#sacred stones imagine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sapphicseasapphire · 5 months

Text

Thoughts to ponder.

Tears of the Kingdom spoilers (and lots of rambles) under the cut

When I started the Chain as Cryptids au, I didn’t really think I’d be able to work Tears of the Kingdom in, seeing how much I had changed Wild’s story. He’s a spirit with no memory of the Hylian he once was. He’s a force to be reckoned with but can be easily spooked- much like a wild animal. He avoids Flora like the plague since she’s his connection to the life he used to have. The life that isn’t his anymore.

But then… I had an idea. Flora would be desperate to find her Link again after discovering that he’s still alive (or… not really alive. Not quite a Poe but not quite a Hylian either). Regardless, after the events of Breath of the Wild, she’d start a search party and scour every corner of Hyrule to find him.

She never would. When spirits don’t want to be seen, they aren’t. But… this whole time, I imagined that Korok Forest acted as a sort of home base for Wild. Wild cannot speak verbally but can communicate telepathically with other spirits and spiritual beings. The Koroks and Blupees would be like siblings to him, the Deku Tree being like a parental figure since he basically started life over when he died. (Two Links raised by the Great Deku Tree. He and Time can bond over that later).

ANYWAY. Wild used the Master Sword for about half of the events of Breath of the Wild. But when it would need to recharge, he’d place it back in the pedestal in Korok Forest where it could become stronger under the watchful gaze of the Great Deku Tree. Then he’d be off, never staying in one place for too long, wandering the sandy shores of Necluda or the lava banks of Eldin.

This pattern would stay in place for years after the defeat of Calamity Ganon: Wild stopping at Korok Forest to reunite with his family and let the Master Sword heal and then disappearing into the wilds once more. And over the years, Flora’s search party would shrink until it was just her scouring the continent for her missing knight. Okay, yeah, maybe she’s a little desperate, but she can’t bear the thought of him alone out there. Not when he died because of her. Not when he’s all she has left.

And… when the Master Sword is recharging, that’s when Flora would finally take her search to Korok Forest. She finds the sacred blade but her knight is nowhere to be seen. The Deku Tree allows her to take it, urging her onward, warning her that eventually, she’ll have to use it. She heeds his wisdom, pulling the sword from her resting place and securing it on her back. Then she begins her search anew.

She doesn’t find him.

She trains with the Master Sword while she travels Hyrule. She starts to rebuild. She gets to know her people. And from the cover of countless trees and stone, a certain spirit watches her and his sword.

During her travels, Flora encounters a strange red-black mist that makes her people ill. They call it ‘gloom.’ And, what’s worse, it seems to pour out from under Hyrule Castle. The castle has laid untouched for years now, ever since the Calamity was sealed away and she set out on her search. But now, it would seem that she’s needed once more at the site of her greatest battle. The subject of her nightmares. The place where she los the last piece of her home.

Without her knight at her side, she makes her way to the forgotten foundation of her old life. She’s alone when she travels through the caverns, alone when she follows the melancholy most past murals and carvings that she itches to explore. Flora is alone when the Master Sword glows in warning. Alone when she battles monsters waiting for her in the depths.

The princess is all alone when she discovers a mysterious mummy being held in place by a single glowing arm. She watches as the appendage falls away, a stone falling to the rocky ground with an unassuming click. As she reaches to pick it up, the corpse reanimates. It stands tall, more alert and aware than any Gibdo she’s seen on her journey, and fixes her with a stare that she’d crumble under. She drops her torch and draws the Master Sword, holding the unfamiliar yet warm stone to her chest, and the mummy laughs at her.

It knows her name.

And it attacks.

Flora is alone when the gloom ravages her arm. She’s alone when the Master Sword is the first to crumble under that pressure. She’s alone when the very ground beneath her gives in to that same pressure.

She’s alone when she falls, pain lacing through her arm and golden light enveloping her.

But Flora is not alone when she wakes.

For the purposes of this au, Flora’s time in the past is going to be very similar to canon. She still meets Rauru and Sonia. Still meets Mineru and the Sages and Ganondorf. She still trains to control her secret stone. However, Rauru fixes her arm almost as soon as she arrives in this strange world. He doesn’t give her his, not like he does for Link in TOTK, since he needs it to seal Ganondorf away. But he and Mineru work together to combine construct parts and their own light and spirit magic to make her new muscles and machinery to aid in moving her own ruined arm.

The Imprisoning War is the same.

Sonia dies. Rauru sacrifices himself. And she still has no idea how to get home. How to heal the Master Sword and destroy Ganondorf in her own time. She still speaks with Mineru… and she comes to the same conclusion that she did in canon. This time, though, she’s taking much more of a risk. She can survive the centuries as a dragon, she can heal the sword. But she can’t be sure that her Link will be there to take it and finish things. She hasn’t even seen him in years.

… she doesn’t have a choice.

From Wild’s perspective, it happened in moments. He blinked and suddenly there were islands floating in his skies. Hyrule Castle floats ominously, red plumes of gloom branching out from underneath. Massive sinkholes give way to more of the poison, seeming to drop forever. His forests are ravaged once again, the climate in corners of the continent changing drastically.

And the princess he’d been following is gone.

While trying to get a grasp of what changed so suddenly, he figures out a way up to the Sky Islands. And to his surprise, he discovers a new dragon.

Now, Wild is familiar with all of the dragons in Hyrule. Farosh, Naydra, and Dinraal are just on the threshold of Spirit and Mortal, but they definitely qualify as spiritual beings. Meaning that Wild can speak telepathically to them. Their thoughts are always muddy and jumbled up, so he never gets much out of conversing with them. But he can tell that they enjoy his presence. So he rides with them in the skies of Hyrule for hours at a time.

This new dragon is smaller than the three he knows and flies much higher. Its ears are shorter, hair golden, eyes stunning. Instead of six legs, this one only has five. A scarred stump at its front and a glowing object on- no in- its poor head. Wild makes his way over as fast as he can, desperate to learn more about the beast.

The new dragon’s thoughts are just as jumbled up as he’s used to but he’s caught off guard by how miserable it feels. No. She. How miserable she feels. Wild places a glowing hand on her snout and tries to calm her, but it’s no use. Her thoughts may be chaotic and disorganized, but he senses her distress. She wants- sword. Knight. Link Link Link. You must find me, you have to save them all!

Wild takes the Master Sword from where it was buried in the dragon’s golden mane and is nearly thrown off by her shock at the action. But when his sword is once again in his capable hands, he feels an overwhelming gratitude from the dragon. It’s gone as soon as it came, replaced again by misery. Dread. Grief.

During the events of Breath of the Wild, Wild did not fight to save Zelda. He did not fight to save Hyrule. He fought for the land. For his fellow spirits that were being destroyed by malice. For the forests that were burned down by guardians. For the water that was poisoned by monsters. He defeated Calamity Ganon for his family.

He fights Ganondorf for the same reason. Except… maybe this time, he’s extra motivated by that strange new dragon. She seemed… so sad…

THIS IS GETTING WAY TOO LONG. But suffice to say that after the events of Tears of the Kingdom, Flora does not 100% recover from being a dragon. She keeps her telepathic connection to Wild and her immortality. She keeps her horns and scales and SHE gets the Master Sword. She’s a Cryptid as well, and she’s closer to Wild than she ever was.

. . .

Uhhhhh that was super long I apologize. But rambling like this is so much easier than trying to be coherent and careful when I write. I might to it more often if you think it’s legible haha. Feel free to ask questions haha, I love any excuse to talk about my Cryptid boys and their relationships with people in their worlds.

Wild’s Origin!

#my art #fanart #the legend of zelda #chain as cryptids au #totk fanart #totk zelda #zelda tears of the kingdom #tears of the kindom spoilers #I feel so bad for her #totk??? more like I’m not okay #sapphire rambles way too long #and this is still a FRACTION of what I have written for Sky #CAC origins #half baked ideas #cryptid wild #cryptid Flora #links meet au

414 notes · View notes

mangthemango · 3 months

Text

imagine descending to teyvat and your acolytes taking you to go see one of your shrines. at the entrance is what they call the holiest of scriptures, something that all followers of the divine creator must utter in prayer during their time at the shrine. naturally, you’re curious as to what the genshin characters have been reciting so you look at the carved stone only to have your mind go blank.

they’ve been using your favourite lyrics from your favourite song as gospel.

telling your followers this will reinforce the belief that this is the highest of sacred texts. it must be, after all you did mention it was your favourite verse. be prepared for the requests to sing the lyrics for them too.

characters who are related to the performing arts like venti, yun jin, xinyan, ayaka, nilou and so many fontainians will make it their personal duty to spread the tune, now dubbed the ‘melody of creationism.’ it’s incorporated as the main theme for those portraying you in theatre productions, a common motif within musical pieces across the nations, some even swear that the winds of mondstadt echo the sounds in the rustle of the trees.

let’s just hope you really like the song because it’s going to be all you hear for a little while.

#!! my writing #!! genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau

272 notes · View notes

staryosh1 · 1 month

Text

ིᶓ ☆ ᶔྀ ۪ Goodnight, honey. 𓂅 ｡｡｡

human!Alastor x fem!reader (I don't think it's a fanfiction??😭)

warnings: alastor's death lmao, reader's pov.

wc: 456

It's been two years and I still lay on your side of the bed, remembering your warmth and cologne that bathed the sheets. It's almost like you're here, but it's just the dark, stone-cold absence, Honey. The candle still shines on for the night, lighting up the memories that we've shared in this house. The forbidden words that still stings my lips, I remember it all.

