2928 : ARMAGEDDON - 000

2928 : ARMAGEDDON - 000

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒;

the gods. 

astra. ❝ goddess of the moon and the night.❞

•

cheryl. ❝ goddess of souls and love.❞

•

asya. ❝ the harbinger of discord.❞

•

lucius. ❝ god of the sun and the day.❞

•

natrix. ❝ god of the sea and depth.❞

•

aarush. ❝ god of fire and temper.❞

•

mystral. ❝ goddess of the wind and determination.❞

•

nunzia. ❝ messenger of the realm.❞

2928 : ARMAGEDDON - 00

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒;

the mortals.

solanine.  ❝ the poison in the nightshade.❞

• adonis.  ❝ the lord.❞

•

roxanne.  ❝ the dawn of the day.❞

•

keara. ❝ the dark one.❞

•

  sandros.  ❝ the defender of humankind.❞

Hear me out,

Crowley building a statue of MC to represent how thankful he is for what they have done to help NRC once they go home because It’s pretty obvious that he’ll miss the prefect whom he saw as his child.

Then the ones who were close with the said prefect would flex on the people who questions about MC’s statue, saying that they were ‘close friends’ (Ace and Grim would definitely do that, maybe Epel and Deuce too eheheheh). Or maybe something more; developing romantic feelings that ends up getting reciprocated by the well-known prefect \(//∇//)\

Or not because there are hints that Malleus is going to put MC into a (possibly) long sleep in chapter 7 😭 (pretty scared of that but curious)

OR MC ends up staying in Twisted Wonderland ueueueuhehrheueu

hello darling! soo i’m one of the Aemond gals, could you maybe write something with him? maybe the reader is from our world and just out of blue she finds herself in Westeros! Aemond is so dumbfounded - here she is, this weird girl, talking about some nonsense things, well educated in history and philosophy (another nurts obvi) with sparkling dragon-like coloured irises, so lost but welcoming everything that surrounds her, even all of him. welll as you can see - I’m so deep in it! if you decide to write something about this, thank you so much!! take care! 🌟🌟

TRAVELER | endless drabble series (winter edition)    

summary: differences can actually be appealing pairing: aemond targaryen x f!reader a/n: i changed it up a bit, i hope you don’t mind!! i didn’t rly know how to incorporate our world reader into westeros, so i just made her origins unknown but heavily implied to be from sothoryos, which, to be fair, is kinda from a different world too! used 4. mulled wine from this list <3

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open for the winter prompts list 1 & 2 !

It had been a regular flight - easy winds, no storms but an odd fad of snow - when he had noticed a strange figure asleep in the frost covered plains up North. From so high up, Aemond could not yet tell if it was a bear or a human - the first would be easier to explain, but his curiosity was quipped and so Vhagar cast her wings and dipped down and what he saw proved to be quite extraordinary.

There, a woman in a dress, asleep in a ring of dewy grass. The only thing valuable seemed to be her jewels - big, heavy silver rings and long, clunky pendants made from black oily stones. Like a lily submerged underwater, he figured she had died from the cold. But as he landed, and the ground shook, so did the body, and the woman slowly, achingly opened her eyes to see the mouth of a dragon.

That waxen face now breathes with life in a local tavern. Drunken sonnets spill into the air like ale on wooden tables, and she nurses her second cup of mulled wine. The cup’s clay, chipped - she had cut her lip when she first took a sip, though it seemed that she did not notice. Aemond, sitting across from her, measures her up and down once more - so far, she had given no indication of knowing where she is, or who he is, nor did she portray any surprise faced with a dragon.

Covered in furs and deer hide, she’s finally warm enough to speak, “My thanks, stranger.” She says, and he’s fascinated by her accent, a fluid song broken by the harsh rasp of the chill. She smiles, and her jewelry glimmers in the dancing fires of the hearth.

“It’s surprising you didn’t die,” He comments, holding his own cup, “the North is not usually so kind to travelers.”

“I am lucky,” She admits, almost shyly, “though I don’t recall how is it that I got here, nor where I came from.”

“Perhaps you’re from beyond the Wall?” He suggest smugly, but she only shakes her head with a small smile.

“In the Lands of Always Winter, I do wonder what world lies there. Where it ends, and where it begins - at the same point of measure, perhaps? It’s easy to get lost in the snow, turned around all over; perhaps there are dragons there as well that breathe frost, not unlike those in the Shivering Sea?” She tilts her head at his confusion, “You’ve read the histories, no?”

“I’ve had the leisure.” He says curtly.

“Then you must know a great deal of Valyria.” She says, “Have you ever been?”

“There’s nothing left of it.”

