my hair is a wild beast

Y’know, I really appreciate Urbosa’s characterization in BOTW. Instead of making her that inappropriately flirty cougar type that Nintendo is so fond of using, (I’m looking at you great fairies,) they just kinda made her the mom?

I mean, look at her.

“Well, I’m sorry your mom died of a plot contrivance, and your father is an ulcerated dickblister, but good news, you’re mine now. I’m gonna buy you so many books. Do your chores and you can steer the Divine beast. Then we can braid each other’s hair and throw rotten fruit at men from Gerudo town’s walls. Link you better protect my precious daughter or I’ll crush your fucking skull between my thighs.”

Like, I’m imagining Riju making a pilgrimage to meet her ancestor’s spirit and the first thing Urbosa says to her is, “Did you eat breakfast this morning? Hold on I’ll make you some porridge.”

Ivar the Boneless x Reader
Ivar is having dreams of you, of the goddess he sees on walking his nights. You prove him things, show him things and he can’t handle your ways or the fact they are just dreams. Until one day battle proves him wrong.

Request for: @kolvanismirk
Warnings: Smut - Violence - Ivar point of view
Words: 3535

Taglist: @missbrightlyred @itharley @burningsunshin3 @float-autumn-leave @inthenameofodin @zombie-zayde @decaffeinatedeaglefart @nothingbuthappydays @dani-si @ivarbarnes @supervalcsi @sweetvengeancee @mysticsthinking @odins-missing-eye @kirah34 @laketaj24 @tiredofthisgeneration @mcuimxgine @sugakookiexx @dangerousvikings @natmors


Dreams should supposed to be dreams, drawings of ones deepest desires and thoughts. This wasn’t that, this was a vivid as a stormy night on sea, this was warm and alive, more alive than every time he dreamed about you before. Your shadow danced on the fire before his tent, walking on your tips, graceful, balanced you came into his eye sight. Ever since you entered his dreams you left him speechless, he was gazing at you, feeling the insecurity crawl through his chest as he looked up to you.
‘Ivar.’ You smiled to him, a smile he couldn’t place. A smile that wasn’t charming or graceful, not seductive or gentle. It was a smile containing all of that and he pulled the corner of his lips up in a short tug. ‘Did you miss me?’ You tilted your head. You were looking to the way he pulled his body up on his hands, how he rested his back against the headboard. As a king he desired much, he desired you but it didn’t left his lips as your fingers scour over the sheets that covered his legs. He looked down to the edges of his small miserable legs, trying to figure out maybe why they were so miserable and why you were here again, in his dreams.
‘Who are you?’ He asked, looking up to you, a woman dressed in a light dress, with flowers braided through your hair. He almost found it to be godlessly. It had to have a meaning, all of this, you visiting his dreams, but without asking he wouldn’t know … now he was asking.
‘I’m here to help you King Ivar, I’m here to lead you the way.’ You answered him, crouching down aside the bed to grace him with one of your elegant smiles.
‘I don’t need guidance.’ He found his voice to be harder, maybe annoyed by the fact you were talking riddles to him.
‘You need some things at least, reassurance, prove.’ You’re fingers scour over the fabrics that covered his legs. He tensed, looking confused, looking lost as he felt something change within him.
‘Prove of what?’ He shifted his deep blue eyes back on yours and you lifted your fingers up from his legs.
‘Prove of enjoyment, pleasure.’ You answered him honestly. It didn’t took him long before he knew where you were talking about and his eyes shifted back to his legs as you stood up.
‘I can’t,’
‘It’s just a dream right? Isn’t that what you always say?’ You asked him polite. Ivar looked aside, to the way you crumbled your dress between your fingers up before you straddled yourself down over his lap. Ivar gasped, feeling the vibration of your weight spreading a certain warmth throughout his body. It was a dream, it was just a dream. ‘Are you going to let yourself define by one slave?’ You asked him, fingertips resting against his jaws. Ivar looked to the middle of your throat before he slowly looked up to you. He felt his hate, his misery after what happened with Margrethe. The rumors that he couldn’t please a woman where hardly a part of his rage these days. He was born to lead but apparently he needed to do that without a son to give his legacy to. Despite you foresaw otherwise. He rolled his jaws while looking into your eyes. You smiled again, lowering your lips down to his. How could this felt so real? The pressure, the taste, Ivar shivered throughout his body while you moved your lips. The uncertainty, the feelings of them pulling him back now. He grabbed your shoulder, pushing you back.
‘You are not real.’ He hissed between his lips.
‘Is that what you think? Or is that what you want to believe?’ You ask him, digging your nail in his chest, pulling it down so he had a feel of reality.
‘You are not real.’ He repeated again, angry on himself on letting this happen. Why where you always returning in his dreams, where you a goddess guiding him through or where you just a fragment of his desires. You nodded, almost respectfully before clipping the leaf formed clips lose from your shoulders. The dress stroke in a fluent motion down over your body, assembling around your hips. His jaws clenched as he took in a breath, looking over your nakedness in this dark night. ‘I’m as real as you let me Ivar, let a dream not stop you from greatness, taste it.’ You gestured, moving your hips a little deeper in his lap. He gasped, feeling his body reacted on what he saw and felt. You were bringing your head back closer and he let you. His fingers found the naked skin of your side before sliding to the back, lifting all the way up over your spine. Feeling your lips, feeling your movements, it wasn’t real. But he let it, he grabbed for your hair at the back, pulling at it so your head kicked up, his lips leaving traces over your neck. The soft sign leaving your lips encouraged him. Ivar never felt like he felt now. His free hand touched your breast before he took it and knead it between his hand. Your reacting, the little moan, the way you rocked your hips slowly into his left him speechless for he felt something react of his own. He grabbed you around you waist turning so you landed with your back in the bed. His hand grabbed for your throat, not knowing how to act on the madness of this dream, not knowing how to feel about his own body. There was so much uncertainty that it made him angry. He clenched his fingers around your throat, hissing before pulling your head up and slamming it back in the bed.
‘You are not real!’ He growled, wanting to see you turn red for the lack of oxygen. But it was a dream and you just smiled, finger raking over his body, grabbing between his legs to what was hard and ready. He shivered, his whole body burning before he lowered his head again and kissed your lips. He left your throat, fingers eagerly grabbing into your skin, into your breasts, almost aggressively.
‘This is you Ivar, fully alive.’ You panted against his lips as he ripped the dress from around your waist. You made him feel alive, for the first time a dream came actually true and it wasn’t even real. He felt the pulse between his disturb legs, he felt the sweat covering his forehead, he saw you close your eyes, moaning when his fingers pinched the soft flesh between your legs. There wasn’t a foreplay in all of this, he felt alive and he wanted this, he wanted this since he chocked Margrethe to silence. That damn slave. His mouth became intoxication, biting down your skin, rocking against you while you started to erase the cloths from his body. He was dreaming, he was dreaming, he kept repeating that when he slammed himself inside of you, opening his own mouth for the impact he brought down on your body. ‘You can, you see?’ You panted, proving him what he could do. Ivar hissed, grabbing for your hair as he moved his body into yours, over and over. Enjoying the ring of his own voice over your lips, enjoying the screams out of your throat. He enjoyed the feeling, how it felt being inside a woman. He grunted, going hard, leaving marks on your body while you scratched your nails over his chest, red marks starting to bleed. ‘You can, you will, you are the greatest King walking this earth and this is just,’ you moaned through your words, feeling the heights turning around in your body. With one last rock he came, grunting like a wild beast he dropped down on you. You strangled your fingers through his hair. ‘let me prove that to you my king.’ You whispered in his ear, fully out of breath. He turned his head, a nose stroking against your cheek as he looked into your bright eyes from aside.
‘How can I believe a goddess like you if this all is a dream?’
‘Because we will meet again.’