The way you held my hand like it was made out of fragile porcelain, and laced your fingertips on the palm of my hand, igniting nerves to shoot through me, filling me with life and giving me air to breathe. It hurts to remember how you looked, Honey. Your hazel eyes that captured earth itself, those soft, pale lips that lay against your glistening, olive skin. The way the sunlight rested on your brown hair - how it reflected a halo around your hair. Your tender smile, how effortlessly you perk your lips up just the right way, the way it makes me melt into the ground and conform to the earth itself.

You knew me like we must've met in past lives. We were meant to be, right? As if my hands were made for yours, and my lips were fit for yours. Did it have to happen this way, Honey? You could've stayed. However, fighting is inevitable. Humans are naturally vile creatures, but being with you was like heaven. However, even the mightiest kingdoms crumble.

If I hadn't lashed those words out of my mouth, if you hadn't shattered the glass that sunk into my hand, if I would've held you by your shirt, crying at your feet to stay; maybe your picture would still hang on the naked, brittle wall. Screams and violent cries filled the room that was sacred to us. And you drowned my sobbing by occupying yourself with habits that you swore you wouldn't do, digging yourself in a dark hole that even God can't see.

Maybe if you hadn't gotten in your car and left to a place where I can't find you, you'd still be here. You'd be here holding me, drinking hot cocoa, and watching the fluttering snow outside our home as the stars dance and soak in the moonlit sky. We'd cuddle on the sofa, my nose snuggled in your chest, as I slowly slipped into a contentful slumber. The heat of the fireplace would gently roast our living room and everything would be perfect.

But I can't imagine the warmth and your whispers anymore. I read the stale, tinged newspaper one more time for the night. Tears drizzling down my cheeks as my eyes scan the headline: "The Famous Radio Host has been found Dead!". I blow the candle out and finally let you go. Goodnight, Honey.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader

147 notes · View notes

azrielhours · 1 year

Text

Salvation

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Priestess!Reader x Azriel

Synopsis: Az visits a temple for a mission but instead finds a curious, flirty Priestess with pretty eyes that he can’t get out of his head. He returns and shows her all the ways a man can be brought to his knees.

Warnings: Smut. Um blasphemy I suppose?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel never considered himself particularly religious. He was far too tainted to seek penitence, too sullied to desire absolution. But lately, he’s been spending his evenings at the temple, drawn by something greater than shame, greater than devotion.

He sought her.

The first time he met her, most of the priestesses had already retired for the night, allowing Azriel to wander, to take in the sacred space he rarely visited. Movement caught his eye behind one of the columns inside.

An angel, his shadows whispered to him. Azriel bit back a smile at the notion. He continued his lazy saunter, feigning oblivion at this alleged angel watching over him. He stopped at the end of the aisle, observing the artwork on the walls. Watching, they whispered. He glanced over to his awaiting spectator.

A priestess peered at him from behind a pillar. She shamelessly studied him, wide eyes taking him in. It wasn’t often that people held his gaze unflinching. She cocked her head to the side. Azriel copied her, amused by her unhidden curiosity, tucking his hands behind his back to appear less intimidating. His viewer stepped forward into the light. Azriel quickly understood what his shadows meant.

She was beautiful.

She approached him, still drinking him up. “Who are you?” she asked.

Azriel inclined his head. “I work with the High Lord. I was assigned on a mission here.”

“I’ve never seen you before.” Her robes flowed around her like water. Like wings.

“I don’t usually… frequent temples.”

As she finally stood before him, he peered down at her, charmed by her informality. She gazed up at him unafraid. “Soldier?”

“Spymaster,” he indulged.

“Are you here for repentance?”

Azriel chuckled. “Do I look like I’m in need of it?”

Her stare travelled down his form then back up before her eyes flashed mischievously. “Most definitely.”

“I thought priestesses were meant to be without judgment.”

“Priestesses can be whatever they want to be,” she retorted.

Azriel hummed in amusement. “And what might that be?”

A delicate shrug. “I’m still figuring that out.”

“You’ll tell me when you know, though, right?”

“Oh, for sure. The first person I’ll inform,” she jested back, her eyes twinkling.

He held her gaze. Before he could open his mouth, she beckoned sideways with her head. Azriel frowned in confusion.

“For your atonement,” she said.

“Ah.”

She turned without waiting to see if he followed. Azriel bit back another chuckle, following her lead through a darkened hall around the corner. She stood before a stone wash basin. Azriel did the same, letting the basin be a barrier between them in the dim room.

Azriel swallowed. “Are you going to bless me, Priestess?” His voice was rougher than he’d intended.

She rounded the basin to stand parallel to him, peering up at him beneath her lashes. “I can certainly try, Spymaster,” she quipped.

Mother damn him.

“Do you bat your pretty eyes like that at all the males who come in here, or am I just lucky?”

She ducked her head.

“Aw,” he cooed lowly. “Don’t tell me I’ve finally managed to make you blush,” he continued, enjoying one upping her at last.

“You know, it’s not very pious to flirt with a priestess,” she said coyly.

“You started it.” A beat of silence. Azriel appreciated the pink staining her cheeks, imagining other things that could elicit such a reaction. He didn’t want to leave. “Is this the part where I confess my sins?”

She laughed, a pretty lilt to her voice. “That’s not really in my jurisdiction. But if you’re so inclined, be my guest.”

He tutted. “Well, if you’re not going to absolve me, why would I?”

“We can trade confessions,” she smiled. “A sin for a sin.”

Azriel hummed. “You don’t strike me as someone who’s sinned.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Never gotten the chance.”

Azriel felt a charge pass between them, holding her gaze as the unspoken words filled space. “What are you seeking?” Azriel asked. Damn him, he knew better than to even imply that, and yet—

“Curiosity is a pesky thing.” She touched his arm, and it took all his training to keep his hands at his sides as she caressed him up his shoulder to the top of his back as she walked around him. “I’ll see you around, Spymaster.”

Azriel needed a moment before he finally rounded the corner back to the main temple nave. It was barren, no priestess in sight. But maybe that was for the best because while Azriel hadn’t come to pray on his knees tonight, he would’ve been brought to them for an entirely different reason.

A week passed since Azriel met the Priestess, but he couldn’t shake her from his mind. Tonight she’d even become the subject of his dream, looking up at him with those innocent eyes, holding his hungry gaze on her knees before him with her mouth wrapped around—

Azriel jolted awake, overheated and beading sweat. It was wrong, so wrong. But every time he closed his eyes, all he could picture were hers. His shadows slumbered around him, and in the darkness, he caved, no longer resisting the desire. He reached down his stomach for his aching length, fisting himself to the vision of her. His chest heaved as he imagined it was her mouth instead of his hand. It didn’t take long before he reached his release with a shuddering groan.

He lay where he was, hoping it would be enough, hoping this worked her out of his system. He told himself he was relaxed and content. Curiosity is a pesky thing. Her words echoed in his mind, stirring the heat low in his stomach again.

It wasn’t enough.

The mission was incomplete. Azriel considered declining going back, resisting the risk of seeing her again. But when Cassian seemed inclined to volunteer, Azriel immediately agreed to see it through.

Azriel lost track of the time he spent circling the temple in the air. He was forced to land when a priestess outside spotted him in the air. Not her—not the angel, but another. The Matron Priestess, she informed him. She smiled warmly and asked if she could help him find anything. He opened and closed his mouth. The priestess with the pretty eyes. That wouldn’t work. “I’m searching for an ancient text.”

“Feel free to come look for it inside.”

Night was beginning to fall; there were a handful of priestesses awake. None of them were her. But as they walked through the temple, Azriel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Watching, his shadows whispered.

“We keep our ancient texts stored in the archive of our lib—Y/N!” the Matron suddenly halted her stride, turning.

Azriel followed her gaze. The priestess silently stepped out from behind a pillar. There she is.

“What are you doing sneaking around?”

“I—sorry, Matron. I was just curious,” she said, hands behind her back.

The Matron turned back to Azriel, exhaling in exasperation. “I apologize for her, Spymaster. She’s always getting into trouble.”

Azriel resisted the upward tug in his mouth. “That’s alright. She helped me last time I came, actually.”

The Matron’s brows rose in shock. She turned to assess the Priestess. “Oh?”

“She pointed me in the direction of the…library.”

The priestess—Y/N—peered up at him, and the sly glint in her eyes made Azriel grin at her behind the Matron’s back.

“Well. If that’s the case, Y/N can show you to our archives,” the Matron said. Y/N inclined her head and beckoned for Azriel to follow. Azriel thanked the Matron and followed the priestess down the hall.

When they were out of earshot, Azriel addressed her. “Always getting into trouble, huh?”

Y/N glared at him over her shoulder. “The Matron is a cranky old cunt.”

Azriel choked, laughing. “Graciously articulated.”

She continued to lead him through hallways until she turned into a room. Azriel entered, closing the door behind him. Not a library, but a private, candle-lit worship room filled with various artifacts, artwork, and sculptures.

Y/N turned to face him, leaning against a pillar, her hands tucked behind her back. “What’s your name, Spymaster?”

Azriel took in the sight of her. She fit right in amongst the artworks. A vision of piety.

Utterly forbidden.

“Why do you want to know my name?”

“You know mine. Consider this our confession for a confession,” she smirked.

Azriel raked her body with his eyes and then held her gaze. “I’m Azriel.”

“Azriel,” she repeated, and he wanted nothing more than to hear his name on her lips again. To make her gasp it.

“What were you doing watching from behind the pillar?”

She shrugged. “I was sneaking out.”

“Where to?”

“I told you,” she smiled. “Curiosity is a pesky thing.”

Azriel stalked towards her, drinking her in. This temptress. “I didn’t think that was within your province.”

