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cafeinthemoon · 7 months

Text

Ever Dream (Apollo x reader)

Chapter 1/1

Wordcount 7,3k

Title Ever Dream

Fandom Shuumatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Symbols ✔ . 1️⃣ . 💛

Warnings: Apollo is extremely inconvenient in the beginning; angst with a soft, bittersweet ending

Tagging ? (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A. Finally I can fulfill my promise and post this little story with Apollo!

At first, he wasn't appealing to me at all, but as his character was developed, I found myself liking him (I basically understood that my lack of interest in him and his fight was due to me not moving on from Hades' loss, since snv doesn't feel the same for me anymore) Also his personality is a bit weird in this one bc I've started to write it before his flashback came out, and since I've wrote so much it would be a waste to restart my work to adjust his depiction to something more "pleasing", so I just kept things this way. But I hope you have fun with it :)

“Come out, come out

Wherever you are [...]

Give in, give in for my touch

For my taste

For my lust”

(Nightwish, Ever Dream)

Summer days might be the favorites among the mortals, for they were long and favorable to the body and the heart, as a good presage for the ones who needed it, but that didn’t apply to you. Yes, as many, you appreciated cheerful encounters of friends under the shadow of a tree on a warmth afternoon, as well as playing games in the city’s lake with your sisters, but none of these small delights were enough to make you enjoy Summer above the other seasons. Honestly, you would be happier during Spring, when the beauty of the flowers would be in its apex, or during Winter, when you would stay long periods at home, in front of a good fire, with warm food and crafting to occupy your hands; even Autumn had a special place in your heart, with its meadows of red leaves and winds whispering mysterious tunes.

The thing is that you used to work as a gardener during Spring and Summer, and this latter was always the most difficult one, for the land where you lived was always too hot for any activity to be possible under midday sun, so you would adjust your routine to work at early morning or when the sunset approached.

It was a hard work: the plants would suffer with the heat, and you must know the right moment of the day to pour water in them, in order to not burn their roots; some of them would even become dusty with the lack of rain, only to be harmed after sudden, summer storms, and it would take an entire day for you to clean the fallen leaves, broken branches and garbage brought by the wind – not to speak about the mud; and, as if none of this wasn’t enough, you would have to fight against seasonal infestations.

It was a lonely work, also: there would be days when you would stay in silence for so long that hearing your own voice after going back home or speaking to yourself during work brought a sensation of strangeness. But you enjoyed the solitude, using it to perfect your abilities and organize your thoughts.

Some would say that you should start thinking seriously about your situation, that is, that you couldn’t live only for the plants and that you were already in the age of considering marriage, but you would just escape from their demands inside the labyrinths of the garden. Not that you would get angry with them, though. You understood their preoccupations, but you were aware of where they came from: they didn’t understand that happiness could have many sources in human life beyond building a family.

And, as long as your own happiness came from the garden, you would stay inside it.

***

If the humans who knew you were the only ones watching your steps with what you’d call an abnormal interest, you could deal with it. But fate wanted things to be complicated for you, so your peculiar, solitary routine hasn’t caught only the mortals’ attention.

It happened that, close to your garden’s location, upon a greenish hill, a temple was built centuries ago. A temple to honor the deity whose powers were always strong across those lands – Apollo, Son of Zeus and Guardian of the Sun, Master of Poetry and Music, and owner of more titles than you could remember. You’ve never seen him in person, though it was said that he used that building as his temporary residence on summer days, which explained the intense temperatures during that time of the year; it also explained why the lights of the temple would be fed until late hours and why there would be sound of chords, drums and high voices all day. You respected the work of the people living there, of course, but you’d appreciate a bit of silence during a period that was so difficult for you, and there you had another reason to show up only when the sun wasn’t shinning in all its splendor.

Little you knew that, from the highest spot of the temple, upon a parapet only accessible to himself, the Lord of that house, to whom all those honors were directed, has been observing that lonely, little mortal who would come every day to take care of her flowers with the same dedication as Heracles by the time he had to fulfill his twelve tasks.

He couldn’t remember when was the first time he saw you: the only thing he knew was that, while he stood at that temple, he couldn’t spend one day without seeing you. Every morning, before his worshipers woke up, Apollo would walk up the stairs that led to the private space where the highest balcony of the temple was, and he would sit at it, with his back leaning on a column, to witness the girl’s arrival and her preparations before work; he would stay there, watching in ecstatic silence as she separated her tools, touched each plant with those delicate fingers of hers, examined each spot of them and gave them the necessary treatment, smiling and, sometimes, mumbling to herself.

Not only he noticed your diligence and dedication, but it didn’t escape him how much you were beautiful. Yes, you were surrounded by appealing fruit trees, flowers of the most interesting shapes and shades, all of them between intricate green walls that only added in majesty, yet your figure caught the man’s eyes above all of them – eyes that were trained to not miss anything that could be pleasing to one’s sight.

The god would cheer at himself with the fact that you were oblivious to this, while he, at that height, was completely out of your sight. It was like in the old days, where he would observe the mortal realm from his spot at the Olympus, except that this time there would be no difficulties in reaching you: as one of the city’s inhabitants, you were basically his neighbor, and knowing that building like the palm of his hand, he knew the secret shortcuts that would lead him to your garden’s gates.

At first, Apollo would state that his morning observations were just a hobby, and that with all the work to keep him occupied at the temple and the attentions he would get from the worshipers – particularly from the priestesses – he would soon forget about you and your flowers. However, he wasn’t fool to the point of lying to himself for too long, and soon he would admit that he was interested in you. Well, he was already desiring you, in a way that didn’t happen since… a few centuries ago, maybe by the time of that temple’s inauguration, when he would lure some of the city’s mortals into it. And now, there he was, leaving the comfort of his bed every morning, sometimes even before the sun came up to greet him, for anything but to catch the exact moment when your feet stepped into that garden, wondering how your voice would send shivers all over his body in case you whispered in his ears with the same docility you did to the flowers, how soft your skin would feel if he caught your frail form between his arms, and the heat he would sense once his lips touched yours.

This extended for days, until he finally had enough.

That morning, he watched you as always, but this time something inside him awakened, and he just let his body move away from the parapet and reach for his private chambers, where he caught his best garments and a pair of golden sandals, and then wandered to outside the temple, to the narrow path behind the hill, covered in stones and sand, only known by himself, and in one minute or two, he was standing at the garden’s entry.

Today is the day. The day when I shall make you mine.

***

It should be a pacific, ordinary morning of work at the garden.

You arrived at the usual hour, reached for the spot of the garden where you started working the day before, separated your tools and went to take care of your tasks.

You’ve spent one hour, maybe two like this, so concentrated in what your were doing that the sudden rustling between the leaves somewhere behind you made you startle and drop your garden shears. You turned around…

And found quite a spectacle for that time of the day.

Coming out of a narrow space between two green walls, you saw a young man dressed in garments that you supposed to be only appropriate for the Summer Festivities, not so far in the land’s calendar: he had a white toga around his body, which hems and details appeared to be sewn with golden threads; golden were also the strappy sandals he had on his feet, as well as the laurel wreath on his head. The first rays of the sun reached the space between you at that hour, and the golden light poured itself over the man’s figure as the hug of a beloved one, revealing that the metallic ornaments he carried were, in fact, gold, and conceding a singular glimmer to his eyes, which you thought to be of the same shade. But that wasn’t the only peculiarity seen in his appearance: his hair, falling on straight strands to his waist, were of a soft pink that reminded you of some of the flowers in your garden, but a comparison wasn’t possible, since they were out of sight at that moment.

Yes, the visitor was a beautiful man, though eccentric, so your first thought was that he was the son of a noble family that came to the city to honor the god of the Sun at the temple beside your garden.

He’s probably thinking that the garden is part of the temple’s territory. I must clarify this mistake and lead him back through the right path.

And you were going to do that very thing, but he was faster.

Without waiting for an invitation or at least a question about his presence there, the man approached your spot and stopped in front of you, observing your tiny person surrounded by flowers and tools with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief: was this girl really engaging in physical work this early?, his eyes seemed to ask.

You stepped behind, closer to a bush of wild roses, but glanced over your shoulder before touching the thorns – something that made the stranger giggle. You didn’t like that at all.

The first words said between you were his.

– I’ve always said that wild roses were not my favorites, but the truth is that they’ve scared me and charmed me at the same time, and I just couldn’t deal with it – he stretched an arm to touch a spot above and behind you; not disguising the feeling that he was closer than a stranger should be, your eyes followed his movement and found his fingers reaching for a flower of the bush – A ridiculous mistake from an arrogant heart… – and, turning his golden eyes to you, – Don’t you think, my flower?

Your eyes widened, but you managed to control your mouth to not scoff at those words: you’ve been working at that garden for too long now, and from time to time there would be one and other man who would come to celebrate the Summer Festivities at Apollo’s temple, many of them from privileged houses… and about whom you’ve already had a clear opinion.

Let me see… Extravagant clothing at this time of the day, bad sense of direction, abnormally elevated self-confidence and no regard for personal space. Of course, another womanizer who relies on cheap flirting to win innocent hearts. He knows that this type of chatting only works when the speaker is young and beautiful like him, but things would be very different if we had an old, naughty man in his place.

You knew that, if you didn’t do anything to get rid of him, he would bother you for the rest of the morning, and you wouldn’t be able to complete the works of the day, but fortunately you also knew how to deal with this kind of situation, so you decided to act right now...

By moving aside and bending down to grab the garden shears that he made you drop. You stood up again and started removing the small, green leaves from its blades as you spoke.

– My Lord, I suppose you entered here by accident – you started; and, looking into his eyes, still with the shears’ blades up – Because, you see, despite the proximity, this garden doesn’t belong to Apollo’s temple. No festivities will happen here.

It was with a bit of diversion that you observed the bright smile fading from his pretty face, but you remained impassible, for you were aware that this one was an experienced gentleman and wouldn’t give up so easily.

And he didn’t.

– I must be indelicate and disagree with you, Miss – he moved his hand away from the flower, but, with an eye on your shears, he hid both hands behind his back – For a garden is a never-ending festivity itself, and the one that is going on right here owes all its beauty to the work of your hands.

You swallowed. He did have a way with words, then. But not even this would be enough for you to allow delays in your routine, and you made that very clear.

– If this is the case, my Lord, I must make use of the same indelicacy and interrupt our conversation here – in a swift move of your hands, the shears closed and opened twice with a metallic whisper – And keep working on the garden’s beauty.

And, without waiting for a response, you turned your back on the man and restarted to prune the bush with the roses, just as you were doing when he arrived.

Not even this was able to shake the young man’s confidence, for he just stepped aside and continued to talk, caressing the flowers at the same time. No irritation or offense was sensed in his tone.

– Then I must leave you to complete your mission – and, after a pause, – But I’m trapped here, and you’re the only one who can release me... by letting me know your name.

Your hands stopped and you turned to him again. You weren’t willing to reveal it to him, but if that was going to make him go away, you would do it.

– Y/n s/n.

The young man opened a satisfied smile. But, instead of saying his own name in return, he just stepped back and nodded.

– For this I will be forever grateful, my y/n. I will make sure that Apollo’s blessing falls over you and your work concerning this celebration of beauty.

And without waiting for a response, he turned away and left.

***

If only the Festivities in honor of the Lord of the Sun were shorter, or if your garden was located in somewhere else, the strange events of yesterday involving that extravagant individual would be just a funny story to remember in an encounter between your friends, or even something you would forget after a week.

But, unfortunately, things don’t always go as we plan, so to your surprise – and exasperation – the situation happened again in the next day.

You were pouring water on the soil, in a spot of the garden not so far from the one where your first encounter happened, having only the sounds of the water falling from the can and the early birds singing on the trees as your company, when the rustling noise of indiscreet steps upon the grass caught your attention.

You turned around… and found the shinning figure of the young man smiling at you, his right hand leaning on the tree at his side, his golden eyes upon you with the same enthusiasm of the last day.

