#&&. verse ( a journey i will survive )

[streetslost]

@allnostalgic​

        “HEY, look-”  hands held up, fingers stiff and arms shaking ever so slightly.  cat drew in a long breath, maintaining her meek confidence ( she really didn’t want to be fried ), doing her best to stay together as she addressed the pokémon before her... it seemed so ON EDGE, and she wasn’t one to judge such an emotion.  “i have no weapons, i don’t even have another pokémon t’fight you with.  but i do have some medication on me...”                     weak gesture to the injury the jolteon sported, clenching her jaw together.  it didn’t look c o m f o r t a b l e... not that any or many wounds would ever appear at such.  meatloaf hadn’t been seen in a few days, so the spray she had on her could go to better use than simply taking up space in her bag.  “jus’... let me use it, tha’s all i’m suggesting, okay?  being hurt and on your own is not a good combination.  i k n o w.”

#allnostalgic #&&. verse ( a journey i will survive ) #had jolteon on the mind obviously but lmk if you'd prefer someone else !!! #i'm open but super generic starters are too boring sometimes lmao

[unlockthestars]

Kiss roulette // Accepting

@badluckqrow asked: 🎲 (for Pyrrha from Jaune maybe?)

RESULT: 16. A kiss in the rain

It had been a long, hard trip to Haven, and it looked like they weren't quite done yet. Thankfully, they were able to have a little bit of time off, to decompress, and to process everything that had happened.

Pyrrha knew her way around the city pretty well, having been at Sanctum previously, and she decided that she wanted to take a walk, to get some air. But she didn't want to be on her own, not right now. With everyone else preoccupied with everything that was happening, Pyrrha asked Jaune if he'd take a walk with her.

They hadn't had much time to themselves after the Fall of Beacon, and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about talking to him about what had happened more than once. But what if he didn't feel about her the way she did about him? Would she be able to take that rejection? Would she be able to pretend like nothing had happened, like they could just be friends, the way they had been?

Jaune was one of the first people she'd met to treat her like a person, not a celebrity, and that meant so much to her. She knew that, if he wanted to only be friends, that she would be happy with that. Because Jaune was very important to her.

The two of them walked in silence for a little while, just enjoying one another's company. Pyrrha led the way to a park, one of her favourites, though it was strangely empty for this time of day.

And they soon discovered why that was when a sudden downpour started, drenching both Pyrrha and Jaune in seconds.

Jaune extended his shield, telling Pyrrha to get close, that he'd try to keep them both as dry as possible, and she moved close to do as he'd said.

When she got under his shield, she had to press close, so close that they were touching along the length of their bodies. Pyrrha looked up at Jaune (when had that happened?), and her breath caught in her throat when he gazed back at her, his eyes almost too blue.

Without even thinking about it, Pyrrha closed what little distance there was between them, pressing up into a kiss, hoping that she hadn't misread this connection between the two of them.

#badluckqrow #★ pyrrha nikos || answered ★ you can't get it wrong if it's the truth #★ pyrrha nikos || ic ★ do you have any spots left on your team? #★ pyrrha nikos ★ || verse . journey into the unknown #[thank you so much for indulging my need for Arkos] #[I went feral when I saw the ask ngl. ^^] #[set in my 'Pyrrha survived and went with the crew to Haven' verse. ^^]

[hiddenbeks]

shes so *clenches fist* babygirl

#not enough khalessposting on my blog. needs rectifying immediately #el plays bg3 #ch: khaless #anyway im feeling conflicted abt her backstory. i dont think it works with the mostly good aligned way ive been playing her #she Should be more unhinged and less willing to be good considering her upbringing. initially at least #even if you get away from menzoberranzan and lolth you dont just shake their influence on ur worldview in a few years. right #when you've survived 100+ years by deceiving and backstabbing and destroying anyone who gets in your way #and Then someone more powerful than u (a baenre!!!!) deceives You and destroys ur entire house and life and everything you've achieved #sure i could revamp her backstory n make her the child of like. happy eilistraeean surface drow #but why would i make a drow character and not give them the baggage from growing up in a fucked up lolthite society ! #makes her journey towards finding friendship and love and healing and trust much more compelling!! #i just need to figure out Where she is in her redemption era or whatev #and what exactly compels her to be Kind when everything she had in menzoberranzan she got by being Not Kind. #sure she lost it all in the end but 'i should have been kinder' is not the lesson she learned from that #she only learned that her reckless ambition made her careless. learning kindness comes much later but... when and how and why... #anyway. can someone more versed in forgotten realms lore tell me how lolth-worshipping drow would even feel abt a draconic sorcerer. #when the scales are an obvious sign that their powers come from a dragon instead of lolth #and in khaless' case they come from a silver dragon... a disgusting lawful good metallic dragon... blasphemous

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Last Man On Earth (Aemond Targaryen x reader)

Summary: No one told King Aemond about the Song of Ice and Fire. As the daughter of Rhaenyra, you have one last mission left.

Warnings: Violence, death, mentions of sex, smut, toxic dynamics. Misuse of biblical verses

A/N: I'm about to make so many people angry.

And to the woman, the Father said:

“I will make your pains in childbearing very severe;

with painful labor you will give birth to children.

Your desire will be for your husband,

and he will rule over you.”

(The Father's Book. 4:22-26)

The letters stopped getting there on your eight and ten name day. Childishly, you waited a few more weeks, telling yourself it must be only a delay. Perhaps the war that went on, or the weather, had detained the ship that carried it. Perhaps your mother had simply forgotten. But deep down, you knew something had to have happened. Rhaenyra Targaryen was not a good woman, perhaps even not a good mother. But she had always remembered your name days.

Your brain refused to believe it, but you knew, deep in your gut, that it was not a mere delay. You had mourned too much already to deceive yourself. Luke, Jace, Joffrey, Daemon, Helaena… The time spent in the Free Cities had served you well, when it came to learning the deep pang of sadness.

First, it had been the death of Luke. Your beloved twin. Then, the loss of your home. Vanished from Dragonstone by your mother, to keep safe. After that, the separation from your half brothers, by then mere babes. It was best, not knowing where they were. If you were captured, it wouldn’t mean the end of Rhaenyra’s line.

Despite the eagerness displayed by both your mother and Daemon to get you out of the Seven Kingdoms, no one had come looking for you very hard. Every once in a while, an overzealous sell sword got lucky, and you had to relocate, yet the occasions seemed to become further and further apart. No one cared enough to keep looking for the only Targaryen unable to claim a dragon, after all these years.

But at the beginning, you had survived on a network of favors. A chain, if you will, set up by your stepfather. First, it had been that friend of his in Pentos, where you posed as his niece, a dark haired, brown-eyed thing no one actually believed came from such a man. Then, you were the daughter of a courtesan in Lys, recently reunited with your mother and with aspirations of becoming a priestess. After that, you had been the cousin of some Lord in Volantis, then a Septa in training in some forgotten convent in Myr. And so on it went. You had perfected the art of shedding names and titles as if they were an old dress. Yet you never claimed to be Valyrian.

Most would think it had been your lack of dragon, the reason for being sent away. It would even be used as an argument against Rhaenyra, in the years to come, “Isn’t she so progressive? But she sent her daughter away because deep down she knows women are not meant for war.” Others would say it was your nature, a meek and shy thing that always faded in the background when your outspoken brothers and cousins were around.

No one would ever guess the real reason. It would mean giving much credit to Rhaenyra Targaryen, the whore. She had realized, a long time ago, that war was brewing. Rhaenyra, much like you, tried lying to herself. But she knew it, deep down. So, when the time came, for her to prepare her heir, the Princess didn’t tell the secret to just Jacaerys. She told Luke and you.

An heir. A spare. A safeguard. And so, you were sent away. When the letter didn’t come, you realized your mission just started. A painfully long journey, hours in the sea. You would think, with how much you had traveled, you would have gotten your sea legs by now. But it seemed even the sea knew the truth about you.

Normally, a Princess would travel with a retinue. Or at least, if she insisted on the lack of formality, her sworn shield. You had not the funds, nor the need for it, anymore. You had left King’s Landing a girl and returned a woman. In your common cloak, and with your dark hair, no one would have ever mistaken you for a Princess.

The ship docked early in the morning, King’s Landing not yet awake. It was a merchant’s ship, filled with spices and a few other passengers. You disembarked in silence, taking in the surrounding city. It shook you to your core. These were not the streets you remembered, filled with people preparing for war. Nor were these the streets your mother talked about, when she reminisced the time when she and Daemon had fallen in love for the first time.

The city was dirty. The stench was much worse than you remembered, and quite different from other capitals you had visited. It smelt coppery and rotten, as if of old blood. At the gates, there was a head on a spike, a cloud of flies so great surrounding it that you had to bat them away to walk.

Silver hair, no eyes, the softest hint of a quirk in the mouth among the rotting flesh. The same one that you often see in the mirror. It was a head you knew well. It was your mother’s.

You tried hard not to gag, and walked past it at a breakneck speed. Careful not to stare. A woman feeling faint at the sight was expected. A woman falling to her knees and bawling her eyes out was treason.

It was hard, after that, to want to help Aegon. The pig had no redeeming qualities. He had been a bad husband to your aunt, an awful commander and a drunk. You had no doubt now he was going to be a poor King. There was, of course, the fact that he had killed your mother and not even granted her the kindness of a Valyrian funeral.

Still, you had to. You had to because the last time you had heard your mother’s voice, you had promised to. Promised that if you ever were captured, the firsts words that you would utter would be those, and not a plea to the Greens for mercy. You wiped at your eyes, harshly brushing the tears away, and put one foot in front of the other. A step. Another. Easier each time.

“This is bigger than we.” Your mother had said, the night you were to depart. Cloaked by the night, a ship was set to sail towards Pentos. Only a cargo of sheep, it declared at the port. Of sheep and a tiny princess, scared out of her mind. “No matter…” She had choked up, the death of your twin still fresh on her mind. In yours. Luke. Your other half, now gone. The possibility of losing the war, before not even a thought on your mind, now a reality. The first loss of many, even if you didn’t know it then. “Aegon’s dream. No matter who wins, in the end. You have to pass it on.”

“You will win, mother.” You had replied, brushing your own tears away. You didn’t know, that evening, that you would see her again, nearly in the same place, lifeless and empty - eyed. “You have to.”

“Oh, my dragon. My sweet dragon.” Rhaenyra had cradled your face in her hands, placing one last kiss to your forehead. “Promise me. You will help them if I die. You will tell. Because it is not about who sits on the Iron Throne now, but when the Song of Ice and Fire will come to pass.”

“Mother…” A sob broke out your throat. “Mother, I can’t. Don’t ask me to betray you like that, not when…”

“You will. You are my daughter. My only daughter. The strongest out of your siblings because you are a Targaryen, but you are also a woman. Your body was made for pain, your spirit to remain unbroken. Remind that, daughter.”

Your ship had sailed away, the figure of your mother getting smaller and smaller on the horizon. But the duty remained at the forefront of your mind for the years to come. And you intended to fulfill it. No matter what.

The state of disarray King’s Landing was in made it easy to sneak into the Keep. Among the mass of beggars and injured, no one noticed a girl making her way through the streets. You snuck in, using a passage Jace had written you about a long time ago. You got in, your presence unknown to the sleeping servants and barely awake guards.

Perhaps it was the fact that it had been Jace, who had taught you how to get in like that. Or maybe it was just a sudden fit of nostalgia. But with the sky barely pink, the Keep strangely empty, you figured there was no danger in visiting the courtyard.

The servants and the Kingsguard had not yet risen. Too early for even the lowliest of servants. Without a second thought, you lowered your hood. The space was vacant, you had dark hair and a common cloak. No one would notice you if you kept your eyes lowered.

The space looked odd, without the sparring men and the flock of admiring ladies. Still, it looked smaller than you remembered. That thought triggered a memory. Jace. Jace had said the same thing, and then he had turned and…

You walked a few steps and pressed your hand to the mark on the wall, eyes closing. A tiny sob escaped you. It was still there. So much had changed, yet the mark on the wall remained. You could picture him, clear as day, hair windswept, eyes sparkling with wonder. Slightly younger than you, sweet. Warm. Yet your hand only found cold stone.

Lost in those thoughts, you didn’t notice the light footsteps approaching you. You only did, when a familiar voice spoke, a heavy hand falling on your shoulder.

“And who…” Before you even had a chance to try to flee, your uncle, the man that you hated the most, was turning you around. Aemond. Now, nothing in your life has been easy. That was probably why you should have expected the first member of the Greens you would encounter to be him. “…Niece?”

Slowly, as not to startle him, you lifted your hands, pushing your hair back, so he could get a good look at your face. You drank him in, familiar, yet so foreign. He no longer wore the eye patch, but the sapphire eye and the scar were as prominent as ever. Responsible for the death of your twin and stepfather, and turned a formidable commander by the end of the war, having been humbled by defeat. Too many, dead by his hand.

Aemond looked startled at the sight, as if he was looking into the eyes of a ghost. His face paled, lips stretching into a tense grimace before the mask fell back into place.

“What are you doing here?”

"Uncle Aemond." You lowered your head, feeling clueless about what to say. Here’s the man you have nightmares about. Here’s the face that haunts him so. "How have you been?"

"I had better days.” Aemond took your hand, placing it in the crook of his elbow. His eye glittered dangerously, madly. “Walk with me.”

The years had done him good. That much was clear. He had now the look of a man who was used to getting his way, to never being told no. You wondered if sleep proved so elusive to him as it did to you now.

There was almost a pained expression on his face, all sharp angles, that the soft light of sunrise did nothing to light up. Aemond was skinnier than you remembered, taut muscles and dark circles under his eyes adding to his handsomeness. Your uncle had always looked otherworldly, fae like, but now, he looked barely human. Targaryens had always been closer to gods than men, Daemon had used to say. It had never resonated with you in the way it did now.

“You put me into quite the conundrum.” Aemond said, walking you towards the gardens, pace unhurried. He barely dared look at you. You figured, for him, it was more painful. Lucerys must wander his dreams in the same way it did yours, yet you had grown accustomed to seeing the face looking at you in the mirror.

For Aemond, it must be his personal haunting, seeing in you what Luke could have been, had he not cut his thread so early on. You had played that game enough. So many afternoons spent in front of a mirror, watching your reflection get further and further away from what Lucerys had been. So many, thinking that your face was blurring his.

Here’s a secret. Losing a twin is like having a severed limb. An extension of yourself you took for granted and are not, ever, getting back.

Just as you are, Aemond is gathering himself. So, you wait the silence out. You don’t notice the two guards falling into step behind you, when you pass a more transited hallway.

“What is it that you seek? Surely, you don’t intend to rally an army.” He finally asks, and it comes out wrong. Short. Clipped. But not hateful, in the way it used to be, when he crowed Lady Strong in your ear. It feels wrong. Calculated. Like a dragon playing with its food.

“No, Kepa.” You muttered, words sweet, hoping High Valyrian would soothe him. There is something in you telling you to run. Pure, raw instinct, the one we all have. When you see a predator, you run and don’t look back.

Aemond turned towards you, and raised your hood, placing it tenderly over your head. The touch a parent would give to a child. You closed your eyes, delighting in the softness of the touch. You would despise yourself for it later, thinking you had encouraged him. But right now, it has been so long since someone with your same blood touched you. Someone who shares your eyes. For a second, the familiarity makes you think of better days, when both of you were children and Jace and Aegon and him ran around these same halls.

“If you go now, I won’t chase you, little niece. Too much blood has already been spilled for me to wear the Conqueror’s crown. I do not know what prompted you to come here, but I can…” But whatever he was going to say, it was nothing more but static in your ears. You felt like one of the dolls your mother gifted you when you were a child. Head full of wool, limbs weak as if made from string.

His mouth kept moving, lips forming words in a distance. Yet you didn’t hear. Your mind could only fixate on one thing. You stumbled, feet getting tangled in the edge of your dress and cloak, or maybe you were just dizzy with shock. At your sudden move, Aemond’s grip tightened against your arm.

“Niece. Niece.” He muttered urgently, pulling you outwards with such force it would bruise. “You didn’t know, I take it.”

“I didn’t know, Ke… Your Grace.” You dropped into a hurried curtsy, pulse beating loudly in your ears. Your body felt like it was on fire. It explained the changes in him. It made sense, despite your reluctance. Aemond wore the crown well.

“What did you think, byka tolīmorghon?” Aemond chuckled, humorlessly, pulling you to your feet. “So it wasn’t defiance, but ignorance. Hardly a worse sin.”

“I thought… Aegon, or his children…” You trailed off, realizing what it actually meant. If Aegon was not wearing the crown his family had fought so hard to place on his head…

“Dead. Aegon killed your mother, but not before she gutted him like a pig.” Aemond shook his head, seemingly unaffected by the topic of discussion. “His hubris killed him, more than Rhaenyra. He dared set a dragon against a Targaryen, but didn’t count on her being the truest of them two.” Then, as if realizing what he said, he fell silent. Remembering the time he too had dared set a dragon against a Targaryen, but won.

“Experience always trumps, does it not, Your Grace?” You regretted the jab the moment it left your mouth. Aemond let go of your arm, angrily pushing you away. His hand went to his belt. You looked at the sword, hanging there, and felt the urge to retch. Dark Sister. Not only had he killed Daemon, he had taken his sword as a souvenir.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” He said, purple eye burning with anger. His frame towered over you, yet you didn’t flinch. You were the blood of the dragon, as much as he was. More so. Stronger, with an iron will. Because you were half Targaryen, but you were a Targaryen woman. “The blood of Rhaenyra lives on you, contesting my claim to the throne. Despite it, you have marched into my hands willingly. The Seven know with what purpose, byka tolīmorghon. Do you have a death wish?”

“How many dead, Kepa? How many of us left?” You needed to know. Needed because it was essential to your task. No matter how much it hurt.

“None of yours.” Aemond said, and you covered your mouth with your hand, choking back a sob. “None of mine, either. Mother and Helaena… Neither could take it. I rule over ash and bones. The great houses, diminished beyond belief. The dragons… I rue spilling your blood, niece. 'Tis the source of my conflict.”

“I came here to tell you a secret.” You blurt out, before he gets second thoughts. Your eyes keep watch of his sword arm, just because his hand is too close to his belt. It’s not because it makes it easier, not looking at him. At all.

Aemond listens to your story in silence. You tell him all you know, from the blade your mother had said still exists, to the belief your Grandfather and her had in the dream. How he needs heirs, desperately. Anyone, as long as it is his blood.

“I had suspected.” He finally says, shoulders dropping. Aemond looks exhausted. You wonder exactly how heavy the crown is on his head, how much of a burden it is to try to rebuild a country that has been through a civil war and a conquest in less than fifty years. The coffers must be empty, and he speaks of no nobles to tax. To do so on his own… You would go mad. Perhaps he is, already. Too much blood and the latent Targaryen madness, always ready to pounce. It had taken your mother, too.

But there is no one else to rule. You don’t voice those thoughts. You just stare at him, waiting to be dismissed.