Keep reading

I know I’m a wolf

They called me a wolf. I was always alone. When I walked by others I could hear them whispering about me.


“Stay away from him.”


“I heard he sent a boy to a hospital, just because he looked at him the wrong way.”


“He isn’t normal.”


“What a weirdo.”


None of them even tried to understood that it wasn’t me who wanted to hurt others. It was him, the beast deep inside of my soul, trying to gain control over everything. This anger and fury that he forced out of me was unbearable. Everybody who came near me were forced to suffer this wrath. Because of that everybody stayed away from me. Wise decision, I quess.


But then.


Then she came along.


She was new to our class, so she knew nothing about all the rumors going around me. Teacher told her to sit next to me. All eyes were on her as she sat next to me with a bright smile. Her beautiful eyes shining while she did so.


Everybody feared for her safety. Thinking I was going to hurt her or something. As she introduced herself quietly to me. I mumbled my name in response and looked out the window.


But something felt different. She wasn’t scared of me. She wasn’t indimidated. She was just like a small rabbit compared to me being a wolf. I never wanted to hurt anybody, but I knew if she would get hurt by me. I would be devastated. But if anybody else dared to do so. Then I would truly let the beast run wild.


I wouldn’t let anything harm her.


Time passed by and we had grown close. She had ignored every warning she was given and continued to hang out with me. For the first time in my life. The beast inside of me quieted down when she was around. I felt at peace with her.


Her shining eyes, soft hair and that most beautiful smile that blew me away. She was supposed to be protected and so I did. I kept her safe. She would only be safe with me. I knew so.


But more and more people took her away from me. The beast, the wolf, didn’t like that, at all. Nor did I.


It was my job to protect her and I wasn’t about to let her down.


I will save her.


No, No, NO!


She’s crying.


Why is she crying?!


I never wanted to hurt her. I want her to smile and hug me, like she always does. I look at my claws and see them bloody, tears roll down my cheeks as I walk closer to her shaking form. Before I can explain anything. She runs out to the snowfields. I don’t waste any time before chasing after her.


The rabbit trips down infront of me and I stalk closer to her crying form. I smile slightly through my own tears and hug her close.


“It’s fine now! E-Everything is fine! Please stop crying, rabbit!”


She sobbed quietly and I wiped her tears away. I was a beast, and no matter how much I tried to fight it. It would never change. But I needed her, even monsters needed love. I didn’t want to be alone again. I just couldn’t.


I kiss her lips gently and stare into her frigtened orbs, as I whisper in her ear.


“You’ll be safe with me… ”


So rabbit….


Please stop looking the other way…


It’s cold out there…


So why not stay here….


Under my…


Tail...


Originally posted by wwhatfinn

“Do ye know what it is to live twenty years without a heart?”

“To live half a man, and accustom yourself to living in the bit that’s left, filling in the cracks wi’ what mortar comes handy?” 

“Do I know?” I echoed. I struggled to loose myself, to little effect. “Yes, you bloody bastard, I know that! What did you think, I’d gone straight back to Frank and lived happy ever after?” I kicked at him as hard as I could. He flinched, but didn’t let go. 

“Sometimes I hoped ye did,” he said, speaking through clenched teeth. “And then sometimes I could see it—him with you, day and night, lyin’ with ye, taking your body, holding my child! And God, I could kill ye for it!” 

Suddenly, he dropped my hands, whirled, and smashed his fist through the side of the oak armoire. It was an impressive blow; the armoire was a sturdy piece of furniture. It must have bruised his knuckles considerably, but without hesitation, he drove the other fist into the oak boards as well, as though the shining wood were Frank’s face—or mine. 

“Feel like that about it, do you?” I said coldly, as he stepped back, panting. “I don’t even have to imagine you with Laoghaire—I’ve bloody seen her!” 

“I dinna care a fig for Laoghaire, and never have!” 

“Bastard!” I said again. “You’d marry a woman without wanting her, and then throw her aside the minute—” 

“Shut up!” he roared. “Hold your tongue, ye wicked wee bitch!” He slammed a fist down on the washstand, glaring at me. “I’m damned the one way or the other, no? If I felt anything for her, I’m a faithless womanizer, and if I didn’t, I’m a heartless beast.” 

“You should have told me!” 

“And if I had?” He grabbed my hand and jerked me to my feet, holding me eye to eye with him. “You’d have turned on your heel and gone without a word. And having seen ye again—I tell ye, I would ha’ done far worse than lie to keep you!” 

He pressed me tight against his body and kissed me, long and hard. My knees turned to water, and I fought to keep my feet, buttressed by the vision of Laoghaire’s angry eyes, and her voice, echoing shrill in my ears. He’s mine! 

“This is senseless,” I said, pulling away. Fury had its own intoxication, but the hangover was setting in fast, a black dizzy vortex. My head swam so that I could hardly keep my balance. “I can’t think straight. I’m leaving.” 

I lurched toward the door, but he caught me by the waist, yanking me back. 

He whirled me toward himself and kissed me again, hard enough to leave a quicksilver taste of blood in my mouth. It was neither affection nor desire, but a blind passion, a determination to possess me. He was through talking. 

So was I. I pulled my mouth away and slapped him hard across the face, fingers curved to rake his flesh. 

He jerked back, cheek scraped raw, then twisted his fingers tight in my hair, bent and took my mouth again, deliberate and savage, ignoring the kicks and blows I rained on him. 

He bit my lower lip, hard, and when I opened my lips, gasping, thrust his tongue into my mouth, stealing breath and words together. 

He threw me bodily onto the bed where we had lain laughing an hour before, and pinned me there at once with the weight of his body. 

He was most mightily roused. 

So was I. Mine, he said, without uttering a word. Mine

I fought him with boundless fury and no little skill, and Yours, my body echoed back. Yours, and may you be damned for it! 

I didn’t feel him rip my gown, but I felt the heat of his body on my bare breasts, through the thin linen of his shirt, the long, hard muscle of his thigh straining against my own. He took his hand off my arm to tear at his breeches, and I clawed him from ear to breast, striping his skin with pale red. 

We were doing our level best to kill each other, fueled by the rage of years apart—mine for his sending me away, his for my going, mine for Laoghaire, his for Frank. 

“Bitch!” he panted. “Whore!” 

“Damn you!” I got a hand in his own long hair, and yanked, pulling his face down to me again. We rolled off the bed and landed on the floor in a tangled heap, rolling to and fro in a welter of half-uttered curses and broken words. I didn’t hear the door open. 

I didn’t hear anything, though she must have called out, more than once. Blind and deaf, I knew nothing but Jamie until the shower of cold water struck us, sudden as an electric shock. Jamie froze. All the color left his face, leaving the bones jutting stark beneath the skin. 

I lay dazed, drops of water dripping from the ends of his hair onto my breasts. Just behind him, I could see Jenny, her face as white as his, holding an empty pan in her hands. 

“Stop it!” she said. Her eyes were slanted with a horrified anger. “How could ye, Jamie? Rutting like a wild beast, and not carin’ if all the house hears ye!” 

He moved off me, slowly, clumsy as a bear. Jenny snatched a quilt from the bed and flung it over my body. 

On all fours, he shook his head like a dog, sending droplets of water flying. Then, very slowly, he got to his feet, and pulled his ripped breeches back into place. 

“Are ye no ashamed?” she cried, scandalized. 

Jamie stood looking down at her as though he had never seen any creature quite like her, and was making up his mind what she might be. The wet ends of his hair dripped over his bare chest. 

“Yes,” he said at last, quite mildly. “I am.” 

He seemed dazed. He closed his eyes and a brief, deep shudder went over him. Without a word, he turned and went out.