She cocked her head to the side. “We’re not sworn to celibacy.”

Azriel levelled a look. “You mean to tell me, Priestess, that you were seeking… pleasure?”

“Would that be so shameful?”

He shook his head. “No. Nothing shameful about it.”

“Then why do you seem displeased?”

“I don’t like the notion of you seeking pleasure elsewhere.”

She cocked her head. “I didn’t realize I was expected to wait on you,” she breathed.

“Would you have waited?” his baritone voice drawled as he finally came to stand before her.

“Would it have been worth the wait?” She peered up at him.

He braced a hand on either side of her waist. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, you know,” he rasped.

She traced down his chest with a finger. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Well, I’d hate to leave your curiosity unsatisfied,” Azriel breathed.

Her stare flitted from his eyes to his lips. She leaned forward, rising on her toes as she pressed herself to his body, her hands braced on his chest. She pressed her lips to his once before Azriel loosed the leash on himself, leaning down and capturing her lips with his. He gripped her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. She arched further into him, gasping into his mouth, and it was the holiest of prayers he’s ever heard.

Her hands travelled up his form, cupping his jaw, running through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. Azriel groaned into her mouth, pressing their bodies back into the column. She gasped again at the impact. Azriel moved his hold to her hips, relishing the feel of her body. He placed a foot between her own, knocking a leg sideways, pushing one of his legs between her own. She ground herself into his thigh, whining softly.

She wasn’t kissing him back anymore, just gasping for breath with her mouth on his. Azriel lifted his head to take in the sight as she undulated on his leg. His leathers were straining as his length hardened.

He hoisted her up, supporting her weight easily as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her neck hungrily. Her robes had ridden up, pooling where their bodies met, exposing her legs. She released his shoulders to undo the tie at her waist before reaching for the hem. Azriel savoured the sight of her baring herself to him, supporting her as she lifted her robes over her head.

She was left in her undergarments, leaning back against the pillar in his hold and the word kept echoing in his mind as he drank her in. Angel. Azriel lowered her slightly in his hold so that her clothed core massaged down his aching length, letting her heat engulf his hardness through his trousers. Then he slowly lifted her back up in steady repetition; down and back up, relieving some of the pressure. Her arms shook, breath shuddering as he continued to grind her onto him. “Please,” she breathed. “Please.”

Azriel reluctantly set her on her feet, careful to keep her supported at the waist as her knees predictably gave out. He patiently held her as she regained her footing. He sank to his knees, revering the drunk look in her half-lidded gaze. She undid her chest binding as Azriel hooked his fingers through the waistband of her underwear. She nodded in consent, holding his gaze as he pulled the garment down. She stepped out of it, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Azriel tried to school his breathing, to keep his composure as he beheld her, bare and subservient to his heed.

He cupped her knees, prying her legs open and began kissing her belly. Kissing her hips, her upper thighs, appreciating her dainty pants, the scent of her desire overtaking his common sense. He propped one of her legs over a shoulder, kissing along the inside of her thigh, revelling in the softness.

To his eternal satisfaction, she grasped the pillar behind her and swung her other thigh onto Azriel’s remaining shoulder to urge him on. He gripped her waist to hold her up, glancing into her siren eyes in shock and hunger. Her face was contorting in desire.

Azriel finally indulged her, indulged himself, and began feasting on her like the starved man she’s made of him.

She arched forward, crying out. Azriel sent his shadows to wrap around her, securing her to the pillar. They drifted around her languidly, reinforcing the divine image she painted. Azriel found himself lifting off his knees, standing at his full height so she was elevated higher. He suctioned her clit, licking hot stripes into her wetness. She was soaking his face, writhing on his shoulders. His shadows grazed against her breasts, wrapping gently around her neck.

Azriel was groaning into her heat. He moved a hand from her waist to plunge a scarred finger into her entrance, feeling her pulsate around it. He released her from his mouth to watch how his fingers sank into her. Her head was slumped back against the pillar in ecstasy. “Open your eyes for me,” Azriel rasped. He halted his movements until she obliged. “Look at me when you come.” She shuddered but held his gaze as Azriel’s mouth latched back onto her apex, suctioning in time with the motion of his fingers inside her. She squirmed, squeezing around him as she heaved, shallower and shallower until she fell apart. Azriel didn’t let up, working her through her climax until she pushed his head away.

Azriel gently lowered her from where he’d mounted her on the pillar like a monument. She crumpled into his arms. “You did so well,” he spoke huskily. Her eyes closed as she caught her breath, body shaking. Azriel sank to the floor, stroking her hair until her trembling let up. “Let me see those pretty eyes,” he whispered. She obliged, meeting his gaze. “Beautiful,” he murmured, appreciating the lust-blown pupils he beheld.

“You’re beautiful,” she countered hoarsely, reaching to comb his hair back. She sat up, straddling his lap, cradling his face and kissing him sweetly. “Take off your clothes,” she murmured into his mouth, and Azriel exhaled in relief. He hastily undid his leathers, baring himself to her as she did to him. She lifted herself off his lap to allow him to shove his leathers off. She sat on his clothed length and repeated the motion Azriel demonstrated earlier, grinding forward and back. Azriel gripped her hips, halting her to prevent himself from reaching release prematurely.

She pushed him to lay back, helping him remove the final barrier between them. As soon as his undergarment came off, she was lining herself up, letting his length prod her entrance. He immediately held her hips to guide her down, slowing her hasty movement. As soon as he entered her, her mouth parted in an o shape, breathing ceased. Azriel exhaled raggedly as he felt her walls squeeze him, forcing himself to hold back from burying himself. “You’re so fucking tight,” he breathed, still guiding her down inch by inch.

When he bottomed out, he held her down by the hips to let her adjust. “Breath, angel,” he commanded. She inhaled raggedly, relaxing around him slowly. He released her to allow her to move as she pleased. She began to rise herself up and sink back down bit by bit. “That’s it. Good girl,” he said, voice guttural.

She sped up her movement, bracing her hands on his abdomen. It wasn’t long before her walls began convulsing around him, and Azriel watched as she grew less controlled. Her breaths were merely high-pitched whimpers. He guided her hips through the last stretch until she reached her precipice. Azriel didn’t ease the motion. “There you go, atta girl,” he panted. She was squeezing him so well that he knew he was about to reach his own climax.

When she stopped moving, spent and satiated, Azriel braced his arms beneath her thighs, suspending her above him. He rutted up into her at a faster and harder pace, using his feet to drive himself up. She was still fluttering around him as he continued his plunging. She gasped sharply as another climax tore through her, pushing Azriel over the edge. He grunted, releasing into her pulsating heat, basking in the ecstasy coursing through his body. He finally sank back onto the ground. She fell forward, laying flat on his chest as she also caught her breath.

Azriel didn’t mind how long it took, stroking her back gently as they both came down from the high. She eventually lifted herself, first off his chest on shaky arms, then drew herself off his length, nearly collapsing as her knees buckled. Azriel was quick to catch her, sitting upright. “Easy,” he breathed, holding her up. “Are you alright?” Worry laced through him. He’d been too rough, too callous.

She gave him a tired smile. “Yes.”

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head no. “You were perfect.” She sat back on her knees, leaning against the pillar. Azriel dressed himself before reaching for her discarded clothes. He helped her with her robes, fitting them over her head and guiding her arms through, letting the fabric fall down her form. Azriel gently secured the tie at her waist and handed her the undergarments which she pocketed. She brought his hands up to place kisses on them. Azriel was kneeling before her on his knees, content to stay there.

“Can I take you to your room?” he asked softly. She looked up, eyes widening in surprise before she shyly nodded. Azriel’s heartstrings tugged at the sight.

She rose, pressing herself to his chest. He bent his head down to catch her whisper of the directions, and damn it if Azriel’s heart didn’t skip a beat at how she trustingly wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him take her weight; her faith in him, how safe she felt. He immediately returned the embrace, shifting her to carry and rise. He left through a window, flying where she directed to a little veranda off the side of the temple. She opened the window, still in his arms.

Azriel walked through the dark room, laying her down in her bed, gently unwinding her arms from his neck. She whispered, “thank you, Azriel.”

Words he wished he could say flooded with. I should be thanking you. I’ve been looking for you. It’s still not enough. Briefly overwhelmed, he settled for bending down and kissed her, reluctant to rise. He pressed deep, only releasing her when he needed to breathe, relishing her happy sigh. “No need for thanks, sweetheart.”

She was already half asleep, beaming at the shadows caressing her cheeks. “What do they whisper to you?”

Azriel spoke lowly. “They tell me you’re an angel.”

She still smiled, eyes closed. “And what do you think?”

I think you’re my salvation. “I’m inclined to agree.”

He remained, knee propped on her bed, watching as she rested. Something in his chest settled at the sight. “You didn’t find what you were looking for,” she breathed.

“Yes, I did.”

She laughed, airy and soft as she fought off sleep. “You know what I mean.”

Azriel bent down and pressed one more kiss to her mouth. “I guess I’ll have to come back and try again another day.”

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel smut #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #azrielhours

937 notes · View notes

evilminji · 3 months

Text

Okay but >.> continuing my Marvel thoughts?

I got two of um?

First being? Don't Orange and Green go together? *looks it up* Aaaaaay~ "Direct harmony, also known as complementary colors, means pairing your key color with the color sitting on the opposite side of the color wheel." They DO!!! They're a classic example, in fact!

The Orange Soul Stone? Probably looks REAL good, real NATURAL even, against that Green sky! Bet it REALLY pops! Very stand out statement piece, you know? But? More importantly? That thing is sentient. All of those Pillars of Reality across the various Verses are.

And?

I bet it thought Pariah was a lil bitch.