“There is no written mention of it, of course. Or else either your stepfather or I would have found out. I have read every book on our history I could get my hands into. I bet Daemon did, too.” And he speaks of it so casually, too. You want to slap him. You can’t. To do so it’s treason. Instead, you curtsy at him, intent on being dismissed, even if you have to prompt him.

He glares. He does not speak a word. You risk a look at his face. Aemond is angrier than you have ever seen. And it’s nothing like it was before the war. It’s a cold thing. A quiet anger, that twists his face into something that reminds you of the portraits of Maegor the Cruel. You take a step back. Then another. Somehow, you know, he will not let you leave these gardens alive. You still try.

“You are the same as your mother.” Aemond said, quietly. You stop, dead in your tracks. “Just as irresponsible.”

“Excuse me?”

“You came here, to drop your mess in my lap, and now you intend to leave?” His hand grips at your wrist, painfully tight. Tight enough to bruise. Aemond snarls, baring his teeth.

“What do you want, Your Grace?” Your tone comes out pleading. Scared. Like a dog showing his belly to a more dominant one. You hate it. “Let me go.”

“You think I will let you leave, byka tolīmorghon?” Aemond laughs. It sounds… Ugly to hear, all twisted. It holds no humor, only disdain. For the poor, silly little girl who thought she could get away.

“Are you going to kill me?” You take another step back, shrugging off his grip. Someone unsheathes his sword. Startled, your eyes are drawn to the source of the noise. And when his guards started to approach? They are cornering you. You have one on the left and Aemond is taking the right. Your back hits the wall.

“No, you won’t walk away that easily. You are staying, niece.” Aemond pressed closer, cornering you even more. Here was a man pushed past his limits, his eye seemed to say. A sudden thought crossed your mind. He was the King. But there was no mention of a Queen.

“I… No. No, uncle. Let me go, now.” You started struggling, dread pooling in your stomach. Surely, you had misinterpreted his meaning. He could not, not when he prided himself on being a trueborn Targaryen.

Aemond merely smirked. It was clear he had noticed, by your increased panic, that you finally understood. A slap. Skin against skin, both of his hands trapping your wrists now. The sound, so loud to you, so similar to the closing of cuffs. He couldn’t. Not with how much he scoffed at your bastard, dirty blood.

“You have Targaryen’s blood. And I need a wife. Kind. Sweet. Pure.” His grip shifted, now holding both of your wrists in one hand. With the other, he pulled you close. You didn’t resist. You just looked at him, helpless. The guards, probably used to seeing much worse from their King, didn’t even flinch. “Strong. To be queen, to give me many heirs.” Aemond nuzzled the top of your hair, hands coming to grasp at your waist, hugging you against him.

“You are insane.” You tried to shrug him off, aware that if you kicked or pushed him too hard, he could have you charged with treason and put to the sword. You didn’t dare fight him in earnest and he knew it. Trapped. He had you cornered.

“Maybe. Maybe. But you are staying. And you know it.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, and you shrieked, as if your skin was crawling at his touch. It was not. You hated it. He was warm and hugging you, and you hadn’t been comforted in so long. None of the guards tried to help you. They didn’t even glance at you.

“That’s not… You can’t, Your Grace, please.”

“You could have sent a raven. Or a pageboy. Yet here you are, pretty little tolīmorghon. Mine to ruin. You will marry me.” You understood, then, what he meant to do. Aemond didn’t even like you. He was going to break you. Just as he was, shouldering the same weight you had tried to push on him.

Aemond was as tortured as he was dutiful. He wanted to drag you into his hell, too. Because it had been unfair, in his eye, that so many of your family had escaped responsibility by death. He was not giving you the chance to do the same.

“Uncle…” You begged, starting to tear up. Aemond released you, roughly. He gestured to a guard, who wordlessly slid into step besides you.

“Go change, niece. That is not proper attire for the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” And with a little shove, you were made to march towards your old chambers by his guards.

The Mother blessed them and said to them,

“Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

(The Smith's book. 1:32-36)

“Your Grace.” The maid said, becoming him over. Aemond rose from his seat immediately at the sight of her. Corlys, his hand, remained unbothered and nodded in approval. He, too, felt this matter was more important. Ambition. The death of many good men.

“Ah, Margaret. Has the Queen finally worn herself out?” Aemond asked her, noticing her slightly concerned expression. He wasn’t too worried. No dragon liked chains. A bit of destruction was expected from your sudden captivity.

“Your Grace, I don't think she is fine.” The maid whispered, worriedly.

“Did she hurt herself?” Corlys asked, plainly. Aemond knew he was not truly interested in your condition. You two had no contact, since you were sent out of the Seven Kingdoms, and there was no family resemblance. He only cared that you were able to sit on the throne next to Aemond. And it was fine by him. Corlys could look out for the Velaryon last name, Aemond would look out for you.

“No, she's… sitting there.”

“Crying her eyes out?” Aemond nearly snorted at the question. It was clear your alleged grandfather didn’t know you.

“Staring blankly at the walls.” The maid answered, and at that, Aemond grew slightly concerned. You must be planning something. Better be on guard.

“It's a good sign. She has calmed down.” And as Corlys reassured the maid, Aemond left the room, walking towards your chambers. He made sure to only leave his sword behind, carrying instead a dagger. Least you got ideas. He didn’t fully trust you yet. Slowly, he opened the door, surprised by the amount of destruction you had caused in such a short amount of time.

“What a tantrum, niece.” Aemond spoke, softly, eyeing the torn curtains you had knotted together and were in the process of throwing down the window. The bed was sheetless, you had clearly used those too for your makeshift rope.

“Back off or I will jump.” You warned, still busy with your rope. Aemond shook his head.

“Now, I would say throwing down the table and chairs was overkill. You have frightened your maid.” He slowly advanced, unbuckling his belt. You glared.

“Don’t you dare!”

Aemond nearly laughed. He was the King and here were you, a tiny slip of a girl, trying to tell him what to do. Your eyes darted nervously towards the window. He knew as well what you were thinking. It was a big fall.

“Helaena jumped out of one of those.” He got even closer, and tugged the makeshift rope out of your hands. You let go of it easily, too distressed to really think. “I’ll not make the same mistake as Aegon.”

He would not. You were not escaping this. It must be fate, what else? Out of all the people, you were the secret keeper. Sister to Lucerys. The last of your line. Aemond was the last of his, too. The two last true Targaryens, out of all.

Aemond liked the symmetry of it all, he had realized. There was something about it being the death of your twin what started the war, and your marriage ending once for all the division in the Kingdoms. Life and death, both by his hands. You would eventually give him a son. He was no dreamer, but he could feel it. And when his son finally took the throne, a perfect mix of Greens and Blacks, all wounds would be healed. That would be Aemond’s legacy. Finally mending things.

It was not all, though. It was a form of penance, too. A way of never letting him forget, through the rot of it all, that it had all been his fault. In his mind’s eye, he could see you growing older, next to him. And for every line that appeared on your face or neck, Aemond would wonder if that’s how Lucerys would have looked.

Aemond moved even closer. You slapped him, uncaring of the consequences. What a fierce little thing you had grown into. Hot headed. Not very queenly. Aemond pursed his lips and shook his head, taking the slap without complaint. You were entitled to your rage, having the moral high ground. Your hands were not stained like his. But he couldn’t stand for you escaping. He needed you.

So when you tried to duck around him, Aemond pounced. It was not that he was very convinced of the dream. He had a distaste for dreamers, even if Helaena had been one. They often spoke in riddles, never saying what they meant. For all you knew, Aegon’s dream could have been a metaphor for some other event and not a great threat. But you were his path to redemption.

So many nights he had spent on his knees, at the beginning of the war. Praying for a sign, or a chance to fix things. To fix what he had broken. Along the way, he had lost faith. Perhaps the Seven didn’t listen to him, for his soul was already tainted. Perhaps, all the death around him was a punishment for all his faults. And then you showed up. His byka tolīmorghon. His little ghost.

What was he supposed to think, besides that you were the answer to his prayers? After all, he had been favored by the Gods, or so everyone said. It was the Seven, who gave him the Iron Throne. It was his godly given right to rule. Surely, your return was a sign.

You didn’t even make it to the door. Aemond grabbed you by the hair, dark strands curling around his fingers as if rings. How fitting.

You were shrieking something, but he was not really paying attention. It was probably a cry for mercy or insults. He was not too worried about it. Aemond was more concerned about restraining you, else you try to hurt yourself. You had little to lose, after all, and were stubborn enough for it. Oh, he could feel the headache starting.

He needed you. And you thought you needed him. It was easier than it looked. You two could collaborate. The Seven knew he required all the help he could get, with ruling a country that was more ashes and corpses than real people. You could not exactly get Targaryen heirs without a Targaryen husband, and apart from the lost babes, there was simply no one else around.

“Why must you vex me so, tolīmorghon?” Aemond marched you toward the vanity, dragging you by the hair. He threw everything that was on top of it away with a dismissive gesture, and slammed your chest down on it, careful not to slam your head in the process. “You always make everything difficult.”

His grip shifted, from your hair to the back of your neck, making sure to keep you down. You whimpered. The slam had clearly scared you. Good, Aemond thought. Perhaps a little fear would make you listen.

With ruthless efficiency, he had tugged your wrists behind your back, kicking your legs open without a second thought. Tying his belt around your wrists had been easier, once you started to cry. It was clear the consequences of your actions were starting to sink in and that you had no much fight left.

“Not so eloquent now, niece?” Aemond couldn’t resist but taunt, pulling you to your feet. The motions were practiced. He tried not to think from where he had acquired that knowledge.

“Fuck you, kinslayer.” You screamed. Aemond laughed. It seemed you had fight left, then. A shame the insult was not very good. The moniker didn’t hold the weight it once had, after the war. Half of the Targaryens had turned into kinslayers by the end of it.

“Oh, if you only knew.” He grabbed a handkerchief from the floor, no doubt one of the ones that had fallen from his purge of the vanity, and held it in front of your face. “Open up.” He demanded.

You glared and turned your head away. Aemond pinched at your nose. You, ridiculous little thing, held your breath until you started to go red. There were tears on your cheeks, and your lips were turning an alarming shade of purple. Aemond idly wondered if it was from the lack of air or how hard you were pressing them together.

“You do realize you either open up or you pass out, and I gag you anyway, right?” He arched an eyebrow.

You opened up, finally, spluttering and coughing. A shame he stuck the cloth inside your mouth just then.

“Now.” Aemond ordered, full of the confidence only ruling could give. “I will speak and you will listen. Do you understand?”

The cloth muffled your scream.

Women. So tiresome. Aemond rolled his eye, waiting until you tired of the dramatics. Your stubbornness was admirable, in truth. Like a carriage wreck, he couldn’t stop looking at how you worked yourself up. You were both screaming and bawling your eyes out at the same time. After a few minutes of ceaseless struggle, you slumped down, sweaty from the exertion.

“You will bathe after this, of course. I can’t have the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms walking around like that.” He finally offered, amused. “I will not hurt you, little fool. This marriage will help unite the Kingdoms again.”

You stared blankly. Aemond nodded, guessing it was a bit unfair to wait for your input.

“You see. There is still division between Blacks and Green. Were you able to produce a child, both claims would rally behind him.”

This time, you seemed slightly more frightening. Probably at the prospect of laying with him, which, fair. He had not had such a good first experience either, and it had taken him quite a long time with Alys to even try again. Aemond guessed it was likely more frightening, as a woman. It didn’t matter whether your body responded or not, it was happening anyway.

“I won’t hurt you.” He repeated, softly, and grabbed at another handkerchief to clean your face. He kneeled in front of you, despite your panicked attempts to pull back, and softly dabbed at your wet cheeks. “I think two years is a prudent time to get you to give yourself up to me. I would give you a lifetime if I could. But we are not getting any younger, and I need an heir.”

You tilted your head to the side, as if questioning. You were rather puppy-like. It reminded him of your twin even more. Aemond gave you a sad smile.

“You were insistent on getting heirs made, if I understood correctly. I think we can manage to raise children that will not slaughter each other.”

A scoff. Aemond wiped the drool from the corners of your mouth next. Quite undignified, really. Oh, if his mother was watching him from above, she would be laughing at his expense. He had had to learn the art of cooperation the hard way, but it had proved fruitful in getting his ends. Much more than all the anger he held in his youth.

“How hard can it be?”

Your glare was his only answer. Aemond knew he was slowly getting through you. Perhaps a little more kindness? Empathy? What a foreign thing. He had not exercised that much, in the last few years. Ruthlessness was what had given him the throne. But he was willing to try, to get what he wanted.

“You have a point there. Well. I will not treat you badly. I will be a kind husband to you. You will rule by my side.”

This time, your look shifted from distrust to disbelief.

“Funny thing, isn’t it? Neither of us were meant to get the throne, yet…” Aemond shook his head, and softened his tone. He knew just the words to make you budge. “I need your help, if we are going to pull this off. You must truly believe in that dream, if you risked coming here.”

A nod. He had you. Aemond tried not to smirk, knowing it could undo all his work at gaining your collaboration.

“Can I trust our agreement, then, and take the gag off?”

You nodded again. He pulled the cloth off, careful not to hurt your mouth.

“If you are good, I will untie you next.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a pious man?” It was a curious thing, that that was the first sentence you chose to say. Still, Aemond didn’t want to break the fragile trust that was forming between the two of you, and so he decided to indulge you.

“I’m not certain, anymore.” He answered, carefully. It was the truth. He had been so sure, once, that the Seven guided his steps. That the Crone lit up the right path for him to take, that the Father led him to fair decisions. It had all shattered when the Stranger had entered your lives.

Yet here you were. A gift, from the Maiden herself. A Queen, for a King who had nothing. Much like she had done for Hugor of the Hill.

“Isn’t there something on the Seven Pointed Star about this?”

“There is also something about attempting on one’s own life.” Aemond glared at you, pushing your chin up with a finger to take a good look at your eyes. He was deeply displeased by your threat, even if it was an empty one. It had rattled him, the reminder of Helaena. “Any attempts on your life will be dealt with swiftly.”

Aemond couldn’t lose anyone else. He couldn’t see Luke fall to his death again. Even if it meant locking all the windows in the Keep, and taking away all the knives. Or keeping you tied with silk ropes. Whatever that was necessary.

“You said you wouldn't hurt me.”

“Oh, it won't hurt you. Too much.” And it was the truth. He had learned quite a few interesting methods of discipline, while he traveled to different settlements during the war. Aemond was willing to practice them on you, if it meant you stayed by his side.

And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken.

(The Mother's book. 12: 22-23)

It was an odd feeling. Getting ready for your wedding in your mother's chambers. Much to the King's displeasure, none of your old gowns fitted you. He had offered to get you new ones, but after seeing that Aemond had kept most of the rooms in the Keep untouched, you had chosen to wear one of your mother's.

It still smelt like her. Entering the room felt like time had stopped. Everything was exactly as it had been, except there was no Rhaenyra sitting on the couch.

You opened the chest of gowns, placing it carefully on the rug. At your back, Ser Willis cleared his throat. With an annoyed noise, you stepped back.

“Do not be angry, my Queen.” The Kingsguard said, as he opened the trunk and efficiently took away all the bottles and pointy objects he could find. “The King does this with your welfare in mind.”

After the incident at your old chambers, you had been moved into Aemond's personal ones. He was never there, after all, being an insomniac and a workaholic. But his had the great advantage of being near the ground floor.

Your behavior had allowed you to graduate from bound wrists and a gag to a constant shadow. Willis Fell had been tasked with your protection from all threats on your life, including yourself.

“I didn't really mean to attempt on my life!” You said, frustrated. “And do not call me Queen, I'm a Princess in my own right.”

“To a claim that no longer exists, your Grace.” The man repeated, cheerfully. “It matters not who you were, but who you are now. If King Aemond says you are to be called Queen, then you are.”

You huffed, angrily, and ignored him, quickly picking two gowns. Aemond had demanded they were in the Blacks' colors and not the Velaryons. It had brought great displeasure to the Lord Hand. Your grandfather had wanted to see you enter the Sept in his colors. He would have to conform with handing you to Aemond.

Corlys Velaryon made you have mixed feelings. On one side, there was the fact that he had changed sides faster than one could change cloaks, after your mother was dead. On the bright side, he was the only ally you had in court. The only person willing to oppose Aemond for your sake.

It was a curious choice, on Aemond's part, to keep him so close. It was a good show of unity and forgiveness, a proof of the noble heart of the King. Or maybe it was because he had control over other, low-level threats to his throne. You had heard Rhaena and Baela had survived the war. They had already confirmed their attendance to the joyous occasion, but you were not allowed to meet them alone. You would have to wait until tonight, when the feast took place, or even tomorrow, at the wedding.

“What do you think, Ser Willis?” You showed the man two gowns, one crimson red and one black. “I do not think black is proper for a wedding, but wearing two crimson gowns seems too much. Perhaps… The black one at the feast?”

"I think this one is a bit…” The knight trailed off, and you looked at it closely. He was right. It was the dress of a matron, too dark-colored for a wedding, too grown up for you. Your mother had worn it the night that your uncle made his toast. Gods, you had all been so young. You remembered how beautiful she had looked in it. “What about the dress your mother wore for her own wedding? It is still there. I saw it.”

You lifted some dresses, searching for a light colored one. A beautiful gown of white and gold, one you had discarded because it didn’t fit the criteria Aemond had set, and its significance was lost on you. You didn’t know that had been your mother’s wedding dress. Rhaenyra at eighteen had been a petite woman. You clutched at it, wondering if it would even fit you. It could probably be adjusted, or copied.

“Thank you, Ser Willis.” It didn’t hurt to be polite with the man. He had been on Aegon’s side, and had been quite outspoken with his disapproval of your mother and Daemon. But he was only doing his job. Aemond was the one who had ordered you not to be left alone at any time. Sometimes, you were grateful for it. It helped ward off your loneliness. Other times, it got suffocating.

“A pleasure, my Queen. The King will not be able to keep his eye off you. A good match, you are.” He offered, smiling at you. You had learned he seemed to thrive on courtly manners.

You gave him a sad smile and passed him the dresses to carry. As you walked, you noticed it was starting to get late.

“May we ask for the maid? Margaret? I wish to change for the feast.” Your guard nodded, and repeated the order to the guard outside Aemond’s chambers.

Margaret was the one that had the duty to guard you when you were doing womanly things. It was a good system, you had to give it to Aemond. He had thought of everything. It gave time for Ser Willis to rest and eat, and it gave you slightly more privacy and a companion.

You despised his thoughtfulness. You didn’t want to like him. He had murdered your twin, after all. But your mother had murdered Aegon, even if in self-defense, and ordered the murder of one of Helaena’s kids. Children. There seemed to be no morals in any of the sides.

After your forced truce, you had seen little of Aemond. He had slowly given back your freedom, in the two weeks he had had you by his side. The planning of a royal wedding in such little time kept you busy. You never wanted Alicent, in your life, but you found yourself longing for her. It was hard, after a life of exile, to remind all the stuffy rules of courtesy in the Seven Kingdoms. Alicent had been great at even, much more than your mother and Daemon.