You bit your lip.

I can’t believe it. Did he forget everything that happened yesterday?

If he noticed your displease or if he chosen to ignore it, you didn’t know, but he started a casual conversation without waiting for an invitation.

– Good morning, dear y/n! – he left his spot beside the tree and walked toward you with no sign of embarrassment – As I can see, the festivities continue today.

You just gave him a silent nod in reply. The man’s smile widened in contentment.

– That’s good to hear, for today I bring you something that you might appreciate…

Only then you noticed the object he was carrying on his left hand: a bracelet made of gold, in the shape of a vine and with a white gem in its center, with rays surrounding it as an imitation of the sun. You looked at the object and hesitated.

– My Lord, it is not…

But when the words were still crossing your lips, you felt a strong hand holding your wrist and pulling it forward, making you drop the watering can; before you did anything, the man put the bracelet around your wrist and spent a moment admiring it, with your tiny hand between his.

You even tried to pull it back, but the he held you in place. You swallowed.

Heavens, his appearance is the most deceiving thing I’ve ever seen! I don’t know many soldiers who possess this strength!

Because of this, you understood that you might have been in danger since the other day, so that time you kept your mouth shut and waited to see what his next step would be.

And you didn’t know if you should feel relieved or shocked when you found it out.

– Now you were granted the necessary permission, my dear – he spoke with softness; and, pulling you closer to whisper in your ear, – The way to the Summer Festivities has opened to you at the Temple of the Great Apollo.

You had no time to respond, to move away or to show any form of refusal. The man, still holding your hand, pulled you with him and started running between the green walls and trees, rushing toward the depths of the garden and not allowing you to stop.

You glanced behind and your heart ached when you saw your work unfinished and the watering can forgotten on the spot it fell, the remaining water leaking and soaking the soil.

***

The path through which he led you, as well as the environment you found when you entered the temple was what you would sense in a dream: in one moment, he was carrying you by the hand through the green labyrinth, in a pace that defied time; in the next one, you were inside high walls of white, imposing columns with marble flowers surrounding them from their highest to their lowest spot, and countless tables of gold with goblets, jars and trays full of fruits, sweets and other tempting treats that were taken by uninhibited, joyful people dressed in flowing fabrics and barefoot, running, hopping and dancing between themselves to the frenetic sound of chords, flutes and drums. The place was a mixture of sounds, colors and smells that confused and numbed your senses, in a way that you were only able to stand thanks to the strong hold of the young man.

Despite that, you still noticed how strange was that those people seemed to move to the music as if they were just one, yet they acted like they weren’t seeing each other, lost in their particular world, to the point you wondered if they knew what they were doing or if they were just caught under a spell.

Are they really happy, or are they forced into this? It’s unsettling...

The people only showed a believable reaction when you arrived… Well, actually, when they put their eyes on the young man, and started reaching for him with no regard for your presence, pushing, bumping and even stepping upon your feet.

In a way you couldn’t understand, he opened his arms wide to receive them without letting go of your hand, with a satisfied smile on his face that seemed to light up when the first rays of sunshine entered the place, embracing him with the same passion as the people around.

It was when a thought crossed your mind as fast as those rays, and you stared at him with a knot in your stomach.

Could it be that he…?

The chorus around you, chanting the same words in delight, was the confirmation for it.

– Apollo! Apollo-sama! You finally arrived, Apollo-sama! Please don’t make us wait this long for you again, Apollo-sama!

His face brightened up with the call of the humans, as if it absorbed their joy and turned it into vital force, returning it to them with the warmth of the sun; to them, he was god, father, husband and master, and he was more than happy in taking all those roles for himself, in what you saw as a hungry, even predatory way. Though you still found it a beautiful thing to observe, you no longer saw any resemblance with a man in his figure.

He was something else.

Feeding himself with their energies and keeping them gravitating around him is like a diversion to him. How scary.

And with the same diversion, he pulled you to a tight embrace, giving you no choice to walk away, for many people came to him and were no dismissed, so that you were trapped between him and them, and you didn’t know for how long you would be able to breathe.

Somehow, he managed to walk among his worshipers and take you with him before you in fact were smothered, and without decreasing in enthusiasm, he looked around and chanted:

– My children, my flowers! Another day of Summer came to bless you! Enjoy it, cherish it like it’s your last!

Immediately, the people obeyed him and, as if slowly forgetting about his very presence, restarted the celebration, dancing and jumping around and opening the way for you two at the same time, not really realizing what they were doing.

Not wanting to join them and not being able to release yourself from Apollo’s grip, you had no choice but to follow him.

***

You walked up spiral, white stairs with golden banisters, ran through a corridor and ended up in front of an enormous pair of doors, which he opened with a slight touch of his hand.

They revealed a wide room that, even in your lack of experience in these matters, you knew to be worthy of a god: everywhere you looked, you saw comfortable chairs and couches, covered with satin sheets and surrounded by trays of sweets and fruits, and countless jars of wine; there was also a small fountain pouring water, with a jar and cups around it. You also saw books, parchments and musical instruments ready to be used. Everything there was arranged to display beauty and pleasure, as expected from its owner.

Once you stepped inside, you heard the sound of the keys turning to lock the doors from inside and shivered.

– My y/n, will you follow me to the balcony? – Apollo passed to your side – There’s something I need to reveal to you, but it has to be in an appropriate place!

And, without waiting for your response, he tightened his grip around your wrist and pulled you across the room, to reach the said balcony.

You passed under an arc with a pair of curtains of a peach shade and found yourself in a place that could serve as a common room of a human house by its largeness, except for the fact that it was uncovered; on it, there was wine, fod and water as well, and a couch twice the size of the ones inside the room, yet none of those objects interfered while you walked among them.

Apollo stopped at the parapet with you by his side. With his arm stretched over it, he indicated the entire view.

– Let your pretty eyes enjoy what’s in front of them with no shame, my dear – he laughed – Trust me, the view of your lands from the Olympus is no match for this!

And you were, in fact, impressed with what you saw.

From there, you were able to spot various things, from the mountains that surrounded the city, passing through the town itself, with its marketplace and daily movement, to nearer places… such as your garden, its open fields and the very spot where you were working this morning when Apollo arrived and abducted you.

Your face burned with the thought.

He has been spying on me from here? Since when…?

You never had the opportunity to inquire him on this, because he had no shame in telling you the whole story.

– Since this Summer started, though I cannot precise the day, I’ve been trapped in this balcony, just as I am now – he turned to you with a strange glimmer in his eyes; you sensed his hand letting go of your wrist and wrapping itself around your waist, bringing you closer as he spoke – I’ve been trapped by you, my flower, for I couldn’t spent one morning without seeing you from here, cherishing with your whole figure, your steps, the work of your hands, all for your precious garden…

You put your hands between you and him, in an attempt to prevent him from approaching even more.

– My Lord, with all the respect, this is my work – you managed to speak – I would never be able to properly take care of a garden if I refused to pour my heart into it…

The god’s response was to widen his already present smile, giving to it a hint of something that would be called presumption if he was a mortal man.

– I know it! I know well how these things work, and for this I am jealous – he caressed your face for an instant, his eyes swallowing each traits of yours with greed – I am jealous of your flowers, of your trees, and everything that has been blessed by the touch of your hands…

You gasped.

– My Lord, I think this is going too fa…

Your words were cut off by his next act, which consisted in wrapping his arms around you and lifting you from the floor, taking you to the couch you saw before, not so far from your spot on the parapet. There he sat you down, then knelt to take off your sandals – of course, without missing the chance to let his fingertips wander through your feet and legs. With no visible ways to escape this situation, you could only observe the scene in silence.

The door is locked, I don’t think I could open it as fast as he closed it, he’s too strong for me to put a physical fight and is too lost in his own fantasies to hear a word I say. I see no solution besides climbing up the parapet and jump.

While this thought was still crossing your mind (and your eyes glancing at the parapet), Apollo was already climbing the couch. You tried to move away, but he was faster: holding your jawline, he pulled you close to him, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

– I beg you, my little flower… stop making me jealous… pour your heart to me… be mine…

You opened your mouth to speak, to reply, to try and reason with him one last time, to ask for his divine favor and beg him to let you go, but Apollo didn’t even give you the time to breathe: convinced that actions would teach you better than words, he covered your mouth with hungry kisses, his tongue reaching for yours in a hurry, his hands grabbing your body with voracity. With the lack of air, your lungs started to burn and your eyes got filled with tears.

Your hands, still free, pulled him away by his chin; he stared at you in incredulity.

– Please… my Lord… – you forced your words out, alternating them with gasps – Please… reconsider…

For the first time, Apollo seemed to have his patience tested, and the slight twist in the color of his eyes instilled fear in your heart like you’ve never felt before.

– Too late to think, my y/n… It’s time to act.

He pushed himself upon you on the couch and a second kiss happened, longer and hotter. Now that your attempt to stop him failed, desperation was taking over you, leaving you with two choices: letting him continue or dying for opposing to a god’s will.

The latter seemed less painful for you, so you opted for it.

Beside the couch, just like the other seats at that room, there was a small table with a metallic jar on it; you glanced at it when Apollo let go of your mouth and brought his kisses to your neck, and supposed that it was full. An idea came to you, but you had to be careful.

If I fail at this, it’s over for me.

With slow movements, you managed to bring your body closer to the table’s side, taking the god with you, leaving him too occupied in his caresses to notice anything around. You even reciprocated some of his touches to disguise your nervousness, and waited until you were sure that your hand would reach the jar’s wing.

When the moment came, you stretched your left arm… and your fingers closed around its wing, lifting it from the table with all the strength you could find.

Everything happened too fast for your eyes to follow: catching him in a surprise was your only and greatest advantage, and you managed to do it. The jar flew from the table and hit Apollo’s head, forcing him away from you and dropping the laurel wreath from his hair; confirming your prediction, the jar was full, and the water spread all over the place as the metal clanged against the floor.

You wasted no time: you dragged your body out of the couch and fled the balcony, leaving your sandals and a paralyzed, dismayed Apollo behind. You crossed the room like a ray and somehow unlocked the door easily despite your shaking hands; not only this, but you had the nerve to take the key with you and lock the door from outside to slow the man who would certainly come after you.

***

Your feet barely touched the stairs while you walked down. Behind your back, there was still silence, but you knew it wouldn’t take long until Apollo reached the door and found a way to open it, so you wouldn’t stay to see what was going to happen.

You soon were back to the wide room where his worshipers were celebrating, and it was with no surprise that you found them as happy as before, and that, as you joined the crowd to reach the exit, they barely remembered you. Still, you couldn’t help finding it scary to be squeezed and pushed to all sides by those strangers, who screamed, sang and danced with no regard for each other and for themselves, as victims of a sinister spell.

***

The image of you running away from him was the most terrifying of the nightmares.

Apollo could have ran after you, grabbed you and pulled you back to the balcony. He could have also stretched his hand toward you and used his golden threads to wrap your body and force you to stay, to submit to him. He even managed to raise his hand while you turned your back to him and moved away, passing under the arc that separated the balcony to the rest of the room… but he didn’t do anything.

He just stood there, paralyzed by the surprise with your reaction and the resulting dizziness in his head, his vision darkening as he came to the shameful conclusion.

What I did… there was nothing beautiful about it.

***

The sun was higher in the sky when he regained his consciousness and left the balcony. It must have been one hour or two, judging by its position now – long enough for the effects of the strike to diminish. His head hurt so much that he was sure he would be dead if he was human.

He left the balcony and passed by a mirror, not so far from its entry. He spotted the bruise on his forehead and flinched: it was darker, deeper than he first imagined. Not that he should be worried about having a permanent scar, of course, but it would ache for days.

The god crossed the silent room and stopped by the doors. One look to the lock and he noticed the absence of the key; the shadow of a smile came to his lips.

Clever girl. Trying to slow me down.