- Voyager 

Okay

Originally posted by wildling-heart

Request Summary: Negan is out with a few of his men and finds this girl in a forest. She’s really anxious and on edge and whenever there is a walker or one of Negan’s men tries to touch her she is all jumpy (and maybe hides behind Negan’s back and stuff)

Okay I’m gonna give a crack at this. I was originally going to do it in Negan’s POV but I couldn’t get it right. I’m happy with the way it turned out in the Readers POV. Sorry it’s short. Thank you for the request! :D


I woke from the dreams of my past. A simpler happier time where you didn’t have to worry about dead people eating your face off. Something that seemed like a dream now. Giving the reality we live in.

Or maybe I woke up to the loud footsteps and laughing. I sat up in the small barely standing tent. Pulling on my boots I quickly settled in a crouched position ready for a fight if they came this way. Going off how loud they were they most likely were close.

“Did you find any Goddamn thing yet?” Asked a loud booming voice making my heart want to jump out of my chest.

The grip on my small pocket knife tightening. I would have much preferred the gun I had a few days ago but it was empty. No good to me other than a blunt weapon.

Keep reading

I woke just past dawn to the scratching of the rose brier against the window, and the muffled thump and clang of breakfast fixing in the kitchen below.

Peering over Jamie’s sleeping form, I saw that the fire was dead out. I slid out of bed, quietly so as not to wake him. The floorboards were icy under my feet and I reached, shivering, for the first available garment. 

Swathed in the folds of Jamie’s shirt, I knelt on the hearth and went about the laborious business of rekindling the fire, thinking rather wistfully that I might have included a box of safety matches in the short list of items I had thought worthwhile to bring. Striking sparks from a flint to catch kindling does work, but not usually on the first try. Or the second. Or … 

Somewhere around the dozenth attempt, I was rewarded by a tiny black spot on the twist of tow I was using for kindling. It grew at once and blossomed into a tiny flame. I thrust it hastily but carefully beneath the little tent of twigs I had prepared, to shelter the blooming flame from the cold breeze. 

I had left the window ajar the night before, to insure not being suffocated by the smoke—peat fires burned hot, but dully, with a lot of smoke, as the blackened beams overhead attested. Just now, though, I thought we could dispense with fresh air—at least until I got the fire thoroughly under way. 

The pane was rimed at the bottom with a light frost; winter was not far off. The air was so crisp and fresh that I paused before shutting the window, breathing in great gulps of dead leaf, dried apples, cold earth, and damp, sweet grass. The scene outside was perfect in its still clarity, stone walls and dark pines drawn sharp as black quillstrokes against the gray overcast of the morning. 

A movement drew my eye to the top of the hill, where the rough track led to the village of Broch Mordha, ten miles distant. One by one, three small Highland ponies came up over the rise, and started down the hill toward the farmhouse. 

They were too far away for me to make out the faces, but I could see by the billowing skirts that all three riders were women. Perhaps it was the girls—Maggie, Kitty, and Janet—coming back from Young Jamie’s house. My own Jamie would be glad to see them. 

I pulled the shirt, redolent of Jamie, around me against the chill, deciding to take advantage of what privacy might remain to us this morning by thawing out in bed. I shut the window, and paused to lift several of the light peat bricks from the basket by the hearth and feed them carefully to my fledgling fire, before shedding the shirt and crawling under the covers, numb toes tingling with delight at the luxurious warmth. 

Jamie felt the chill of my return, and rolled instinctively toward me, gathering me neatly in and curling round me spoon-fashion. He sleepily rubbed his face against my shoulder. 

“Sleep well, Sassenach?” he muttered. 

“Never better,” I assured him, snuggling my cold bottom into the warm hollow of his thighs. “You?” 

“Mmmmm.” He responded with a blissful groan, wrapping his arms about me. “Dreamed like a fiend.” 

“What about?” 

“Naked women, mostly,” he said, and set his teeth gently in the flesh of my shoulder. “That, and food.” His stomach rumbled softly. The scent of biscuits and fried bacon in the air was faint but unmistakable. 

“So long as you don’t confuse the two,” I said, twitching my shoulder out of his reach. 

“I can tell a hawk from a handsaw, when the wind sets north by nor’west,” he assured me, “and a sweet, plump lassie from a salt-cured ham, too, appearances notwithstanding.” He grabbed my buttocks with both hands and squeezed, making me yelp and kick him in the shins. 

“Beast!” 

“Oh, a beast, is it?” he said, laughing. “Well, then …” Growling deep in his throat, he dived under the quilt and proceeded to nip and nibble his way up the insides of my thighs, blithely ignoring my squeaks and the hail of kicks on his back and shoulders. Dislodged by our struggles, the quilt slid off onto the floor, revealing the tousled mass of his hair, flying wild over my thighs. 

“Perhaps there’s less difference than I thought,” he said, his head popping up between my legs as he paused for breath. He pressed my thighs flat against the mattress and grinned up at me, spikes of red hair standing on end like a porcupine’s quills. “Ye do taste a bit salty, come to try it. What do ye—” 

He was interrupted by a sudden bang as the door flew open and rebounded from the wall. Startled, we turned to look. In the doorway stood a young girl I had never seen before. She was perhaps fifteen or sixteen, with long flaxen hair and big blue eyes. The eyes were somewhat bigger than normal, and filled with an expression of horrified shock as she stared at me. Her gaze moved slowly from my tangled hair to my bare breasts, and down the slopes of my naked body, until it encountered Jamie, lying prone between my thighs, white-faced with a shock equal to hers. 

“Daddy!” she said, in tones of total outrage. “Who is that woman?”

- Voyager

A Rose by Any Other Name

The snow fell in soft petals over the imposing gray castle, an eternal winter that was becoming more comfortable by the day. Sheltered beneath a worn, shingled roof sat two figures, one vastly larger than the other. To a very distant observer, it would have looked like two young people who were courting. But the truth was far more fantastical.

Belle pushed the snow with the tip of her brown leather boot, listening with rapt pleasure as the deep baritone voice beside her resonated throughout her body. Beast sat close to her on the stone bench inside the gazebo reciting Hamlet, his hulking frame radiating pleasant warmth in the small space “This to thine own self be true-”

“What is your name?” Belle interrupted. As much as she wanted to continue the play, this question had been nesting in her head for some time.

Beast’s sapphire blue eyes tore themselves from the tome in his lap to stare at her, “What?”

“Well,” Belle continued, shrugging her shoulders beneath her cloak, “it doesn’t feel proper to call you ‘Beast’ when that isn’t you’re name. It’s rather rude really.”

“Hmpf,” he looked thoughtful beside her, “To be quite honest, I haven’t heard my true name in a very long time. The servants always refer to me as master. I suppose one just gets used to titles.”

“Well,” Belle grinned, “shall we play a game then?”

“Oh?” Half of the Beasts mouth quirked up into a smirk, “And what game would that be?”

“I will try and guess your name.”

The Beast barked out a laugh. Had Belle not been around him for this long already, the loud sound would have been startling. For a moment, it seemed as though he would refuse, but he only focused his stunningly blue eyes to her brown and said quite seriously, “I could just tell you, you know.”

Belle waved a hand flippantly at him, “Please, where is the fun in that? Shall I start now? No hints!”

He chuckled, “Alright, alright. No hints.”

She leaned forward, seeming to inspect his face. Her proximity was startling. Deep in his powerful chest, Beast could feel his heart picking up a wild tattoo; dear heavens she smelled nice. Like tea and vanilla.

Belle snapped her fingers, “Your name is Jeàn!”

Beast snorted, “Not even close.”

“Hm,” Belle’s dark eyebrow raised, “Raul then.”

“Are you mad? My father was a terrible man, but not that terrible.”

“Leon.”

“I may have a tail now, but I certainly didn’t have one at birth.”

“Paul.”

“Certainly not.”

“Albert.”

The Beast made a gagging noise.

“Oh dear,” Belle laughed, “I think I may have lied and could possibly need a hint.”