At first, you had been constantly on edge, as if you were waiting for the executioner’s sword to fall on your neck at any time. But the more the wedding approached, the more you realized Aemond had no devious plan to lull you into a false sense of safety and then kill you. His only devious plan was marrying you and giving you half the responsibilities of running the Red Keep.

Slowly, he had been piling them on you. The better you behaved, the more you were trusted to oversee. It was not the incentive he probably thought it was, but it kept you busy. It was you, who had to supervise the servants and manage the finances, now. You were consulted on what should be served at feasts, asked about settling arguments. Aemond’s wife in anything but name, the acting Lady of the Red Keep. Soon, noble children would be sent here, and it would be your responsibility to mind their education.

It was an adjustment. Making sure there was sufficient in the stores was hard, as it was monitoring where all the money went. It was not like being the wife of any lord because your finances impacted on those of the Kingdom. It had brought you closer to the servants, asking for advice on how to do your duty properly. And it had allowed you to learn quite a few things about Aemond.

One. He was an insomniac. He went to bed late, when you were already asleep, and left after only four hours, five at most. Aemond might be sharing your bed, but you never saw him. He disliked the dark, too. He used more candles on his nightly walks than you did in a week.

Two, he forgot to eat often. Aemond was an overall workaholic, and thought everyone was, too. Frequently, his meetings would drag on and on, and he would skip lunch. It was a comical sight, when he was with the small council. The lords, the Hand included, would flock out of the room as soon as they were dismissed. Then, in a very undignified manner, they would dilapidate the kitchen, messing up your tracking of the stores.

Third, he had taken a liking to poetry. It had greatly perplexed you, when you found that your household now included two poets. You had grown used to minding them too, and tolerating their strange ways.

Margaret entered silently, placing a bucket of water in a corner. You took your hair down and started to brush it, hurriedly. Margaret went to attend to the clothes you would wear to give you privacy to bathe. When all the painstakingly process of getting a Queen ready was done, you exited Aemond’s chambers and ran right into him.

He was already dressed for the feast, wearing a rich black doublet, the Conqueror’s crown on his head. His long silver hair was held back in a half updo, much simpler than what your father used to wear. Still, he looked regal.

“Ah, niece. I see you are ready.” Aemond offered his arm, gently. Careful not to move abruptly, less he spooked you. “Shall we?”

You take his arm, fighting the impulse to flinch in disgust. Your brother’s killer! The thought echoes around your head. But also, the last Targaryen standing. You need to get used to it, you promised your mother you would not allow the Song of Ice and Fire to ruin Westeros. Targaryens have to multiply. If it meant carrying his child, then so be it.

Aemond says nothing. He seems amused by your internal conflict. You will be his Queen, soon enough. His touch has to stop surprising you. It could be much worse. Aemond could have killed you, or kept you locked up. Instead, he has offered something very generous.

The hall looks exactly as when you left. The faces, though, are changed. Despite the houses' colors and sigils being the same, you don't recognize anyone but the Hand. There is also Tyland Lannister, who you know sits on the small council. Or you hope it's him. You were never able to tell the Lannisters apart.

Most of the crowd gasps when you and Aemond enter the hall. The dress was a statement, one that was not seen in quite a few years. Red and black, and previously worn by Rhaenyra, it made clear where you had stood.

“...So he is going through it…?”

“Look at her, the bastard daughter of that whore…”

“Wasn't he engaged to a Baratheon?”

“... Worse than Maegor, the bitch… Taxes through the skies…”

“She is his niece!”

You braved the whispers, clinging to Aemond's arm. Idly, you considered running away. Far from all this nonsense and back to the Free Cities. It was too much, hearing these people call your mother a whore and the second coming of Maegor, when her head was still on a spike, and they sat here, plump and rosy from the good life.

You knew Rhaenyra's reign had not turned out well. And that whatever her and Daemon had been up to, it had driven her mad in the end. She had executed and murdered many, and been a poor ruler, blinded by panic. But she was still your mother. A human being. A Queen. Whose head hung on the city's gates as you were made to marry her replacement.

When you finally made it to the table, Aemond pulled your chair out for you, and pressed his palm against your back. A warning. You didn't know how, but he could tell what you were thinking. He would not tolerate any kind of scene from you, he had stated. Nothing that made him look weak, or you would regret it.

“Good evening.” Aemond said, remaining standing behind your chair. It was an odd position to choose while addressing his subjects, but it was one that showed his power over you. “I thank you all for coming to witness such… Joyous occasion.” He smirked, squeezing your shoulder. You couldn't fight the slight dropping of your fake smile.

“Tomorrow, the division between the Blacks and Greens will finally be over. And it's all thanks to this wonderful woman.” Aemond took your hand and raised it to his lips. He certainly knew how to put on a show for the masses. When you were children, he had been much less charming, although he had had his moments of political savviness. The engagement to the Baratheons, for example. His taste for the dramatic, unfortunately, had always been there. Take that awful speech, for example.

His lips were cold against your skin. You shuddered.

"A toast." He said, looking directly into your eyes. The perfect picture of the dutiful fiancée. You glared, but gave him an even brighter smile. You disliked being made a show. “To my niece. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The crowd cheered. Aemond sat down next to you, prompting the servants to start serving the food. You didn't speak a word. It was the first time you ate together after two weeks of sharing the same chambers.

You poured him wine, noticing your grandfather's expectant eyes on you. The conversation on the table was stilted. The King didn't care much for noise, so the council spoke quietly and formally. None thought to include you.

"Thank you." Aemond said, and placed a few cuts of meat on your plate.”When you finish dinner, I will be expected to socialize. You are welcome, but not forced to do the same.”

“Are Rhaena and Baela here?” You looked at him, eagerly. They were the only people you were excited to see.

“We have agreed it would be best if you saw them tomorrow, after the wedding.” Corlys interjected, smoothly. Aemond grunted. Ah, how cunning of the Hand. To meet your once sisters-in-law to be after you couldn't escape.

“I understand. Well. I think I will enjoy the company of your council, Your Grace.” Your tone was polite, but firm. No room for argument. All these stuffy lords, eager to go spend money in the brothels, were now stuck in your company. It surely wasn't winning Corlys any friends.

You smirked. Aemond finished eating, and with a kiss to your crown that was all for show, departed.

At first, you made conversation with the Grand Maester, about the latest book releases and how the war had nearly killed the industry.

"Not enough people want to read, your Grace. Terrible. I do hope, when we open the Red Keep to children again, you will teach them the importance…"

"I think that's enough." Corlys said, offering you his hand. "I think you owe this old man a dance, granddaughter." And he couldn’t lose the chance to lord his relationship with you all over the rest of the lords. It would be simply too much to ask. He was still the same ambitious man he had been back then, when you didn’t really know he was not your grand sire.

"Of course." You took his hand and allowed him to lead you into a polite dance. Your grandfather was a graceful, still a handsome man. You could see what Princess Rhaenys had seen in him, once.

“I do not begrudge you, Your Grace.” Corlys said, as he twirled you.

“Begrudge me?” You asked, once he had pulled you in once again.

“You and I know your father was not going to sire children in any other way. He loved Jacaerys, Lucerys and you like you were his own.” He whispered, quickly. Your smile froze. Was he really…? “Joffrey more so, since he got to pick his name” Corlys teased and you relaxed. He was offering you his support, and you were not fool enough to refuse him. Despite not knowing his motives.

“I… You shouldn’t.”

“I know. Your future husband would have my head. But know that you are Laenor’s daughter in all the ways that matter." Corlys gave you a polite little bow, as the song ended. His parting words left you more shaken than you wanted to admit. "And that come fifty years down the line, no one will remember what you looked like, or who sired you. They will only remember your maiden name, Velaryon, and your husband’s."

You were alone in the middle of the dance floor, too stunned to even speak. So that was his motivation. The Velaryon name, on the Iron Throne. The accounts later would call you the granddaughter of the Lord Hand, much like Queen Alicent had been the daughter of Otto.

A new song started. The crowd started to dance again, pushing at you. Immediately, Ser Willis started to make his way towards you. His ever vigilant eye never lost anything. Deciding to make his job easier, you walked towards a less crowded corner, so he could reach you. But as you waited, another man approached.

“Lady Velaryon.” The man dropped into a bow, so deep it might as well be kissing the floor. A Stark, by the sigil on his cloak. Quite handsome too. He was around Aemond’s age, but looked much friendlier. You jolted your memory. Jacaerys had mentioned a Stark in his letters. "You look just like your brother."

"Cregan Stark?" You asked. At his nod, you gave him a small curtsy. “Lord Stark, pleased to meet you.”

Ser Willis, still far away, touched the shoulder of another Kingsguard. They both crept closer.

"Are you safe?" Cregan grasped your hands in his, in quite a bold move. To touch the King’s betrothed, it was an offense that could be punishable by death if Aemond so chose. And none of the people gathered in the hall would blame him for it. Daemon had killed men for much less, and so had your mother. Targaryens weren’t rational, when they thought someone to be theirs.

Cregan’s words were spoken in a hushed tone, but not enough for your guards not to hear. You gave them a nervous look.

"Yes." You answered to Cregan, hoping it was convincing enough that he wouldn’t try some foolish plan to liberate you, when in fact, you hardly needed one. Your agreement with Aemond was enough. You truly had nowhere to go, you were tired of running, and you were fulfilling your mission. It was your mother’s will. She had said at any cost. You won’t disappoint. If Cregan Stark wanted to take you away from your only purpose, he would have to drag you away, kicking and screaming.

“You don't have to marry him, my lady. The North would back you, you could have an army.” Your smile froze. Those were dangerous words, no matter how low they were muttered. Treacherous. Was everyone in this feast intent on getting killed?

“I am marrying him because it is my duty.” You squeezed his hands, hoping he would get the message. Ser Willis stepped closer to you, ready to intervene. The other guard went away, surely to look for reinforcements.

“Is it, to marry your family's killer? My lady, there is no need…”

“There is something stronger, binding the King and me.” You interrupted, firm but polite. Why didn’t he get the hint? A pair of arms snaked around your waist. So the guard had not gone looking for reinforcements, but Aemond. You relaxed into his hold, knowing he wouldn’t let Cregan Stark take you away and try to save you from yourself.

Aemond pressed a kiss to the top of your hair, the cold crown he wore bumping against your head. You were not a small woman, but he had to lean down to be able to kiss you. By the look on Lord Stark’s face, it didn’t make him less intimidating in the least.

"Ah, Lord Cregan. How good it is to see you.” His voice was mocking, taunting. “What are you doing with my betrothed?”

“I… Your Grace.” The Stark flustered, helplessly looking at you to save him. You gave him a cold look, knowing that if you intervened, Aemond could take it as a show of favor towards the man. Not only would it doom him more, but it would also get you punished. You didn’t fancy walking into your wedding with bound wrists.

“Surely not convincing her to run away?”

“I…” Your eyes closed, trying not to think of the destiny of this man who tried to help you and now was going to have a bloody ending for his troubles.

“I know many men would want a wife like her.” His grip turned slightly more possessive, hands digging into the bodice of your dress. Insinuating something. Painting a nice picture for Cregan Stark. “You were recently widowed, were you not?” Dismissive. A power play. One of his favorite things.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Beautiful. Learned. Strong.” Aemond hooked his chin over your shoulder, smiling at the other man. As if you were nothing more than a prize to be won. But the nickname was too much. You lean back, and stomped on his foot. Aemond made a gurgling, pained sound. The Stark raised his eyebrows in surprise, but made no comments. He surely was thinking about how he had misread the situation.

Cregan Stark would never understand it. He was a good, honorable man. And you and Aemond were everything but. He was tainted by war, you were tainted for rolling in the mud with him. Both dishonorable, both self-interested. Both lying to yourselves, telling you were doing this for the greater good.

Targaryen blood called to each other like moths to a flame. Slowly, you stumbled into each other's arms, thinking yourselves the last man and woman on earth. You were not. If you were to have a child with any other man, those children would still be Targaryens.More so if Aemond had children with another woman. Perhaps, it would even be more useful, producing more children. Neither of you voiced it.

It was an excuse, the Song of Ice and Fire. But a useful one, for both of you.

"Worry not, wolf. I know a woman like her is enough to lead any man to insanity.” Aemond squeezed your hip, and you knew, the snide little remark was not for Cregan but for you. “I will take your words as they are, nothing more than courtly love and deep admiration for my niece.”

“Cursed is the ground because of you;

through painful toil you will eat food from it

all the days of your life.

It will produce thorns and thistles for you,

and you will eat the plants of the field.”

(The Father's book 5:12-16)

It was a strange sight. In the Velaryon’s cloak, all dark hair and eyes. It was painfully obvious to anyone with eyes, the truth of your heritage. Yet none of those who stood in the Sept dared say a word.

The good thing about being King? The truth was what he said it was. Aemond suddenly understood his father more and more. Viserys had chosen to deny the truth until the bitter end, and there was nothing that could be done about it. As long as the King protected you, bastard or not, you were safe.

Aemond wondered if you realized the amount of trust you were placing in him. Should his Hand decide to deny your heritage, it was only Aemond’s word that shielded you from being put to the sword. Still, if the choice was between you and Corlys Velaryon, Aemond already knew who he would pick.

You had not opposed him. You had not installed a maritime block on the Seven Kingdoms, making the common folk suffer from the lack of food for not declaring for Rhaenyra. You had not switched sides.

As you approached, on the arm of the same man that he was currently plotting to kill on your behalf, Aemond was a little dumbfounded by how beautiful you were. When he had first seen you, all grown up, he had thought you pretty. A sufficient distraction to curb his loneliness. Now he knew, you were not pretty. You were otherworldly.

You didn’t look anything like a true Valyrian. Your beauty was not the same as the one his cousins had. He had been foolish, thinking that your darker features put a damper on your beauty. The sun kissed skin, the enchanting eyes… It only added to your charm. It had taken him two weeks to realize it, and it was a shame. You were more than just a projection of Lucerys he could use to torture himself.

When the time came, Aemond draped his cloak over you, placing you back under the Targaryen’s red and black. He couldn’t help but give you a smug smile. You looked good on his house’s colors. Better. Like you belonged in them. It didn’t matter, that you had come out of the womb with a strong resemblance to Rhaenyra’s sworn shield. You were half Targaryen, and as far Aemond was concerned, that was the half that mattered.

Velaryons. What a joke. Who wanted Velaryons, when they were too ambitious for their own good? When they were unable to bring children into the world safely? No, he decided. You made the perfect Queen because you were not a Velaryon. You had performed every task he had set for you perfectly. Born to rule.

The wedding passed in a blur. It felt as if he barely blinked and suddenly, you were both saying your vows and were being hand fasted together.

“Wife.” You turned towards him, all wide dark eyes. Slightly scared. He leaned down, and whispered in your ear, to warn you. “I’m going to kiss you, then we will retire for the night.”

“But Rhaena and Baela…” You started to protest, but Aemond leaned down and kissed you. It was only a peck, a brush of the lips. It was enough to quiet you. You shyly looked down, the image of a sweet maiden. The lords clapped, politely.

There would be no Rhaena and Baela. He was already thinking of a way to take Corlys out of the equation in case he ever became an obstacle. It would do not good, if you were too attached to the girls, and he had to kill their grandfather.

“You can see them tomorrow, tolīmorghon.” Aemond took your tiny hand in his. You were cold and sweaty in his grasp. Anxious. He nearly smirked. You would grow out of it, he was sure. Aemond was already ruining you, and you didn’t even realize, too worried by the others. He had seen how you didn’t jump to Cregan’s aid.

“But… The guests… The feast…”

“I will keep my promise, if that is what worries you.” Aemond tucked a soft strand of hair behind your ear. Careful, careful, to sound teasing and not like he resented it. “But since I do not get to bed my wife, I want to at least get to spend the night with her.”

“You have been spending the nights with me.” You muttered to him. He almost laughed. Clueless thing that you were, to think your nights were spent with him.

Aemond started leading you away from the guests, and towards his chambers. He was eagerly awaiting to watch you sleep. A thing he missed from before the war was the ability to get a full night of sleep, but Aemond betted watching you do it would be nice. Your face held still childlike innocence, and most probably perpetually would. It was that damn combination, of Harwin’s puppy eyes and being shielded from war. Asleep, you would surely look like an angel.

He liked your purity, compared to other ladies of the realm. You had known of the horrors of war, but you hadn’t actually seen it. Sometimes, he thought he had chosen to keep you because of it. You didn’t know what kind of monster Aemond really was. How much blood stained his hands.

You knew he had killed Lucerys, you knew he had taken Harrenhall. You didn’t know he had executed all the men there, children and elderly included. You knew he had killed Daemon, you didn’t know exactly how many times he had stabbed him, until both Caraxes and Vhagar were both plunging to their deaths. You knew he was a killer. You didn’t know sometimes he didn’t regret it.

“I have spent nights with you?” He asked, amused. Most women would be terrified to share his bed. Not you, apparently, if you had thought Aemond was sleeping by your side already and had made no fuzz.

“Where are you sleeping, then?” You opened the door to his chambers, already used to the creaking hinges. As if those had been your chambers your whole life. “I thought…”

“I have been sleeping on my study.” So you went to bed every night and fell asleep thinking he would later join you? It was cute. Perhaps keeping you would be easier than he thought. Aemond was halfway there already. “It wouldn’t have been proper, otherwise.”

“And you are all about property.” He ignored your taunt, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The satisfaction he felt was too high to be bothered. Not only did he had you already, but you had slowly started to trust him.

You wanted to stay. The state of his rooms showed it. He was a tidy man, and liked to keep his rooms the same way. Still, there was something enchanting about the way you had taken possession of the place during the past two weeks. Your gown, placed over the bed, surely by your maid. A few books on the left side of the bed, that were definitely not his. A tiny pair of slippers just next to the fire.

Aemond nudged you towards the armchair. You sat down without complaint, looking at him with curious dark eyes. He kneeled in front of you and helped take off your shoes, placing the slippers on your feet instead. The skin of your ankles was soft and vulnerable. He gave it a gentle rub before sitting back on his haunches.

“I brought you here because I have something to tell you.” Still on his knees, worshiping another effigy. Aemond liked the parallels of it. So many nights, spent asking for forgiveness at a Sept. More nights, he would spend at your feet, begging for atonement to his own personal goddess.

“Why are you on your knees?” You asked, looking down at him, eyes so sweet and pure, not even the Maiden herself could compare. How many nights, would it take? How much time, until you became a sinner like himself? “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Aemond cleared his throat. He looked up at you, suddenly feeling fear choking him. Expiation was not an easy thing. The High Septon himself had said, before spluttering some nonsense about how if he wore the Crown, it was by the grace of the Seven and their favor. Not because he had been the last one standing in a pit of gladiators fighting to death. Not because he had been the only one not to drown in the rivers of blood that followed.

The thought of ruining your innocence, turning you like him, was a thought that warmed him and filled him with dread. After it, Aemond would never be alone again. You would be just like him, broken, ruined, dirty. You would never leave his side because you would understand there was no other place for you but by his side. And just as he did, you would love him and hate him in equal amounts.