He raised his left hand and, working with his golden threads, he involved the doors and pushed them out of their hinges, destroying both with a thunderous sound. He walked out of the room in firm steps, the wreckage cracking under his golden sandals as he approached the stairs and walked them down.

In a minute, he has reached the first floor, where his worshipers continued to celebrate, yet this time a wave of uneasiness has spread silently among them, clearly provoked by the sound of wrecking materials upon there.

Of course, he was eager to leave and start chasing after you, but he was empathetic with the ones who were there just to love him, and made sure they were all calmed down by his words; with this, they were free to go back to their worshiping, knowing that their Lord would be back in a few moments.

He left the temple and rushed to the garden, as his feet were led by instinct to the place that first connected you, but it was with no surprise that he saw you weren’t there; you didn’t even use the garden as escape route. Still, his heart didn’t ache less with the sight of your tools on the soil, and your flowers abandoned, for they meant only one thing.

Not only you were gone, but you weren’t coming back.

***

Autumn came sooner to those lands that year.

The Temple of the Sun closed its gates long before the last week of Summer, and the worshipers returned to their homes with a strange weight in their hearts; it was clear that their god wasn’t content, but the reason was only known by himself, and perhaps as an act of mercy, he protected them from his wrath by sending them away, assuring them of their innocence and promising a warmer season of festivities for the next year.

The days quickly became short, and the winds of the new season were colder than they were in the previous years; the city’s inhabitants were caught in a surprise, and even feared what Winter has reserved for them. The streets were empty, the markets saw their clientele grow thin, the richest traveled to distant lands and the common people were hidden inside their houses. In the wild, the beasts and the small creatures were sharing the same difficulties, and just as it happened with the humans, there was no guarantee that they would make it through the longer period of cold.

Apollo, on his turn, stood in that house alone, instead of traveling back to his place and his divine fellows at the Olympus: he missed their company, but had no strength to face them after the ugliness he created; it has been a monstrosity and a shame, and this was something he must endure all by himself. And so he did it, spending his days and nights wandering among the cold walls of marble, inside which the sound of chords, voices of adoration and the wine being poured in the goblets wouldn’t be heard, and the echo of his own steps were his only partner; the fires lightened by his followers stopped making him warm even before they turned into smoke and cinders, the sweetness of their incense made him sick and the golden altars and objects of devotion turned gray to his eyes.

All because of what he did to you. Because in his eagerness to make you stay, he ended up scaring you away, and the sun that should have kept you content and safe almost burned you to death. How, he asked himself, how did he deprive love from its natural beauty, he who lived to exalt the beautiful? But silence was the only thing to reply.

***

Apollo visited your garden every morning, staying there for a while before returning to his temple and to his dark meditations. Protecting his physical form from the cold with a gray cloak, he wandered through the natural walls that were once green, but now had only brown and red to offer to his sight; the grass was now a shadow of what they were, just dried vegetation that would crack and whiter under his feet, and the flowers came undone to the touch of his fingers.

Many times he passed by the spot where he abducted you, and tears would fill his eyes as he looked at the watering can and the tools rotten on the cold soil, useless after so long time without executing their functions. One morning, he even considered touching them, but when he approached his hand no remnants of your spirit could be sensed in them, and he moved away.

Well, your presence just vanished from the garden itself, and even from the town: sometimes, he would disguise himself among the mortals and seek for your face in the corners of the streets, but he knew the search was worthless. You were long gone.

Actually, you left and hid on the other side of the land, and even your acquaintances haven’t heard about you since Autumn began. But even you couldn’t deny that the season was less merciful that year… and it didn’t take long for you to realize it had something to do with the episode at Apollo’s House. Maybe he couldn’t accept that a mortal woman defied him, and decided to punish her entire land in return; or maybe he just decided to leave sooner, and with him Summer has left. It was hard to be sure when it came to the gods.

However, as much as you weren’t willing to try and seek for his favor against your will in order to save the people of the city, innocent and defenseless against Nature, your heart has been yearning for your garden, your true house, where your happiness and strength and life purpose were. You’ve been struggling to stay in your hideout and wait until the god’s wrath was over, but you just couldn’t take it anymore.

One morning, despite the cold and the adversities, you dressed up and traveled back there. You had no idea of what you were going to find once you stepped into your beloved garden, and a thousand nightmares haunted you while you were on your way, and the times when you thought of giving up and return to the hideout weren’t few…

But all of this noise disappeared when you found yourself, in fact, standing before the garden’s gates. A breeze passed by you at that moment, coming from inside the garden, and sent a chill through your body – a chill that reached your heart.

You forced your feet to move ahead.

As you walked, farther from the entry and closer to the depths of the garden, you noticed that the sensation of loneliness that you were anticipating didn’t come. Yes, the flowers were dead, the grass was dry and the birds disappeared from the trees, but you had this strange feeling telling you that you weren’t the only living being wandering among the reddish vegetation.

A sudden instinct led your feet to the very place where your watering can and shears were left the day you were taken away by Apollo. Were they in the same place, still waiting for your return? You’d only know if you reached there.

And you did. And they were there. Covered in dirt, dead leaves and ivy.

But they weren’t alone. Someone was watching them in silence, standing among the desolation as if they were just a part of it that was waiting for you to come back as well.

And, perhaps, they were, for when they turned to you, your heart dropped.

It was him. It was him, there was no way for you to be mistaken.

The golden bright in his eyes has faded away, and so was his smile. The pink of his hair was no longer glowing, and the paleness on his skin was unsettling. He was still the god of the Sun, but the Sun just settled.

Suddenly, you were scared. What if he was there waiting to cease your existence in revenge? What if that was just a vision to deceive you, and you were now in a new trap, from which you had no chance to escape like the first one?

You tried to move your feet, but they wouldn’t obey you. Your heart ached inside you, and your eyes were getting filled with tears.

Is this how I’m going to die, then?

Apollo left his spot and walked toward you. He was still silent, but no sign of his intentions could be sensed, and you were too scared to try and guess them. Still, something wasn’t right – and when you finally had the courage to look straight to his face, you understood what it was.

From his eyes you saw tears rolling. And in his expression there was only room for incredulity and pain. It was when you knew: it wasn’t a vision; it was really him. And he couldn’t believe you were there.

Apollo stopped before you and you flinched, not knowing what to expect. You shut your eyes tight… and no touch, no extravagances nor punishment came.

You opened them again and found the proud god kneeling on the dirt soil, taking his cloak from his shoulders and leaving it beside him on the ground, his eyes glued on you all the time, as if you could disappear at the slightest distraction.

You didn’t know how long you stood like this, having only the winds to voice your anguish, but the silence became unbearable, and you opened your mouth to speak – but, as always, he was faster.

– Forgive me.

Two words only, but enough to shake your spirit and think of how strange reality could become. A god apologizing? When would you imagine such a thing?

– Forgive me, my flower – he repeated, since you stood quiet – For those things I’ve done weren’t but terrifying.

He stretched his hand to touch your clothes, but gave up on the gesture as to prove his feeling of shame.

Again, your heart ached, and your mouth dried out. You couldn’t just stand there with no reaction, no word, after traveling for so long to reunite with your beloved garden. But you didn’t know what to do or what would be right, so you just let your body decide.

You knelt on the soil too, before the astonished god, and didn’t try to stop yourself when you saw your arms throwing themselves around him, your head resting on his shoulder, and your skin shivering to the warmth of that embrace. You should be scared, you should be aware of any spell working at that very moment, you should be disgusted to see him there – but you weren’t.

– Yes, Apollo-sama – you murmured, not recognizing your own voice – They were terrifying. But I’m no longer scared.

And that was true. All your fear was leaving. And with the first signs that the Autumn was going away with it, you were strangely in peace.

#snv x reader #ror x reader #apollo x reader #ror apollo #snv apollo #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie apollo #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok apollo

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feefymo · 4 months

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The Rorchach Effect - Part 1

Jimmy Darling x fem! reader - NSFW • MDNI word count: 2757 author's notes: it was like a multiple birth but here we are. This is my very first attempt of a fanfiction (and it's not written in my native language) but I worked a lot on it and I hope you enjoy it. I tried to keep It simple. After mulling it over I chose to divide the fic in two parts and yes: the smut is in the second part! It's not proofread because I'm a kamikaze, yes. Little curiosity: I was partly inspired by Saltburn and this soundtrack. What else? I'll leave you to read! Be kind, pleaseee! My hashtag is #ficfymo ! summary: Elsa threw a party for Jimmy's birthday but no one knows where he ended up. Fem! Reader POV. warnings: mention of violence, and blood. I think that's it, for now. https://open.spotify.com/intl-it/track/6Huqy9WdEE3rMazEQgajn2?si=2105621ac0044260

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome.

I'm the one they call the Rorschach Woman; my real name is not important.

Do any of you know what vitiligo is? Vitiligo is a disease but in the maternal arms of Elsa Mars, nothing is bad. None of her adopted children are sick: we all have a gift, don't we, Elsa? I had a boundless love for ballet, I was busily studying psychiatry, I was a "prodigy girl" or, at least, I thought I was. Then, the vitiligo showed up. What I thought was my downfall, according to Elsa, represented the true miracle. I gave up dancing; I gave up on my dream of becoming a researcher. I lost the support of my real parents because my appearance had changed but hey! Now I have my own number in Elsa Mars Freak Show. I'm here to enchant you. To let you read the spots on my face. I'm here to interpret your minds. This is my personal test of Rorschach, offered to you, kind audience. A few dollars and you can study me, myself every night but not every night are like this. Tonight I want to tell you a story 'cause today is my best friend's birthday. The brother I've chosen. Tonight, a big party was thrown for him but there's no trace of him. Where did you go, Jimmy Darling?

Let's take a step back.

I've never seen the camp so packed. Never. If all these people showed up for every show, each of us would be filthy rich. I don't understand how it is possible and yet, Elsa must have performed one of her magics. She says she consider Jimmy her blood, so she claimed to organize everything herself. She chose a party theme: "Normal People". She call it "satire", a mockery towards those who are truly considered normal. Some of us believed her, others adapted to avoid getting into trouble. The truth is that, by disguising ourselves according to the canons, we appear even less credible. Grotesque. Ridicolous. I couldn't resist a subtle provocation, so I made my complexion uniform but with the white of French mimes. Like a pierrot. Totally painted in white, I wander around in a champagne dress. I look like a crazy moth until I find the flame. That flame is Jimmy himself, surrounded by a myriad of strangers who urge him to blow out the candles.

- Happy birthday… uhm… -

- Happy birt… Joseph? -

- Jack? John? -

- I think it's Jimmy. -

- Jimmy? Are you sure? -

- JIMMY! -

The music does not cover the murmurs nor the embarrassment that comes down like a curtain. I try to push and elbow to reach my best friend but I can't. He's standing there, nerves to edge: he looks around, clenching his teeth. He seems lost while he's trying to put an unconvinced smile on his Peter Pan face. Once the candles have been blown out, Jimmy disappears in the general disinterest. Nobody cares, the party continues as if nothing had happened, fueling an atmosphere that has nothing normal about it. It's something like a mesmerizing nightmare in the suffused lights that Elsa had placed everywhere. A luminous design that even turns into a labyrinth in the wild meadow near the main event. It should be a modern fairy tale for the privileged who want to escape from the routine. For us, scum, it's an illusion. A utopia, a warning of what we will never achieve but I don't give a fucking damn. Sincerely. If I'm still here it's not because of Elsa nor because I truly appreciate her Cabinet Of Curiosities. I'm still here for my "acquired family" and for the boy who should be the protagonist of the evening which no one cares about.

Driven by the chaos, I search for familiar faces in the dim light until I come across Ethel; she shaved her chin. She is holding a plate with a slice of cake that she has prepared herself and she's standing in the dancing crowd, with a worried and resigned look. We both knows who the cake is for: Ethel has seen his son, maybe talked to him but she won't chase him. I prefer to not disturb her but I don't give up: retreating into a slit of darkness I collide with someone and jump perhaps exaggeratedly. Paul emerges from the darkness, rubbing his side with a grimace. He wears a hideous, gigantic suit to disguise his condition. It makes it look like a sad parallelepiped. Doctor Frankenstein's Creature.