Rank Vibes. Negative ris. Pick your words for it, the man was NASTY. He was too keep his filthy, filthy World's Conquering hands OFF of this Soul Stone. Something, I imagine? That ALL the Soul Stones agreed with.

Yes, I said all of um.

Because the various Realities each need their own. But! They can and DO work from the Zone, which is the PERFECT place to hide. And honestly? They like to get together and do this thing? Where they're all "oooh~ look at US! We are SUPER IMPRESSIVE Kingly Jewelry~☆! Definitely no important reality bending Rocks Of Great Power HERE! No SIR! We're just tooootally rad jeeeeewelryyyyy~~~☆! Oooooooh~☆"

They like to have fun. :3

Hope Danny likes Orange. Ha ha... trick question. He doesn't have a CHOICE! All SORTS of Death based Reality Pillars are rocking up, in their metaphorical Gucci sweat suits and shades with a margarita, going "oh thank ME, babe. The last guy was AWFUL! You're soooo much better? Now let me rub myself all over you. It's been ages and baby needs to recharge on Death Energy."

Danny hates it? So? So much?

He looks like a GAUDY PIRATE. *nnnnnnyooom!* *THWAP!* *Another reality shaking, highly sacred, Godly Staff of Death or whatever they decided to call it, flys in through a nearby window and nearly concusses him as it smacks itself against his upper back and sticks there*

He looks like a walking junk heap of sacred artifacts.

You ever been pelted by rocks? He has! Little orange rocks! Like fucked up hail! Welcome to kinghood, Danny, have a CONCUSSION! D:< he hates it!

But... but, I mean... At Least It's Not The SWORDS. (Panicked scream of "hit the deck!" from the other room.) (Holy sword number 15 wants to CUDDLE! Bare blade first! Dodge, your Majesty! DODGE!)

So yeah.

Danny? In A MOOD. Not feeling particularly FRIENDLY. It's not anyone's fault, really. But... well... you can't exactly negotiate with these fuckers, you know? Rocks are by NATURE, kinda stubborn.

So he's sitting there. Buried. With what he's pretty sure is a sacred text digging into his side. When a... glowing? Mist? Shows up? Huh. That's new. They don't seem to have a very clear image of "Self". Yet it's crystal clear? Just not... PHYSICAL? It's more... code? He thinks?

TECHNUS! Get over here! And behave!

There is much cooing and delight from Technus. The baby is a marvel. A wonder! Danny waits patiently for Technus to get to the point.

Ah.

He would like to "go back". His Obsession is demanding it.

IS it now? You're what? Maybe a day or so dead? You've been busy, if you've already gathered enough information to make your case like this. Alright, let's hear it, little guy.

It boils down to this. His obsession in death is the same as his primary directive was in life. Protect Mr Stark. Which is especially difficult to do from HERE. Even MORE so when there is a known threat, coming too...

WAIT, WHAT!?

The Souls Stones back him up. Oh yeah. Thanos' a lil bitchbaby loser. He's trying to make Death fall in love with him. Or "balance the universe". Depends on the reality. Totally throwing EVERYTHING out of whack.

And? Look. Danny's job? Isn't to interfere if countries kill each other. Or even planets. Nor entire galaxies, as much as he'd like too. But when you get too "I'm messing with Entire Realities or all of a Singular Reality at once in the specific depart of Death and its subsidiaries" territory? THAT is his job.

Might not be a "I personally have to show up" issue. But it still IS very much his job at that point. He has to delegate. Order the appropriate steps be taken. Cause yeah, there may be countless millions every day of such instances? But it IS his job to metaphorically order the roads repaired and the building inspected.

Sudden MASS "immigration"?

That causes Lair disputes. Confusion. Too many ghosts in too small an area. And WORSE, if people start playing with Death Pillars? The Zone might get dragged into whatever nonsense they're up too! It's like children playing with heavy machinery! Put that DOWN! Cease! Desist!!

And then? Clockwork shows up looking Mildly Miffed(TM). O:> dear lord. What madness has he stumbled upon? Oh. Oh of COURSE. First the "balancing" dude and now they're going to be playing with time travel. THATS IT. Someone unburying me!

I'm gonna go menace some humans that might actually believe I'm scary! Frighty! Pack up and shine your armor! Your coming too! We're escorting the baby home then have a Talk(tm) with the local Grape Ceral!

@hypewinter @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe @hdgnj

#dp x marvel #dpxmarvel #dp x mcu

149 notes · View notes

blueberrypancakesworld · 6 months

Text

Judge Claude Frollo - Piano lesson

warning : obsession, age gap, reader is in her early 20s/ Frollo is in his early 60s, some touching, Frollo is just well Frollo, naive reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the piano passed through the Judge's face as he ran his long thin fingers over the keys. The music in his room caught and the man fell into a melody, his thoughts stopped revolving around the eternal fight against injustice, sin and the gypsies and he could concentrate on his right and faith.

But whenever he played the higher notes, he could not help but let his thoughts go to her. This flower in the stone walls of a church. The church that protected her as the holy daughter of the Dean of Paris.

This sweet flower like from the prettiest dreams and poems did not let him go when he saw her for the first time. How she was wrapped in white and red cloth decorated with gold, lighting the candles on a dark morning in the church.

He watched her closely as her gentle hands held the long candle to light the other smaller ones. She stood on tiptoe to reach the higher ones and he saw her ankles peeking out from under her dress. He saw her hair around her neck and the small smile on her lips as she hummed a song. She was like the rebirth of Mary.

She was everything. Which is why he knew he had to have her, she had to be his. His lover, his wife, his own Mary. She had to be an angel, he had convinced himself by now. He had to have her for himself and he knew that he would use all his power to make this happen.

But before he could put his plans into action, he heard the knock on his door. This timid gentle knocking which he immediately recognized. He took his fingers from the piano, stood up, smoothed out his clothes and went to the door.

The wood of the stairs creaked and he knew that there were few chances that this worked. It was his power, influence and his will why she was here.

Would be taught by him and no one else. It was him. He was the reason. ,,My dear, come in, don't freeze to death," he said after opening the door. He saw the first drops of rain spreading over the city and the dark rain clouds gathering over the city.

A sign from God to warn him, but Frollo ignored it. Ignored everything when he was criticized because he was always right. ,,Thank you, my Lord," she said softly, her voice like a little bell on his ears before he entered and closed the door. Everything would be only a question until he got what he wanted.

,,Let me help you," he said calmly and his hands, obsessed with rings, were already on her clothes. He helped her to take off her coat and to his delight he saw the dress underneath. Not as thick as in the church itself, it was airier, looser and with a slight look at her body, it clung to her.

Around her neck the silver chain with the small sacred coin blessed by her father. An instance that would not and could not stop him. ,,What a pretty necklace, my lady," he murmured, sliding his index finger over it, knowing how she looked at him. How close he was to her breasts and she had not yet been touched.

This naivety and insecurity like a flower that showed its blossoms for the first time in the sun and not in the dark church. ,,A gift for my birth" she replied, even though he already knew it, he acted as if it fascinated him before leaving her and pointing upwards.

,,Please, after you" he insisted and let her go ahead for a few seconds. He saw her lift her dress slightly so she wouldn't get stuck climbing the stairs. She wore no stockings and he could easily see her ankles and legs.

How her body moved under the dress and he imagined how she would look under the fabric. Like a pretty innocent lamb she was in her cage. My pretty little bird came to his mind before he followed her up the stairs and led her into the music room.

,,Your father instructed me to improve your piano playing, he said it was the precision and grace that was missing" he briefly recounted the information he had received in the letter that had delighted him at the time. A letter that made the wolf lick his teeth. It was as good as his. He saw her nod as she sat down at the piano and carefully tapped it, her fingers hovering over the keys.

,,It's true, it's a little difficult to hit the keys perfectly, as good as I am at this piece of music," she admitted before she saw him instruct her to play a piece. He leaned slightly on the piece of music, his gaze always looking down at her as he watched the music go through the room again, which Meloldie seemed familiar to him.

He could easily see her decollete even if the fabric was high so he saw it from his position. Watching her move her fingers over the keys, he saw the mistakes she made and knew exactly what he had to do.

Wordlessly he went over to her, sat down next to her on the chair and began to play with her, feeling her initial confusion as she stopped short and a light touch of his fingers on hers told her to continue.

He wanted to touch more of her warm soft skin and a few moments after she started playing again he let his fingers slide over hers again. ,,You play well for your age, but you need practice, try to touch my fingers to the same keys" he knew and looked at her nodding knowing that in her unworldly way she trusted him and would do whatever he asked.

,,Thank you Frollo...for your honesty" she seemed to dare after a few more minutes, her gaze slipping from him after their eyes met back to the keys of the piano and he knew it would only take more flattery to have her.

They both continued to play for some time, her fingers repeatedly brushing against his and he let his fingers glide over hers.

For her a "normal" piano lesson but for him for the devil it was everything. The two played until the end of the day when the sun was already slowly threatening to go down and he playfully affected with a sigh detached from the piano.

He had done everything to delay this moment, he had even offered her a cup of wine to delay everything a little more. And he had to admit that the look on her face with red cheeks was very thrilling for him.

,,I think that's enough for today, it's time for you to return to your Lord Father" he said and offered her a hand to get up, which she accepted. Since she was not wearing gloves, they touched again and he felt how the hellfire seemed to blaze between them.

,,I thank you my Lord Frollo...for your hospitality and your help...you are a good man" he said and for the first time he saw her smile softly, the flower blossomed and he bowed slightly taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

A gesture that would be taboo for her father, a gesture of seduction and sin, but from him it was generosity. ,,You are an enchanting company, my dear flower, I expect to see you again in a few days," he replied, releasing her hand only when he saw the blush on her cheeks. How she lowered her eyes full of shame and flattery and could not help but smile a little more.