But you were so pure. Filled with good intentions and loyalty. Sweet. A balm to his wounds. It would be lost when you turned like him. The one good thing he had found for himself, broken beyond repair.

The silence went on and on. Aemond finally broke it, by speaking in a tone so soft, you might not even be able to hear. Confessing.

“I didn’t kill Luke on purpose. It was…”

A twitch of your mouth. The Maiden come to life, growing impatient. Eyes cold, as if they could erase him from existence.

You would not like this truth. It had all been for nothing. The death of your twin, the war… It was never meant to happen. A foolish mistake. If he had truly meant to kill the boy, perhaps this mess would make some sense. Frame it as a war between bitter enemies, and not family, with combatants that were barely out of childhood.

Or children themselves. Like Lucerys and you had been.

“It was an accident. I lost control of Vhagar. I shouldn’t have, and I despise myself for it, every day. I wish I had never…”

Never chased after him. Never set Vhagar on the smaller dragon. Because back then, he had not been a bad man. That morning, Aemond had been happy. Celebrating an engagement that brought honor to his house. He had not rolled out of bed thinking of killing a child. How few hours of innocence he had left.

No one had told Lucerys how few hours of life he had left, either.

A sob. Aemond can’t tell if he voiced all of that, but by your horrified look, he has. It feels like being stabbed in the eye all over again. Worse than Daemon nearly taking his head off.

It takes him a while to recognize the feeling that curls around his stomach, makes him want to throw up, as your gentle hand presses over his head, prompting him to rest it on your lap.

As you said the words he so craved to hear, he finally got it.

“I forgive you.” But could you, really, when you didn't know what you were forgiving him for?

Shame. It’s shame, the feeling in his stomach. He had not felt it in a long time.

Shame, for what he had done to wear this dammed crown. Shame, for killing Luke. Shame, for what he was about to do to you.

The months go by. You start sleeping on the same bed. Rigid. Side by side, as if children. Slowly, your bodies start to curl against each other. Aemond, always awake before you do, wonders if you realize. He moves away before you wake, but your body always seems to search for him when you sleep.

It’s a cold marriage. One of duty, or so the rest of Westeros thinks. Even the Lord Hand is fooled by it. Aemond has heard the maids whisper about it, about the poor, pretty Queen, trapped into marriage to a monster. Wasting her beauty and sweetness on a man who doesn’t see her.

As a team, you work well. Outside your chambers, your relationships and interactions are extremely polite. The Seven Kingdoms have never been more prosperous than under your combined rule. Aemond is pleased with his legacy. Give it a few more years, if he doesn’t ruin anything, and he will go down in history not as a kinslayer but as the bringer of the golden age of Westeros. The arts prosper, the people are educated and well-fed, the crime rate is low.

“What a dreadfully boring marriage.”

“Duty. Only that. I would go mad, if my husband never touched me.”

“Do you think the King is like Ser Laenor?”

Aemond doesn’t mind, if they think his marriage is colder than the North beyond the Wall. He knows the truth.

There are nights, where you wake up desperate, a scream in your throat. Sometimes, you scream at him, you say you hate him. In others, you sob yourself into a meltdown, saying you hate yourself.

It’s always the same, on nights like that. He holds you in his arms, until you stop fighting. Overcome by hysterics, it’s you who searches for his mouth. You kiss him.

Aemond holds you down. You fight, you push and pull, like the waves lapping at the shore. Your nightgown rides up, his pants and shirt come off. He chases your sadness away with steady rolls of the hips, until all that is left is you and him, and not the ghosts of your past.

You break down gloriously, beneath him. Clawing at his back, wanting to make him hurt as you hurt. Sometimes, Aemond needs to hurt, too.

Sometimes it’s him, who wakes up screaming.

You fight. You scream. The guards knock on the door, concerned about what you are doing to each other, thinking one of you finally snapped and attempted murder. Like beasts, you roll around on the floor, clothes ripping, hair being pulled, skin bitten.

You ride him, sometimes. Your delicate hands turn into cuffs, keeping him pinned down. You sob your way through it, until Aemond cannot tell if it’s over stimulation or sadness. It’s sick. You two act like cats in heat. It’s the best sex he had ever had.

No matter who was the instigator, the next morning you slip out of bed, embarrassed by your behavior. Cold. You avoid his eyes, his mere presence makes you flinch. But despite your sudden turn into the most proper woman in the realm, Aemond knows the truth.

You are ruined. Just like him.

Hugor and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.

(The Smith's book. 2:14-15)

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut

[justpostsyeet]

You know according to tolkien's legend, the accounts of middle earth came to the author via Hobbits and the manuscripts left behind.

In the eyes of Hobbits elves were is super kind dudes who gave them food and shelter but in context it was only because Bilbo was with Gandalf on a fucking journey to reclaim Erebor and the rest of hobbits were in the main plan to kill literal Satan.

And about the manuscript thing, the relics only survive when they're kept in best condition. Elves were the superior species of middle earth with advance technology so,their version of history could be best preserved.

I'm not saying that all elves where bad or something, What I'm saying is what if the middle earth history has an authorship bias. There are so many instances in which flawed deeds of elves are hidden in flowery language such as Eöl took (unwilling)Aredhel as his wife. How at many instance which you read about Galadriel, in subtext she seems like a power hungry absolutist but her causes are always shown as one of a noble lady fighting for a great cause. Only flawed elves are shown in Silmarillion.

So, what if elves were flawed like the second born and other creatures of Middle earth but they always appeared noble and great due to authorship bias.

And by authorship bias,I don't mean authorship bias by tolkien but if we go according to the myth of middle earth by tolkien,then it's the authorship bias of whoever write the said history of middle earth which tolkien later found and translated. So, it's not Tolkien fault because he's translating what he's given but the fault lies in the hands of whoever wrote the original verses.

Why I'm rambling all these? It's because we were studying about authorship bias and bending of actual events while writing the history. It made of think about the history of middle earth.

#thoughts #the lord of the rings #tolkien lore #tolkien #lord of the rings #the hobbit #hobbit #silmarillion #authors #authorship bias #elrond #galadriel #glorfindel #kili #fili #thorin #thorin oakenshield #legolas #aragorn #merry #pippin #frodo #sam #boromir #faramir #durin #celeborn #celebrimbor #lotr #arwen

[esther-dot]

[I posted a list of SEASON 6 AUS before but these are book verse]

the cold inside our bones 2k @xylodemon (just have to point out that this was posted in 2012)

The Wall is no place for a woman, but Jon looks at Sansa's gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes and knows he will not send her away.

we're a different kind of same 3k by @jonsaslove

"I have seen your sister in my fires, fleeing from this marriage they have made for her. A girl in grey on a dying horse, I have seen it plain as day. It has not happened yet, but it will” Or; Sansa flees the Vale. Jon retakes Winterfell. When they meet again, they are changed.

Varg-hamr/Wolf-skin 1k by @cappymightwrite

hamr: the ‘shell’ or ‘shape’ of a person — the physical body, a state that can alter. hugr: what a person really is — the absolute essence, that which can leave the hamr behind. (Or, Jon in the body of Ghost, coming across a girl in grey fleeing north, along the east side of Long Lake...)

Pearls of Water ficlet by fedonciadale

Someone wakes up in Castle Black.

Saw You In The Snow 1k by @theemberalchemist

Sansa used the last of her strength to crawl to the foot of the tree, placing her head on its roots like she would lay on her mother's lap lifetimes ago. She could die here, perhaps, in the halo and ghost of her mother's warmth. Her mind drifting to gentle hands pressing against her head, tucking her hair back, humming a sweet song Sansa knew all the words to.

tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme 1k by @hoaryoldbitch

Satin averts his eyes and all around her bodies shift and uncomfortable looks are exchanged. Something akin to fear grips her and automatically she reaches out. Ghost is right there beside her. She wraps her arms around him and buries her fingers in his fur, kissing the top of his head. A buzzing of whispers and hisses arises around her, but one man bursts into a loud and booming laugh. He's tall and burly with reddish hair and a rusty beard. "Is this the beast you've all been afraid of? The pretty little lady tamed the ferocious wolf with a touch of her hand," he snorts, before walking toward Sansa in long strides. Brienne tenses up beside her. "I'll take ye to Lord Snow, lass."

In the darkest night, a song so sweet 2k

The Lord Commander stood atop the Wall and watched as the girl in grey came riding north, her army at her back.

old timber to new fires 27k by @setnet

When Alayne Stone hears word of the marriage of Arya Stark to the Bastard of the Dreadfort, it prompts her to leave the dubious safety of the Vale and set out on a dangerous journey north to Sansa Stark's homeland and her last remaining relative. But home is not safe. Winterfell is burned and broken, the Baratheon King and the Northern Lords are fighting to influence the future of the realm, the dead are stirring... and the old gods of the North are not half gods, worshipped in wine and flowers; they require blood.

And From the Ruins 15k by @thewolvescalledmehome

After awaking, Jon Snow's sole focus is trying to get his sister back. Alayne Stone is trying to survive the Vale. After an accident, she's forced to flee.

Stay With Me 5k

As her eyes shut, probably forever, Sansa Stark thought of one last thing: Jon. Then everything went pitch black.

now we're dead roses 22k

From Ghost’s eyes, he saw a lone, grey horse racing south. On the back of the courser mounted a girl. He could hear her breaths come out in little hitches and gasps as she grasped with all her might to the reins. Ghost chased after her, sprinting fast and nimble on his feet. She was a delicate little thing. Like a breeze could throw her off the horse. Her back shook as she stifled her sobs. Ghost followed on the horse’s rear, eyes sharp on the hooded figure. She must have sensed him behind her because she turned around and suddenly-- Jon woke up with an impossible name on his tongue.

a wind with a wolf's head 13k, WIP by @branwendaughterofllyr

The cold numbed everything. From her nose, to her fingers, to the breath in her lungs, the cold froze and stiffened. Sansa shoved her cloak up around her face and tucked her free hand under her arm. The grey cloth billowed and faded into the darkening twilight as the wind tore at her. Somewhere, a wolf howled, but Sansa was not sure if it was in her mind or not. A ghost wolf, she told herself and pressed on.

Art: The Girl in Grey and Jon's Resurrection by @palominojacoby, The Girl in Grey by @jonsawilldanceanon, The Girl in Grey by @thetullystark , The Girl in Grey by @ozzy698 , The Girl in Grey by @cute-poison20102014, Jonsa Reunion by knightmarescape, Forehead Kiss by colleendoodle, Jonsa Hug by CristianaLeone, Forehead Kiss by rosenroot

PRE CANON - WESTERN - REGENCY - FAIRYTALE - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS

#jonsa #jonsa fic #book verse #the girl in grey #dot fic list #I didn’t include Jon/Alayne fics on here because I hope to eventually make a separate list for those

[angelynmoon]

Eldritch Steve verse

Part 10

So, apparently A03 is down and I had nothing better to do, so I wrote this, I'll post it to Ao3 either tomorrow or when it's back up if it takes more than a day.

Thank you for all your ideas for a title, I haven't actually chosen one but you've gotten me thinking so thank you, (a little part of me wants to name it 'From the rot', I don't even really know why).

-

"...and that difference was my undoing, it was the undoing of my kind as well, they just didn't know it yet." Steve began.

And Eddie listened, quietly, he listened intently because this was Steve's story, the journey into who he was now, and Eddie had always been curious about who Steve was before he came into their world.

Not enough to ask, no, he'd seen the way Steve looked away when Jonathan asked about others, when Nancy questioned if they should be worried about others like Steve.

And Eddie felt his heart break when Steve mentioned spawning, when he'd explained what that was.

And he felt the tears in his eyes escape when Steve described coming home and finding the broken shells, the remains of his raveged children and the anger that had filled him.

Eddie didn't blame him, he'd be angry if anything happened to the Party, to El and Erica and Max, he didn't know what he'd do if someone killed them, didn't want to find out.

"I sat there for what must have been days, watching the remains of my babies rot and then I buried them as deep into the ground as I could." Steve spoke softly, an otherworldly grief in his voice.

And Eddie expected him to say that he'd sought out a way into their world, snuck through a crack or hole and ran from his anger and grief.

What he did not expect was what Steve told him next.

"I tracked the scent of the one that took my spawn, and I tore it apart, piece by piece until nothing was left but scraps and blood. And I stood there and I knew that I could never safely spawn, not while my kind lived." Steve looked to the window, to the tree that scraped at the glass, "And I knew that I'd be hunted for what I'd done, not the killing of a fellow, but that I left it to rot."

Eddie frowned wondering why that would be the problem, Steve seemed to understand and explained.

"My kind, they aren't like humans, it's survival of the strongest, and we'd eat the weaker of our kind, to gain their strength, their rage , that I didn't eat the one I killed was the wrost sort of insult I could give, they'd hunt me for that alone, but as far as the others were concerned I'd attacked unprovoked, for no reason since I wasn't eating.

"So I let my rage and anger have me, let it guide me in my slaughter, thinking of my spawn broken and killed before they had the chance at life.

"When that rage, that anger finally faded into the sorrow it was covering I was..." Steve looked at Eddie, tears in all those thousands of eyes, "I was alone, the rest of my kind were dead and left to rot throughout the Down Below, their blood poisoned the rivers and the fumes from their rotting flesh poisoned the air. I made the Down Below the wasteland it is now, because I would not feed on those that killed my babies, because it was worse for me to leave them where the fell once I'd killed them."

Steve looked away from Eddie, "You say I'm not a monster, but you're wrong, I am, my reasons for doing it don't change the fact that I commited a genocide, that I am one of two, that neither of us will spawn together or alone, our kind, if we breed at all, will eventually be diluted with each generation, until it is nothing but strange quirks appearing now and again."

Eddie stared, it was a lot of information but it didn't change Eddie's feelings, grief did strange things to everyone, Wayne, when Eddie's mother died had spent days wandering the woods, always retuning covered in blood that Eddie could only hope wasn't human. Eddie had seen him digging holes in the far side of the trailer park to bury something but he'd never been brave enough to ask or to go digging later. And Eddie's mother wasn't related to Wayne, Wayne was Eddie's father's brother not his mother's.

But knowing what Steve had done didn't change anything, not for Eddie at least, his heart was Steve's for as long as Steve wanted it, even when Steve stopped wanting it, Eddie's heart would still be Steve's until it stilled, this changed nothing, except...

"Wait, does that mean you and me could have biological children?" Eddie asked, because he had no filter.

Steve looked at him with a from, "You don't hate me?"

"I could never." Eddie said as he pulled Steve into his arms and let him relax into him.

They stayed that way for minutes or hours, at some point moving to lay down on the bed, before Eddie's curiosity needed to be satisfied.

"You never answered me, can you have my babies, because I certainly don't have the right equiptment for carrying babies." Eddie said.

Steve looked up at him from where he laid on Eddie's chest, "I can have either parts, I'm not male or female in the way humans are, the male form was just easier when I changed, it's a less complicated system."

"Cool, I'd like to spawn with you, when you're ready for that, if you ever are." Eddie told Steve.

Steve stared at him in his unsettling way, "You are not lying."

"Nope, I love you, Steve, Monster or not, I'm yours until you decide otherwise." Eddie vowed.

"You need to talk to Wayne." Steve said.

"What?" Eddie frowned, what did Wayne have to do with this, with anything.

"He can explain what you're getting into better than I can, I didn't spend much time with Mated Pairs." Steve explained.

Eddie frowned, stared at Steve.

"Oh My God! WAYNE IS LIKE YOU?!" Eddie shouted.

-

Taglist: not taking tag requests, it's getting too long.

I will update this with the Ao3 link when it's posted.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48500452?view_full_work=true

@addelyin @merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @0o-mushroom-o0 @starlight-archer @darkwitchoferie @just-a-tiny-void @swimmingbirdrunningrock @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @adhdsummer @purpleanimeoverart @space-invading-pigeon @lilaclilyroses @nohomoyesbi @plantzzsandpencilzzs @korixae @subversivecynic @flusteredcas @persnicketysquares @freddykicksasses @little-trash-ghost @cupcakesnwhiskey @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta @planetsoda @paintsplatteredandimperfect @irregular-child @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @steddieassheg0es

#steddie #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #mpreg mention #cannabalism mention #genocide mention #From the Rot

[stargirlaveblog]

7Seals

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Chapter 1

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

• Previous Chapter: Prologue Next Chapter: Chapter 2

•Chapter List

•Content: Levi Ackerman x OC Fem! Canon Verse! Slow Burn!

• Word Count: 1.2k

"Now I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals; and I heard one of the four living creatures saying with a voice like thunder, 'Come and see.' And I looked, and behold, a white horse. He who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer."

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

In the regiment's relentless rhythm, my days blurred together over six unchanging years. The routine was our relentless master – wake, eat, train, meetings, eat again, and sleep. The mundane melody was occasionally disrupted by Shadis' whims, granting us a fleeting taste of the world beyond the towering Walls.

Our morning table, a sanctuary for the seasoned veterans, bore witness to comrades dropping like autumn leaves. The unspoken question lingered: when would our turn come? While many saw luck in our continued survival, I saw a darker twist. Fate, I believed, lurked patiently, biding its time until we felt secure, ready to shatter the false reality we'd constructed in this hellish existence.

Today, the cruel hand of fate played its cards, mocking our comfort.

"The boys aren't here yet?" Petra's radiant smile broke the morning's routine as she settled across from me.

"Nah," I replied, absentmindedly tearing at my morning bread. "Just Hange and I, probably still asleep."

Petra's grin widened, cheeks tinted with a hint of mischief. "Thank the Wall."

Hange, always perceptive, caught the unspoken secret in Petra's expression.

"I know that look," they squealed with infectious excitement. "Spill."

"Have you guys seen the new recruit?" Petra's playful voice danced through the room.

"Have I?!" Hange's response, a lively squeal, prompted a shared effort between Petra and me to hush them. Yet, if anything, their voice only seemed to gain volume.

"He's a menace! Have you guys seen him in action? He's truly set to revolutionize the Scouts."

One person expected to revolutionize the regiment was a wild accusation, not only wild but big shoes to fill.

"I thought all the recruits died."

"He's the sole survivor. Goes by Levi," Petra disclosed in a hushed tone leaning towards me. "Word has it his entire wing was taken out on the last expedition. Rumor even suggests he took down five titans single-handedly."

"Five?" My surprise echoed throughout the mess hall, louder than Hange had earlier.

"Who is this guy?"

A recruit taking out more than one Titan on their first journey outside the Walls was unheard of. The recruit surviving a Titan encounter was impressive enough, but taking down five was a whole other game.

Petra gestured subtly towards the corner, where Levi sat alone. "A short fella," Hange added with a playful smile.

"But undeniably handsome," Petra remarked.

My curiosity ignited and my intrusive thoughts won as I nudged Petra.

"Go talk to him."

"I'd only fool myself," she sighed. "He keeps to himself, speaks only with section leaders and the commander."