-Paul, sorry! Did I hurt you?! -

-Nah, no biggies! What about you? You're nervous, what's happening? -

-Well, uh, I'm… have you seen Jimmy? I've been looking for him all night. -

- First I saw him with a brunette, she was dragging him towards El-'s tent… hey, that's the one over there! -

But the brunette is not in Jimmy's company: laughing rudely with her friends, she passes by me in a sweet-smelling cloud of glitters. She carries with her a kind of old oil lantern lit on a gesture that makes my blood run cold: cheeky, she twirls a battered glove on her head and, in one breath of Pink Lady, she's already too far away. Even though I would like to, I'm not going to confront her and complicate things because I prefer to follow her steps backwards. An alarm screams wildly inside me and I have to comply with it by launching myself out of the tent. The humidity of the night sticks to my skin, kneading the white paint that I thought was dry. I'm a mess inside and out but it doesn't matter at all.

- JIMMY! - I call, shout and run. I run, run, run like a fugitive. A voice whispers the worst to me and maybe I'm crazy but I can't help it. - JIMMY! - I keep repeating myself but he doesn't answer. The throat burns, the feet go by themselves, swaying dangerously on the heels. I didn't even realize I had ventured onto the lawn until I felt tickles on my ankles. Fräulain Elsa's illuminations invite me to follow their aura like drunken fireflies and I, disaffected, accept. I'm not afraid that Jimmy is dead but, worse, that he's gone. That he left me alone, leaving suddenly and without me. He promised me that if we ever succeeded, we would leave together and one suitcase would be enough to move to Europe. He always kept his promises, he…

I stop, crystallized in the heaviness of the evening. I hear noises scattered throughout the maze of light bulbs: they come from a specific point but they echo and bounce in the air. It sounds like the clumsy moan of an animal that it would be better not to get close to but I obstinately follow the source to the center of the maze. Once I reach my destination I jump somewhere between horror and relief, putting a hand to my mouth so as not to be discovered immediately. Sitting on the ground is Jimmy Darling. Hunched over, he turns his back to me and fiddles with something I don't understand. He is surrounded by objects, some of which I cannot distinguish. There are a few bottles including one of vermouth still sealed, half a lemon, a shirt reduced to a pile of wrinkles in Granada Green, the other glove specially sewn for the party. Some salt, perhaps? The worst aspect, the most dramatic touch, is a pinata hanging over his skull. A lobster-shaped pinata. As I try to figure out whether or not I'm awake, a low, deep growl forces its way into Jimmy's lungs, flaying them with increasing violence. The growl is quickly turning into the pained cry of an already wounded beast. I won't respect his privacy any longer, so I walk over to him and kneel before him.

- JIMMY! JIM, STOP IT! STOP, DAMMIT! - Jimmy was on the verge of cutting off his left hand with a rusty knife but my arrival ruined his plans. He doesn't recognize me right away and his immediate reaction is to turn against me. He is much, much stronger than me but, even if he vehemently chases me away, I attack again in what turns into a blind scuffle. The moment Jim realizes it's really me, he drops his guard groggily. He is no less upset, nor willing to suddenly change his mind but he grabs me by the elbows and pushes me away roughly so that I don't end up hurting myself. Crawling on the ground, he steps back before pulling himself up and staggering but he isn't drunk. He's been drinking but it's not the alcohol that shakes him like this: I recognize the difference, also because I've never seen him in this state. In his big good eyes there is no freshly roasted coffee but boiling petrolium. His expression, a cracked mask of hatred and at the same time authentic desperation, reduced to its core. He trembles in his sweat-soaked undershirt and makes a gesture that he has never deemed necessary in front of me. He hides his hands, trying in vain to put them in his back pockets, like a child caught red-handed. Does he feel reassured by my presence? Is he bothered by it? He's gasping.

Jimmy what… what are you doing? Why?! - I ask him in tears, advancing slowly on my knees. - NO! - he spits out a scream, trying to freeze me in place. - Please… Y/N, no. Enough. That's enough. - I shake my head, I'm confused and I rub my now soaked cheeks. Gray due to the white mixing with the black of the mascara.

- What are you talking about, pleas st-… -

- SHE SCREAMED, Y/N! SHE SCREAMED IN GENUINE TERROR, I TELL YOU!-

- BUT WHO, JAMES?! FOR GOD'S SAKE, WHO?! -

He hates it when I call him James but that seems strangely to appease him. He stares at me like a madman and, in silence, seems to wonder how it is possible that I don't know the circumstances of his delirium but, gradually, lucidity returns and, at the same time, an atrocious sadness. - That… oh, fuck. She was one of the very few people to smile at me and make me sincere wishes. Did she really want to spend time with me… did I fall for it like an idiot? I do not know. It was her! She chose it, I warned her but… - while Jimmy tries to explain, he forgets to hide from me and gesticulates, so I notice a burn on the hand that he was seriously about to cut off. The living flesh fades from red to the paleness of the bladder. Grains of not completely dissolved salt outline the surface like grotesque lace. He must have poured it in. - She took off my glove, alluding to my skills as a pilot but then a heartbreaking scream and… and… I had to let it go. Instead, I tried to calm her down but she…how the fuck is that possible? How did she not know I'm a fucking freak? It was written all over the damn thing! But she knew it. She knew it very well. My attentions were the perfect excuse to defend herself. She called me a monster, a half-man, an abomination and so on, you know, what's new? But then… she burned me with her fucking lantern. You convince yourself that you have a zest, that you are used to it and yet it's not true. And, as with Meep, the day comes when insults are no longer enough. - he doesn't have the courage to look at me but what he says is intimate. Devastating. Shareable. - The bar of wickedness is raised. Of course! That girl wasn't defending herself. She squirted oil on me once, twice, three times. She was torturing me, only stopped because I raised my arms and… the fear came back. She's gone. -

I'm annihilated. Annihilated by what I see and hear, I undergo the hypnosis of Jimmy's pain which soon becomes mine too. His irises are diluted by a sea of tears; suffering makes him unfairly wonderful. In the meantime I have reached him and, from the bottom of my position, I stare at him without embarrassment. I wrap one arm around his knees while the other grabs his good hand and places it on the back of my neck. He wants to take it away, he puts up a feeble resistance but he hears me sobbing and stops immediately. - Yes, Jimmy: her wish was to hurt you. This isn't a party, it's a visit to the slaughterhouse and we are the pigs. As always. - now I hold him with both arms, rubbing my face between his knees. The fabric of his trousers becomes stained white make-up until my skin is almost clean. I raise my head. My face's a palette used between stains that can be washed away and stains that my skin retains.

- Look at me. Are you looking at me? -

- I am. - he says, with the tone of someone who absolutely has to convince you. He hasn't noticed but he's stroking my hair. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth turned down. -The kindness with which you caress me has never belonged to anyone among the few who have touched me. Not even my mother. - I'm deadly serious. I look at him with watery eyes but it's his tear that rains down my forehead. - Not even to myself. - because I mistreated myself, inflicted physical pain and consequent signatures but he… - If those are really claws, everyone should have them. Maybe they would learn what kindness is. - if I wasn't the one talking to him, he wouldn't believe me. He would mock me, it would be bitter and biting. Instead he fights with the truth that I offer him and stares at me dazed. Almost angry, hunted. The problem is that he believes me, so he picks me up and it's as if he's looking at me for the very first time. His forehead is damp with sweat, so I free his unruly curls before rummaging through my clutch bag. I make sure he follows my gestures and I take out a box of matches: I choose one and place it under the perfect curve of his nose. He flinches but stays as I light the end and, solemnly, set the piñata on fire. While the papier-mâché lobster is devoured by the flames, little by little, melted sweets and chocolate perish in the meadow. Neither of us needs to introduce what's about to happen: just as I stand on tiptoe, he lowers his disheveled head and the tips of our noses meet. It's the last chance to retract before the soft "m" of his upper lip meets my lower lip, dehydrated from makeup. In the first friction there is the disbelief of all the years in which we have not allowed ourselves and then, surrounded by the smell of burning, the kiss intensifies in an unstoppable crescendo. Jimmy wraps his bare arms around my body with the eagerness of someone who must survive. For my part, I let out a moan and cling to his shoulder blades: I realize what I wanted and how much I needed to be satisfied. Jimmy and I share the thrill of the kiss, so much so that he murmurs something incomprehensible against my teeth before parting them with his tongue and searching for mine. He holds my head as if I were water and he was drinking and he doesn't care about the cosmetic taste I have on; his lips turn pale. He slides down my neck without any self-control and I understand that he would take me here, right now. In the midst of the fire. - Wait. - I try to stop him with a deafening smooch. We are out of breath and the air is irrespirable but he stares at me with an imploring look. - How much longer? - he plead. I feel his blood vibrate under his golden skin, between the vertebrae of his broad back. - You have to trust me: I have an idea. - The smoke screen rises towards the sky and us. We… dissolve in the middle.

taglist: @taintandviolent @silverzoomies @doll3tt33 @wh0re43van @fear-is-truth + PLEASE, If you want to be added or I forgot someone, let me know!

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters fanfic #jimmy darling #ahs freakshow #evan peters smut #jimmy darling x reader #ahs murder house #ahs asylum #ahs hotel #ahs cult #ahs fandom #james patrick march #kit walker #kai anderson #ficfymo #angst #bff to lovers

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blueberreads · 5 months

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24 in 2024

Thanks @logarithmicpanda tagging me!

I only included books I already own because I'm lazy and didn't look into 2024 releases yet :D

1. Sailing by Orion's Star by Katie Crabb

2. The Siren, the Song and the Spy bu Maggie Tokuda-Hall

3. Deep as the Sky, Red as the Sea by Rita Chang-Eppig

4. A Clash of Steel by C.B. Lee

5. Longshadow by Olivia Atwater

6. Labyrinth's Heart by M.A. Carrick

7. The Battle Drum by Saara El-Arifi

8. Defiant by Brandon Sanderson

9. Perception Check by Astrid Knight

10. Sir Callie and the Champions of Helston by Esme Symes-Smith

11. The Scapegracers by H.A. Clarke

12. When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb

13. The Bone Ships by R.J. Barker

14. To Shape a Dragon's Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose

15. Daughter of Redwinter by E.D. McDonald

16. The Wolf of Oren-Yaro by K.S. Villoso

17. Starling House by Alix E. Harrow

18. A Strange and Stubborn Endurance by Foz Meadows

19. The Red Scholar's Wake by Aliette de Bodard

20. Notorious Sorcerer by Davinia Evans

21. The House Witch by Delemhach

22. The Councillor by E.J. Beaton

23. The Stardust Thief by Chelsea Abdullah

24. The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez

Tagging @traeumenvonbuechern, @beforeviolets and @starryfox0

#books #tag game #booklr

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bonefall · 1 year

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What are each of the df cats nightmare places? The ones you have laid out anyway

Named, there's Deadfrost's Labyrinth which was brought by Shredtail, and Lover's Beck brought by Houndleap. I won't name them until the associated cat has a full summary.

But anyway here's a couple planned ones:

Leopardstar/Bonehill

Tigerstar/Thistle Field

Thistleclaw/ Highrock Mountain (the highrock is an endlessly high mountain)

Featherwhisker/Meadow of Dead Stars (It is very funny that Feather's like, "my life rocked actually. Its worst moment was the half a second I was in StarClan :V")

Ryewhisker/The bloody battlefield he died in

Cloudberry/Fourtrees and it always seems to murmur

Ripplestar/Fallen Fifth Tree

Mapleshade/Swollen River

In addition, when I get to a cat that 'defects' from StarClan, like Thistleclaw, I will mention that their... "Land Mar" fades in over time. The starshine has to fade from their fur.

