He knew he’d put on a condom, but somehow he found himself bare, painting Shane’s insides with cum. At precisely 5:02 AM, as the Sun entered Virgo behind the bulk of the earth, Shane let loose too, painting his lean new torso with a huge, runny load of cum.

Both men made the most powerful offering a living being can make at the exact moment that Virgo entered its greatest power. The power slammed into the magic filling the air, and the unformed wish Shane had inadvertently made was recast into a powerful spell.

I wish… a rush of images and words… cock, leather, sweat, gay, mask, Slut, Rubber, Daddy Latin Fag Stink Gear African Ass Cum MuskSexArabFagJockSlutLeatherAsianCockCockCockCockCOCK.

Shane had ripened, what had been repressed now ready for harvest as he worked his ass to milk Rodrigo’s cock. In a burst of warmth and unseen light, the magic of the Virgo artifact, confined for decades to the small sub-basement room, surged to encompass the Astra hotel.

As Rodrigo pulled out, still gasping, Shane dragged his fingers through the rivulets of cum coating his torso and started to lick it up. He remembered who he had been an hour ago, but that Shane felt like a distant dream. Why bother being so stressed, bound up in what other people thought he should be? The new Shane was a creature of sensuality, totally free to do whatever he desired.

“That was… Were you always…” Rodrigo struggled to articulate himself as he tugged his jeans back on.

“May as well have been.” Shane rolled off Rodrigo’s jacket and grabbed his slacks. The instant he touched them, the cotton flexed and morphed, becoming supple black leather. Shane loved the feeling as his new pants slipped up his hairless legs. “Want to go get breakfast?”

“But your… dad, right?”

Shane didn’t fully understand what had just happened, but the magic was in him, filling him up and reassuring him that his will would be done. “My father’s not a problem,” he said. “I’ll come back to pick him up on September 22. He’ll be fine here.” Shane's fingers were itching. "Lend me a cig. I'll pay you back."

Pastor Blanco and all his far right guests would be more than fine. Shane only had twenty years of repression to fuel his transformation, the youngest of the attendees. Some of the men coming to the hotel, like Pastor Blanco himself, had spent at least fifty years in denial of their basest urges. With the help of the magic permeating the Astra, they would soon be letting it all loose.

This concept was inspired by @octuscle.

Welcome to Virgo Season! Every three days until September 22, 2023, I will tell the story of another of Pastor Blanco's guests at the Astra Hotel being transformed into a slutty gay kinkster.

This series is my way of celebrating my birthday. If you feel inspired, feel free to write a story set in the Astra Hotel this Virgo Season. Post it @ me and I’ll reblog it.

#male transformation #mental change #muscle tf #reality change #race change #male tf #virgo season #leather tf #smoking tf #uncut tf #all fwkong

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