"I don't buy it," I chuckled, glancing in Levi's direction. There he was, absorbed in the morning paper, sipping tea in that peculiar way of his—hand over the rim, neglecting the perfectly good handle on the side of the cup.

"Go see for yourself," Petra challenged with a smug grin.

"I will," I declared, sticking my tongue out playfully before confidently striding towards Levi's table.

He was a recluse no doubt about it. From the moment Petra pointed him out to me, not once has he looked up from his morning paper. I know that nothing that interesting happened in these three walls to keep his attention that long.

Undeterred by Levi's icy reception, I took a seat without awaiting permission. The mess hall seemed to hold its breath, the world stopped moving around me as I gathered the courage to speak.

"What's your name?" I probed, met only with the continued rustle of his morning paper and the measured sip of his tea.

"Not a big talker, huh?" I teased, maintaining a resilient grin. "Well, I'm Iris, been with the scouts for six years now. Sorry for the tardy introduction—"

"Are you a section leader?" he interrupted.

"Oh, no, I'm just—" Again, his interruption cut me off.

"Until you become a captain or commander, don't talk to me unless ordered to," he snapped, his eyes still glued to the paper.

"Until you become captain or commander, don't tell me what to do," I retorted, my smile unwavering. "Until then, I'll talk your ear off as much as I want to."

Finally, he set aside his papers and looked up. His midwinter eyes jabbed at me as they locked onto my own.

"If you're trying to make a friend, save your breath and look elsewhere," he groaned, his gaze cold. "Tell your friends it's rude to stare."

I rose from the table, maintaining my cheerful facade. "Congrats on the five Titans. Until next time, Mr. Grumps."

"Tch," escaped Levi's lips as I walked away, his grumbling fading into the background as I navigated back to my comrades.

Miche Oluo and Alexander awaited my return at the breakfast table. All eyes were on me, especially Alexander's, his light brown gaze burning into mine. There was an unspoken tension, a silent exchange between us that spoke of disapproval and lingering questions.

As I settled beside Alexander, his disapproving gaze burned into my being. "What were you doing with that little freak?" he sneered.

"Hey, don't call him that," I retorted, nudging him playfully.

"What? Freak?" He laughed with a harsh edge. "He's just another underground sewage rat. Nothing but a freak." The disdain lingered on his tongue.

"Kid has a death wish," Miche chimed in.

"I think that kid is older than all of us," Hange interjected.

"There's no way that puny little thing is older than me," Alexander scoffed, dismissing Levi as if he were insignificant. "Just look at him. Nothing but bones under that uniform."

"Now now, Alexander," Hange teased. "I'd think you're jealous of him passing you up."

"Me jealous of that freak? Never," Alexander laughed, a defensive edge in his voice.

"Really? Because he's already at five Titans for his first expedition. I recall you earning three on our first mission," Hange pointed out with a mischievous giggle.

"Listen here, you little shit" Alexander's frustration surged, and he aimed his words at Hange. "I earned my way into the Scouts. That guy is only here to kill Erwin. He's nothing but a thug."

"Alexander, calm down," I attempted to defuse the tension, but his anger was worked up. Hange's teasing had struck a nerve, a fact known to everyone at the table.

"What?" Alexander groaned at me. "Don't tell me you have a soft spot for the freak already."

"Calm down. Hange is just teasing, and we all know it," I laughed lightly, attempting to ease the situation.

The table fell into an uneasy silence as Levi strolled by, his steel-grey eyes fixed ahead with unwavering confidence.

"Freak," Alexander muttered under his breath as Levi passed.

Alexander's sharp words lingered in the air as a bitter aftertaste, and a knot of worry tightened in my stomach. The casual disdain he threw toward Levi struck a nerve, leaving me both surprised and uneasy.

The recruit's gaze met Alexander's, offering an unfazed look. However, Levi's eyes then locked onto mine. I felt a shiver down my spine as his gaze traveled, time seemingly slowing down at that moment.

At that moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that fate itself had chuckled at us, reveling in the disruption Levi brought to our routine. The mess hall buzzed with the usual noise, but an undercurrent of change hummed beneath it all. It was as if Levi's mere presence had punctured the veil of our ordinary existence, inviting uncertainty and curiosity. It was a curiosity I wanted to explore, boundaries I wanted to see be pushed.

If only then I knew how much he would change our little world inside these three walls.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi aot #captain levi #levi attack on titan #snk levi #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #aot x reader #levi angst

[rhapsodynew]

Little-known facts about the cult rock band – part one.

Led Zeppelin – founded in England in 1968, the band was almost doomed to success because its founder, guitarist Jimmy Page, and his buddy, bassist and keyboardist John Paul Jones, were already experienced session musicians. Adding a vocalist Robert Plant and the drummer John Bonham – both young but well versed in their shared local music scene – complemented the band perfectly.

An international sensation of the 1970s, Led Zeppelin remains one of the most successful and legendary bands in rock history, breaking records with their rousing live performances, diverse genre catalog, and refusal to play by the rules. Some of their songs, including the iconic "Stairway to Heaven" and "Whole Lotta Love", became classics of the time and genre.

However, over the years, the band's touring exploits – in particular, frequent fun with female fans, the destruction of hotel rooms and reckless use of substances and alcohol – have become a cautionary tale about the dark side of rock and fame in general. It may look colorful and interesting, but in fact the career of the Zeppelins was extremely dark and tragic... 

Below are some of the most unique and little-known facts.

Robert Plant plays the harmonica

Robert Plant was afraid of the stage – at first

While this may seem shocking, given that Robert Plant is now widely known as one of the most iconic rock frontmen of all time, the lion-maned singer once suffered from self-confidence issues. Plant was still literally a teenager (namely, he was 20 years old) when Led Zeppelin first hit the road in 1968, and the shouts of the crowd, as well as harsh media reviews, were initially unbearable for him...

At the beginning of their journey, critics were not kind to the Zeppelins, and Plant, being the face and voice of the group, often bore the brunt of their insults. Some accused Robert of affectation, others of "excessive femininity.".. The cruel words deeply hurt Plant, who was already prone to self-doubt.

Later, the group manager Peter Grant admitted that he had to hide bad reviews from Plant in every possible way, and even comfort the anxious vocalist just to bring him on stage. It was for this reason that Robert also hesitated to write lyrics, which is why many considered him the weak link of the group (again, at the initial stages).

John Paul Jones miraculously did not die in the fire.

John Paul Jones

During a tour of America in 1973, Led Zeppelin threw a party in New Orleans, Louisiana. The group stayed at a hotel in the French Quarter, known for its vibrant nightlife... And that night the bass player John Paul Jones will never forget!

The story goes how John met a certain Stephanie, and invited the girl to his room. The problem came up soon, and it was that Stephanie was actually a man! However, John later claimed that he knew this, and that Stephanie was his good friend, with whom they drank and had fun. In any case, it's not about what gender Stephanie was, and who she was to John. After entering the room, the two had a few drinks and smoked. They were so drunk that they forgot to put out their cigarette butts, and just fell asleep. Soon a fire broke out in the room, and John and his friend miraculously survived – they were found unconscious when the firefighters arrived! It was this incident that Robert Plant immortalized in the song "Royal Orleans".

"Everything is in perfect order on Bourbon Street –You can meet my friends, they hang out there all night long..."

The band was robbed during a US tour.

Led Zeppelin. Early 70s

On July 29, 1973 – the last night of the American tour – Led Zeppelin became the victim of a strange crime. The story goes that tour manager Richard Cole opened the band's safe while at the hotel and found it empty!

"I opened this thing, and there's nothing there–it's empty! Only passports! I burst out swearing because nothing else came to mind at that moment..."

To understand the full range of Cole's emotions, it's worth emphasizing that there were more than $200,000 in the safe– a significant portion of their income from the tour. Not wanting to disturb the band before they went on stage, Cole proceeded to resolve the issue as confidentially as possible. While the Zeppelins were performing, the FBI guys searched the hotel. There were no signs of forced entry on the safe, indicating that whoever stole the money had used the key. Cole was the first to come under suspicion, and he even had to undergo a lie detector test (which, by the way, did not reveal a lie in his words).

After the show, the FBI also questioned the band members, but found no leads. The next day, the robbery made national news. Although the crime remains unsolved to this day, many believe that Peter Grant is responsible for the theft.

John Bonham struggled with depression.

Despite the fact that he looked brave and fearless on stage, the drummer John Bonham had great difficulties on the road. A family man at heart, Bonham, known to his bandmates as Bonzo, often missed his wife and two young children who stayed in England when he toured. At the beginning of his career with Led Zeppelin, he started drinking a lot to fight his depression and homesickness, which most often led only to chaos...

A friendly and gentle man when sober, Bonham was prone to anger, recklessness and outbursts of rage when intoxicated. He often took out his alcohol-induced rage on hotel rooms and anyone unlucky enough to be near him at the time of his rampage. Over the years, this behavior earned him the nickname "The Beast".

"Bonzo drank because he hated being away from home, it's true. Between performances, it was difficult for him to cope with emotions ...", – said John Paul Jones.

John Bonham

The tour also aggravated Bonzo's mental state. He began to be afraid of flights, and also suffered from constant panic attacks before performing. One day he confessed to a journalist:

"Every year it gets worse for me. I have terribly bad nerves all the time... It's even worse at festivals."

Zeppelin concerts have become dangerous.

As their popularity grew, Led Zeppelin began to give larger-scale concerts, which led to new problems. On July 5, 1971, the band performed in front of a boisterous crowd of about 15,000 people at the stadium Velodromo Vigorelli in Milan, Italy. The promoters begged the band to ask the public to stop lighting the fire, which frontman Robert Plant repeatedly did, but to no avail. The situation escalated, and hundreds of police used tear gas, water cannons and batons to subdue the crowd. Many were injured.

Led Zeppelin

Disoriented by the blinding smoke, panicked onlookers rushed onto the stage, causing the band to drop their gear in the middle of the performance and flee. In the confusion, one of the Zeppelin roadies was hit on the head with a broken bottle and was hospitalized. Page later recalled:

"It was absolutely terrible..."

And this was just the first of many dangerous performances by the Zeppelins. During the band's 1977 American tour, fans without tickets burst through the gates at several concerts, leading to hundreds of arrests. That same year, violent riots broke out in Tampa, Florida, among a crowd of 70,000 when the show was interrupted due to rain, leaving the police outnumbered and powerless. Then, during a concert in Cincinnati, Ohio, a fan fell from an upper floor. It was the last concert in his life...

The extension follows....

#not made-up stories #led zeppelin #robert plant #jimmy page #john paul jones #john bonham #hard rock #folk music #music story #hustory music #music #my music #music love #musica #history music #rock music #rock #rock photography #stadium rock #music youtube #video youtube #heavy metal #Youtube

[quitealotofsodapop]

Stone Egg theories + Luzhen

All are asks are connected to this post made about: what if Stone Monkeys could naturally reproduce asexually via converting their body into a new Stone Egg?

All images have transcripts btw.

1: Possibly. Wukong has a *lot* of immortalities. But accidentally creating a Stone Egg asexually takes a lot out of him physically and spirtually. His soul gets a permanent hit to it. The whole point of the Stone Egg is for either a monkey with a large familial group to produce an heir without a mate, or the last of a troop to fling a piece of hope into the future. Most don't survive, but some do. It helps to have a lot of magically talented friends/family around to stabilize your body once the egg-creating process has begun so you can heal. Though I bet most single monkeys prefered adoption if at all necessary - accidentally giving the Stone Monkey kind a hyper-active parental instinct towards non-related infants of similar species.

He probably gets cravings for a lot of rocks, metal and bones in the process.

2 & 3: (@soniclozdplove) Guanyin realised that she gotta put her stone monkey on birth control if they were gonna keep him underground. Her brain jumped to "He's made of rock right? rock spirits eat metal... right?? Crap, it's the only thing down here." and cue molten copper and iron pellets for dinner. The question is; was it even that painful for Wukong? Man takes out his organs a bunch of times and bathes in hot oil in Jttw without complaint. Odds are in the moment it felt like the worlds worse heartburn/spicy food burn since he really is made of earth materials. XD

He probably felt super grateful once he realized why Guanyin was feeding him molten metal. He didn't want kids in that circumstance either!

4: A furiously confused pregnant Wukong! He immediately starts yelling at Gold Star for answers, and has to be talked down from trottling the Buddha himself for this. Tripitaka is panicking, he's never been around a pregnant person before!

Wukong doesn't even need the circlet in this verse. Guanyin just gives him false labor contractions and he's behaving immediately. He probably has to lug the egg in his body around for some extra time, maybe even until the Journey is over depending on how funny the Buddha or Bixia Yuanjun (goddess of childbirth) is feeling.

Macaque sees Wukong pregnant this way and is confused, dismayed, and yelling "Who's the father!?" at every Pilgrim. It takes him a while to understand that the Stone Egg happened cus of SWK being essentially slow-cooked underground for 500 years. Even if Macaque plays nice with the Pilgrims afterwards, he's still glaring at anyone who comes near Wukong and "their" egg.

Wukong endears himself to many people simply because he's with child. Probably gets an extra godly nickname (something like "Meihou-Wangmu" a pun on his Handsome Monkey King title + Queen/King Mother) refering to him as a fertility figure - women seeking luck with having/not having children approach Wukong asking for his blessing, and odds are it works because of who his creator is. XD

But he also attracts unique threats that the pilgrims have to personally destroy to protect him - Krasues and Manananggals anyone?

The second the Journey is over, Wukong kneels over and with an literal earth-shattering scream out *pops!* a little Stone Egg. All happy and cracking open minutes later. His and Macaque's first born isn't told the details of their creation for a long time.

5 & 6: Gold Star gives Shadowpeach the Stone Monkey version of The Talk and warns them never to get buried alive unless they're 100% sure about it. Macaque and Wukong are terrifed into not having kids until Guanyin let sit slip that the "regular way" should work too.

In "The Monkey King and the Infant" au; Gold Star was a little more than shocked to hear about MK/Xiaotian's creation XD

Macaque is sadly unlikely to ever carry a "clone egg" to term or survive the full process. His body is a lot smaller/weaker than Wukong's and he was deprived of a lot of nutrients as a newborn (stuck on the moon = very few vitamins). So if he ever got triggered into parthenogenesis, his body would likely just refuse to create an egg. No gas in the tank.

Baby Luzhen is born from SWK, and he immediately takes out the roof/part of the Jade Palace with eye lazers. Giggling, he fails to notice the looks of horror on his family's faces.

Pigsy shoudl be just used to this nonsense by now. In the TMKATI Au; MK was a rogue comet Harbringer baby, the twins were freebies from Diyu, Yuebei was the reincarnation of one of their greatest enemies, the twin boys are likely reincarnated lunar node deities, and ofc now Luzhen decides to spawn in like a chicken egg.

I love the idea of Tang hearing all these gory details like;

Tang: "This is like finding a living dinosaur egg or a thylacine! Imagine if any of your children married a regular monkey demon- it could completely bring back your species!"

Wukong + all Three Realms shudder at the thought - Wukong mostly because he aint never doing that again. Gold Star of Venus and Lao Tzu hum, intrigued at the thought.

Tang starts crying when he realises that single-parent Stone Monkeys would likely be born orphans. It's so sad! :'(

6: Nah, Luzhen pops out all newborn baby. You see, being born fully-developed from a Stone Egg is a huge rarity; only occurring when the whole troop has died out and the egg is left on its own for thousands of years. If a Stone Monkey parent is "awoken" early enough (like within say 500-600 years) in the Egg's development and tended to quickly, their bodies stabilize into a long, but far less dangerous form of pregnancy. Its a safeguard for in case the pregnant survivor of an extinct group is found by a new troop, the parent survives and can live to possibly reproduce with the new unrelated group (higher chance of viable mates).

The only sacrifice being that the babies in these "soft-boiled" Stone Eggs are a lot weaker, premature even. The eggs themselves having a much higher chance of being empty or just absorbing straight back into the parent. Many who survived the process just sighed, it was the law of nature - why risk a possible baby for the parent when survival is preferred?

Luzhen is able to be born simply because Wukong has such a solid support system and healthcare available to him.

Ty for all these asks! I guess I should make a special "Stone Egg talk" tag for these ideas!

#stone egg talk #jttw theories #lmk #lego monkie kid #sun wukong #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #journey to the west #jttw #sun luzhen #lmk sun luzhen #pregnancy tw #lmk aus #jttw aus #gold star of venus #lao tzu #laozi #guanyin #lmk guanyin #lmk lao tzu #jttw stone egged au

[ladytemeraire]

Listening to Epic again and I'm just now catching how the verses in "Survive" are the exact same cadence and notes as Zeus' lines in "The Horse and the Infant" and HOOOOO BOYYYYYY DO I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT THIS

Cuz at its core, it's the exact same fight! It's a battle he's not completely ready to fight! He's a warrior and fully believes he's ready for it, but this is "a foe who won't run, unlike anyone [he has] faced before"; there is something lurking under the surface that he hasn't anticipated and isn't ready to accept, and he's not prepared to pay the price of victory. And yet he has to pay that price ("the blood on your hands is something you won't lose - all you can choose is whose"), and it completely changes him as a person and drives his character arc for the rest of the story. JORGE YOU ABSOLUTE MADLAD GENIUS.

WHICH IS ALSO deliberately echoed in the lyric "six hundred lives at stake; it's just one life to take, and when we kill him then our journey's over" - referring both to Polyphemus and Astyanax! Because Odysseus and by extension his crew really think that they can fight this one battle and be done with it!!! God!!!!!

#ladytemeraire talks about fictional characters #Epic the musical #The Odyssey #music is emotion searching for words #this musical is a MASTERCLASS in leitmotifs and echoes and parallels #if it doesn't get a full musical release I will RIOT

[jariten]

My Favorite Manga from 2023: Part 1

And now that the themes are over and done with, here are my general favorite reads from 2023:

夕暮れへ (Offshore Lightning), Saito Nazuna [Drawn & Quarterly, trans. Alexa Frank]

柔道部物語 (Judo-bu Monogatari), Makoto Kobayasho [Kodansha Bunko ver.]

ZERO, Taiyo Matsumoto [Shogakukan Bunko ver.]

Midori no Uta: Shuushuu Gunfuu/Lü Zhī Gē - Shōují Qún Fēng (緑の歌 - 収集群風 -/綠之歌 -收集群風-), Yan Gao

動物たち (Doubutsu-tachi), Panpanya

月館の殺人 (Tsukidate no Satsujin), Noriko Sasaki & Yukito Ayatsuji [Shogakukan Bunko ver]

I will skip the latter three titles as I already talked about them in earlier roundups, but let me once again say that they're very good and I enjoyed them so much.

I always seem to find a work that gets stuck in pre-order purgatory and in 2023 Offshore Lightning finally made it out. After Talk to My Back and The Sky is Blue With a Single Cloud I was really looking forward to seeing who Drawn & Quarterly had picked this time. Of course I wasn't disappointed (and surprised that it was a one-shot collection I had been half eyeing in Japanese for a while). Saito Nazuna delivers some poignant stories about families at a breaking point as well as life and death. I was personally very taken by In Captivity and House of Solitary Death, which are the more recent stories in the collection.