#A shining StarClan defector can probably also be killed #So Thistleclaw was unsafe when he first left StarClan #Better bones au #BB!Dark Forest

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soul--forge · 1 year

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PLITHOTYPES:

What are Plithotypes?

A plithotype is an intersectional term describing an experience based in plurality and identities that shape the architecture/landscape of the inner world. Or vice versa: the layout of the inner world affecting identity.

Example: a plural group whose inner world is a solar system may result in various members of the system /or the entire system having identity congruence to solar systems, planets, and/or galaxies. (such as galaxykin, planet-hearted, solar system shifter etc)

If they wanted to, they could use Galaxy, Planet, or Solar System as an alternative to calling themselves a System (we've seen some folks already doing this).

More examples of Plithotypes:

Forest, Meadow, Bouquet

Constellation, Asteroid Belt, Meteor Shower

Puzzle, Maze, Labyrinth

Web, Tunnel, Hive

Nest, Burrow, Trench, Ditch

Ocean, Sea, Lake, River, Stream

Song, Symphony, Concerto, Composition

Computer, Server, Network, Terabyte.

Feel free to add on with your& own!

#maybe someone's already done something like this but we havent been able to find a term for it so here we go #plurality #plural terms #plural pride #plural diversity #alternative plurality #before anyone jumps on us we have D.I.D. but we're POC and are trying to move away from clinical psychiatry in favor of reconnecting #with our heritage #endo safe #no discourse or we'll put you in one of those dunce caps #alterhuman #plithotypes

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fanficapologist · 9 months

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Five

Maera stood in the courtyard of Rain House, surrounded by her siblings, including the seven younger who had risen early to bid her farewell. Her departure for King's Landing was imminent, and the weight of the impending farewell pressed heavily on her heart. The gentle summer breeze played with her dark brown hair, and the sun causing the silver streak to shimmer in the wind. As the time to leave drew near, the family gathered in a circle, holding hands. Maera led them in a silent prayer to the Seven, hoping for a safe journey and for her family’s continued happiness and well-being. Tears welled up in her eyes as she said her individual farewells to each sibling, embracing them tightly.

Finally, the time came to part ways. Lady Maera Wylde stood before her family one last time, her heart filled with love and trepidation. "I love you all," she said, her voice quivering. "Take care of each other, and remember to write." With that, she turned and began her week-long journey towards King's Landing, knowing that she left behind not just her family but a piece of her heart in the halls of Rain House.

As the carriage rolled forward, the rhythmic clattering of hooves on the cobbled road echoed her restlessness. Maera’s eyes darting anxiously between the passing landscape and her own reflection in the glass, the trees blurring into one as her mind wandered into a labyrinth of worries and uncertainties. The journey to King's Landing was not without its moments of serenity. The landscapes shifted as they crossed rivers and meadows, each passing mile bringing her closer to her destination. Yet, with every step, Lady Maera felt the weight of her responsibilities grow.

As she gazed out of the window, her thoughts a maelstrom of emotions. She thought about her first time at the Red keep and her shared childhood with the silver-haired princes and princess. From their early encounters, Maera found herself clashing with Aegon's character. He exuded an air of entitlement that rubbed her the wrong way, as if the world owed him admiration simply because of his royal birth. Their interactions often turned into verbal jousts, with each seeking to assert their dominance over the other. The presence of Helaena and Aemond provided some relief, as Maera found solace in their company. Helaena's gentle nature and Aemond's adventurous spirit helped ease the tension between Maera and Aegon, at least momentarily.

As well as her connection with Helaena, Aemond and Maera also shared an unspoken bond. Maera had a spirit as wild as the stormy seas that surrounded Rain House, and her heart was filled with curiosity and wonder. Aemond, the young dragon prince with his silver locks and violet eyes, had a daring spirit that matched Lady Maera's, and the two were inseparable companions. They would find joy in the simplest of things, be it racing through the climbing the walls and trees in the gardens, sparring in the courtyard or learning High Valyrian together under the comfort of the weirwood tree. It made Maera’s heart ache that it was now a distant memory.

As the day wore on and the moonlight filled the sky, the countryside gave way to bustling villages and eventually the outskirts of the capital itself. The sounds of the city engulfed them like a wave, the cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and the hubbub of street life invading the serene cocoon of the carriage. The familiar melody of Kings Landing brought Maera a sense of contentment, allowing her to shut her eyes and find slumber.

On the fifth day of travelling, the carriage entered the city and Maera couldn't help but marvel at the bustling streets and the diversity of its people. Merchants and nobles, beggars and knights - the city was a melting pot of personalities and ambitions, each weaving their own narrative into the tapestry of the realm.

With the capital's towering Red Keep finally came into view as the sun set, her heart quickened. The sight of the majestic castle, standing tall and proud, stirred both awe and trepidation within her. She knew that within its walls lay a world of intrigue and ambition, one that she would have to navigate with caution and resolve.

As Maera exited the carriage onto the cobblestones within the keeps walls, a loud gutteral sound rang through the air, causing the horses pulling the carriage to become spooked. As she searched the sky for the source, a distant figure soared through the pale blue sky, a majestic creature with wings outstretched. It could only be one thing - a dragon. Her heart raced with excitement, and she squinted to get a better look. The dragon was enormous, with scales that shimmered like molten gold. The sight was both breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Maera knew that it must be Vhagar, bigger than she remembered.

As the largest and oldest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms, Vhagar's scaled form dominated the skies, its wingspan stretching wide enough to cast a shadow over streets and rooftops. Vhagar's roars reverberated through the air and as she soared closer, Maera could make out the distinctive silver-haired rider perched atop the dragon's back. Prince Aemond Targaryen himself. Maera felt the pit of anxiety once again in her stomach, knowing she would have to face her friend sooner or later.

As the dragon and its rider passed over the Keep, she began walking towards the steps to the castle entrance, where her father, the Master of Laws, waited for her. The lord’s steely gaze was fixed upon his daughter, and his posture was as imposing as she remembered. Maera tried to suppress her nerves and stand tall, knowing the importance of making a strong impression.

"Good afternoon, my lord father," Maera curtsied as Lord Jasper approached. "It's an honor to see you again after so long apart."

Lord Jasper nodded, acknowledging the formal gesture. "My daughter, how you have changed" he replied commented in a deep voice. "I trust your journey was uneventful."

"Yes, father," she answered, making sure to maintain her composure. "The journey was long but without incident." The master of Laws then beckoned his daughter to follow him through the doors into the Keep.

"It will be a privilege to serve the Crown with another member of my family” Lord Jasper said, his expression softening just slightly. "I know you will serve our queen with the utmost dedication and loyalty."

"I will, father," Maera replied, pride swelling in her chest. "I will take my duties seriously and do my best to represent House Wylde honorably."

"Good," he nodded, his stern demeanor returning. "Remember, Maera, our loyalty lies with the King and Queen above all else. You are a Wylde, and it is your duty to serve the crown faithfully and without question."

"I understand, father," she said, her voice steady and determined.

Lord Jasper touched her shoulder, causing her to stop him her stride. He looked at her intently for a moment before continuing, "You must also be on your best behavior at all times, both within the castle walls and outside them. As a Wylde, your actions reflect not just on yourself but on our entire house."

There it was. No speaking out of turn, or sparring with a sword or hunting or sneaking out of the castle at night, thought Maera, suppressing the roll of her eyes

"I will be mindful of that, father," she promised, trying to hide her slight annoyance, as the two continued their walk.

A mixture of emotions stirred within Maera as she listened to her father's words. Despite the strictness, his disapproval of her unladylike conduct and the severity of his expectations, she couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for his approval. Maera sensed it was something to do with the inactivity he had in her life, or possibly how Guston emphasised the pride of having their own father serve the crown so directly. She knew her father's love for her might be expressed through discipline, but she was determined to prove herself worthy of his pride.

As they made their way through to the throne room, Lord Jasper continued to impart wisdom and guidance to his daughter, recounting stories of their ancestors' loyalty to the crown and their responsibilities as noble lords. The weight of their family's legacy settled on Maera's shoulders, and with that sentiment her father left her to be presented to Queen Helaena.

Lady Maera Wylde stood in the opulent hall, the Iron Throne staring right back at her. The chair her own great-grandfather Jaehaerys had sat so long ago. She smiled to herself as she thought about her mother, sat by the hearth, braiding Maera’s hair and educating her about her Targaryen bloodline.

"The Iron Throne is not merely a seat of power, my dear," her mothers voice echoed in her head. "It is a symbol of authority and dominion, a beacon that draws both allies and enemies” The lessons she had learned from Lady Gael were not merely about politics or strategy; they were a testament to the enduring spirit of House Targaryen. The same spirit that was within Maera, passed through the bloodline.

The longer she waited in the throne room, the more her heart pounded with excitement and nervousness, so much so that Maera was sure the guards at the door would hear it. It had been three long years since she last saw her dearest friend, Queen Helaena. Life had taken them on separate paths, with Maera tending to her duties at House Wylde and Helaena reigning over the kingdom as queen.

As the grand doors creaked open and more guards entered, they parted to the side of the room, revealing the regal figure of Queen Helaena. Maera took a deep breath. She hoped that the silver-haired woman before her, dressed in a fine gown of lilac, was still the same friend she cherished as a girl. As Helaena approached, Maera's heart raced, and she curtsied deeply, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"Your Grace," Maera greeted, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. "It is an honor to see-” without warning, the queen stepped forward and enveloped Maera in a desperate but warm embrace. The hug was tight, genuine, and a flood of emotions rushed through Maera. She returned the embrace, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I have missed you too” she whispered into Helaena’s hair. Each woman pulled back, trying to regain some composure.

“Lady Maera, welcome back to Kings Landing” Helaena stated, a shy smile gracing her face. “I apologise for not replying promptly to your letters as of late. Court has been…challenging for me since my husband ascended the throne. I do hope you are not offended”

“Not at all, my Queen” Maera reassured her friend. “The fact that I am here to serve you once again is far better than any correspondence on parchment”. Helaena beamed at Maera’s comments.

“Come” said the silver-haired queen. “Let me show you to your chambers and we can reacquaint ourselves properly on the way”. Helaena turned to the guards near the doors and told them not to follow the pair was they walked the ornate halls.

The flickering torchlight painted dancing shadows on the stone walls, an ancient ritual of illumination that had seen the passage of countless generations. As they strolled, a sense of nostalgia tugged at their hearts, bridging the years that had passed since their youthful days.

"I'll admit, I was worried our paths might drift too far apart," Maera confessed, a touch of vulnerability in her voice. "But seeing you again, Helaena, makes me realize that our friendship is not bound by time”

The queen smiled shyly as the pair continued down the dimly lit corridor, passing portraits of stern-faced silver-haired ancestors and tapestries depicting battles long fought. Pushing open the ornate wooden door, Helaena ushered Maera into the rooms.

The chambers were a sanctuary of luxury and elegance, much different to Maera’s rooms at Rain House. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of dragons soaring over distant landscapes and knights in gleaming armor. A massive canopied bed dominated one corner, its curtains as dark as the night sky, adorned with silver thread that caught the light like stars. A vanity table stood by the window, its mirror framed by intricate carvings of vines and roses. Helaena allowed Maera to get settled and invited her to dinner that evening with the rest of her family. A pang of nervousness was felt in Maera’s gut at the thought of reuniting with the other Targaryens, but she thanked her queen for allowing her to stay in such splendid chambers and that she was looking forward to attending the meal.

A sense of nostalgia washed over Maera as she continued to explore the chambers. The fireplace, though unlit in the warm summer months, beckoned her with its grandeur. Above the mantle hung an oil painting of the Targaryen dragons soaring over a castle, flames dancing in their wake. The portraits on either side, measuring from ceiling to floor, captured the stern faces of long-departed rulers, observing her every move with an air of silent judgment.