How could such a slip of a girl lift his spirits so high? He loved how her voice sounded like chimes. “Oh come now,” The Beast insisted, edging closer to her, “try again. I promised no helping.”

Sighing, Belle looked skyward. After a moment of silence she said, “You are certainly not a Francois, nor are you a Louis. No, I believe you have a strong name. Like all of the literary heroes.”

“You give me far to much credit.” The Beast rumbled.

Belle nudged his arm with her shoulder. She was so small compared to him, so seemingly fragile. He took great care to stay still, pleased when she settled against him, “I feel like you give yourself to little credit,” she insisted, “perhaps you are in fact named Lancelot.”

“Only if you are Guinevere.” He said softly. The Beast had believed he’d spoken quietly enough for her to miss it, but the way she stiffened against him caused him mild panic, “I-I am so sorry. That was out of line, that would insinuate-”

“It’s alright,” she murmured, smiling up at him, “that is a lovely compliment.”

The Beast cleared his throat, looking out across the frozen lake, “Well, my name is not Lancelot either. Do you have anymore guesses?”

Belle looked thoughtfully at him again before saying, “Let me think on it a bit. Will you keep reading?”

The book in his lap opened to the page they had left off on, and The Beast began reading again, as he could refuse her nothing.

-

After a time, he paused and glanced down at her, “Have anymore guesses?”

Belle sighed, stretching her legs out straight in front of her, “I’m afraid to keep guessing. It’s more difficult than I thought it would be.”

“May I give a hint?”

“Please.”

“My name is a little unconventional.”

Belle’s brown eyes lit with interest, “Go on!”

The Beast chuckled, “It is only four letters.”

The wheels in her mind were turning, what on earth could it be?

“Any guesses now?”

After about a minute it was obvious she was becoming frustrated, “I feel quite silly,” Belle admitted finally, “I wanted to be able to guess, but I truly have no idea. I feel like any name I say simply would not suit you!”

Shaking his head, Beast rumbled, “Belle, any name you call me I would answer too.”

He noticed her cheeks tinged pink at that, “I’ve been living in your home and I don’t even know your birth name.” She said, “It makes me feel quite awful. I run through any name and they fall flat compared to you. I always felt like my name was misgiven, so I would feel simply awful to-”

The Beast felt the hair at the nape of his neck bristle, “What do you mean your name was misgiven?”

“I mean,” Belle looked gestured at herself, “look at me. I’m a simple girl from a village where I am called odd at best. I have no fancy clothes or home, I have freckles and eyes are brown. I am thinner than most girls. My boots are always muddy and my hands have callouses. My hair is always a mess so I have to keep it tied back. I am certainly not fair or considered beautiful by society’s standards.”

The Beast shook his head, trying to quell the anger surging through him. What kind of a backwards hovel was this village she came from? “Belle,” he said, voice low and deep like thunder, “your name is pale in comparison to you, so in that way, yes, it does not suit you. There is no name in anyone’s language that could perfectly describe how truly beautiful you are. You are NOT odd. It is not that illiterate sty’s business to call your brilliance odd; I can guarantee that you are more educated than any teacher at the school. You have no time to fuss with fancy garments as you are busy with things that are meaningful to you, and all they would do anyway is cover you up until you are no longer visible.”

She smiled at that, so Beast kept going, “Your freckles are like constellations, I can see the night sky written upon your cheeks and your eyes are the color of earth; those bring me back home and ground me when I feel like floating away. You are built like a nymph, ready to run and fly away in search of adventure at a moments notice. Your boots are muddy because you take care of chores those stuck up cows in the village are afraid to take on themselves, and your hands,”

Felling bold, The Beast reached for her, looking at her first for permission. Belle nodded, offering her hands to him. He held them carefully, bringing them closer to his face. After a moments scrutinizing, he murmured, “Not a callous in sight. They are soft and fair, like silk.” He ran his thumbs across her palms, taking care to not scratch her, “these are the hands of a brilliant mind, the hands of a scholar, of an inventor, and a beautiful woman. And you’re hair,” he released one of her hands, she letting it fall into her lap as The Beast ran the back of his paw down the side of her face, “it is wild yes, but it very much reminds me of you. Even tied back pieces of it refuse to be tamed. That is one of my favorite things about you. You are a lovely looking woman, Belle. Not just the outside, which, to be quite honest is very striking. But it is what is inside that counts the most. Which is why ‘winged cupid is painted blind.’ I think your name falls flat to be honest. But it shall do until I can think of something worthy enough of you.”

His paw was still against her cheek, now cupping it and her dark eyes were burning into his, “Will you please tell me your name?” Belle asked, voice wavering.

The Beast swallowed, then leaned forward, lips almost touching her ear,

“Adam.” He whispered.

Pulling back, he was surprised to see her still looking at him, expression very warm.

“It suits you,” She smiled, “Adam.”

Oh, merciful heaven.

Belle suddenly looked concerned, “Are you alright? You look like you have been wounded.”

Adam swallowed the lump in his throat, before managing to say, “Yes, yes I just have not heard that name in a very long time.”

“Would you mind very much if I called you that when we are together?”

“I would be honored.” He said seriously, watching with pleasure as the constellations of her cheeks leaned into his palm for the briefest of moments, before pulling away. “Come Adam, will you continue reading to me, or shall I take a turn?”

Unable to speak anymore, He handed the book in his lap into Belle’s waiting hands. She began to read out loud, her voice sounding very much like the music of chimes and Adam daydreamed of stars.

-

A little different from what I normally write… but I hope you liked it nonetheless ❤️

Your Song (Meg’s Musical AU Challenge!) Moulin Rouge

Originally posted by astouract


Note: Here is my Submission to @meganlpie for the Musical challenge! I had to change it to Loki, because I just couldn’t figure out a Dean story! 

Word: 2887

Warnings: Angst, and a little bit of fluff in there

Natasha sat next to Thor and Steve at the bar. The had attended the party Tony had thrown for Bruce’s birthday.  They had come from Asgard after its fall and now, Midgard was home. Even Loki had found a home on Earth, even if he was on constant surveillance. But Thor begged Tony to invite him to this party, which Loki had no interest in. Instead he sat as far away as possible, drinking piss poor (in his opinion) Midgardian alcohol. Natasha was bored, and after observing the younger brother’s behavior, decided to make conversation with the God of Thunder. “So I have to ask something,” she said as he turned his attention to the red head, “Why is your brother so hateful? I mean I get it I think, but even now when you both are on good terms, he is still being a pretty big ass. Where does that all stem from?” Thor sighed, “That is a painful subject Lady Natasha. It’s deeper than you perceive. Loki hasn’t always been like that. He was happy once, then something terrible happened. Loki had just recently been back to normal until New York.” Steve was clearly intrigued and troubled. He gave the god a stern look, “It was a woman, wasn’t it?” Thor nodded to the Captain, “Yes. Lady (Y/n). She was a wonderful woman. Pure of heart. But it was unfair.” Natasha leaned in further and poured him another drink, “Tell us a story Thunder man.”