I got my sports manga fixes in this year too. First one I had hyped myself up for for years and the namesake of a previous favorite...the oft referenced in the Makoto Kobayashi-verse: Judo-bu Monogatari. When Sango Jugo (whose name is literally the kanji numerals 3 5 15) gets tricked into joining his school's low ranking Judo club. After surviving a brutal hazing ritual it would seem he's only sticking around out of spite, but after what seemed to be a fluke win could it be that he actually got a talent for this sport? Thus begins Jugo's 3 year journey as a high school Judo athlete. I already knew that Kobayashi is one of the best sequential artists in the game but I'm just blown away over and over by him andhis mastery of the comic format. Add the trademark outrageous visual comedy and the charming cast of characters; I rank it with Slam Dunk as one of the few manga that get physical reactions of true excitement and happiness out of me. (In fact, Makoto Kobayashi is named as one of Takehiko Inoue's influences)

I also finally read Matsumoto's ZERO which had intrigued me since the editor's afterword in Ping Pong that described the two works as related. And I don't know where to begin, blown away, entranced, had me thinking and wondering, absorbed in one sitting. The bunko edition also included extras from the 2018 edition like a editor's and author's retrospective, and a short comic written by the scriptwriter of Takemitsu Samurai, Issei Eifuku who was around for the development phase of ZERO.

#my scans #recommendation corner #roundup #long post

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

do you guys know of any fics where kurt or blaine likes being called pet names a lot? or when they begin to try them out and one admits they like it and want to continue using them?

I know that in most of her fics, @gleefulpoppet uses pet names. Here is one example, but check out the rest.

Pressed against the Glass by @gleefulpoppet

Is it possible that the most extraordinary love story ever told starts on a chilly October morning in New York with an impromptu twirl and an elbow to a stranger’s face? Kurt wouldn’t have thought so, but when it happens, his heart stops. It’s just one touch, but is that all it takes to believe? Should he take a chance and never look back? But what happens when the stranger runs away, even though he finally feels complete and brought to life? Is it just a dream—or will he let his walls come down? Will they live with regrets or find the love that will make them feel young forever?

AKA: The one about soulmates (by choice) and the italicized Oh.

~~~~~

In this one< Blaine calls him "babe" or "Baby" a lot, and at first Kurt isn't sure.

Go your own way by zavacado

Kurt Hummel just wants to get through his Junior Year at McKinley in one piece. But when the new guy from Dalton Academy Reform School for Boys takes an alarming interest in him, he's certain he's going to be in for a wild ride. Badboy!Blaine, Klaine, AU

~~~~~

From a previous ask - check out these:

The Symphony Verse by shandyall

Blaine has spent most of his life feeling like the only thing people notice about him is that he stutters. He’s working hard to overcome his (mostly self created) roadblocks when he meets Kurt in an online class the summer after his freshman year of college.

~~~~~

Glory Series by  Cleverboots (Amberlovesocean)

Kurt is assaulted after singing at a school dance and is left for dead, thrown aboard an empty train car at the railroad freight yard to hide the crime.

He wakes up to find he’s been tossed off the car somewhere in an Oregon logging camp, 2500 miles from home. A curly-haired kid named Blaine finds Kurt and protects him by hiding him in his cabin and teaching him how to survive.

~~~~~

When The Time Is Right by @fictionallylost

Kurt is 25, successful, handsome and sought after by all, but still looking for more, Bar Owner Blaine 10 years his senior is on the exact same journey of looking for love and life. A/U

~~~~~

Westerville Abbey Verse by @hkvoyage

Blaine is the second son of the earl of Westerville, and is considered the spare heir. After his 18th birthday, he attends the London Season to fulfill his duty of finding a wife. He soon realizes he is more attracted to the new footman. Kurt, who has just arrived at Westerville Abbey to work alongside his father, becomes equally as smitten with the earl’s youngest son. Will Blaine and Kurt be able to overcome their class differences in 1910s England? Will their forbidden love survive WW1? A Downton Abbey inspired historical Klaine AU.

~~~~~

Let us know anymore! ~Jen

#klaine fanfiction #fic finder #klaine fanfic #pet names

[ffiahh]

PROJECT PLUTO

Please Don't Leave Me.

A journey on Vi learning how to accept and give affection again.

Pairings: Modern!Touch-Starved!Sub!Bottom! Vi x Masc!POC!Dom!Top!RugbyPlayer!OC! Aspen

Content Warning: Brief self-deprecating thoughts, cursing, brief mention of sexual harassment/assault, description of brief panic attack/meltdown, self-doubt, brief mention of death/dying (no one died). SMUT WARNING: choking/gagging (fingers), fingering, face-sitting, tribbing, description of spit, power play, praise, orgasm denial, back scratching, slight description of overstimulation, dirty talk, aftercare.

Word Count: 6.9K

☾*:･ﾟ✧. Now, now, don't look at the word count and get discouraged, that also applies to the x reader being x OC. Being top/bottom and Sub/Dom, are not the same, top/bottom determines whether you 'receive it' or not, and Dom/Sub determines control; you can be a Dom and also be a bottom; thought I would clarify. OC has vitiligo, not the focal point of the plot, but Vi likes looking at them. I know shit all about rugby, I just really like looking at hot, muscly, sweaty ladies wrestle each other for a ball. Vi is really fucking cute in here, I liked writing her in this.

VIOLET loved affection; she loved it in any form she could get. She sought out anyone’s love language and adapted; gave them affection the way they wanted it. She always made sure she had a comforting hand on those she cared about, made sure they felt safe. Powder was one of them; the way she looked up at Vi with her large eyes, leaning into her hand, with the softest, gentlest smile. For someone who had a heavy hand; well-versed in the art of violence; Vi was incredibly gentle, loving. Violet craved just as much affection, loved the way Powder always reached up on her tiptoes to encase her in a hug so warm; it would almost burn her insides. She loved the way little Ekko would almost always jump on his feet to hug Vi. Vi was a gentle soul with a good heart.   

It was a lot more difficult now.  

Prison was a shitty place. It was dark, and cold and hard. Literally. Vi took more beatings than she had food. It was shitty enough for Vi to finally understand to keep her hands to only fighting; nobody in prison wanted to fucking cuddle. Cuddling was absent in prison; kissing wasn’t a thing and sex was something forced. Vi of course knew going to prison wasn’t sunshine and rainbows; it was horrible, and traumatic and would always follow her. It burns into the back of her brain, fizzing in front of her eyes whenever she lets her mind talk. So, the touch of a gentle hand felt foreign to her now, a mere distant memory; Vi craved it though, she had to scold herself to keep her hands in her pockets whenever she talked to Ekko, whenever she could even get the chance to speak to… Jinx; they were old now, a hollow shell of what’s left of their childhood; they didn’t snuggle into her hugs anymore, didn’t rely on the strength of her hands to let their heads rest in her palms. Whose fault is that? You stupid bitch.  

Violet hates affection now. She doesn’t know who to give it to, she doesn’t know who to ask it from. Violet was unsure if she would enjoy it now, if it would feel different because she maybe grew out of the affectionate person she was; all because she was trying to survive. Violet has other things to worry about; like getting Powder back, or worrying if someone was going to attack her. Vi had to look over her shoulder, she never stopped but somehow it felt more daunting doing it all alone. Violet was an adult; it was time she started acting like one.

Aspen changed that though, she bulldozed her way through with that stupid, cocky smirk, with her insane, towering height and impressive build. Vi reluctantly let her through; Aspen was persistent and annoying, she tells herself that; but secretly enjoys the way Aspen so effortlessly flirts with her, or the way she could see Aspen’s dark eyes, and smouldering gaze wash over her figure. It was refreshing, and Aspen was funny. 

Meeting Aspen for the first time felt like a ton of bricks fell down her head and through her body. Aspen was annoying, never stopped flirting with her and was never embarrassed about admiring Vi.

Vi remembered the day she walked into the Last Drop; she had just gotten out of prison; and somehow, Vi felt no ounce of feeling. Hollow maybe was the right word, there but not there. Zaun was here, Ekko was, Jinx as well, but Powder was gone, Vi could barely remember what Mylo and Claggor looked like; and she saw Vander in that large statue every time she walked through Zaun. It was surreal being back in Zaun after so many years, everything was the way it had been when she left, but she felt unfamiliar; like as if she would get pelted by rocks until she was forced to leave. It was her home, but it was cold.

Vi was thankful for her hood, she could easily slip into the bar without gaining any sort of attention. Vi didn’t bother looking around the Last Drop, it wasn’t her home anymore; she had no right to melt away into the familiar scent of alcohol anymore. It wasn’t her home anymore.

Vi was a taking a sip from her glass when she first felt the gaze from Aspen; she could literally feel her presence; it was large, as large as her; with her large shoulders and thick thighs that strained against the fabric of her trousers. It felt as though the bar would part per her demand, kneel in front of her just to get her approval. There was an air of authority around her, one that wafted through her and lingered behind her, much like a cologne; a deep burnt scent.

The rest of Vi’s night carried on like that, with Vi- at first- feeling wary with Aspen’s glances before it turned into something softer, and inviting. They didn’t talk that night, or the night after that, or the night after that.

“Hey.” Until one night. Vi looked up from her glass, her eyes running over the expanse of Aspen’s legs, over her exposed torso- God, those V-lines, to her face. Aspen’s face held a small smirk, one hand lazily in her pocket. “Is this seat taken?”

Vi seemingly flushed by Aspen’s sheer, demanding presence and insane beauty just nodded as she scooted over the booth, allowing space for Aspen to sit.

“I haven’t seen you around from here. Just moved?”

This is my home. “Yup. Came from a land far away from here.”

Vi quickly realises that she has a big mouth, with no fear to speak her mind. And that her name is Aspen.  

“You’re pretty, does someone have you?”

Vi stops midway from taking her drink, her cheeks heating up as she sneaks a glance at Aspen. “No. Why? You want me?”

Aspen doesn’t answer Vi’s question, just lets her eyes flicker down Vi’s form as a smirk tugs on the corner of her mouth. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright.” Aspen repeats, she’s about to take a sip from her drink before she catches Vi’s incredulous look. “What? I can’t ask a pretty thing like you if you’re taken? Are you uncomfortable?”

Vi blinks up at Aspen, she was expecting a taunting tone from Aspen’s second question, but just gets a lilt of genuine concern in Aspen’s voice, and a slight furrow of her eyebrows on her otherwise playful face. Vi snaps out of her daze, with a small shake of her head. “You just didn’t answer my question.”

Aspen just smirks again, that same lazy one that’s lopsided and sexy. “Okay.”

“Hey, Bubblegum.” 

Vi rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her drink as she sneaked a glance at Aspen from the corner of her eyes. The purple neon lights of the bar washed over Aspen’s skin; the way it brightened the lighter patches and the way it seemed to melt into the rest of her darker skin. Always so beautiful. “Stop calling me that.” 

Aspen lets out a playful scoff, taking a seat on the booth next to her. “Only if you stop dying your hair red. Besides, it suits you.” 

Vi scoffs quietly, rolling her eyes. “How? And don’t say my hair.” 

Aspen smirks from behind her glass, the corner of her lip pulling up, before her eyes trail down Vi’s form. “Definitely not cause of your bubble butt.” 

Vi can feel her cheeks heat up, she takes another gulp from her glass. “I don’t-” Vi trails off, her eyes washing over Aspen’s face; the arch of her nose; the way her nose ring shimmered under the light, the odd splotches of white on her otherwise dark skin, or the way her dark hair looks so thick even with an undercut. Vi greedily lets her gaze wander over Aspen’s form; her broad shoulders, or the relaxed abs, or the happy trail peeking from her trou-

“You checking me out, baby?” 

Vi blushes, turning her head. She hopes the dark lighting and the colour of her drink hides her red cheeks. “No.” Shit, Vi. You answered too fast and you couldn't keep your eyes to yourself. 

“No?” Vi could hear the tease in Aspen’s voice, she could feel Aspen’s eyes on her. “I don’t mind. I want your pretty eyes on me.” 

Well, fuck. 

Vi could only take another sip from her drink, swirling the alcohol in her glass, before she puffs her cheeks out in embarrassment. “Well- it was just- you-” Vi ends up sighing, drinking the last of her drink before placing it on the table. 

Aspen only hummed; her eyes flitting down Vi’s form again with a smirk, before she lets her head hang backwards, leaning back in her seat, her legs separating to find a more comfortable position as she closed her eyes. Vi’s eyes widened, her cheeks burning up again. Is she doing this on purpose? What is she- why does she look so good? “Wh-what are you doing?” 

Aspen turned her head to look at Vi, her dark gaze once again washing over her form. “Relaxing. Why?” 

Vi shrugs, leaning back in her seat as she takes the courage to look at Aspen. “You’re just usually so loud and annoying.”

Aspen lets out a short laugh, revealing a set of white, almost crooked teeth. “Very funny. Just tired, sweetheart.” Aspen lets out another long sigh, settling back into the booth chair. “Rugby’s been kicking my ass.” 

“Wh-” Hot. “You play rugby? That definitely explains the physique.” 

Aspen smirks, her eyes opening slightly. “Knew it. You were definitely checking me out.” 

Vi blushes again, averting her eyes. “Shut up.”

“You want to come to my rugby match? You can see more of my hot, sweaty muscles.” 

And die at the scene of Aspen’s hot, muscled body straining as she tackles other players? No, thank you. “Yes.” Fuck.

Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the short life of Vi: ex-convict, anarchist and raging fucking lesbian.

Vi should have disagreed, she should have put her foot down and told Aspen she would be busy clipping her nails. Vi was stuck in a crowd full of loud, angry rugby fans, the wind was cold; nipping her ears and nose, and some stupid kid was kicking the back of her chair. The worst part? Vi could see the way Aspen looked; dressed in her uniform; the short sleeves hugging the curves of her biceps. She saw everything. The way Aspen’s hair flew around her face in her ponytail; the way her thick, dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration and the oh so wonderful sight of Aspen’s muscles contracting whenever she effortlessly tackled another player. The worse worst part? Vi was sitting in front of row.

Vi didn’t know anything about rugby, she just knew how much it affected her to see Aspen play the sport. The Gods hated her apparently, because it seems as though Aspen was popular among the crowd; her face showing up on the large screen from time to time. Vi didn’t think she was good with eye contact, it was a vulnerable feeling; it was awkward, but with Aspen it was easy; like breathing. Vi soon looked away though, glad that the cold air can be an excuse for her red cheeks, and even in the cool air; her whole body burned with Aspen’s gaze washing over her, her stupid smirk falling into a concentrated stare before Vi could even stare at it. The crowd didn’t mind watching her move across the field, getting a little louder every time she showed up; and for whatever reason that irked Vi.

Aspen’s team won, and somehow Vi found herself with Aspen and her friends in a restaurant. Aspen had asked her so sweetly, and Vi was tired, worn out, but she didn’t have the heart to refuse Aspen. Aspen’s friends were loud, much louder than Aspen; and it rung in her ears a little, but Vi could at least zone out as she snuck glances at Aspen’s tattoo that ran in between her breasts; it was a simple one: the life cycle of the moon, but it enhanced Aspen’s beauty, melted well with the rest of her mismatched skin that Vi’s own tattoos couldn’t compare.  

The next thing Vi gave her attention to was well-deserved too; it was the soft tuft of dark hair that hung from Aspen’s belly button, through the faint lines of Aspen’s muscled abdomen and disappeared into the band of her trousers. Vi could only thank Aspen’s choice to wear a shirt that was split open in the middle, tucked into her trousers; showing the curve of her breasts.

Vi sneaked a glance at Aspen, who was weirdly quiet. Her eyebrows were drawn in; not in the way she looked when playing rugby, but in the way that it also pulled her top lip into a subtle snarl. Aspen’s jaw was locking, as she grinded her teeth together so hard, Vi could almost hear it.

Aspen was jealous, because Vi realised that one of Aspen’s friend had taken a liking to Vi. She would have felt flattered or embarrassed that somebody liked her enough to give her glances, but it was amusing to see Aspen so possessive over someone she hasn't even got.

“I need to use the bathroom.” Vi announced, stepping up from her seat, a few of them acknowledged Vi, so she left without another word. Vi didn't bother to acknowledge the gaze that Aspen had on her until the bathroom door closed behind her. She could almost feel it burn a hole in her back.

Vi was washing her hands when the bathroom door opened, she only looked up briefly before she looked down to dry off her hands. “Need to tinkle, Aspen?”

“No.” Aspen felt much closer, Vi had barely any room to turn. She said nothing as she rested against the sink, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked up at Aspen.

“What?” Vi didn't feel nervous, though she could hear feel her heart pounding in her chest at the close proximity of Aspen. Vi breathed in through her nose once and concluded she smelt like burnt wood.

Aspen’s eyes trailed over Vi’s face, creating a map of her most favourite points on Vi’s face; her bent bridge, her large puppy dog eyes; the scar running through her top lip and eyebrow. Aspen wanted to kiss it all. “I want to kiss you so bad.”

Vi didn't need to strain her ears to catch what Aspen was saying, it flew from Aspen’s mouth easily, like as if she had been saying it out loud over and over again. She just fluttered her eyes, letting out a brief sigh and small nod.

Vi didn't stop her when Aspen caught her lips with her own, she definitely didn't stop her when her fingers dug into Vi’s waist. Vi could feel Aspen’s chest press into hers, she could feel the edge of the sink digging into her back, but Vi could only reach up to claw her fingers at Aspen’s neck, hoping to bring her closer. Their kiss was crazy, and rushed. It was loud and wet, and put Vi into a daze where nothing but small whimpers came from her mouth.

Everything around them was a blur as they moulded their mouths together and when Aspen let go with a small ‘pop’, her chest raising and falling rapidly as she sucked in sharp breaths, Vi had to stop herself from leaning on her feet to reach Aspen’s mouth again. Vi could feel her own chest moving to let more air in, and could feel the pad of Aspen’s thumb run across Vi’s lips.

“Are you comfortable enough for me to take you home?”

Vi felt like a bobble head, nodding as she tried to keep her hands around the edge of the sink. She's touched Aspen enough.

Aspen didn’t feel like it was enough; she caught Vi’s lips with her own again; pressing her body unbelievably closer to Vi’s. She could feel Aspen’s hands claw at Vi’s shirt, almost as if she wanted to undress her here; in the dingy bathroom at the equally dingy restaurant.

It wasn’t long until Aspen was guiding Vi out of the bathroom, her hand placed on the small of her back; dangerously close to the curve of Vi’s ass. Aspen didn’t bother bidding bye to her friends, only gives Vi an eager kiss, and when she reaches up to try and smack Aspen’s shoulder in hopes of living through her embarrassment; which didn’t work because Aspen’s friends only cheered on; where the rest of the patrons in the restaurant could only look on in distaste.