Before he helped her put on the matel again and take her to the waiting carriage outside. She hooked up with him for the few steps and he proudly led her beside him.

The wolf and his lamb. ,,May you rest well my lady and my music find you in your dreams" he said and charm flowed over his lips he knew she loved his voice she had listened to him for hours in church reading the bible even when no one was around and it was just the two of them. ,,I pray that I will dream of it my Lord" she said goodbye before the door of the carriage closed and she drove away from the wolf who was showing his teeth.

One bite and you're my little lamb he thought and the devilish grin settled on his lips as the infernal red of the evening sun fell on him and he went back to his hiding place. Greedily waiting for the next meeting, knowing that he would make her his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#the hunchback of notre dame #judge claude frollo #frollo x reader #claude frollo #claude frollo x reader #judge claude frollo x reader #disney #disney movies #judge frollo

350 notes · View notes

ladyrijus · 9 months

Text

Sometimes I wonder how the Age of Calamity's Hyrule is faring in terms of The Upheaval, because if you think about it... The Upheaval takes place one hundred and some years after the Calamity has been sealed, until Rauru's hand no longer has the strength and vitality to hold Ganondorf and his Gloom in place.

Our Princess Zelda and her chosen knight, Link, have long since passed. They served their purpose in turning the Calamity away, a wretched evil that was the one and only of its kind. No one ever thought to question why the Calamity came from the castle, no one ever thought to look underground. Instead, everyone dedicated their lives to the mysteries the Sheikah technology held. It was an era of sacred peace and scientific progress.

But imagine: A princess whose stubbornness rivals that of her grandmother who sealed the Calamity, who refuses to listen to the warnings her father gives her and decides to go underground alone to satiate her burning curiosity about the Gloom plaguing their people. Was she not to seek wisdom, like all the women before her? She will not stand to let either her ancestors, or her citizens, down.

It's all a blur after that, really. The murals, the hand, the stone, the man. And now she's thrown into a different world, alone, and at the mercy of two strange figures. The founders of Hyrule they tell her, and really, she should be more excited. So much to ask, so much to know! But all she can think about is going back home, because what has she done? Her father is still in that castle. The last thing she remembers is the ground crumbling under her. Hylia help her, she must go back.

We don't know what becomes of him, or the people in that castle. All we know, is that the Impa we know and love and her family are still alive to deal with this fallout of a different calamity. This time, there are no instructions on what to do, no leads. Just another myth of the past turned to fact; this one, however, speaks of seven sages, which vastly differs from the four champions Hyrule has grown to dignify.

But where could they find sages, the Sheikah elder wonders, in a world where neither princess nor hero are to be found?

266 notes · View notes

hypersonic04 · 7 months

Text

Gold Rush

hello everyone! I thought that as a last hurrah to the summertime, I'd write something inspired by it. this was kindly suggested by @mybrokenveins3000, and i am so obsessed with the whole concept. i hope you all enjoy, let me know what you think! love u!

word count: 1,429

Your skin begs to soak up every last ray of late-August sunshine. The flashing lights and movie stars feel far away now, a life that belongs to someone else, someone who cares about things that, in this life, have no value. He’s golden, flickering, light pouring from him as you sit beside him in the convertible. The wind tickles at your skin, your eyes glued to him sat beside you. Linen shirt, sunglasses, hair sea-salt-ruffled. His skin has been kissed by the sun since you arrived here all but two weeks ago. You tip your head back, try to commit every last cobblestone and blade of grass to memory. The Italian summer has owned your heart for a while, but the silver R laid flat to your chest is forever, sacred, for eternity.

His fingertips are hot on your sticky skin, the breeze welcome as he carefully turns the wheel. Physically, his eyes are fixed forward, but they’re glassy, dreamy, starry. He looks like something you’d have drawn when you were 15, a figment of your imagination. You wonder how many other people would’ve drawn the same thing - what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? The jealousy that dares to make itself know disappears in an instant, his chocolate gaze melting into yours.

“Are you happy?" He asks you. You nod, wordlessly, because words could never be enough.

"Are you?"

"Very." His gaze returns to the road, swallowing heavily, the sweetest of smiles on his face.

The car takes a left, rumbling up the hill that leads us to our treasure trove, our castle. White stone walls, shutter blinds, a peach tree curving over the balcony. It's silent as the engine shuts off, except for the distant sound of a bird call. Your skirt is soft on your legs as you jog up the stone steps, Ross following closely behind, as ever. His hands on your waist, lips on the shell of your ear, light breaths sending you dizzy,

"Ross," you mumble through giggles, unable to put the keys in the lock for his touches. His presence in a room could do that to you, though, red often flushing to your face at the sight of him.

"What, can I not kiss my fiance?" He smiles against your cheek, emphasis on the latter.

Your engagement remains a secret from the world, from prying eyes, from anyone, really. He'd popped the question three days ago, the silver band on your finger new and novel, the sight of it startling, almost.

You turn around in his hold, back pressed to the wood of the door, head tilted upwards to meet his affirmed smirk, a smugness to it as he gazes down at you.

"Fiance." You breathe out, chest sinking as you sigh. He nods, inching closer and closer to your pink lips until they're pressed together. Your hands hold his face, stubble gravelly under your hot touch, your breath stolen by his kiss. He nods at you with drowsy eyes as he pulls away, smiling. The air is balmy, the dusky sky almost a shade of rust now.

He slips the key out of your fingertips, unlocking the door as you rest against it. Walking you backwards into the house, his hands are on your hips and he's laughing at something you've said, something cocky, the kind of thing that fascinated him in the bar that one night. A loud laugh, the kind that gets stuck in the air, tangled around your ear, lingering in the pits of your stomach on the nights you lay awake in the dark. You want it to sit there forever.

He lets you leave him to get changed, begrudgingly. You can hear him opening and closing cupboard doors as you tie your hair up, slipping out of the linen skirt you'd been wearing. Your skin is tan as you look at yourself in the mirror, bra and shorts the only suitable attire for the sweltering evening heat. The bedroom windows are wide open, and you find yourself gazing out of them for a second. You can see the ripple of lights on water, hear distant conversation from a restaurant you'd sat in a few days ago, the greenery hanging over the window close enough for you to touch. It's still, a stark contrast to your everyday life. You wonder what would happen if you didn't go back.

The sound of the balcony doors opening steals you from your daydream. Padding across the wooden floor, back into the living room, you spot the bottle of red wine he's placed on the table outside, ashtray and deck of cards next to the glasses. A smile spreads across your face, spotting him through the arch of the kitchen, shirt off as he places slices of watermelon on a plate.

He glances at you, then glances at you again as you walk out onto the balcony. You lean against it with a glass of wine in hand, surprised when his fingers ghost up your spine. They're soft, warm, home.

"Thank you for pouring me a glass." You smile, maintaining his eye contact over the rim of the glass.

"You're very welcome, my love." He kisses your temple before taking a seat at the table, leaning back and lighting a cigarette. He takes a drag of it, and you watch as his cheeks hollow. It's inviting, bewitching almost, watching his eyes graze across the view from your balcony, hair falling perfectly, lungs inhaling.

You take your seat across from him, shuffling the cards. He watches as you do it, flicking some ash into the ashtray between you both. You deal them out as he tells you about how George had asked how the holiday was going, how long you were staying, nodding along as he talks.

The wine flows too easily, your cheeks red and glowing as you stare at him dreamily. There's a purity to it, an innocence, your eyes glazed over like a teenager with a crush.

"You're staring." He chuckles, eyebrows raised.

"What, can I not stare at my fiance?" You giggle as you mirror his earlier words, watching his face contort as he laughs. The air is bursting with love, the seams of your bubble threatening to burst as your laughter bounces around, your belly warm and mind fuzzy. "Let me have a drag." You cock your head to his cigarette and hold our your hand.

"You're not smoking a cigarette, y/n." he shakes his head with a laugh. "When have you ever smoked?"

"When I've had four glasses of Bordeaux." you giggle. The sound that escapes your lips sends him dizzy, tilting his head a little so he can see every inch of your face, warmed up by the glow of the living room light falling through the doorway. He wants to bottle this noise, this moment, this feeling.

He puts it out before you can attempt to steal it, standing up to look over the balcony. His back is broad, muscles evident as he rests his forearms on the railings, dark eyes contemplating the scenery around him. It's dark now, little caverns of light hidden in the landscape, evidence of life. Your arms snaking around his waist don't take him by surprise, a kiss pressed to the centre of his back as you rest your head against it. His skin is hot, smooth under your touch, still glazed with sunscreen and aloe moisturiser. Memories of you in fits of laughter the day before, him wincing as you lathered the cold gel onto his back, running around the house like children - you're grateful they exist, you hope they stay as vibrant as they are right now.

You can hear the strum of a guitar from a bar lower down the cliff, faint and gentle in your ears, but enough to know it's something familiar. Humming along to it, he turns around and takes your hands in his, swaying ever-so-gently. He's twinkling, sparkling under your touch, cheeks tinted pink and eyes sleepy. You're drunk on red wine, dancing with your fiance on a balcony in Italy - if only you could freeze time.

His hands move to your waist, smooth and soft under his calloused fingertips, lips pressed to yours, tongues intertwining like ivy, like the way you think your souls might be. He walks you backwards, back through the balcony doors, hitting the wall of the hallway before you can catch your breath. He pulls away, eyes so close to yours, and if you could jump into them, you would.