(Many Years Ago)

Loki and his brother stood by the throne as a group of new allied Alfheim light elves filed into the great hall. Loki stood closest to his mother, Thor near Odin. “All father Odin,” said the leader, “Allow me to present you a gift. We bring you some of our most coveted resources and performers for your entertainment.” Loki had been bored up until this point. The light elves, he had never thought them trustworthy. Always acting full of themselves. They had placed what looked like a large golden water lily in the center of the floor, though it hadn’t bloomed. When the music began, the flower slowly opened up. There were five women in the flower. It seemed as if all the gold and diamonds in the realm were spilling forth from the flower. Frigga clapped in delight, and Loki let a small smile pass at the sight of his mother’s joy. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Oh Loki,” she said in wonder, “Look at her.” There were four women clad in white and diamonds, dancing around the flower. In the center stood a beautiful (y/c/h) woman all in gold. She wore so many jewels that the light cast off her almost made her hard to see. But he saw her, and his heart was in his throat. The woman began to sing and Loki felt himself practically melting to his seat. He had never heard such a voice. Each note was ecstasy to his ears and he wondered if everyone in the room was feeling this way. By the time her song was over, she stood in front of the King and Queen. She bowed delicately, a sly smile across her face. Her motions were fluid, even as she walked, she seemed to float towards the throne. The light elf leader took her hand and led her to the All Father. “This is (Y/n) your grace,” he said smiling a filthy smile, “She is our finest entertainer and courtesan. She is our gift to you.” Odin kissed her hand, “It is lovely to meet you my lady. You are incredibly talented.” (Y/n) blushed then looked up, directly at one of the sons, Loki. For some reason she couldn’t pull her eyes from him. “Maybe Prince Thor would enjoy a moment alone with Lady (Y/n).” Loki’s blood began to boil. “A lady such as this is a treasure and should not be treated like the common concubine,” said Loki smugly, “I doubt he could satisfy…” Thor would never say this now, but back then he was pig headed and stubborn. “Oh I believe I could completely satisfy the lady,” Thor said looking at the woman. Loki had to quell his temper. “It is settled,” said the elf, “She will be delivered to your chambers tonight.”

Loki paced his room. It was not right. (Y/n) was delicate, to be treated gently. He needed to know more. Thor would simply use her and then throw her away. He had made up his mind. He stormed from his chambers and down the hall. Storming into his brother’s room he noticed two wine glasses, but only one enormous passed out Asgardian. Loki ran over to his slumbering brother, obviously in potion induced sleep. Shaking his head, he looked around the room. Part of him was mad he did not think of knocking out his brother first, but then again an foreign woman was loose in the palace. There was only so many places she could go. He searched high and low about the castle, then returned to her room. Opening the door slowly, he saw her sitting in her nightgown, brushing her long hair and singing. It was drawing him in. “I didnt hear a knock,” she said refraining to look at him. “Pardon my intrusion lady (Y/n),” he said walking in slowly, “I was under the assumption you were with my brother.” (Y/n) nodded. Walking over to her window, she opened the curtains. “W-what are you,” he said looking her up and down. She was much smaller than any Asgardian he had ever known, and she certainly was no light elf. “I am a Midguardian,” she said smiling, “I was captured by the light elves. I was a mutant on my home planet. They called me a siren. My mother was killed protecting me.” Loki had read about them luring men to their deaths. He thought he could follow her voice to Hel as long as she was there too. “You’re beautiful,” he said moving toward her. When he got close enough she tackled him and put her small blade to his throat. Well, he hadn’t expected that. “I will NOT be touched,” she snarled as her hair fell around his face. Studying her face, she looked like a beautiful and wild beast, and he just fell into her cage. Loki slowly put his hands up, “I would never touch…wait. Did you do this to my brother?” Her facial expression changed and she stood up slowly. “No man will touch me without consent,” she said taking a deep breath, “I simply will tell your brother of how wonderful my night was with him and he will remember nothing.” Loki rose to his feet.  "You’re not like the others are you,“ she said as she stared at the god before her. "I try not to be,” he said with a half hearted chuckle, “My brother can be a bit of an oaf.” The most melodic laugh burst forth from her lips and Loki nodded to her, “Well. Your secret is safe with me. I may have misjudged your ability to take care of yourself, so the fault is mine for intruding. Goodnight Lady (Y/n).” He kissed her hand and turned for the door when he heard her say, “Goodnight prince Loki. I shall hope to see more of you in the coming days.”

And you did see him, every day. You were to a fro through the palace. You sat with him in the library, listening adamantly at his elaborate tales of Asgardian triumph as well as battles. You were amazed at his skill in magic as well as fighting. Spoiling him, you had given him permission to listen to you practice. He would never get up and leave, but stand and clap when you were done. There was not many days in Asgard that you had not shared together. Loki was constantly dazzling you would magical tricks and his abilities. As the God of Mischief, his power was beyond anything you had ever witnessed. But sometimes you caught yourself staring at those carved cheekbones. That devilish smile. You would be lying if you said you did not want to touch his soft black hair. But you knew why you were there, and you would never be free if you stopped now.

One evening, Loki sat near the fire in your chambers. You sat next to him singing, as he stared into the fire. “Loki,” you stop and pat his leg, “What’s wrong?” He kept his gaze locked on the flames. “Nothing,” he said with a sigh. His broad shoulders sunk a bit. “You may be the God of lies, but you cannot lie to me,” you shoved him a little and he smiles. “Alright,” he said moving a hand through his raven hair, “I wish to tell someone I have, feelings for them.” You gather the sides of your nightgown and scoot closer, “Loki. You hesitated. This girl, how did you meet?” You wanted to help him, he seemed bothered. “She fell into my lap,” the curves of his mouth turned upward, “the fiercest warrior I have ever met. Capable of staying alive under amazing circumstances. And she is a Goddess.” You nodded and wrung your hands in your lap. Why did you feel hurt? “A goddess,” you fought to hide the shake in your voice, “That should be no problem for you. And any woman would be lucky to have you.” The silence was deafening. As you look up, you notice he was staring at you, “Something on my face?” He laughs and shakes his head, “No my dear. I shall take my leave.” As he stood, you internally panicked. What if he went and told her he loved her? Wait, not your problem. “Loki,” you almost shouted. He spun on his heel and snickered, “I am right here. No need to yell.” He was a foot away from the door. “Don’t go,” your voice was softer now. Loki let go of the door handle and took one step forward. His usually smooth voice was almost a growl, “Why shouldn’t I?” You cross the room in the least amount of steps you can take, pushing him against the door. Loki studies your face, then moved a hand to your cheek. His hand was as cold as ice and the Goosebumps formed Instantaneously. “Just one kiss,” you say resting your head against yours. In one fatal swoop, he captured your lips, and knocked the wind out of you. You broke apart, panting heavily. Loki’s eyes were blown with lust, “I do not think I will ever leave your side again my lady.”

That night he made love to you like a wild and untamed beast, then held you the next morning like you were made of glass. “(Y/n), love,” he whispered in your ear to wake you. You rolled over seeing his warm smile light up the room, “Mmmm and you keep whispering in my ear and you may not make it to training this evening.” Loki leaned in and placed his lips next to your ear, “I would be happy to tempt my fate.” Rolling over, he was smiling and you looked him over. “Do I have something on my face,” he chuckled tucking one free slender arm behind his head. The realization hit you, “I-I believe I’m in love with a prince named Loki.” His smile turned into an amused laugh as he gently brushed your cheek with his thumb, “and I you, (Y/n) of Midgard.” Loki flipped you to your back, then there was suddenly a knock at tour door and you began to panic. Luckily it was just a handmaiden, “Lady (Y/n) please get dressed. The light elves have returned.” Your blood ran cold. Not now. Not this. “I will be a while,” you yell as you lay back down on Loki’s chest, “I must get ready.” You were fighting tears. They had come to take you back. You wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Loki, who was already rather exhausted from lack of sleeping the night before, pulled you close. You tried to hide your sniffling, you started singing in to the crook of his neck,

“And you can tell everybody,
This is your song.
It may be quite simple but,
Now that it’s done.
Hope you don’t mind,
I hope you don’t mind,
That I put down in words.
How wonderful life is,
Now you’re in the world.”

As he fell asleep, you slowly crept from the bed to warn someone. You loved Loki, more than anything in the nine realms. You would not break his heart, you would not betray his trust.