Things got calmer when they reached Aspen’s house, and by the time Aspen had taken her to her bedroom; Vi suddenly found the patterns on Aspen’s blanket interesting, she was feeling doubtful and nervous, Aspen could see that; as much as she liked looking at Vi when she couldn’t hold eye contact; she could see it. Aspen crouches by the bed, her hands resting on Vi’s knees.

“What’s wrong?”

Vi just shrugs, still refusing to look at Aspen; she’s glad that her hair’s covering her face. She felt stupid, so stupid that she eagerly agreed to come back here, only to not follow through with it. It felt like a promise broken, and yet Vi was determined to fulfill.

“You nervous?”

Vi purses her lips, puffing her cheeks out slightly before she shakes her head. Vi blows out a short breath from her mouth. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Could be anything. We don’t have to do anything-”

“I want to! It just-” Vi sighs, she can feel her heart thundering in her chest; her mouth felt dry and her eyes felt too watery. Vi closed her eyes tight, pursing her lips as she looks away. “I haven’t had a-a normal human interaction since- when- since before I got arrested. I-It- it was- it was my fault. I led everybody to that stupid apartment, we-we just wanted to find some things to steal, and- and it went wrong-”

“Okay, hey.” Aspen reaches out her hands to hold Vi’s face, squeezing her cheeks; letting her thumbs run over the bridge of her nose and her cheek. “Take deep breaths for me, okay?”

Vi swallowed deeply; her lips trembling as she let her eyes trail over Aspen’s face. Her heart was still beating against her ribcage; she could almost see the curves and jumps it made across her chest; it thundered throughout her whole body.

“Okay.”

“When was this?”

Vi was quiet as she racked her mind for an answer, she didn’t get distracted by the open view of Aspen’s torso under her open shirt. She was starting to remember everything now; and wanted to bury it all again. Vi could only let her head rest heavily against Aspen, when she chose to sit on the bed next to Vi. “Seven years... I think?” 

“Seven- that was- you were kid then. For something as petty as theft? That was not your fault, and you shouldn’t have gone through that, okay?”

“Okay.” Vi didn’t believe her.

They ended up not having sex, they just curled around each other as they slept through the night. Vi didn’t mind; Aspen was warm; even if she did sleep shirtless; her skin warmed up quickly. Aspen certainly didn’t mind; she like the feeling of holding Vi to her chest as she slept.

Vi woke up; feeling warm; enveloping her back and chest, and realised it was the closeness of Aspen pressed against her back, and the weight of her heavy forearm wrapped around Vi’s shoulders and a firm hold on her waist; Vi was literally caged in, so she didn’t bother moving. Vi stayed quiet as she ran the tip of her nose across Aspen’s arm, feeling the sparse hair tickling her face. She stayed like that; her face buried in Aspen’s forearm, under the golden glow of the sun swimming through the room. It felt like the morning after sex, except Vi’s body didn’t feel sore and Aspen hadn’t touched her at all.

Soon the hand wrapped around her hip twitched, followed by a momentary squeeze around her body before Aspen let go; stretching her limbs with a quiet groan. Aspen soon settled back in, her arms finding home again around Vi’s body. “Have you been awake long?”

Vi nearly shuddered at Aspen’s voice, it was gravelly and deep; the kind that scratched at the back of the throat. “Not long.”

Aspen hummed, before she rolled over to get out of bed, leaving Vi to recoil at the absence of her touch. “You wanna take a shower?”

Vi looked up at Aspen; who was shuffling through her wardrobe. Vi’s mind momentarily stopped at the sight of Aspen’s back and shoulder muscles, contracting as she moved. Thank you, rugby. “You telling me I stink?”

Aspen laughed, standing up with a towel and a change of clothes for Vi. “No, of course not, baby. I like your natural musk.” Aspen teased.

Having a shower made Vi feel better, her body felt cooler; her muscles were more relaxed. Aspen’s shirt on her just about fit, hanging over her broad shoulders and stopping just below her hips. Her trousers fit her better, Aspen insisted it was because of her ‘bubble butt’.

Aspen soon walked out a towel wrapped around her waist, her chest out on display as she used a smaller towel to dry her hair. Vi didn’t feel embarrassed at her exposed torso; privacy was a gift in prison. Her eyes kept wandering back to Aspen’s pierced nipples; the pretty golden hearts; melted well against Aspen’s mismatched skin. Vi wasn’t ashamed to keep staring when Aspen’s towel falls to the floor; her eyes trailing over the curve of Aspen’s well sculpted ass, the corded muscles in her back and the way her thighs flexed when she put her tracksuit bottoms on.

Vi sighs, leaning back on her hands on the bed as she stared at Aspen. “Do you not want to have sex with me?”

Aspen stops tying the drawstring on her tracksuit bottoms as she looks up at Vi; her dark eyebrows were furrowed before her face softens as she lets her hands fall to her sides. “Only if you’re ready. Are you ready?”

“Thought I was last night.”

“You nearly had a breakdown, Vi. You weren’t in the right headspace; I would never take advantage of you like that.”

Vi was quiet, as she bites the inside of her mouth. She looks away when Aspen lazily saunters over to Vi; puffing her cheeks out.

Aspen lets out a quiet laugh; her fingers squeezing Vi’s chin, before they slide up to Vi’s jaw. “Why are you pouting?”

Vi huffs, subconsciously leaning into Aspen’s hand, failing to keep her eye roll contained. “Am not.”

“Now, you’re being a brat.” Aspen warns, her thumb digging into the side of Vi’s jaw, before they slide over Vi’s mouth, tracing the divot of her scar. “Want me to fuck you, Bubblegum?”

Vi swallowed thickly, her lips parting to form a sentence before it gets stuck in her throat. Her mind had left her body as she can only stare up at Aspen, it was hazy and Aspen wasn’t even doing anything. She stood over Vi with that imposing height, and that lazy grin.

“Hmm?” Aspen’s hand doesn’t let go of Vi’s jaw, her other hand slipping into the pocket of her tracksuit bottoms, as she stared down at Vi. When Vi doesn’t answer, Aspen merely chuckles; her forefinger and thumb gently pinching Vi’s bottom lip, pulling on it slightly. “Quite the sight. Lovely angle.”

Vi averts her eyes, feeling the heat seep into her cheeks; that was mistake as the only thing she could see was the faint ridges of Aspen’s abs, dusted with a trail of hair hanging from her bellybutton. Vi let her eyes dart over the various milky puddles on Aspen’s brown skin, before her breath hitched at Aspen’s command.

“Open your mouth, sweet thing. Tongue out.”

Vi listens, letting her lips part as her tongue rolls out. She can feel her heart thunder in her chest, as she anxiously waits for whatever comes next. Vi realised she quite liked this scenario; liked the way Aspen had a hold on her figuratively and literally. Perhaps, it was the rush of adrenaline or the excitement of doing something other than surviving. She felt grounded and she felt safe.  

She swallowed thickly when the weighted feeling of Aspen’s fingers sat on her tongue; Vi listened before Aspen had opened her mouth, closing her lips around her fingers; swirling her tongue over Aspen’s rough pads of her fingers.

“Good girl.” Aspen coos, her lip curling up as she hears a small, quiet sound from the back of Vi’s throat; something akin to a hum and whimper. Aspen doesn’t bother moving, just tilts her head as she stares down at Vi; the way her large eyes blinked up at Aspen. “Feel good?”

Vi just blinked blearily up at Aspen, a quiet whine spilling past her mouth; as she sucked harder on Aspen’s fingers. Vi didn’t feel embarrassed; she didn’t really have time to feel it, just very, very eager to please Aspen; and if that meant letting Aspen stuff her fingers down her throat, then so be it. Vi hummed around Aspen’s fingers, squirming slightly on her seat on the edge of the bed: she could feel the tips of Aspen’s fingers slide closer to the back of her mouth; it was so slow that Vi nearly didn’t catch it.

Vi whined again; her mouth widening slightly as tears sprung her eyes; she felt the urge to gag; her fingers quickly finding Aspen’s forearm, tightening around the muscles. Aspen’s fingers were so far down her mouth; it probably should have come out from the back of Vi’s neck.

“Breathe, baby. Through your nose. You can do it, pretty girl.”

Vi felt her skin heat up at the praise, as well as the familiar tingle up her spine. She listened, taking deep breaths through her nose, before the weight of Aspen’s fingers felt lighter. Vi didn’t think she’d enjoy this power play; but she definitely felt her boxers soak through, she might as well be sitting in a puddle of her own cum.    

Aspen still didn’t let go when strings of saliva fell from Vi’s mouth; and down Aspen’s hand. Aspen merely spared it a glance before they slid up to Vi again. In Aspen’s eyes, Vi looked divine; the way her grey eyes seemed larger, softer; almost as if she’d fall into a deep sleep, just by looking at Aspen. Maybe it the sight of Vi submitting so easily, even with the witty and snarky exterior, or perhaps Aspen just liked looking at the curves and sharp ridges of Vi’s muscles throughout her body; especially at this angle.

Aspen cooed, when she felt Vi’s mouth tighten around her fingers with a strangled whine. “I know, I know, it's messy. But you're doing so well for me.” Vi couldn't help but follow Aspen with her eyes, her mouth not letting go of Aspen’s fingers, as Aspen found a seat behind Vi. “You’re a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Vi let out a tiny gasp, as Aspen’s fingers suddenly disappeared from her mouth. “Yeah.” Vi could only pant, placing a hand on her chest to calm her racing heart; she could feel some wet patches of her trousers, and could feel the sticky dried spit down her chin.

Vi leaned back into Aspen’s chest, her hand clutching onto the edge of the mattress while the other tentatively rests on Aspen’s thigh, and when she got no resistance did Vi squeeze her fingers around the muscle.

Vi squirmed, feeling Aspen’s hand run over her thighs, and her warm breath hit the back of her neck and ear. “You gonna let me play with you, baby girl?”

“Fu- yeah. Yes please.”

Aspen laughed, a quiet soft sound that swam through Vi’s ears like butter. “So polite.” Aspen had to stop herself from groaning out loud, as her fingers slipped slowly into Vi’s boxers; easily slipping through her folds, Aspen could already feel the familiar sticky substance on the pads of her fingers. “Taking my fingers in your mouth excited you a bit too much, eh?”

Vi sucked in a sharp breath, biting her bottom lip as she tried to keep her hips from bucking into Aspen’s touch. “Sh-shut up.”

Aspen said nothing, but instead leans in to press a few kisses across the curve of Vi’s neck and over her shoulder. Aspen’s fingers were lazy, just running through her core and purposely missing the round nub that sat atop her pussy.

“Y-you're doing that on purpose. Fuck me better.”

Aspen laughed, her teeth sinking into the muscle on Vi’s shoulder, before licking it gently. “I wanna take my time with you. You wanna leave me that quickly?”

Vi tuts, the sound turning into a little whine when Aspen’s thumb pressed into her nub, sending a glare at Aspen when her thumb slips down her folds.

Aspen laughed again, her spare hand reaching to rest on Vi’s stomach, her fingers running over Vi’s relaxed muscles. “Needy little thing, aren't you?”

Vi huffs out, her cheeks puffing slightly as she bites the inside of her mouth. Her fingers dig into Aspen’s thigh, feeling the muscle ripple under her palm in response before she looks up to Aspen. “J-just touch me. Please.”

Aspen’s face softens, her eyebrows curling in as her mouth curls into a playful pout. “Aw, well... if you keep looking at me with those large puppy eyes...” Aspen obliges, pressing her thumb into the small nub, smiling when Vi hisses in pleasure; leaning further back into Aspen’s body.

Aspen was cruel, Vi decided. No matter how many times Vi glared up at Aspen or dug her nails harder into her leg, Aspen wouldn't let her cum; going as far moving her hand back; marvelling at the sight of Vi slowly being pulled out of her pleasured state, with a small snarl and angry curve of her eyebrows.

“Aspen! This is the 3rd time now!”

Aspen laughed at Vi’s cute glare, reaching to kiss the cute little scrunch on her broken bridge, reeling back just in time to avoid Vi’s teeth biting down on her cheek.

Vi huffs out a breath, roughly grabbing ahold of Aspen’s hand, pushing them down Vi’s boxers again, settling back down once she feels Aspen’s fingers press against her entrance.

Aspen raises an eyebrow, her hand momentarily stopping to stare at Vi with a teasing smile. “Oh?” Aspen eyebrows raises even further when Vi sits up.

Her hands hover over Vi’s hips, as she turns around in Aspen’s lap; kneeling on either side of Aspen’s thighs. Aspen looks up at Vi, the tip of her subtle fang peeking through, as she finally settles her hands on her waist. “Oh? Taking the lead are we?”

Vi lets out a grunt, her thighs shaking slightly when Aspen finally, finally slips her hands down her trousers again. Vi lets out a quiet breathless moan, cursing under her breath when Aspen’s fingers slip inside her easily. “Y-you're so annoying. Ah- sh-shit.” Vi curses under her breath again, her fingers absentmindedly clawing at Aspen’s shoulders, before she presses an eager kiss to Aspen’s mouth.

“Is that why you're fucking yourself on my fingers, baby?”

Vi doesn't say anything, just presses her forehead to Aspen’s shoulder. She can feel her thighs jerk every time Aspen’s presses into her, whining when Aspen's fingers move at a faster pace. “You better let me cum this time.” Vi can feel herself getting closer, can feel it in the way her body shook, and the way she kept pushing her hips into Aspen’s hand.

“Hm, I don't-” Aspen cut off that thought when Vi looks up, her eyebrows drawing as she glares at Aspen. “Alright! You can cum, baby. You've done so well.” Aspen coos, leaning forward to press a trail of kisses across Vi’s shoulders, pushing her shirt out of the way to carry on down her chest.

Vi orgasm- finally- hit her hard, it was easier to hold onto Aspen as she fucked her through the orgasm, and she didn't let up until Vi had to push her hand away to avoid the onslaught of overstimulation. “T-too much, Aspen.”

Vi let out a breath, letting her body fall forward into Aspen, burying her face in Aspen’s neck. “I did it.” Her voice was quiet, but Aspen heard it clearly, and made it her smile.

“Yeah, you did. So proud of you. You did so well for me.” Aspen ran her hands over Vi’s hips and thighs, as she waited for her to come down from her high, before wrapping her arms fully around Vi’s waist.

Vi let out a yelp, feeling her body fall back onto the mattress, and blinking up at the sight of Aspen leaning over her. Vi was speechless; Aspen at this angle, looked good. She liked the way her muscles tightened under her skin, and the way her dark hair created a short curtain around her face.

Vi spluttered, leaning up on her elbows when she felt Aspen tug on her trousers, pulling them down along with her boxers. “More? Are you even human?”

Aspen laughed, her thumbs slipping past the band, and sliding it down her muscled legs. “I'm a hungry man, I’ve got a taste, I want more.”

“Wh- you're not tired?”

“I'm a rugby player. I’m never tired.”

Vi ended up finding herself digging her nails into the muscled expanse of Aspen’s back, scratching them deep enough to break skin and definitely leave marks. Vi tried to keep her moans in, but they kept spilling out breathlessly; she could feel the warmth of Aspen’s pussy grinding against her own, and the embarrassing sound of squelching every time Aspen pressed against her harder. Vi dug her fingers in deeper, pulling at the skin at Aspen’s back when she felt Aspen hurl her hips higher; feeling the pressure of pleasure buzz through her.

Aspen bit her lip, closing an eye as she smirked tiredly down at Vi. “Damn, baby. You're the scratching type, huh?” Smiling wider when Vi’s eyes roll into the back of her eyes, another whine slipping past her mouth.

Vi curses under her breath, she could feel the bed creak under their weight, and the tight hold she had on Vi’s waist. She could only grunt, and lightly slap Aspen’s back. “Sh-shut up.”

Aspen speeds up a little; letting out her own moan when their clits brushed against each other, liking the way Vi’s body moved under hers, one hand reaching up to move a strand of hair from Vi’s eyes. “A slapper as well? You're gonna bite me next, sweetheart?”

Vi pants, falling back on the pillow, and hissing in pleasure. “Y-you're insufferable.” Vi felt her body shake, squeezing her eyes shut. “G-God, please like that…”

“Good girl. Stay like that for me.” Aspen laughs, and suddenly Vi can feel the heavy weight of Aspen’s hands on either side of her head. “I'm annoying, but you're begging so sweetly with that pretty mouth of yours. Who are you fooling, darling?”

“Shit.” Vi couldn't say anything else, she could only grab onto Aspen’s wrists for support. She felt incredibly sensitive, it didn't help that Aspen slowed every time she saw Vi was close to orgasming again. “Aspen, please.”

Aspen stopped, her chest heaving as she let Vi's hips gently down onto the mattress. Aspen couldn't help but run her hands over Vi’s thighs, marvelling at the sight of her muscles contracting under her touch, before her eyes slid over Vi’s body; taking in the sight of her flushed skin, and her dazed eyes. “I need you to sit on my face.”

Vi raises an eyebrow, falling out of her daze. “You're going to die. Are you crazy?”

Aspen shrugs. “Maybe I am. Send me to heaven.”

Vi could only let out a startled laugh, when she feels Aspen’s hands take hold of her hips; trying to move Vi over her face. Vi holds onto the headboard tightly, looking down at Aspen; who seems very happy at this new position. “You sure you want this?”

Aspen peeked out from under Vi’s legs, looking up at her with an incredulous look. “You know, you can at least break my nose.”

“What?”

“Come on, baby. I’ll wear it with honour. I’ll tell ‘em all that my lady did it to me.”

Vi couldn’t help but blow a raspberry in hopes it would keep her laugh in; it did not work. Her whole body shook as she laughed, and Aspen could only look on with a slight look of impatience as she stared at Vi.

Aspen opened her mouth to speak, but Vi was quick to shut her up by putting her entire weight on Aspen’s face. “Stop talking. Just- f-fuck.” Vi felt the onslaught of Aspen’s tongue quickly; feeling it run through her folds, stopping just above her clit.

Vi’s thighs trembled over Aspen, her fingers digging into the wood of the headboard, while she reaches with her other hand to knead her breast. Aspen liked that view, moaning into Vi’s cunt, as her fingers reached to sink into her own cunt.

Vi gasped out a moan, feeling Aspen’s tongue stretch her entrance slightly as her nose dug into her clit. She couldn’t help but grind herself further into Aspen’s mouth; instantly whining when Aspen wraps her lips around her clit, sucking on it before flattening it out with her tongue.

At some point, Vi could feel her cum leak down her folds, dragging along the inside of her thighs, and she could feel the muscle tense in her thighs for holding herself up for so long. She loses feeling in her thighs, and giving out as she lands on Aspen’s face. Vi leans back up again, with an apologetic whine before gasping as she feels Aspen pull her down again. Vi soon reaches her release, with her hands fisting the pillow underneath Aspen’s head, and Aspen practically suffocating happily under Vi’s weight.  

Sadly, Aspen did not break her nose, Vi found that amusing, and also disgusted that Aspen wanted to kiss her.

“Aspen!” Vi laughed, trying to fend off an eager Aspen; who’s lips were puckered ready for a kiss. “I am not kissing you with that dirty mouth! Clean it.”