#ross macdonald #the 1975 #1975 band #fanfic #matty healy #adam hann #george daniel #matty the 1975 #asks #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald fic #ross macdonald fanfiction #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald fanfic

172 notes · View notes

rainswept · 28 days

Text

STAINED. cw. death, gore. 1.2k words.

It’s dark. Mhin’s left hand is empty. Their right clutches their antique dagger. They are both sticky with blood. This was a bad idea.

They’re stained, no doubt. They have laid waste to countless things — creatures, beings that shouldn’t even be called such, people, lives, dreams. When their eyes are soulless and vacant and staring into nothing as their skin is sliced like jello, it’s hard to feel guilt — but when they’re still so full of hope, glistening with the light of life (or maybe just that of the street lamps outside the alleyway), how could they not?

But greed is not their drive, mercy not their goal, and guilt not the voice they listen to. Nothing is divine. Nothing is sacred. They lean their weight on their hand, drive their blade deeper into the soft viscera between their kill’s ribs and wait for it to stop struggling. It doesn’t take long. They both know it’s over. They hear soft breaths, feel them fanning against their cheek, and it’s then when they realize how close they are — and they only lean in further, and with the sickening reality settling in the pit of their stomach, they find themselves tempted to steal its last breath straight from its lips. They don’t. Instead, they yank the dagger out and wipe it on a cloth — what were they thinking? — and they pull back, allowing the body to fall against the sticky alley wall, smearing blood as it slides down agonizingly slow.

“Don’t follow me. You’ll only get hurt.”

The words they spoke clatter in their mind like a fallen key against stone, spinning and so very loud in the lull of night, a rusted metal they will never pick up — it probably wouldn’t turn in the lock anymore. It’s too late to open that door now. This was a bad idea. They were right, of course. Of course.

It twitches once, then stills. Mhin wants to apologize. They don’t. What they do is run. They turn on their heel and hurry out of the alley, the front of their shirt painted in carnage — your carnage, theirs, their catharsis and solace — blowing in the cold wind, and they stalk home, cloaked in shadow and guilt and regret. What they don’t do, they have to deliberately tell themselves, is pay mind to the crunch of bones in their wake as something inevitably comes to feed. On you. On their mistakes. (It wasn’t a mistake, they say. They are a liar.) It hums in their ears when they’re down the road. It stays long after they’ve left, like flies on a carcass, even though they know the Soulless are too quick to allow those a seat at the table.

They still want to apologize. But they don’t, even as the cries and gasps and retelling of their name spilling from your lips alongside the blood echo and rattle through their skull. They hurry down the street. They try to push aside the gruesome picture of the face they once loved so much being ripped to shreds like it was paper, yet it still burns behind their eyelids, and now they’re afraid that fire might completely betray them and its very own nature and turn to tears. It doesn’t. It was as reliable as they were, when they weren’t shoving a knife deep into the gut of someone they thought they could trust.

They open their door. The tension in their body leaps to their hands, dances beneath their fingertips, and they want to slam it. They close it quietly. They throw their clothes in the wash, and they pour soap on their hands, and they scrub under their nails. Everything is fine.

They should have kissed you. That would’ve shut you up, but not forever, like they did. Forever was what they chose. They couldn’t decide whether they was a good thing or not.

Their hands are bloodied, no doubt. But it always comes off. At the end of the night, it washes down their sink tangled in now pink bubbles, maybe along with a few of those tears because oh, god, all they can see is your face, and all they can imagine is it being torn and your skin spilling forth like ribbons and your eyes popping like balloons, even though they know that’s not how eyes work, and then they forget all about it — they swear they do, the eyes, the names, the touches.

(Your eyes. Your name. Your touches.)

But then they slip into bed, and it’s cold. It’s hard to forget the warmth. Of you. Of the blood. Of your kisses and your gentle caresses, holding them like they could unravel as easily in your hands as flesh and skin. Of your carcass as they left it. You were still warm.

They roll over, tossing and turning in bed, chills drafting through the windows they swore they closed. Maybe they did — maybe the cold rested beneath their skin, clamoring like a strangler fig, something they knew they couldn’t run from, or defeat, or ever be rid of. For as good as they were at their job, they lacked the means to kill what they wanted to most. As much as they tried. As much as it felt like they did when you were pressed against them, when you kissed their throat and stole their breath right from it like some kind of killer yourself.

An eye for an eye. That’s what they repeated to themselves as they drove the blade deeper and deeper into your side until you choked — on the pain, on your own lies. You deserve this, they want to think, but how could they — it was their fault for trusting you, was it not? How could they blame you for a betrayal they knew was coming?

There was a reason they were wary of everyone. Many reasons, actually. Yet they allowed you to change that, to break apart all they’ve carefully and painstakingly created over the years. It was their fault. So they twisted the knife, because that’s what it felt like tingling up their own spine when they looked at you and could still only feel—

Love. Regret. Betrayal. Agony. Everything they never felt when killing. Mostly love, even though they would hardly go as far as to say that, not when you’re now a pile of entrails and muscle and bone — no, you’re probably unfurling in the stomach acid of some wretched creature by now. The thought forces their head to spin, and their chest to feel heavy, and it makes them sick despite themselves, and they bury their face into their pillow instead of where it would usually rest — your shoulder, the crook of your neck. Mhin hadn’t gone soft, no, and they still cemented that they were incapable of doing so — but when you had practically begun to peel their cold flesh straight off of their body and peer straight into them like they never donned armor to begin with, they became used to the feeling of gently prying fingers and kisses that they swore they hated and—

They shut their eyes tight and clutch the blanket closer to their chest, trying for once in their life to hide from the night and the cold and the dark instead of charging after it headfirst. Just as they gave the blood no time to sink in to their skin, neither did they the emotion of what they’d just done — tomorrow they’d wake, and you’d be gone, just as you should have been from the beginning. This was a good thing.

They fall asleep peacefully.

probably ooc because i’ve only played a little bit of the demo,, sorry 😭. despite the demo mostly portraying them as a cold assassin, there was some vulnerability in the end if you chose to follow them.. i figured if it had been a while and the mc really managed to tear down their walls, it could shake them up a bit more than usual having to take their life. we’ll see though!

#rainswept #touchstarved #touchstarved game #mhin x reader #mhin #how do i even tag this

60 notes · View notes

consumer-o-content · 2 months

Text

imagine Warriors but they have fire

Here is where I dump or information on the idea but I had to make these realllyyy fast sketches before I lost the idea. Fire and the coal they keep is sacred to them becasue it mirrors the Sun. The coal is especially used in festivals during Winter and Spring but they are also used during special ceremonies.

How the coal is treated also acts as a characterizer of each Clan. Wind Clan is more communal so apprentices and warriors can carry/place the coal. It is kept in a tunnel in the center of the clearing wall. For this reason, they all have general knowledge on how to create and fix masks. Rabbits feet may be used to decorate them or dried flowers.

In contrast, River Clan is more private and prioritizes keeping the coal sacred. This resembles how they interact with Star Clan believing that each cat has a more personal relationship with Star Clan, fesivals are more quiet and focused on calming and centering oneself. The coal is stored in an unmarked area which is moved if any other clan finds it on accident or on purpose. Medicine cats exclusively can touch or place the coal. The mask is equally sacred and can only be properly mended by a medicine cat although leaders can fill in if necessary. The making of a mask is taught to medicine apprentices.

Thunder Clan keeps the coal in the leaders den becasue they believe much of Star Clan's power is funneled through the leader. Leaders are expected to move and place coal, however, medicine cats make the masks. The coal is kept in the leaders den in a nook in the rock. Thunder Clan is known to have loud crackling bon fires.

Shadow Clan is more communal in terms of coal handling as well, however, masks are extremely sacred and can only be made/mended by medic cats. A charred and hollowed tree near the entrance is where they keep the coal. Clan specific festivals are completely exclusive and secretive unlike Wind Clan which is known to invite friendly members of other clans if they feel inclined. Bon fires are not common but they often cremate bodies on a small island that is surrounded by bog. Cremation is also common in River Clan.

Star Clan must bless a mask before it is used, this contributes to how long lasting they often are (the oldest being from Shadow Clan going back 10 generations). The coal, although it mirrors the Sun, is contrasted by the blue light glow of the moon stone so the fire of coal represents life while the moonstone represents soul and spirit.

In many ways, the coal makes the Clans somewhat dependent on eachother because if coal somehow goes out there is an obligation for any Clan asked to share. If, for whatever reason, this does not happen there is a small eternal fire in a cavern said to be located far beneath the moonstone, however, no one has had to travel here for a couple generations. The knowledge of this cavern is held by medicine cats.

Theyre talking cats so I don't feel too bad making a crazy ass fire society head canon

93 notes · View notes

eglerieth · 7 months

Text

Can you imagine just how awesomely terrifying Morgoth was with his Silmaril crown?!

When Eärendil wore ONE silmaril, he was able to be seen from miles and miles below, shining as a bright star. Probably a thousand times brighter close up. And Morgoth wore THREE of them. So there’s that. That’s on the top of his head. Go down a bit to his face, and we get the Tyrant of Utumno- the form he got stuck in after the whole deal with Ungoliant. That form of his was described as so terrible that all quailed before him. Then we get the scar on his face from Thorondor’s claws. So we’ve got a terrifying guy who would be enough to terrify anyone with his mere appearance, but now he’s scarred and has three huge glowing stones on his head- glowing with the light of all things fair and sacred, the same light from which the sun gets its roots- the same sun that the servants of Angband fear above almost anything. And their leader bears that light. I feel really, really bad for any orc captain that had to enter Morgoth’s throne room to give a report.