Drawn towards the balcony, Maera pushed open the heavy wooden doors. The view that greeted her was breathtaking – the sprawling city of King's Landing stretched before her, a chaotic tapestry of rooftops, markets, and streets. The great Sept of Baelor stood in the distance, its white marble gleaming in the sun. It then suddenly dawned on her. She knew these chambers. It was the same room Maera had slept in during her second visit to the Red Keep. During the wedding of Helaena and Aegon, in which a long-awaited confrontation with the one-eyed Prince finally came to a head.

Note: Ok, we’re getting into canon-territory so now the chapters will get longer. And our present day Aemond will soon be making an appearance so brace yourself!

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd helaena #house targaryen #house wylde #jasper wylde #maera wylde

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imagine-darksiders · 2 years

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Sunnydrop X Reader X Moondrop

Montgomery Gator x Reader.

So for those of you who like my Fnaf summer camp au, I've written this little drabble of Y/n's first possible meeting with abandoned Sunny and Moondrop.

Sorry it's not quite so good as the other stuff I write, I haven't been feeling like myself lately :)

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There's an immense and imperishable serenity surrounding Glamrock Lake, unparalleled in its grandeur and extraordinary in both depth and size. A body of water so vast should be daunting, but with gentle waves that lap at a sandy shoreline and water fowl nesting amongst the bullrushes, it instead exudes a harmless, bucolic air that could soothe the soul of even the most tempestuous beast.

You can certainly understand why Faz Co. decided to build a Summer camp all the way out here, far from the humdrum of modern life.

Sitting with your bare feet dangling over the edge of a rickety, wooden pier, you lean back onto your palms and gaze languidly up at the sky as the last of the sun's rays sink below a jagged treeline, stealing away the lingering warmth of yet another evening.

This will mark your third night at Camp Fazbear, and for as much fun as you've had so far, you aren't averse to moments like this – a little downtime, a few minutes of peace while the kids are busy in the mess hall finishing their supper with the animatronics.

The latter had certainly been a shock to the system when you were introduced on your first day. As the company mascot - Freddy Fazbear - engulfed your hand in his comparatively enormous paw and have it a hearty shake, you found yourself coming to the dawning realisation that you probably should have researched Faz Co. just a little more thoroughly.

Your soon-to-be Camp Director, Richard Meadows, had made brief mention that you'd be working alongside animatronics during the initial interview, but back then, you naively assumed he meant the kind you'd see in some backwater restaurant in the ass-end of nowhere. Robots modelled after animals, strumming banjos with clunky fingers and staring at you with their cold, lifeless eyes.

However, upon arriving just three short days ago, you quickly learned that you'd only been right about them being modelled after animals...

An exasperated sigh slips through your nose, aimed at nobody else except for yourself.

Allowing the very tips of your toes to skim the lake surface, you lazily swing your legs over the water and send pond-skaters zipping about frenetically to escape the ensuing ripples.

“Sorry, guys,” you offer down to them, “Best get used to this though. I think tomorrow is the kids' first lake swim.”

Predictably, the little insects don't deign to respond.

Fair enough.

Lifting a hand, you rub tiredly at the corner of an eye as your jaw unhinges to release an obnoxious yawn. Mr Meadows had invited you to play cards with him later tonight after the campers retire to their beds, but though you appreciate his offer, you know you'll end up declining. It's barely nine, and you're already dead on your feet.

'SNAP!'

The abrupt sound of a splintered branch pierces the peaceful silence like a gunshot, throwing your heart straight up into your throat whilst your stomach takes a nose-dive into your shoes.

That had definitely come from the forest's tree line which looms behind you just a few, measly metres away.

All at once alert, you whip your torso around and almost crick your neck by twisting it violently towards the trees, your eyes on stalks as you scan the shadows.

At your back, the forest lurks like some, great beast of old.

Ancient balsam firs and red spruces have grown into a vast, indomitable labyrinth that stretches in every direction for as far as the mortal eye can see. Fifty million hectares of trees, and so much of the area still uncharted.

These trees are old. So old that some of those growing deep at the forest's centre have turned to petrified wood.

It's down more to instinct than experience that you revere this forest.

Anything could be lurking within the thick, tangible shadows.

Case in point, whatever had just snapped that branch.

A squirrel, perhaps? Or a raccoon?

… No, you decide promptly. The snap was significantly loud, belonging to a tree branch, not a twig. A piece of wood that size would have to have been broken by something much heavier.

Swallowing thickly, you hope to christ you aren't about to come face to face with a bear, or, god forbid, a moose.

“Hello?” you blurt, making your presence known.

Little else but a breeze hushes across the camp in response, disturbing a forest full of leaves that whisper like millions of tiny voices under the dying sunlight.

You wait... and wait some more, hardly blinking for fear of missing something.

You're concentrating so hard on catching movement within the treeline that you don't even notice the crickets have stopped chirping, and the birds in their trees are utterly still and silent. Nature is holding her breath right alongside you.

Suddenly, motion.

Your eyes dart slightly to the left and freeze upon an object that emerges tentatively from behind a wide, dark trunk. It's unexpected appearance sends you scrambling up onto your feet and standing to attention at the end of the pier with your muscles snapped tight in anticipation of a swift escape.

For some time, it's all you can do to watch on apprehensively as the object moves further into view until the last remnants of daylight shine upon a smooth, pale surface, finally giving you something to recognise.

It's... a face... A yellow face, perfectly round and made of plastic casing and silicone, adorned by two, blank eyes that sit widely atop a beaming grin - a grin so vast it stretches from one cheek to the other, never once slipping, even as shock pulls your jaws apart.

The face hangs just a foot above the grass, still half-hidden behind the tree trunk, tilting this way and that until you're hit by the absurd and frankly shuddersome notion that it's assessing you.

It's only fair then, you suppose, that you should assess it in return.

“What on Earth...?” you breathe to yourself, brows drawn together to form a rigid line above your eyes, “Is that... an animatronic?”

You recoil in surprise when at the sound of your voice, the face spins in a circle, whirring all the way around on an axis until it's the right way up again.

Definitely mechanical then.

Something about the revelation eases your thundering heart to a more manageable grumble.

Not a bear. Not a moose. Just a short, grinning animatronic no taller than your knee, if the height of its head is anything to go by.

Just like that, you're at once embarrassed to have been so frightened of such a small bot that's likely only wondering why you're sitting out here alone while the other counsellors are busy having fun in the mess hall with the kids.

It hasn't uttered a sound, save for the near-imperceptible clicks of machinery it emits as its strange head tilts left and right like the wheel of a car, as if it can hardly bear to keep still.

Belatedly, you start to wonder if it's waiting for you to offer up an explanation.

“Oh! Sorry!” you announce abruptly with a little jolt, “Sorry, you, uh... startled me. Hi!”

The animatronic recoils a little, and you're further stunned when several vibrant, orange spikes spring up from somewhere behind its head, as if until now they'd been laying completely flat against the surface, hidden away for a purpose you can't hope to understand.

“You must be one of the camp bots,” you try, clasping your hands together in front of you awkwardly, “I don't think we were introduced yesterday during induction. I'm... sure I'd have remembered you.”

It's face turns and sticks at a sharp right angle and it peers up at you, grinning that unwavering grin. Yet still, it remains perfectly silent.

Shifting on the balls of your feet, you press your lips together until the silence once again becomes more oppressive than you can stand. “I'm Y/n, one of the new counsellors.”

Nothing...

“It's... nice to meet you?”

“... Nice...”

You blink, taken aback for a moment before you realise that the scratchy whisper of a sound hadn't been just another breeze rolling through the forest. The animatronic can speak.

“Um, yeah?” Perplexed, but now far more curious than alarmed, you find yourself venturing a few, hesitant steps closer, smiling down at it. “It's nice to meet you.”

Perhaps... it's some kind of prototype?

Something else emerges from behind the tree next to its head and you instantly freeze mid-stride, shooting the new object a glance. Once again, you feel ever so silly when you realise it's just a hand. A single, yellow digit extends from the bot's closed fist, pointing up at you indicatively.

“... Friend...?” that well-worn voice utters.

“Oh – I...” Uncertain, you glance around as if you might find an appropriate response hanging in the air somewhere nearby. “I... Are you... asking if I want to be your friend?”

Total motionlessness from the bot.

And then, at last, you catch just a hint of motion, a bob of its head. A small, but unmistakable nod.

Your smile returns from where it had fallen and you offer the animatronic a one-armed shrug, replying, “Well... Sure, I mean, I don't see why not?”

Later, you'll look back on this moment and wonder what might've happened if you just said a simple, concise, 'No.'

A change comes over the animatronic all at once, both literally and figuratively. With the reluctance of a stag leaving the safety of his thicket, the bot moves out from behind the tree trunk. And like a gangling scarecrow unfolding itself, it stands upright.

You're put on the back-foot immediately.

“Oh god,” you murmur, sliding one, bare foot backwards until it leaves the grass and finds solid wood beneath it once again. At your sides, your hands knot themselves into quivering fists, bound tightly enough to give a glimpse at white bone bleeding through the skin.

This animatronic is not little. Not by a long shot.

Limbs that resemble skinny tree branches unfurl until it stands taller than Chica, then taller than Freddy, until you'd put money on this new bot easily standing taller than any of the animatronics at the camp. In the last embers of daylight, it pauses to peer down at you, giving you an uninterrupted glimpse of the tattered, striped trousers that hang from its mechanical hips and the overall filth that cakes its plating, covering up what must have once been a dazzling coat of paint.

On creaking limbs left dark by rust and age, the animatronic takes a step.

It covers in that single step the same distance you would achieve with four, sizeable strides, surging into your space with its face tilted to stare down at you, whilst yours tips further and further back just to keep looking it in the optic.

Breath unsteady, you wet your lips, inhaling through your nose as if the scent of pine needles and crisp, evening air will fill your lungs with courage instead of useless oxygen.

“... Friend...” it rasps, pushing the rays around its head forwards until you feel as though you're staring up at the sun itself, locked within its pale, burning gaze.

The lake stands behind you like a waiting wolf, its jaws open to catch you should you take another step back into its icy waters. Suddenly, all of its serenity has fled and you're left just as afraid of the water as you are of the trees.

The animatronic's hand lifts into the air and it stretches its fingers out towards you, moving slow whilst it observes your darting eyes.

“What are...?” Your words die on your lips fingertips of cool silicone ghost delicately across your cheek. You'd flinch away if you weren't so afraid that any sudden moves might provoke it.

“H..Haah,” the animatronic seems to breathe, an impossible feat, given its lack of lungs. “... Soft... soooft, little friend~...” There's a faraway lilt in its voice and careful consideration in its touch, exerting the kind of gentleness one might use to brush their fingers across the petals of a flower.

You take a breath, peeling your cracked lips apart to tell the bot to back up, to stop touching you, but all of a sudden, a different voice twitches your ear.

“Rookie?”

All the air seems to rush out of your lungs as you flick your gaze towards the camp and find a hulking, familiar figure standing there, staring back at you from behind his over-sized aviators, a kayak tucked under one arm.

“Montgomery,” you choke, hating how your own voice catches in your throat.

Montgomery Gator... Life-guard of Glamrock Lake and an integral member of the animatronic team at Camp Fazbear... You don't rightly know whether to be relieved or even more terrified.

Montgomery has made no secret of his disdain for you. From day one, the surly bot slapped you with a demeaning nickname to highlight your inexperience and started going out of his way to insult, berate or torment you.

Now though, he's probably the only person who can help.

'If,' your brain unhelpfully interjects, 'he chooses to do so.'

Ever the pessimist...

The gator moves forward by a mere inch, lifting one leg to place it down in front of the other.

But it seems even that was enough.

In a blur of dizzying motion and screeching metal, something large explodes out of the treeline and hurtles straight for you on all fours.

“No!” Monty hollers.

You've barely had time to turn and face the newcomer when you suddenly feel long, lanky arms snake around your waist, and before you can utter a yelp of shock, you're being hoisted up into the air and slung over a narrow shoulder. A cry for help is swallowed as the world around you starts to move. Fast.