Aspen huffs, reaching behind her to pull out tissue paper, wiping her mouth hastily; throwing the soiled paper over her shoulder and pouncing back toward Vi, only to whine out a response when Vi pushes her back. “With water.”

Aspen rolls her eyes but obliges, running into the bathroom. Vi had to keep her amused smile in when she could see the haste mess Aspen was making in her trail to get to Vi quickly, and this time Vi let her settle in; smiling whenever Aspen pressed another kiss to her mouth. “You’re the needy one.”

It was quiet between them after that, Vi was nestled in Aspen’s shoulder, her arms tight around her waist. It was a calm feeling, one that Vi enjoyed a lot; she could feel the tips of Aspen’s otherwise rough fingers trace the lines of her back tattoo. It was a comfortable silence.

Aspen hummed, tightening her arms around Vi as she rests her chin on top of Vi’s head. She could feel the chill on her open, naked body but made no move to fix it. Vi didn’t bother to cover herself up either, just melted into Aspen’s arms.

“Are you sad that I didn’t break your nose?”

“Yes.”

Vi laughs, sneaking a glance at Aspen before shaking her head. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy is what got you under me, ain’t it?” Aspen grins; her hand sneaking down toward the curve of Vi’s ass. “No matter, though. We’ll try again next time.”

Vi should have been focused on the persistent thought that Aspen wanted to sport a bruise after having Vi sit on her, but she was too focused on the next time. “You’d want this again with me?”

“Of course, I would. Not just sex either; I want to take you out and show you off, and date you and introduce you to my friends and my family-” Vi’s heart thundered in her chest at that comment.

“I was good?” Vi mumbles, her eyes averting and her cheeks reddening; she was so quiet that Aspen had to strain her ears, until she heard what she said.

Aspen looked down at Vi and her beautiful, beautiful puppy eyes. Aspen smiled, a certain softness to it rather than her sharp playfulness. “You’re the best girl. You listened so well. You were so good for me.”

Vi could feel a new softer feel blossom in her chest, it warmed her insides and created fumes of happiness that leaked from her pores. Vi just hid her face in the pillow, her fingers running across Aspen’s forearm. “You took control a lot…”

Aspen nods, pulling Vi in closer to her chest; kissing the back of her neck. “I can give up control next time.”

Vi pulls out from her hiding place, looking up at Aspen. “You’d do that?”

Aspen scoffs playfully, her eyes running over Vi’s entire muscled body. “Yeah. Look at you. Muscle mummy. My legs are open.” Aspen lights up, leaning up slightly on her elbows as she gapes down at Vi. “Are we doing this now? Take me. Take me now.”

Vi laughs, tightening her fingers around Aspen’s shirt, pulling her back down on the bed. “Lie back and cuddle me.”

Maybe coming back to Zaun was worth it.

#fiah: project pluto #arcane #arcane imagines #netflix arcane #arcane netflix #arcane league of legends #arcane fanfic #vi arcane #vi league of legends #arcane vi #arcane smut #arcane violet #vi arcane smut #arcane vi x reader #vi x reader #vi x reader smut #vi x you #vi x reader fluff #arcane x reader #vi x oc #vi x oc character #vi #violet #arcane lol

[incognitobobcat]

♈️♉️♊️♋️♌️♍️ Who Am I and What Is My Sign? ♎️♏️♐️♑️♒️♓️

EDIT: ANSWERS ARE NOW POSTED!! Thank you to @puissantveil for being the first (and only one to give a thoughtful and analytical answer! You guessed the characters correctly and most of your zodiac matches were correct 👍 This was really fun to make 😀

Happy New Years, y’all!!

Here’s something fun for y’all!! As the title says, this is a guessing game on who is speaking in the following excerpts and what their zodiac signs are 😁 I think that who the speakers are is easy to guess, since many are fanatics of the Mortal Kombat verse ☺️

The zodiac signs that I feel that the characters are is purely subjective. If you’re an astrology buff and you have strong opinions, that’s fine. This is just for fun.

I will leave this for two weeks and post the answers afterwards.

Anyways, enjoy!

♈️♉️♊️♋️♌️♍️♎️♏️♐️♑️♒️♓️♈️♉️♊️♋️♌️

I. Reiko

I relish combat. I am unapologetic and proud of this.

I was adopted and raised in the art of war, to whom I am eternally grateful to my adopted father for.

I have a strong sense of pride in my accomplishments and accolades. I am a superior warrior compared to those of Outworld and Earthrealm.

A successful army requires structure and discipline.

Despite of how I am perceived, I have principles. I have no respect for Bi-Han for letting his father die, a crime which is unforgivable.

What is my sign? Aries ♈️

II. Ashrah

Transformation is my purpose.

My spiritual journey requires me to die to my old self in order to be reborn as a new being, one which i wholeheartedly take.

I was born of darkness and fire and have committed unforgivable deeds as my former self. But once enlightened of a different way to live, I strive to rise like the Phoenix from the ashes to achieve my absolution.

My power lies in my freewill to choose the path of light.

To others, I am frightening, to others I am mysterious and intriguing, yet to a few, I am an unwavering and loyal friend, an ally, and a protector.

What is my sign? Scorpio ♏️

III. Shang Tsung

In order to achieve my goals and get what I want. I have the ability to persuade and deceive you to accept my views.

I am a wordsmith and my intellect, shrewdness, resourcefulness, creativity, wit and charm are among a few of my assets to aid me survive.

When it serves me, I can be your ally. Oh, how gullible you are to give in to my lies, even though you claim that you don’t trust me.

I have many faces. I have many identities. You may know my by one name, But when I take on a different form, you will never see me coming until it is too late.

What is my sign? Gemini ♊️

IV. Johnny Cage

I am larger than life! I live by #YOLO! If I’ve got money, it slips through my fingers like water.

Fun and entertainment is my purpose and people are drawn in by my energy. My wit comes in the forms of sarcasm and pick-up lines. Hey! isn’t that a mark of intelligence?

Despite my love for women, I can’t seem to take relationships seriously because I am totally all about my pleasure.

Despite me seemingly rubbing off people the wrong way, I’m not a bad guy! In fact, I do have a big heart and I truly care about doing the right thing.

I love going to different places and learning about different cultures. After all, life’s an adventure!

What is my sign? Sagittarius ♐️

V. Raiden

I am patient and steady as the earth. I am content with the simple life if I wasn’t recruited to be one of Earthrealm’s protectors.

When you first meet me, there is nothing remarkable about myself.

I don’t have the great accomplishments and accolades that have graced some warriors, nor do I have any claim to glory or prestige. But what I have and all I have to give, I make up for by heart.

I am loyal to my friends, dedicated to Earthrealm’s cause, and resilient through the challenges and trials of my role.

I release immense power and have the potential to go down a dark path. Once I am set in doing so, I will stop at nothing until all threats are neutralized.

What is my sign? Taurus ♉️

VI. Scorpion (Kuai Liang)

Unlike my code name and mastered element, I am level-headed and diplomatic. As much as it is within my control, I will use words to diffuse a conflict.

When push comes to shove, I will use violence as a last resort. It takes a significant offence to provoke me and I have a fiery temper that burns.

My core value is integrity and I live by it. While I can submit to leadership, I will always stand up for what is just and in alignment with the values of my former clan, as held by my father.

What is my sign? Libra ♎️

VII. Smoke (Tomas Vrbada)

Despite my intimidating demeanour, I am kind and compassionate. If you need food and shelter, I will provide it for you. I feel deeply and am empathetic, as I am sensitive. Though many may perceive me as an open book, you may never fully know me.

My trust and respect aren’t easily earned, but when you do, I am loyal to the end.

I long for love and acceptance, and when denied these, it eats away at my soul, little by little.

I have been through much suffering in my life, which began with the loss of my family. My life was drastically changed after being taken in by the those who murdered my mother and sister. Despite this circumstance, I did my best to adapt and accept my adopted family. And despite being rejected, and then betrayed, by the one brother whom I idolized, I cling to the hope of reconciliation.

I believe in family, be it by blood or by choice, as in life, those who you have in your life as family will always be there through your troubled times.

What is my sign? Cancer ♋️

VIII. Kung Lao

I am larger than life. I have the biggest heart of gold and can easily make friends. Honestly, who can resist me?

I have been told by my friends, my enemies, and strangers that I have a large ego, which is the case even in all the known timelines. And why not? I am just that great! Don’t forget that they’re probably jealous of my charm, skills, and good looks that even the women die for!

Those I call my family and friends are dear to my heart and I will not hesitate to fight for and protect them. My loyalty is as fierce as the sun.

If being one of Earthrealm’s protectors can help others and bring me glory, why not kill two birds with one stone?

What is my sign? Leo ♌️

IX. Havik

I know the pain of slavery. I was once tortured and broken by the oppressive rule of my former realm. Having enough, I raised arms against the oppressors and triumphed!

Why would the realms choose to be enslaved to order when true liberation lies in anarchy? I will not stop until all being are brought to the light on what it means to live a life of true freedom! It is our birthright! Hundreds of thousands want this and we will continue to spread this message!

Rebellion. Liberation. Chaos.

What is my sign? Aquarius ♒️

X. Sub Zero (Bi Han)

Power is my destiny. Power is my birthright.

I walk alone. I lead alone. I trust no one, especially those who I deem inferior.

I am cold as ice. Emotional displays are frowned upon. If you try to thwart me, you will feel my anger, be it with a glare or with my fist.

My clan is not meant to serve. Because of my ambition, I have set my clan on the path of glory and domination. I will stop at nothing until I have achieve my goals, even if it means eliminating those who stand in my way, be it family, friend, or foe.

With power, I will amass wealth no one can even imagine. With wealth comes resources to launch my clan to the future. Our clan will pioneer a new race of cyberized warriors that will surpass even the strongest of all the realms.

Power is my destiny. Power is my birthright.

What is my sign? Capricorn ♑️

XI. Reptile (Syzoth)

I am a master of illusion. In this timeline, I am no leader by any means, and I have my share of toiling for others, only when it is necessary to save those I hold dear.

Though I have given of myself to a fault and served either willingly or by force, events seems to go against me, even at the cost of my family. Maybe the supernatural forces have aligned against me and my people to always be subjected to persecution.

It may be strange to some, but I fall in love quickly. Though my family has been taken before their time through deceit, it is time to let them go and move on with my life beside another to serve a higher purpose.

I value freedom and I long to no longer be bound by servitude.

What is my sign? Pisces ♓️

XII. Sindel

Balance. That is what i strive to achieve between my realm and others.

I possess great beauty and power; I also possess wisdom, courage and compassion. Because of my diplomacy, I have been viewed as weak and incapable of ruling my realm.

Though my closest advisors would urge me to conquer other reals through aggressive means because of a prophecy, I hold fast in my stance to maintain peaceful relations until enough proof and evidence of threat have been presented and all facts of Liu Kang’s betrayal have been looked at. Only then will a decision be made.

I never suspected that those who I have trusted as close allies would betray me. Now I will fight to restore peace and protect my people.

What is my sign? Libra ♎️

*****************************************************

Authors Note: I’m sorry for the lack of a Virgo ♍️! I couldn’t sense one among the characters!! I will eventually make a Part 2 for the rest of the characters 😁

#mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #mk1 #tomas vrbada #mk 1 tomas vrbada #smoke #mk1 smoke #mk1 kuai liang #kuai liang #scorpion #mk1 scorpion #kung lao #mk1 kung lao #ashrah #mk1 ashrah #havik #mk1 havik #raiden #mk1 raiden #sindel #mk1 sindel #shang tsung #mk1 shang tsung #reptile #mk1 reptile #syzoth #mk1 syzoth #subzero mk1 #bi han sub zero #mk1 bi han

[theoihalioistuff]

Natural 'Love Remedies' in the lanscapes of ancient greek myths. Part I: The White Rock

Sorry for the long post in advance, there are too many references and too much scholarly discussion to make a short snappy post. I abridged as much as I could :)

The White Rock is first mentioned in passing in the Odyssey, as part of the westward journey that the shades of the suitors undertake as they're led to to the underworld:

And they passed by the streams of Okeanos and the White Rock [Λευκάδα πέτρην] and past the Gates of the Sun and the District of Dreams. (Od. 24. 11-12)

This passage has at first glance little thematic relevance to the rest of the attestations to come (if you're interested in theories see further reading below), but I'd be remiss not to mention this first source for a "White Rock". The rest or these sources refer specifically to the White Rock of the island of Leukas (the Leukadian Rock), which was said to have the property of relieving the lovesick from their passion. According to Menander (in Fragment 258 quoted in Stabo's Geography):

It contains the temple of Apollo Leucatas, and also the 'Leap', which was believed to put an end to the longings of love. As Menander says, "Where Sappho is said to have been the first, when through frantic longing she was chasing the haughty Phaon, to fling herself with a leap from the far-seen rock, calling upon thee in prayer, O lord and master". Now although Menander says that Sappho was the first to take the leap, those who are better versed than he in antiquities say that it was Cephalus, the son of Deïoneus, who was in love with Pterelas. (Strab. 10.2.9)

Strabo is presumably quoting Menander's lost play The Leukadia. Unrelated to love but still interesting, Strabo continues:

It was an ancestral custom among the Leucadians, every year at the sacrifice performed in honor of Apollo, for some criminal to be flung from this rocky look-out for the sake of averting evil, wings and birds of all kinds being fastened to him, since by their fluttering they could lighten the leap, and also for a number of men, stationed all round below the rock in small fishing-boats, to take the victim in, and, when he had been taken on board* (alternatively: resuscitated), to do all in their power to get him safely outside their borders. (Strab. 10.2.9 continued) ~~ This might be seen as somewhat paralleling Pausanias 10.32.6 for those who are curious.

According to Wilamowitz 1913 (again see further reading below), Menander chose for his play a setting that was known for its exotic cult practice involving a white rock, and conflated it in the quoted passage with a literary theme likewise involving a white rock. There are two surviving attestations of this theme, in which falling off the white rock is apparently a metaphor for fainting (due to lust and wine respectively):

One more time taking off in the air, down from the White Rock into the dark waves do I dive, intoxicated with lust. (Anacreon PMG 370)

I would be crazy not to give all the herds of the Cyclopes in return for drinking one cup [of that wine] and throw myself from the White Rock into the brine, once I am intoxicated, with eyebrows relaxed. Whoever is not happy when he drinks is crazy. (Euripides Cyclops 163-168)

Sappho's legendary (and unfortunately fatal) leap off the Leucadian Rock to relieve herself of her love for the handsome Phaon (a figure that deserves a post of their own) is found also in Ovid's Heroines:

Here, when, weeping, I laid down my weary limbs, a Naiad stood before my eyes. She stood there and said: ‘Since you burn with the fires of injustice, Ambracia’s the land to be sought by you. Apollo on the heights watches the open sea: summoning the people of Actium and Leucadia. Here Deucalion, fired by love of Pyrrha, cast himself down and struck the sea without harming his body. Without delay love turned and fled from his slowly sinking breast: Deucalion was eased of his passion. The place obeys that law. Seek out the Leucadian height right away, and don’t be afraid to leap from the rock! (Ov. Her. 15. 165–220)

Finally, according to the mythographer Ptolemy Chennos (know for his bizarre stories) as quoted by Photius in his Library:

Those who leapt off the cliff are said to have freed themselves from erotic desire. And this is the story that lies behind it: it is said that, after the death of Adonis, Aphrodite wandered about in search of him until she found him in the city of Argos in Cyprus in the sanctuary of Apollo Erithios. She carried him away [for a funeral], having told Apollo about her love for Adonis. Apollo took her to the Leucadic Rock and ordered her to jump off the cliff. As she leapt, she freed herself of her love. They say that when she inquired about the reason, Apollo replied that as a seer he knew that whenever Zeus felt desire for Hera, he would come to the rock, sit there and free himself from the desire. Many other men and women who suffered from lovesickness got rid of it when they jumped off that cliff. (Photius Bibliotheca. 152-153. Bekker)

What follows is a long list of people who are said to have jumped off said cliff, some surviving while others not (in any case, quite darkly, all were relieved of their passions). Notably Sappho, the most celebrated leaper, is not mentioned.

The fact that Zeus is mentioned as only sitting on the rock and not hurling himself from it is interesting. Nagy 1990 (see below) notes the similarities between the Leucadic Rock and the "proverbially white" Thoríkios pétros ‘Leap Rock’ of Attic Kolonos (Sophocles Oedipus at Colonus). He also notes the double etymology of "Thoríkios" as derivable from the noun thorós ‘semen’ (e.g. Herodotus 2.93.1) as well as of the verb thrṓiskō ‘leap’ (which can also have the side-meaning ‘mount, fecundate’ e.g. Aeschylus Eumenides 600), and connects it with one of the myths that is said to have taken place on this mountain:

Others say that, in the vicinity of the rocks at Athenian Kolonos, he [Poseidon], falling asleep, had an emission of semen, and a horse Skúphios came out, who is also called Skīrōnítēs. (Scholia to Lycophron 766)

Poseidon Petraîos [= of the rocks] has a cult among the Thessalians … because he, having fallen asleep at some rock, had an emission of semen; and the earth, receiving the semen, produced the first horse, whom they called Skúphios. (Scholia tο Pindar Pythian 4.246)

According to Bednarek 2019 (see below), in view of Ptolemy’s humorous intentions in his collection of weird narratives, the story becomes a sort of "sophomoric riddle": What cure does Zeus have to administer "repeatedly" (εὶ ἐρῶν … ἐκαθέζετο καὶ ἀνεπαύετο), while sitting down, presumably alone and in secrecy, that clearly only provides a temporary relief, and provides an aitiological name for the White Rock, to free himself from his desire?

All this long-winded post just to make a fucking joke about Zeus having a wank. Worth it.

~~ Cape Lefkatas

Secondary Sources and Futher Reading (these are only the ones I mentioned in this post, apparently there's a lot to say on the subject):

Greek Mythology and Poetics, Gregory Nagy 1990. Ch. 9. Phaethon, Sappho’s Phaon, and the White Rock of Leukas: “Reading” the Symbols of Greek Lyric. https://chs.harvard.edu/chapter/chapter-9-phaethon-sapphos-phaon-and-the-white-rock-of-leukas-reading-the-symbols-of-greek-lyric-pp-223-262/

Levaniouk, Olga. 2011. Eve of the Festival: Making Myth in Odyssey 19. Hellenic Studies Series 46. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies https://chs.harvard.edu/chapter/17-penelope-and-the-penelops/

Bednarek, Bartłomiej. “Zeus on the Leucadic Rock. White magic of an obscene passage in Ptolemy Chennos.” Acta Classica 62 (2019): 219–27. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26945053.

Sappho und Simonides, Untersuchungen über griechische Lyriker by Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, 1913

#greek mythology #greek myths #the moral of the story is if love's got you feeling down #dont jump off a rock #just crank one out #the importance of self love #Zeus gets it #Leucadian Rock #Sappho #Phaon #Zeus #Hera #Apollo #Aphrodite #Adonis #apparently also #Kephalos #Deukalion #Pyrrha #Poseidon #white rock #tagamemnon