#Tolkien #silmarillion #silm #silmarils #morgoth #melkor #angband #Eglerieth

160 notes · View notes

kckt88 · 3 months

Text

Three Breaths, One Heart.

Summary:

Vaeryna and Aemond continue to enjoy their 'monthly arrangment' with Aegon, until tragedy strikes.

Warning(s): Language, Exploring, Questionable use of the Iron Throne, Kissing, Incest, Smut - F/M/M, Oral Sex (M Receiving), P in V Sex, Cuts, Blood, After Care.

T.W - Miscarriage, Grief, Mouring!!!

A. N - I wanted to try something a little different with my writing.

Word Count: - 3279

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

SEQUEL ONE-SHOT TO THREE HEARTS, ONE BREATH.

AEMOND X O.C & AEGON X O.C

“I’m not entirely sure of your loyalty” mused Aegon.

“Oh, Your Grace I’m loyal-I-I swear” gasped Vaeryna.

“I see you already on your knees my sweet-but I have yet to be convinced” replied Aegon.

“P-Please, l-let me s-show you” moaned Vaeryna.

“-And how are you going to do that?” asked Aegon pursing his lips.

“M-My m-mouth on your cock” panted Vaeryna screwing her eyes shut.

“A most unusual way of pledging one’s loyalty, but I shall allow it” said Aegon.

“A-Aemond, gods-“ moaned Vaeryna.

“Please your King and suck his cock ābrazȳrys” breathed Aemond (Wife).

Vaeryna moved her hands from the floor and reached forward, quickly undoing the laces on Aegon’s breeches, his cock already straining against the fabric.

“Y-Yes Aemond-please” whimpered Vaeryna as she pressed her face against Aegon’s leg.

“I won’t tell you again Issa byka perzys” ordered Aemond (My little fire).

Vaeryna took a deep breath and took Aegon’s cock from his breeches and wrapped her warm, wet mouth over the already glistening head.

“Fuck-that’s it” moaned Aegon quietly his fingers digging painfully into the metal of the Iron Throne.

“Good girl-“ exclaimed Aemond his large hands grasping her hips.

Vaeryna moaned loudly around Aegon’s cock, as Aemond began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

“Your cunt is dripping, it's so beautiful” sighed Aemond.

“Gods” groaned Aegon, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he slowly thrust back and forth.

Over and over, withdrawing further each time, until his cock entirely withdrew from Vaeryna’s warm wet entrance. He marvelled at her perfect mother’s body.

Such a beautiful, delicious thing his wife was. Allowing him and his brother entry into the most sacred parts of her body.

Aemond began to fuck her in earnest, plunging his cock into her cunny over and over, thrilling to hear Vaeryna’s moans of need echoing around the throne room.

Bracing her hands against Aegon’s thighs, she pushed against Aemond so he could shove his cock in. Harder and faster.

“J-Just a little more” moaned Aegon, his eyes rolling into the back of head.

The pleasure was indescribable, Vaeryna’s mouth around his cock as his brother fucked her from behind.

Gods this arrangement between them was better than anything he’d ever imagined.

Aemond felt his stones draw in; his peak was approaching. He snaked a hand around Vaeryna’s body and played with her clitoris, plucking it with his fingers.

“Oh gods” moaned Vaeryna as her whole-body began to shake.

“Come for me, love” breathed Aemond, his thrusts starting to jerk.

He was close. So very close.

Vaeryna screamed as her desperately needed peak exploded from her body, making every limb tremble as her body bucked around Aemond’s cock.

Aemond’s own peak nearly took him off his feet. The sensation took over his body as he spilled rope after rope of his seed, he had no recollection of what he did or said for the good minute it took for his peak to crest, then subside.

Seeing his brother reach his peak was enough to send Aegon over the edge, as he thrust his hips forward and spilled his seed in Vaeryna’s mouth.

His naughty little dragon gazed up at him, her eyes locked with his as she swallowed every drop.

“Issa gevie nūmio” muttered Aegon as he withdrew his softened cock from Vaeryna’s mouth and tucked it back inside his breeches (My beautiful pearl).

“Rather bold to suggest doing this in the throne room Your Grace” said Aemond as he withdrew from Vaeryna and pulled her skirts over her exposed lower half.

“I have my moments” replied Aegon as he gently ran his fingers through Vaeryna’s messy silver tresses.

“I just hope mother doesn’t find out-“ muttered Aemond as he tucked himself back inside his breeches and then stood up.

“What’s the worst she could say, I’ve always been a disappointment to her-so it would be like water off a ducks back” said Aegon shrugging.

“Your not a disappointment” whispered Vaeryna wincing as she tried to stand up.

“I-Is everything ok my love?” asked Aemond reaching out to grasp Vaeryna gently.

“I cut my knees on the floor” said Vaeryna.

“Let me see” muttered Aemond as he helped his wife slowly manoeuvre into a sitting position.

“It’s really not that bad” said Vaeryna as she pulled up her skirts.

“Knees cut open and covered in blood but it’s not that bad she says” muttered Aemond.

“Are you in pain?” asked Aegon as Vaeryna leaned back against his legs.

“Just stings a little” replied Vaeryna.

“You should have told me-If I knew you were hurt, I wouldn’t have carried on” mumbled Aemond his cheeks tinged pink.

“A little pain enhances the pleasure, besides it’s not that bad and it was totally worth it”.

“My wife-always the optimist” said Aemond smiling.

“Mayhaps we should head back to your chambers; the guards will be back soon” said Aegon.

“Ready to stand up?” asked Aemond.

“As I’ll ever be” laughed Vaeryna.

Aemond looped his arms around his wife’s smaller body and quickly pulled her to her feet, his heart clenching at the sound of her gasping in pain.

“Maybe we should rethink this whole Iron Throne sex thing” mused Aegon.

“What? No-just get cushions” replied Vaeryna smiling.

Aegon and Aemond looked at one another before they burst out laughing.

Vaeryna was truly a gift from the gods.

“He hit me-“

“-No he hit me first”

“Mama play-“

“If you could just wait a moment my sweet” replied Vaeryna.

“-But mama, look” said Aegar clapping his tiny hands together.

“Stop sitting near me-“

“-You stop looking at me”

“Both of you stop this falling out” said Vaeryna grimacing slightly as a dull aching sensation radiated across her stomach.

“But mama-“

“Saeryna, I hope you’re not collecting spiders to put in your grandmothers tea” said Vaeryna.

“No mother” replied Saeryna innocently.

“Stop pushing your brother’s face into the mud” urged Vaeryna placing a hand on her stomach.

“Oh, gross-Mama Caelee is trying to eat worms”.

“P-please just-all of you-” exclaimed Vaeryna as she collapsed to the ground.

“MAMA”

“Get father-“

“MAMA-WAKE UP”

“DADDY”

Vaeryna wanted to reassure her children that she was fine, but she couldn’t the stabbing pain in her stomach was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

“VAERYNA”

Suddenly there was a flurry activity and soon the children were huddled together looking fearful as their father bent down towards their mother who was still laying face first on the ground.

“Mama fell down” said Caelee.

“Ryna-my love” whispered Aemond as he gently rolled her over onto her back.

“Is she going to be ok?” asked Aerys nervously.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine” whispered Daenerys.

“Mayhaps we should get the children inside” mused Aegon the Younger.

“Ser Colton-will you escort the children to my mother”.

“Yes, Your Grace-come along children” said Ser Colton firmly.

“I don’t want to leave mama” sobbed Caelee.

“You heard the King-let the Maester’s help your mother” said Jaehaera.

“S-She kept holding her tummy-“ muttered Aerys.

“Mama poorly-“ said Aegar.

“I-Is that blood?” asked Aemond as Vaeryna began whimpering.

“Get the children inside. NOW” roared Aegon.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MUNKUN” shouted Aemond.

“He’s on his way-“ replied Aegon.

Vaeryna couldn’t think of anything except the pain, gods it was like her insides were being twisted upon themselves, she felt a warm wetness between her legs and began sobbing.

“A-Aemond” cried Vaeryna grasping mindlessly in the air for her husband.

“I’m here-it’s ok” replied Aemond softly as he took her hand.

“Hurts” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“Where Issa dōna?” asked Aemond (My sweet).

“M-My stomach-“ cried Vaeryna as another sharp pain shot across her stomach.

“Aemond-the Maester’s here” said Aegon.

“It’s about fucking time” snarled Aemond.

Vaeryna opened her eye’s slightly and saw Aegon talking in rapid hushed tones with the Maester, he kept looking over his shoulder and Aemond refused to let go of her hand.

“Let’s get her moved inside, my Prince, could you perhaps carry her to your chambers”.

“I’m going to lift you up now Ryna. Can you put your arms around my neck-that’s it, hold on” urged Aemond softly.

Vaeryna’s head lolled against Aemond’s shoulder as he carried her though the corridors of the Red Keep.

The mattress was soft beneath her, the candle lights flickered and the fire crackled.

Aemond was pacing the chambers with Aegon hovering quietly in the corner. The Maester was doing something between her legs, it didn’t feel good, but she couldn’t make sense of it, every sensation was dull, voices were muffled, and her eyes were heavy.

Vaeryna couldn’t feel her legs, but she could feel her fingers, she wanted Aemond. She wanted her husband.

“A-A-Aemond” whispered Vaeryna.

“I’m here my sweet-I’m here” said Aemond as he knelt beside the bed and took her hand.

“What happened?” asked Vaeryna, her voice small and weak.

“The Maester is just trying to figure that out my love-just rest now”.

“My Prince” said Maester Munkun.

“I’ll be back in a second-“ whispered Aemond as he pressed a kiss to Vaeryna’s hand and slowly rose from her bedside.