“Sunny, get back here!”

Kicking out to try and dislodge the enormous hand pressed down on top of your thighs, you plant your fists on a solid, metal frame and force your head up, blinking blearily at the swiftly diminishing light filtering in between the trees. You're in the forest, and something is hauling you away from camp at a terrifying speed. Most bafflingly, it isn't the yellow animatronic – Sunny, you imagine – that has you held captive - because Sunny is whizzing silently through the trees behind you, keeping almost perfect pace with who or whatever has you thrown across their shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Behind him, you can make out the green and yellow flash of Montgomery Gator as he hurtles after you. But although Monty may have full mastery of Glamrock Lake, out here amongst the spruces and pines, he's a fish out of water.

Helpless, your eyes begin to stream as you watch him fall steadily behind, his pistons working overtime to try and keep up, but you know as well as he does that it's a lost cause. These animatronics, whoever they are, pull away from the gator with ease, one grinning down at you with its permanent smile and the other keeping a firm grip on your thighs as you're whisked away into the unassailable forest, shrouded in the darkness of night.

#fnaf #sunnydrop #sundrop #sunnydrop x reader #moondrop #moon x reader #summer camp au #montgomery gator #drabble

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rowanrabbit · 1 year

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The labyrinth is thick with mist, and fallen leaves have collected on the path in little drifts that crunch beneath your feet. The tall green hedges that make up the maze seem endless, and the thick thorns concealed between the leaves make them impenetrable. You’ve lost all track of time here; you can’t say if you’ve been wandering for hours or days or weeks. There’s nothing to eat, but you never feel hungry. You think you might be dead.

Sometimes you come across features that interrupt the endless monotony of the maze: wide squares centered around crumbling moss-covered statues, or chipped old fountains gently burbling with clear cool water. Sometimes there are stone benches covered in twigs and dust. You always sit for a while and stare into space, thinking about nothing. There’s a lonely sort of peace to this place. It’s not what you expected from the afterlife.

You never see another living thing, not even birds or insects. But sometimes, in the middle distance, you hear the sound of heavy hooves clop-clopping along the path, in another branch of the maze, hidden from view by the tall green hedges. You hold your breath as they pass, caught between longing and terror. You don’t want to see whatever beast is stalking this forgotten place.

But eventually, you turn yet another corner and find yourself facing the yawning doorway of a ramshackle hut, built in the center of a small square. You’re shocked to your core by this sudden sign of life. You’re sure that the beast must be close by. You can hear the clop-clop of the hooves, slowly approaching through the maze, and then you hear the heavy snort of a thick wet snout right behind you.

You turn to find a large figure stepping off the misty path and entering the square. He’s wearing a long dark robe over a bulky body, and a large, unwieldy pack is strapped to his back. His head is covered by a deep hood, but it pokes up into little tents over the shapes of his horns, and in the darkness under the hood his soft cow’s nose is just visible. He’s carrying a lantern in one hoof-knuckled hand, and beneath the long robe are the heavy hooves you’ve heard clopping along the path so many times.

“Are you lost?” he asks. “I can lead you to the exit.”

There begins another stretch of endless time. You follow the minotaur down an endless series of long green empty paths, with the grey mists swirling around you and the dead leaves crunching beneath your feet. He navigates the mist-riddled maze with ease, and you wonder how long he’s lived in this lonely place.

You turn one final corner, expecting another row of hedges, but the hedges end abruptly, and beyond them is spread a wild, rolling meadow. Clusters of white sheep are grazing in the green grass, and in the distance you see smoke rising from the chimneys of houses.

“This way will return you to the land of the living,” says the minotaur, solemnly.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready,” you say, almost laughing, and then suddenly there are tears in yours eyes, and you weep as you stare out into the living world.

“You don’t have to go,” says the minotaur, gentle and shy from beneath his hood. “You can stay here with me until you’re ready.”

You nod your head and dry your tears with your hands, and when the minotaur turns to go, you follow after him, back into the peaceful grey-green simplicity of the maze.

#short story #fairy tale #exophilia #minotaur #minotaur x reader

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phoenixiancrystallist · 8 months

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Forspoken Photo Dump 95: Visoria; Shepherd's Meadow, Part 6

#forspoken #forspoken photo mode #athia #visoria #visoria: shepherd's meadow #baryte guild #shepherd's meadow: western belfry #bonus junoon in the distance #shepherd's meadow refuge #locked labyrinth: forest #harvest lands refuge #graenn #bonus avoalet in the distance #windy hills refuge

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sotcwcrp · 4 months

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SECRETS OF THE CLANS, JANUARY OPENING!

In celebration of our January 14th - January 28th opening, we're going to be highlighting each of the clans, to give you a better idea of what they're like / how different they are from the books!

Today's clan is...

Thunderclan

ART CREDITS: carnationcarnivore on discord!

❗Important note! Thunderclan is only SEMI-OPEN to new members! They will only be allowing in member whos specifically request TC on our membership application.

A spark comes to life in the depths of your chest. Arcing over a pumping heart and electrifying your very soul. Paws clobber the forest floor as a voltage races through those veins. Looking above, a series of pelts are crawling on trunks and flying across tree limbs after bushy squirrels. The sky rumbles with the admonition of an incoming storm, your ears perk at the chance of being doused by the thrumming rain. Keep up, now!

To be your eyes into Thunderclan Territory, Harrierkit a Thunderclan kitten is here to interview some of his clanmates! Take it away Harrierkit!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"So, what's Thunderclan's territory like?"

"Oh, it's quite marvellous! With so many trees and woods that go on for miles and miles! The sound of birds chirping and singing songs of beauty! Trees so tall you could reach the clouds and stars. And! Oh my, I'm getting ahead of myself little one. For seeing the territory with eyes of your own, is what I call an amazing first experience." - Lionhoney

Thunderclan's territory is an impenetrable woodland, decorated with dense foliage that's easy to get lost in. Ferns and thorny-thickets twist at every curve and low hanging branches promise to snag an unfamiliar cat's pelt. To those who have learned its navigation, the forest floor is an oasis to skittering bugs and nests of curious prey. Above your head lays a maze of tangled branches, rising to towering heights and spanning across the full length of the forest, those daring can venture across abandoned twoleg bridges or find themselves in a nasty fight with sharp-toothed red squirrels. The labyrinth of foliage and the web of branches overhead are so different as to almost be their own territories, but they interweave with one another in a timeless dance. The Hearthborn twisting and turning through thickets and the Timbered flying through branches with the sun on their "wings" have very different experiences with the territory, but both are so characteristically ThunderClan.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"What's the best place in our territory? Go lots' into detail please!"

"My favourite spot on ThunderClan territory is our Sacred Oak. I've adored looking up to it ever since I was a kit. It represents the past and my--our--future. Something magical is in that bark, and I swear it glows beneath the light of the moon. It holds secrets and stories and success. I plan to be part of it one day." - Foxleap

The Sacred Oak truly is magnificent; a tall, ancient tree, it is said that StarClan struck the tree with lightning to symbolize their approval of Thunderstar. All leaders from Thunderstar to Bugstar have had their pawprint carved and painted on the Sacred Oak, and on the reverse side, lovers have left their intertwined paw carvings as well, immortalizing their devotion to each other. The grand tree symbolizes ThunderClan's love, both the love between cats and the love of the leaders for their Clans.

But the Sacred Oak is far from the only notable landmark; ThunderClan has plenty of others across its large stretch of forest. The vibrant grove of berry branches, speckled with vines of multi-colored berries that lay through the trees and litter the ground below. Hidden away, by the edge of the territory lies a secret meadow, canopied by tightly knit trees and lush with tall-standing flowers and untouched grass. Daring timbered warriors can find themselves in the well-structured twisted canopy, an entire separate world above the floor! And to those in Thunderclan more adverse to the risk-taking heights, a muddy coliseum welcomes any cat for a good spar, though-- make sure you don't come back to camp all muddy by taking a leisurely dip in ThunderClan's flooded meadow!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Hey! Can you tell me a story 'bout something that happened in Thunderclan?"

"I remember when Silkshimmer, my apprentice, caught her first piece of prey. She had a bit of trouble gettin' the hang of huntin', and it was really takin' a toll of her self esteem. But, one day, we're out in the trees and the next thing I know she was leapin' through the trees like she had wings. I barely blink and suddenly she found herself with a crow beneath her claws. I'll never forget the way she smiled." - Robinfeet

A mentor is one of the most vital figures in a young apprentice’s life, and apprentices often come to see their mentors as a form of family. Aside from just training their apprentice, mentors offer general life advice, a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear, and an extra set of paws to help with whatever their apprentice is crafting at the moment, whether it’s a present for a loved one or their personal set of bark armor. When apprentices graduate, they wear their bark armor and colorful pawstains up to the highrock, and it’s frequently their mentors that help them put on their festive attire for their big day. When the crowd bursts into thunderous cheers once the warrior ceremony concludes, the mentors will cheer the loudest, and many of them cry. Mentor-apprentice bonds frequently last far beyond graduation, and Silkshimmer and Robinfeet’s connection is no exception. The two of them are still inseparable, even though Silkshimmer’s grown so much since her apprentice days and now has an apprentice of her own: young Ivypaw, who’s missing a foreleg, just like her! In fact, once a mentor’s apprentice receives an apprentice of their own, ThunderClan cats recognize them as a grandmentor. If mentors are frequently as close to apprentices as their parents are, grandmentors are then like grandparents; while not primarily involved with the apprentice’s training, they typically like to take an interest and check in with the youngster from time to time. Cats can often trace their “mentor lineage” just as well as they can track their family lineage, and these mentor-apprentice ties connect all of ThunderClan together, making the Clan feel like one big family.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"M' lucky to be in the best clan in the forest, what's our culture like compared to the others?"

“M-My mentor Cicadaskip just taught me this, and I think it’s really cool… U-Um, Timbered warriors of Thunderclan have a sort of secret code that they use to communicate with one another! We mimic the sounds of different bird calls, and then use them to warn other T-Timbered warriors about things like prey, clanmates, enemies… I-It’s really neat! I haven’t mastered all the calls y-yet, but I will one day! I just need to focus on making the calls more round, like Cicadaskip told me to!” - Amurpaw

ThunderClan loves to delve into the world around them and celebrate every little bit that the forest throws at them. The Timbered language is no exception, as it was born from their appreciation for the complex symphony of birdsong greeting them from sunrise to sunset. In fact, all of ThunderClan’s culture comes from embracing the forest’s gifts and displaying them to the world, with all the pride of a beautiful bird flaunting its feathers. With the abundance of berries, flowers, and other bright natural dyes found in the forest, ThunderClan cats often sport multi-colored looks, especially in certain patterns called pawstains. Their love of painting extends past their fur and onto physical objects as well, especially the bark armor they craft throughout their apprenticeships. Wood is one of the most valuable crafting staples for ThunderClan cats, but not all wood is created equal! After so many years of relying on and studying the trees surrounding them, the tree types grew to have characters of their own, from the quaking yet courageous aspen to the circles of ash keeping each other safe. ThunderClan cats even have their own version of astrology called arbology, which relates to different tree types and is used for light-hearted superstition and fuels many discussions during apprentice sleepovers. All-in-all, ThunderClan cats are spirited, bright, and as loud as the storms they celebrate, and they’ll always be deeply connected to the forest that shelters them.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"I think the council's really cool, what do you think, Withercall?"