Loki stood before his father in the Great Hall before the arrival of the Light Elves. “What is it you wish to speak to me of my son,” said Odin curiously, “It is odd for you to request your mother’s presence, much less my own.” Loki beamed at his parents, “I have decided on whom I shall share my life with.” Frigga clapped with joy, “Oh my son. Who is this woman you speak of with such love?” Loki became nervous, “It is (Y/n).” Odin looked taken aback, “The singing mortal whore?” Loki became enraged, “How dare you! How dare you speak of her in this way! She feels love and kindness towards all of you. She never slept with Thor.” Odin fell gravely silent. Loki wouldn’t give up. They would run if they had to. “We will discuss this later my son,” said Odin shaking his head, “But ask yourself. Does she possess the characteristics of a Queen?”

Loki sat near the throne, puzzled at the absence of his brother. He was still rather aggravated at the accusations of his father. The entire kingdom seemed to have come for the arrival and (Y/n) was entertaining the masses. Loki was especially excited because he had helped her pick the song that she would perform. They had listened to it on a little Midgardian music device she had carried from home. The song was breathtaking, and it had been by an Alien named Bowie she knew of. He watched her sway her body to the music as his little songbird captivated the crowd. She lit up like a burning star and Loki could never look away.  All of the sudden, the room grew quiet. (Y/n) began to sing the song she had sang to him that morning. Loki noticed her demeanor had changed and a single tear fell from her eye. Something was wrong. He scanned the room but no sign of movement. Stopping suddenly she yelled out, “Its a trap! They are not here for peace! They are going to kill you all!” As the words left her lips, Loki watched an Elven guard near the front shoot his love through the heart with an arrow. (Y/n) fell to the ground and the room erupted into chaos. Running full sprint, Loki caught her head before it hit the ground. “N-no,” he whimpered, “No. You did not, you did not do this. We could have been…” (Y/n) lifted her head slightly, “I love you Loki. I will always love you.” He touched her forehead, hoping to see her last thoughts. He held her limp body and as the fighting died down, Odin approached his son. Weeping on the great hall floor, he approached his son. “We must prepare her for Valhalla,” he said gently as possible, “One of the Elves your brother took prisoner said she was sent as a spy. But she betrayed them. For you.” He turned to look at his father, madness etched on his face. “Nothing can bring her back,” said Loki picking up her body, “your words mean little to me.” All of Asgard watched as Loki carried her to await her final rest.

Thor sat next to his brother on the step outside the castle garden. Loki sat with a small scrap of paper in his hand. “Brother,” Thor said softly, “I know you loved her. And I am sorry that I….” Loki chuckled, thinking of his clever little lover. “She never slept with you brother,” he had a smirk plastered across his face, “She knocked you unconscious thanks to a little potion she had made.” Thor shrugged, “All for the best then.” He sat down next to his brother, “What made her so different brother?” Loki looked at the big ox of a brother sitting next to him. “I suppose it was her voice,” he said looking at the piece of paper, “she was more clever than I. Her beauty. Her fire. It could have been any of those things. But I think it is because, she accepted me. For everything I am.” His brother put his enormous bear paw of a hand on his brother’s shoulder, patted him and took his leave. Loki looked once more at the paper, before folding it and putting it in the pocket next to his heart. She had left it on his pillow the morning before her death. In her handwriting it said, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return. -(Y/n)”

Taming Thor

(300 words a day, I’m joining in!)

*****


“Has anyone seen my whip?”

It’s Odin, sitting at the end of the table, skin still a bit red from his morning ride, eyes moving from Thor to Frigga because one of them has to know where it is. It was there in the stables that morning, he ought to know, he used it, and when he paid the horses a visit later with the moonlight perched on his shoulders it was gone.

Frigga turns to Thor, holding an apple slice she’d just dipped in some honey inches from her lips, “have you taken one of the horses for a ride today?”

And then she answers her own question, “no, you couldn’t have, you stayed in all afternoon. It was really hot outside today. You were resting in your room, I suppose?”

Thor clears his throat and moves around in his chair, keeping his eyes on his plate, “resting, yeah.”

“See, darling,” Frigga says to Odin, “it wasn’t him.”

Odin frowns and looks up from his plate, “where’s-”

The doors to the dining hall open and Loki walks in, black hair still wet from the shower and sits next to Thor.

“There you are,” Odin says, “have you seen my whip, Loki?”

Thor nudges Loki’s ankle with his boot under the table.

Loki blinks at Odin, “oh dear, has it gone missing again?”

“It has. And not for the first time, as you’ve mentioned.”

“Well,” Loki says and picks up his fork, “you better keep a close eye on it. Perhaps someone has been borrowing it to tame some wild, wild beast, use it as a leash to keep it in line and keep it from biting.”

Odin frowns, “what wild beast? We have none of those around here.”

“You never know, some kind hearted beasts turn wild on long summer days such as this one. It’s the heat. Drives them insane.”

Odin gives Loki a weird look before going back to his dinner.

Loki eyes Thor’s neck and nudges his knee.

Thor looks at him, gets the hint, remembers, and quickly pulls the ends of his collar together to hide the traces of those beautiful red markings running across his neck and clears his throat, blushing all the way up to his ears.

Both bite their lips to hold their smiles in.

Things I Actually Wrote in Fanfic Starters
  • "Quit your complainin', bitchsicle."
  • "Yeah, eat that-- OH MY GOD MY BOXERS ARE ON FIRE."
  • "Alright, who just threw the fucking table at my head?"
  • "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE SWINGIN', FUCKSTICK."
  • "Dude, that's like the gayest thing you've ever done."
  • "Hah! You're brain's so small even Edward Elric would look tall standing next to it!"
  • "Did you just summon the Fullmetal Alchemist via short joke?"
  • "Oh hey, look. There's a hole in the wall."
  • "I'll tell you something... Sake is the shit."
  • "I could commit homicide with this."
  • "AND USE PROTECTION."
  • "Technically, I'm satan."
  • "No way I died before he did!"
  • "He didn't even listen to Satan."
  • "Boys, boys... Don't get your thongs in a bunch, alright?"
  • "Right, it says here in my script I'm supposed to help you with your female dilemmas."
  • "Quit ogling the youths, you creep."
  • "How drunk is drunk enough?"
  • "The classic tale of beauty, the beast, and all of his piercings."
  • "It's noon, you bastard!"
  • "I swore I saw the wind blow through his hair carrying cherry blossom petals. I swear it."
  • "But that's my over-used, over-exaggerated trope!"
  • "What smells like axe body spray mixed with... Is that cherry blossom?"
Bad Moon Rising

For Opposite Day (@carryon-countdown​ #3). 

What if Simon was the monster, instead of Baz?

AESTHETIC HERE

Warning: description of blood


Simon Snow smelled like a cacophony of dangerous things.

When he comes into our dorm at Mummer’s, late at night with leaves caught in his hair, he smells like the Wavering Wood. He reeks of the moss hidden in the darkest parts of forests, of the wind that rushed past your hair when you’re running too fast.

Something in me beats faster when he walks near me and I don’t know if it’s because he’s close enough to touch me of if he’s close enough to touch me.

In our second year, when every boy in Watford started to deal with cracking voices and embarrassing boners, Simon started to move faster and get fiercer. His legs twitched underneath our desks in elocution and he started to sleep more and more, then less and less. He shoved against people and stopped understanding the concept of personal space. His voice got raspy, thick, and I responded to it in a way I wasn’t very comfortable with.

In our third year, I had nightmares of a blonde wolf with eyes like the sky. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, Simon missing from his bed and my fingers still tingling with the memory of soft fur underneath my fingertips.

In our fifth year, my thoughts were haunted by Simon’s feral eyes. The merwolves had always seemed to avoid Simon, gliding around him with downcast eyes. I’d joked that Simon was a mermaid, but, in fifth year, I considered he was the other part.  

Fifth year was the year I looked at Simon and thought MONSTER.

Fifth year was the year I took my father’s silver ring and wore it at all times.