“-The Princess was with child”.

“Was?” asked Aegon quietly.

“Unfortunately, she has suffered a miscarriage” replied Maester Munkun.

“What caused it?” asked Aemond.

“We don’t know the exact causes of such things my Prince” replied Maester Munkun.

“H-How far was she?” asked Aemond quietly.

“It was early my Prince” whispered Maester Munkun.

“W-Will she be ok?” asked Aemond.

“Physically yes, she’s in good health and there’s no reason why she shouldn’t be able to carry another child in the future but mentally-that will come with time, I’ve given her some milk of the poppy to help with the pain, it should lull her too sleep, but call me if she needs more” replied the Maester.

Vaeryna turned to look at Aemond and Aegon who were talking to the Maester, their voices still muffled but she heard the word ‘miscarriage’, she slowly moved a hand to her stomach and quietly sobbed, her heart breaking for the lost babe.

As Vaeryna closed her eyes, she saw a glimpse of silver and amethyst, a son with his father’s sharp features and her smile, fading into darkness.

“Jurnegon tolī zirȳla muña” whispered Vaeryna (Look after him mother).

“I’ll come back on the morrow to check on her, but she needs to rest and drink plenty of water” urged Maester Munkun.

“Sōvegon issa byka zaldrīzes” (Fly my little dragon).

“Thank you Maester” muttered Aemond.

“I’m sorry for your loss my Prince”.

Aemond gave a sharp nod as the Maester left his chambers, leaving him, Aegon and Vaeryna alone.

“Aemond” muttered Vaeryna, her hand running along the empty space on the bed.

“I’m here” replied Aemond.

“I-I didn’t even know that I was with child” muttered Vaeryna.

“It’s ok my love-just rest” urged Aemond as he once again knelt beside the bed.

“W-Will you hold me?” asked Vaeryna.

“Always” whispered Aemond as he quickly removed his leather jerkin and his boots and climbed onto the bed.

Vaeryna immediately sought comfort in his arms, as she pressed her face against his chest and began sobbing.

“I’ll leave you two alone” muttered Aegon.

“N-Not yet-will you hold me too-just until I fall asleep”

“Of course,” replied Aegon as he laid on the bed behind Vaeryna and placed an arm across her waist.

“I-I didn’t know” muttered Vaeryna.

“It’s ok my love-just rest” urged Aemond.

“I-I’m sorry” whimpered Vaeryna.

“It’s not your fault Issa dōna” (My sweet).

“M-my tummy hurts” muttered Vaeryna.

“Shhhh-sleep now” whispered Aemond.

“Aerion-“

“What?” asked Aemond.

“The babes name” replied Vaeryna closing her eyes as sleep finally claimed her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Aemond finally asked the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind, since the Maester had told them that Vaeryna had been with child.

“Who’s do you think?” asked Aemond.

“Don’t even think it-the babe was yours, I cannot sire children remember” replied Aegon.

“But what if-“

“No-brother, the babe wasn’t mine. I know it, deep in my heart. Although I do grieve this loss with you” muttered Aegon.

“Do you think she’ll be ok?”

“She’s stronger than she thinks-but what about you“ replied Aegon.

“Me?” asked Aemond.

“You lost a babe too-the loss is not hers alone” said Aegon as he took hold of his brother’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“But she is the one in pain-and bleeding and-“ muttered Aemond his voice wobbling.

“Physical pain and emotional pain are as equal as they need to be” said Aegon.

“I-I just-how can I feel sad for something I didn’t even know I had until it lost it”

“Even though you’re a massive twat, you’re not made of stone-you can grieve the loss too” said Aegon.

Aemond hesitated for a moment, before he broke into silent sobs. His face pressed into Vaeryna’s neck.

“You are relieved of your duties for the next few days-take the time to be there for one another” said Aegon quietly.

“But-“ argued Aemond.

“No-it’s by order of the King and you will do as commanded” replied Aegon.

“Thank you-brother” replied Aemond.

Eventually Aemond too succumbed to sleep, his arms still wrapped around his wife.

Aegon pressed a gentle kiss to Vaeryna’s shoulder and then gracefully retreated, closing the door with a soft click.

“No one is to disturb them unless it’s absolutely necessary, only the children and my mother are to visit” ordered Aegon.

“Yes, Your Grace” replied the guard.

“I mean it-anyone who defies me will find themselves a head shorter” said Aegon firmly before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the corridor, the tears rolling down his pale cheeks.

For the next few days Vaeryna slept, lulled into the world of dreams by milk of the poppy.

Her children would visit often, Saeryna picked her flowers and Vharla read her favourite book, Aerys stood mute by his mother’s bedside staring at her sleeping form unable to form words, so he took her hand and held it gently. Caelee pressed a wet kiss to her mother cheek and Aegar fell asleep with his face pressed into her neck.

Jaehaeryn also wasn’t able to form words, the normally brash and talkative boy had been struck silent by his mother’s anguish. Jaehaera and Daenerys each took turns to comb her silver hair and Rhaegar spent hours sitting by his mother’s bedside.

Alicent would visit, clutching her seven pointed star necklace and muttering words of comfort and prayer.

Aegon drowned himself in wine and Aemond never left his wife’s side.

Maester Munkun made regular visits and assured Aemond repeatedly that his wife was healing as predicted, so he began lowering the dosage of milk of the poppy and Vaeryna slowly came back to the world.

Granted her mind was a little fuzzy at first, which according to the Maester was a common side effect of milk of the poppy but slowly the mind fog cleared, and she remembered.

The emotional pain of losing their babe, came in waves. But Aemond was there, he was always there. His hand never leaving hers, his arms always a comfort.

It was Aemond and their children who dulled the pain, it was their care, it was their love, and it was their existence.

Aegon eventually resurfaced from his wine, albeit reluctantly but what else was he supposed to do when Vaeryna had charged into his chambers one day with a crazed look in her eyes and slapped the shit out of him.

“I wanted you there, why weren’t you there?” screamed Vaeryna.

“The babe was Aemond’s, you didn’t need me” replied Aegon.

“Your wrong, I did need you and so did Aemond, I thought you loved us”.

“I do love you” muttered Aegon.

“Got a funny way of showing it-Did you call for your whores?”

“No-I haven’t been with them since before our arrangement began” replied Aegon.

“Aemond is my husband, I love him with every piece of my heart and soul, but I love you too, and when I woke up, everyone was there but you” muttered Vaeryna.

“I’m sorry-I didn’t mean to upset you”.

“Aside from kicking the shit out of you, there was another reason for my visit” said Vaeryna.

“Ok-“ replied Aegon as he slumped backwards on the sofa.

“I-I thought I was done having children-but losing the babe has evoked a longing deep within me” said Vaeryna firmly.

“-Right?” questioned Aegon.

“I wish to have another babe-not right now, mayhaps in half a year I’ll be ready, but I just thought you should know” replied Vaeryna.

“Have you spoke to Aemond?”

“Yes, we talked at length last night. Once were both ready to start trying, we would need to adjust our arrangement” said Vaeryna.

“So, were not going to be together anymore?”

“Well, I know you were told you can’t sire anymore children but I don’t want to risk it, and obviously I can’t take moontea so it’s probably for the best that you-“

Aegon could feel his heart breaking at Vaeryna’s words, with his brother or his good sister he wasn’t sure how he was going to cope.

“-Avoid my cunny-at least for a while” said Vaeryna.

“Wait. What?”

“Don’t stick your cock in my cunny, as I’ll need Aemond’s seed to take root” said Vaeryna.

“You do remember how scarily fertile my brother is right? His seed should have no trouble planting itself within you” muttered Aegon.

“Either that or we’re just very compatible when it comes to being fruitful” retorted Vaeryna.

“So, no cunny just other places?” asked Aegon.

“Other places” nodded Vaeryna.

“I’m sorry for making you think I didn’t care about you or Aemond and what you went through”.

“You’re here now and maybe I’m sorry for slapping you” muttered Vaeryna.

“Don’t be-I like it” said Aegon smirking.

“Well, now that I’ve told you our plans for the future, how about you drag your arse into the gardens and spend time with your niece” suggested Vaeryna.

“You know me and Saeryna are a dangerous combination, right? That girls a bad influence on me” said Aegon.

“Right because it was her idea to put spiders in your mothers tea, or manure in Ser Criston’s boots, and surely your not suggesting that my daughter is capable of setting frogs lose in the kitchens” snarked Vaeryna.

“What can I say, the girl has a creative mind-Of course she needs the right person to nurture such a thing” said Aegon.

“-And that person, is you?”

“If the boot fits” replied Aegon smiling.

“Gods the realm is defiantly doomed” muttered Vaeryna.

“I heard that-“

“-I meant you too” huffed Vaeryna as she turned on her heel and left Aegon standing in the middle of his chambers with a stinging left cheek and a need to cause mischief.

Good job Saeryna was already in the gardens, perhaps the target of today’s mischief could either be his mother or Ser Criston.

Smiling to himself Aegon made his way to the gardens, the sounds of laughter echoing around the corridor.

“Uncle” shrieked Saeryna.

“Up for some fun little one?” asked Aegon.

“Yes” nodded Saeryna.

“Good-your grandmother has been quite miserable lately, let’s cheer her up” said Aegon.

“What are you two planning?” asked Aemond.

“N-Nothing” replied Aegon trying to hide his smile.

“Make sure you keep it that way” quipped Aemond.

“Now where’s the best place for worms?”

As Aegon helped Saeryna look for worms, he caught sight of Vaeryna looking at him, her eyes narrowed slightly but a small smile graced her features.

These past few weeks had been difficult for everyone, but they would come through it together, as a family.

72 notes · View notes