“The council of Thunderclan has always been incredible. From the moment that me and my siblings entered the forest, they have been welcoming of us, giving us warmth, prey and kindness. The council do what they can for our clan, keeping us safe and fed… Especially the healers! Please do go see my dearest sibling Lunarlynx if you ever have any ailment. She will fix you right up, and make sure you feel even better than you did before!” - Withercall

ThunderClan's council is as dynamic and interconnected as the forest itself! From Raintansy's rebellious ideals to Lavenderdream's gentle, thoughtful nature, each cat in the council brings unique aspects and diverse perspectives to the table, and their relationships run as deep as ravines. As leader of ThunderClan, Bugstar is known to be reserved in relation to the rest of the council, but he never hesitates to make a quick decision when the Clan is in need, while his deputy, Daisyfang, is known for consulting many before determining her next move. Among the healers, although some may be closer than others, their connection to one another has grown throughout every trial and tribulation they have faced together, and they would trust one another with their lives. Merlinheart and Snowdapple are mates and are currently watching their kits, now apprentices, experience life and grow into their own pelts. Having trained beneath the two in the midst of crisis, Skyhunter and Raintansy have formed an unbreakable bond that travels well beyond words, and Lavenderdream and Lunarlynx—the Clan's newest healers—lean upon one another in every moment of doubt, always trusting that the other will catch them if they fall. Not only that, but all of the healers' kits view the other healers as their healer auncles, always looking out for them at every turn! Overall, while their strong, varying opinions may cause them to butt heads at times, there is no doubt about how much each cat on ThunderClan's council cares for their Clan.

#sotcwcrp #wcrp #discord wcrp #warrior cats #thunderclan #warrior cats rp

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shifterglitter · 1 month

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My Waiting Rooms

The Hord

My first waiting room was inspired by the labyrinth, my love for friendly monsters and my need to live inside of a tree like a pixie.

The reason why I named this "The Hord" is because underneath the roots of my tree house is an elaborate cave system that I can access from my library. In those caves lives a Dragon that hordes all of my memories for current, past, and future lives. That dragon is a reflection of my Higher Self should I need any advice.

Around my tree house is a Labyrinth with serval moon doors, these are magical portals that can take me to any DR that I wish at any time.

Several agreeable monsters also call this waiting room their home and have designated territories.

I do have a non human mental health professional here that fits all my needs.

A few of my favorite parental figure characters of other medias also live here for any needed advice. Like Iroh and Genkai for example.

It has a different biome and mode of travel in each cardinal direction that leads to a different Waiting Room. This is the center of all my experiences and should I die in any of my other realities unexpectedly I would immediately shift here.

To the East there is a horse drawn carriage that goes though grasslands that will take you to Barbie's Mansion. To the south, between two forested mountains, there is a train that will bring you to the Dreamweaver station right outside Haven Village. To the West there is a bioluminescent beach with a yacht that will sail you to a Vacation Resort Island. To the North is a garage with a convertible Jeep prepared for your camping trip into the desert. Should you go far enough you will find yourself stopping at a gas station with strange burritos.

One day I'll post a map of everything.

Barbie's Creepy Dream House

Have any of you been to a Meow Wolf location yet? I have. I am obsessed with this string of immersive art experiences in the American south. I also have a wooden barbie doll house that my uncle made me when I was 8 that I am upcycling into a creepy display piece. This was the inspiration for my second waiting room.

In the fields, meadows, and marsh lands that surround the house I can find apparitions of ancestors and other loving entities on my spiritual team should I wish to speak with them directly.

Because I haven't finished the art project I have not solidified this WR, but I'll get to it in a few years.

The Haven

This inspired by the meditation series by The Honest Guys called Haven and Dreamweaver.

Important people (my core chosen family) in each of the realities I end up in will also be here with our collective memories together. This could be from one life as friends; or multiple, like my siblings. The souls here that have lived multiple lives with me can change their body to appear like any of their DR forms at will.

The soul of my "Kiss Me Again" lover lives here as my spouse in my English cottage with a thatched roof.

I often collaborate with my siblings and lover about who they want to be in my next DR, and who they want me to pull here for them to live an eternity with.

All of my past, present, and future pets live here.

Wii Sport Resort

I use to fucking love the Wii Sports games. SO yeah, I am going to play it forever. With tons of Mountain Dew.

And why not on an island with all my friends from every DR.

My OR biological family will also live here, but they will all be idealized healed versions of themselves.

This will have ALL Wii Sports games among other fun vacation activities, and PC Lounges were we can all play video games too.

Desert Skies

Inspired by a after death fictional audio drama podcast called Desert Skies.

I'm still working on the other details, but this will be a solo adventure of self discovery and processing the loss of each lived life.

*these are all waiting rooms because: they have no plot, are unaffected by time, every living thing is immortal, there are no bugs I dislike, no one ever gets dirty, or experiences any sort of discomfort/harm, we all always smell good, what every your want will appear upon your will of thinking it, you don't need to eat sleep or drink water if you don't want to, there are no ill effects to drugs, you can't get sick, and all of everyone's needs are provided for. There is no suffering of any kind.*

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 1 month

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Love Me Bitterly [Chapter Five] Labyrinth [Adam]

Warning(s): Foreshadowing, OC, short chapter, Adam being Adam, mixed emotions, religious themes.

Tag list: @lala-1516

Previous Chapter

No Minors Allowed!!

“I'm so jealous,” Rilea whined. She fell back in her seat and despite Marcella's plea to be quiet, she continued to wiggle restlessly until the blonde turned to her and raised a curious brow.

“And why might that be?” She asked. She was not curious, but she knew Rilea would not be quiet until she asked.

Rilea got up and moved to sit beside her near the viewing portal. Her green eyes stared at the glistening cosmos in front of her before she turned to Marcella.

“Because Adam is so into you and he's hot.”

He's OK, in Marcella's opinion. His personality is terrible, but he can be nice if he feels motivated.

“I honestly think he's into me just because he's bored.”

Rilea frowned. “Did he say that? Assumptions and truth are frequent bedfellows.”

Marcella snorted.

“So is love and desire.”

The redhead turned up her eyes. She understood the point Marcella was trying to make, but honestly, she didn't think her assumption of Adam was the case. Yes, he was a jerk, but based on what Nera told her, he talked frequently about the Commander's daughter. Her recent performance in Seraphim Square really struck a chord with him.

Even so, it was not her business to push them together. If Marcella gave him an option, something to think about, then it was between them. She and Nera were already giving Adam information; he was just too ignorant when it came to relationships to know what to do with it.

Rilea took an uneasy breath.

“What do you want out of this?”

Marcella hummed. She reached forward and touched the portal, watching as it switched to Earth, a peaceful meadow somewhere in Iceland.

“I'm not sure and for some reason, I'm fine with that.”

On one hand, a relationship with Adam seemed impossible. He was too loud; too full of himself. A one-night stand, on the other, meant that there were no strings attached. Adam did have sex appeal; his mouth made it hard to like him, however.

“It's up to Adam at this point.”

Rilea said nothing more about it. She sat in silence with Marcella until the door opened and Leena sauntered in. She was an anthropomorphic lioness with a brunette mane styled in dreads and dark fur. Sometimes she swapped duties with Rilea but today she was meant to be in the field.

“Is watch over today, sister?”

Leena turned up her slitted brown eyes.

“No. I left Earth early. The observee is grating my nerves.”

Marcella knew the feeling. She gave the lioness a sympathetic look.

“I'm sorry, sister. Perhaps it will get better.”

Leena hummed.

“Perhaps. But I doubt it. I reported him to the Commander once already for misuse of his authority, but she insisted that I ignore it. You would understand, Marcella, he was yours before your demotion.”

That creep. Marcella tightened her jaw and turned to the portal, switching it to a view of the man. He was Caucasian with salt and pepper hair, a charming manipulator, in her opinion. At the moment, he was writing in a ledger of some kind, listing names and ages.

“That is…ominous,” Rilea stated.

No kidding. What was he doing?

“Self-proclaimed Saint Hunter,” Leena mentioned with a frown. “He is currently amassing followers who share his views.”

“And Imelda is ignoring this?” Rilea asked in disbelief.

Leena nodded. She had no idea why and based on the look Marcella was giving him, neither did she.

“The best we can do is keep an eye on him.”

If things continued to escalate then Marcella would have no choice but to take the matter to a Seraphim. Wickedness no matter how small had a connection to the Root of All Evil, and it was the “Powers” job to find and eliminate it.

This was not good.

–

‘Saint’ Hunter stayed on Marcella's mind long after she left headquarters. He put her on edge and the more she tried to ignore him, thinking that things would fix themselves, the more worried she got. She was starting to question whether the Seraphim would intervene or not.

Her mind was a labyrinth. Marcella did not even hear her name being called until whoever had addressed her chased her down, nearly frightening her when they leaped in front of her.

“Sorry, mate. Yor an easy one to spook,” Willow stated with a laugh. She was the lead singer of Frisson, a songbird with white plumage and ombre feathers that faded to mint green.

Marcella sighed in relief.

“I'm sorry. I was distracted. How are you?”

Willow snorted.

“Good ‘nough. Yor gonna freak when I tell ya this, but we got a gig.”

A gig. Marcella widened her eyes.

“Where? When?”

She honestly needed a distraction to clear her head, at least for a brief moment.

“At Seraphim Square in two days,” Willow chirped. “The Celebration of Lights festival, ya know. The band ‘as to keep it cleaner than usual, but that's no problem.”

“That's amazing,” Marcella stated.

She was excited, but her mind was so exhausted, a notion that reflected on her face.

“Yor up for this, right mate?” Willow asked, raising a worried brow. “I ‘eard the “Arches” might show. Ya know what that means.”

Azrael. The blonde felt her face heat up. Was he really going to be there? She had never performed in front of the “Archangels” or the “Seraphim” before. All this was so exciting.

“You don't have to worry about me. I'll have my head in the game by then.”

“Rock on,” Willow retorted, bouncing on her feet. “I'll see ya at Lita's house tomorrow for rehearsal.”

Marcella agreed with a nod, then saw her off as she flew away. She felt a bit better, but work still put a damper on her mood. Opting to turn in early, after a long shower, she hurried home unaware of the attention that she had drawn.

–

Two months and fourteen days was what stood between the Exorcists and Extermination Day. Two months and fourteen days, Lute reminded herself, and Adam was not feeling it.

The stoic woman watched him shove a donut into his mouth from across the table, having been dragged to some café on the square with him. At first, he was attentive, then like the flip of a coin, his attention went elsewhere. It was not unusual for Adam to lose interest in what she had to say, but when his attention diverted to a certain blonde-haired Heaven-born, she grew curious.

“She must live around here,” Lute stated.

It was just a test, but Adam fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Does she?”

“I'd imagine, sir. The “Powers” set up their headquarters near here.”

Adam tossed her a glare.

“No shit. Like I hadn't fucking noticed.”

She knew he had. Adam went there to talk to their Commander. Her point was that it made sense for Marcella to live nearby. He could be dense.

“That bird is a bandmate of hers,” Lute pointed out.

Adam didn't seem to care. He puffed his cheeks and blew bubbles in his cup via the straw. Lute turned up her eyes.

“They might play at the festival. You can see her there.”

Adam groaned. His mask flashed to show a look of annoyance.

“If you don't want me to get to know you as a person, then we need to draw a line here and now.”

What did he want?

“She wants to get to know me,” he blurted out.

“And?” Lute asked.

Adam shot her a glare. What the hell did she mean?

“And what?”

“It's not my place to tell you what to do, sir, but if you want her to get to know you better you might want to put aside your insecurities,” Lute stated. She tapped her face to emphasize her point.

Insecurities. What a joke.

I'm Adam. The first-fucking-man. I don't have–

His mask glitched, interrupting him. Adam frowned. His mask. He hid his face for a reason. Hesitantly his hand went to his stomach, feeling the pudginess beneath his fingers. So what; he wasn't muscular, but he also wasn't overweight. It had been so long since he let a woman get to know him.

What would Marcella even think?

Insecurities. Yeah, he had a few, he reckoned. But he understood what Lute meant. For once he understood.

Frowning, he took a drink from his soda.

“Who the fuck asked you?”

His lieutenant grinned.

“No one, sir.”

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #adam x oc #hazbin hotel fandom #adam hazbin hotel #oc

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