Keep reading

Skyrim: A Penny for a Tale

Part 1 | Part 2 

I’m debating if I should put this story on AO3. Whatcha guys think? 

I feel like i havent posted anything in a long time. Sorry for the wait, work is killer on eating my time. Also sorry it’s not exactly what you followed me for but for the few of you that dig this….

Here is another thrilling adventure of @nikanono and my Skyrim characters. 



“….Vi….”

The Thief froze in place, her coat halfway over her head catching her in an awkward position with her arms stuck within the torso and sleeveless armholes.

“Um….my coat…has…wolf fur….so I just thought…”

Fey snorted,“It’s freezing outside put it back on…” she sighed, shaking her head as she reached out and grabbed the hem of her coat, roughly yanking it back down over her body, her head popping out of the neck hole. She yelped and shook her wild red hair that was frazzled and mussed up in the process.

Vi pouted, playful but she was particularly serious about it this time.

Since the revelation of Fey having beast blood in her veins, Vi couldn’t stop the wolf jokes, in good taste mind you. Distant howling in the woods, Vi quietly commented on her family calling out to her or when they had lost their way she playfully suggested sniffing at the walls and the like. Fey rolled her eyes, but secretly did take a whiff at the air and instantly became aware of their surroundings. But she didn’t need to tell her that.

However upon realizing that her entire coat was lined with dark grey wolf fur, she was suddenly beginning to feel bad.

”…I appreciate the thought but I’m not offended”

Not convinced, her pout deepened into a small glare, reluctantly readjusting herself back into her coat before crossing her arms defiantly.

“Vi really it’s ok” Fey laughed, watching her huff, conceding for now.

“Fine but…I’m going to brood about it anyway” she grumbled, continuing to follow Fey through the wilds.

She laughed and shook her head,“Brooding is my job”

Keep reading

archiveofourown.org
The Sea Wolves: Sköll and Sól
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Warnings: Explicit, Rape, Violence.

Tag: @heathen-army, @jevoislavieenrouge

“Why do you look at me like that? Like if you’re the powerless doe, and I’m the hunter?”, Ivar couldn’t take his eyes of her shaking figure. She was frightened and it was all his fault.


She would distance herself from him with as much eagerness as Ivar was pursuing her. It was like Sköll chasing Sól, and despite her fear, Sköll would eventually catch her, leading to Ragnarök. He didn’t want to destroy her; his darkness couldn’t not destroy her glowing. It is said that Sól’s legacy would be continued by a daughter no less beautiful than she. Ivar wanted a daughter, and many children, as adorable as her, but not when she hated him this way. He was out of control and he hated it. Ivar didn’t know what to do. It seemed like his efforts to conquer her proved useless. He felt powerless for the first time in his life. Powerless as when he saw her being attacked.


“When I saw you surrounded and pinned against the ground by those men, I didn’t think about my pride. I was just mortified with thoughts about what they could have done to you.”, Ivar was walking around the room with fury in his eyes, like a wild beast in a jail, Moyra thought.


“You humiliated me in front of my warriors by fleeing, and all I wanted was to hold you in my arms to comfort you…”, running his hand through his hair, a gesture Moyra was beginning to recognize as one Ivar did in the rare occasions when he was exasperated. What would bring her joy, but only added to her confusion. “Look what you’re doing to me, and what I’m doing to you.”


She was leaning back on her elbows watching him expectantly that he would force or beat her at any time. He locked eyes with her for a moment, his brows knitted in a frown. Moyra had no idea what he was thinking. Ivar turned around to walk away, stopping by the door for a moment as if he was changing his mind. Moyra’s breath was caught in her throat, in anticipation of his next move. With his back to her, he cocked his head to one side, finally walking away.


Moyra feared he was going to hurt Màiri. She rushed to the door to see what he was going to do. Ivar was talking to Màiri, something Moyra couldn’t hear. He was surprisingly calm to her. After a few moments, he left the longhouse. Moyra thought he was going to take some woman to let out his anger and frustration.


Màiri walked in to help her to change into a nightgown. Moyra was ashamed to look at her. Màiri could have been in trouble because of her escape. Yet, she was there, helping her once more.


“I was so worried when I noticed your absence. I’m so glad Ivar took you back. You know he could have killed you right away when he found you. You ashamed him in front of his men. Yet, here you are. Safe and untouched. He loves you. It might not be the way you expect to be loved, but it’s the only way he is capable of.”, Màiri explained.


“I’m sorry! I didn’t want to worry or cause trouble for you. I had to try…”, Moyra started crying and Màiri embraced her.


“I’m not angry! I’m happy you’re here now. Ivar won’t punish me. He knows he caused your escape.”, Màiri reassured her.


“How do you know this?”, Moyra was curious.

Give us this scene in 308 too...

We lay in each other’s arms in silence for a long time, letting the small noises of the house wash over us. Different from the comfortable commercial bustle of the brothel, the tiny creaks and sighing spoke of quiet, and home, and safety. For the first time, we were truly alone together, removed from danger and distraction.

There was time, now. Time to hear the rest of the story of the gold, to hear what he had done with it, to find out what had happened to the men of Ardsmuir, to speculate about the burning of the printshop, Young Ian’s one-eyed seaman, the encounter with His Majesty’s Customs on the shore by Arbroath, to decide what to do next. And since there was time, there was no need to speak of any of that, now.

The last peat broke and fell apart on the hearth, its glowing interior hissing red in the cold. I snuggled closer to Jamie, burying my face in the side of his neck. He tasted faintly of grass and sweat, with a whiff of brandy.

He shifted his body in response, bringing us together all down our naked lengths.

“What, again?” I murmured, amused. “Men your age aren’t supposed to do it again so soon.”

His teeth nibbled gently on my earlobe. “Well, you’re doing it too, Sassenach,” he pointed out. “And you’re older than I am.”

“That’s different,” I said, gasping a little as he moved suddenly over me, his shoulders blotting out the starlit window. “I’m a woman.”

“And if ye weren’t a woman, Sassenach,” he assured me, settling to his work, “I wouldna be doing it either. Hush, now.”

I woke just past dawn to the scratching of the rose brier against the window, and the muffled thump and clang of breakfast fixing in the kitchen below. Peering over Jamie’s sleeping form, I saw that the fire was dead out. I slid out of bed, quietly so as not to wake him. The floorboards were icy under my feet and I reached, shivering, for the first available garment.

Swathed in the folds of Jamie’s shirt, I knelt on the hearth and went about the laborious business of rekindling the fire, thinking rather wistfully that I might have included a box of safety matches in the short list of items I had thought worthwhile to bring. Striking sparks from a flint to catch kindling does work, but not usually on the first try. Or the second. Or…

Somewhere around the dozenth attempt, I was rewarded by a tiny black spot on the twist of tow I was using for kindling. It grew at once and blossomed into a tiny flame. I thrust it hastily but carefully beneath the little tent of twigs I had prepared, to shelter the blooming flame from the cold breeze.

I had left the window ajar the night before, to insure not being suffocated by the smoke—peat fires burned hot, but dully, with a lot of smoke, as the blackened beams overhead attested. Just now, though, I thought we could dispense with fresh air—at least until I got the fire thoroughly under way.

The pane was rimed at the bottom with a light frost; winter was not far off. The air was so crisp and fresh that I paused before shutting the window, breathing in great gulps of dead leaf, dried apples, cold earth, and damp, sweet grass. The scene outside was perfect in its still clarity, stone walls and dark pines drawn sharp as black quillstrokes against the gray overcast of the morning.

A movement drew my eye to the top of the hill, where the rough track led to the village of Broch Mordha, ten miles distant. One by one, three small Highland ponies came up over the rise, and started down the hill toward the farmhouse.

They were too far away for me to make out the faces, but I could see by the billowing skirts that all three riders were women. Perhaps it was the girls—Maggie, Kitty, and Janet—coming back from Young Jamie’s house. My own Jamie would be glad to see them.

I pulled the shirt, redolent of Jamie, around me against the chill, deciding to take advantage of what privacy might remain to us this morning by thawing out in bed. I shut the window, and paused to lift several of the light peat bricks from the basket by the hearth and feed them carefully to my fledgling fire, before shedding the shirt and crawling under the covers, numb toes tingling with delight at the luxurious warmth.

Jamie felt the chill of my return, and rolled instinctively toward me, gathering me neatly in and curling round me spoon-fashion. He sleepily rubbed his face against my shoulder.

“Sleep well, Sassenach?” he muttered.

“Never better,” I assured him, snuggling my cold bottom into the warm hollow of his thighs. “You?”

“Mmmmm.” He responded with a blissful groan, wrapping his arms about me. “Dreamed like a fiend.”

“What about?”

“Naked women, mostly,” he said, and set his teeth gently in the flesh of my shoulder. “That, and food.” His stomach rumbled softly. The scent of biscuits and fried bacon in the air was faint but unmistakable.

“So long as you don’t confuse the two,” I said, twitching my shoulder out of his reach.

“I can tell a hawk from a handsaw, when the wind sets north by nor’west,” he assured me, “and a sweet, plump lassie from a salt-cured ham, too, appearances notwithstanding.” He grabbed my buttocks with both hands and squeezed, making me yelp and kick him in the shins.

“Beast!”

“Oh, a beast, is it?” he said, laughing. “Well, then…” Growling deep in his throat, he dived under the quilt and proceeded to nip and nibble his way up the insides of my thighs, blithely ignoring my squeaks and the hail of kicks on his back and shoulders. Dislodged by our struggles, the quilt slid off onto the floor, revealing the tousled mass of his hair, flying wild over my thighs.

“Perhaps there’s less difference than I thought,” he said, his head popping up between my legs as he paused for breath. He pressed my thighs flat against the mattress and grinned up at me, spikes of red hair standing on end like a porcupine’s quills. “Ye do taste a bit salty, come to try it. What do ye—”

He was interrupted by a sudden bang as the door flew open and rebounded from the wall. Startled, we turned to look. In the doorway stood a young girl I had never seen before. She was perhaps fifteen or sixteen, with long flaxen hair and big blue eyes. The eyes were somewhat bigger than normal, and filled with an expression of horrified shock as she stared at me. Her gaze moved slowly from my tangled hair to my bare breasts, and down the slopes of my naked body, until it encountered Jamie, lying prone between my thighs, white-faced with a shock equal to hers.

“Daddy!” she said, in tones of total outrage. “Who is that woman?”

Polar Opposites (1/2)

PART ONE - PART TWO 

Words: 4247

Genre: Fluff, Stripper Jimin, Pole Dancing OC

Notes: Inspired by this fic. Can’t get enough of stripper Jimin haha.

“What are you still doing here?” Hoseok appears at the door.

The music still blaring, Jimin stops - turns it down, and grabs his water bottle from the side. He takes twists the cap in one motion and brings it to his lips for a large gulp. He slides down the glass, still trying to catch his breath. “Practicing.” He says nonchalantly.

“On a Friday night?” Hoseok’s eyebrows are raised, arms crossed and leaning against the door frame. “Go have some fun! You’re always in the studio practicing. You’re never gonna meet a chick at this rate.”

Sweaty Jimin takes a large breath of air. Hoseok sighs. “C’mon. I’m not letting you practice alone. Let’s go have fun.”

Hoseok reaches out a hand and Jimin grabs it, hoisting himself up. “Fine.” He mumbles and disappears to clean himself up.

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The Ape Woman pt. 1

Relationship: Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: Kinda like Tarzan, but fem!reader. So…yeah.

Key: Y/N= your name

Part 2 soon


Since before you could remember, you were different. You were different from your mother and your friends, but you tried to never get too bothered. You knew you were loved by your mother, yet your ‘father’ was a very different story. He would never let you forget you were different. You were positive he hated you for it. If you ever did anything wrong, which seemed to be everything, he would remind your mother of your difference.

“Mom, why does he hate me? What did I do?” You hid away in the corner of your nest.

“Oh my dear, he just doesn’t understand you. He doesn’t want to,” you mother took you into a warm hug.

“Why am I so different,” you looked to you mother, “Why do I look so weird?”

“I don’t think you’re weird,” she lifts your head with her knuckles to look at you. “I see two beautiful eyes, two ears, and a nose all just like mine. What do you see?”

“Uhm,” you looked down at your hands and smiled, “Two hands! We both have two hands.” You put your hands up to your mothers and noticed how different they were. You frowned.

Your mother noticed. She collapsed you into her chest. “Listen. Do you hear that?” You nodded against her chest. “A heart like mine.” You looked at the love on her face and were content. You both drifted off into sleep.

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Moon River

This is part of my Drabble Game and is written for the wonderful @luckynumber1213

Prompts: “Tell me a secret. Your deepest darkest secret.”

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Imagine being a drifter like Nori and befriending him and spending the night in on his secret hideouts in the wild.

You were out of breath. Heaving as you bent over behind a tree. You were more than certain your pursuers had lost you much further back and yet your adrenaline had kept you running. You had never been so close to being caught; truly, you had rarely even been a suspect. Though it was not entirely your fault. Two thieves in one locale made things a bit difficult.

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Since Hogwarts

Originally posted by newdscamander

You had gone to The Leaky Cauldron for a quick drink before you would head in to Diagon Alley to get a few things for yourself. You were sitting at the bar and asked for a Firewhiskey, the bartender gave you a smile and handed you the glass. You took a sip as a man sat beside you, you turned to give him a polite smile.

“HI, there.” He said, turning to face you.

“Hello.” You said, giving a small smile. Little did you know, your school crush Newt Scamander had come in the door and was looking at you two with jealousy. He also had a crush on you but he was too shy to say anything. He’d been expelled the previous year and everyone knew all about it, but he didn’t know that you knew it was Leta’s fault. You were sipping your drink as the man was talking.

“I saw a dragon in the wild once, it was a beast of a thing, only just walked away with my life.” He bragged taking a huge gulp of Firewhiskey.

“Oh, I like dragons, I’ve met one too, let me pet it’s scales.” You said, absentmindedly.

“Well, I came face to face with a werewolf. It nearly tore me apart.” He exaggerated.

“One of my friends is a werewolf, lovely girl she is.” You replied, tucking a hair behind your ear.

“I’ve gotten stung by a Billywig, had to go to St Mungo’s.” He said, puffing out his chest.

“My friend has a Billywig.” You replied, rolling your eyes a tad.

“What magical creature have you not seen or know anything about?!” The man said, chuckling.

“Very few.” You replied, smiling.

“Excuse me, excuse me, sorry for interrupting but can I speak to Y/N for one little second, here could I maybe…” Newt Scamander trailed off before smacking his lips against yours, in all honesty it was more of a head butt if you were honest.

“Newt Scamander?” You questioned. He nodded, bowing his head slightly. “How about we try that again, but softer this time, yeah?” You asked laughing softly, you pulled his face closer to yours and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Better.” He mumbled, you nodded and turned the other way as there was a chair on the other side of you, you pointed at it and Newt sat down.

“So what brings you here?” You asked, intrigued.

“I’m staying here actually just for a little bit, I’m heading to Egypt in a few days.” He said.

“Oh wow, look how far you’ve come since Hogwarts!” You said laughing. He turned a deep scarlet.

“T-thank you.” He mumbled, his gaze not quite meeting your eyes.

“Hey, you already kissed me, no need to be embarrassed now, want to come in to Diagon Alley with me?” You asked, grinning. Newt nodded and you walked hand in hand to the wall.