She blinks, “...Truly? Nothing? No graves or gold or cadavers to tell tales older than time? No ancient ruins and histories lost to us, only to be rediscovered?”

“You seem to know all but of the fact that old Valyria is covered in greyscale. Or did you forget to read that page in the tomes you poured over before falling ill in the North?”

She laughs, “Are you afraid?” She lowers her head, watches him under her lashes, “A Prince, afraid of sickness. I figured Targaryens cannot be burned, thus cannot be ill. Or are those all fairy tales as well?”

He raises a brow, “So you do know who I am.”

“Hard not to when the bard sings praises of Prince Aemond One-Eye as soon as you walk in with me in tow,” Her gazes fixates on the leather patch, “what happened to it?”

“My cousin cut it out.” He retorts.

She hums, “Blood for blood. Have you taken your vengeance yet?”

“I’m a patient man.”

“Patience is a kind virtue unless used otherwise.” She empties her cup, “More, please,” She pushes it to him, “I still can’t feel my fingers.”

He looks at her rings as he holds up a hand for the waitress, “Those seem expensive. You surprise me, traveler. I wonder how they have not been stolen.”

Something shifts in her expression, and a chill creeps up from behind. The waitress pours wine and the traveler smiles, but it’s a strange smile, one he should not trust. She feels dangerous, suddenly, and he is all the more intrigued.

“Would you like to keep one?” It’s an innocent question, but it holds something dark underneath all of that loveliness.

“I have no fancy for jewelry,” He refuses easily, though his heart beats just a tad faster. If he did not know any better, he’d think it’s from nerves, “as a prince I have many and find it quite ugly. My brother would like one, though.”

She retracts her hands and her smile falls, “He didn’t save me from the snow, so he has no use for it.”

It did not quite seem as if she needed saving, but the severity in her voice urges his pride. Perhaps he’ll be a hero yet.

“Have you got a name?” He inquires, and he’s all past common decency, never had any to begin with. He wishes to know.

She thinks, “Everyone has a name, no? Surely, I do think everyone does. Even toys, the objects of our affection, and our sword, and ships, and pets, do. I heard some ladies name their favorite perfumes. It builds attachment, you never forget something or someone with a name. I must have a name, I think, only for the life of me I do not remember it. Which begs to question whether I ever had one at all.”

After a pause, she sighs, “I suppose I’m fortunate. I can pick one for myself. Become new, here, in the North. But I don’t think it important. I have no one to share it with, and no one here would like to recall me.”

“I’d like to know your name,” He says, “but only because I wish to know who I saved.”

She grins, “...Then you are free to name me yourself, prince.”

hope u liked it! xx

"we should fuck."

"im sorry?" you squeak, almost dropping the book you'd been holding. your best friend rolls over on your bed, signature smirk spread across his face.

"nothin' to apologize for, babe."

your mouth drops open in pure shock, as you blink at him slowly, completely in a daze. finally after long moments of staring, you in complete astonishment, him adorning a look of utter boredom, you spoke.

"are you fucking crazy?"

he stands up, walking calmly over to the chair you sit in and leans down, lips so close you can feel his breath on your ear. you tense and your hair stands on edge, as one of his hands come to rest high up on your thigh.

"only for you."

suna. atsumu. tsukishima. oikawa. bakugo. sero. shinsou. draken. baji. hanma.

a/n: is this too nsfw for my blog?? 😭😭 nah

taglist: @https-true-egoist @avid-idiot @wonpielle @lordbugs @iiheartrune @tsukkinlove @iiilovemilfs @staymoarmyzen @rory-cakes @chloee0x0 @joc-ta

join here

do you still take request for black butler? if so could i rq something with sebastian where his s/o (who is also a phantomhive servant) gets injured and/or almost drowns during the book of atlantic?

(i tried searching for rules on your page but couldn’t find any so feel free to ignore this if it goes against anything!)

Muddled Waters (Sebastian Michaelis x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗦𝗢 𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗜𝗧 𝗕𝗨𝗧 𝗜 𝗛𝗢𝗣𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗘𝗡𝗝𝗢𝗬 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗵 𝗼𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗶 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝗰 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗸𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘆 𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀 (𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗶𝘁 𝗴𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗯𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗯𝘂𝘁𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗛)

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you dozed off.

  Minutes? Maybe hours since you were last awake enough to answer a few questions. In all honestly, you doubt you can even remember what was asked you. You doubt you can even remember what you said in response. Were they asking about survivors? Or maybe the fallen? Perhaps a few questions about what happened in the last moments you were still on board. Or even a few inquiries about your Master. Or maybe, just maybe a question or two about your health. However poor it may be at the moment, you know you’re getting better. Slowly, but surely, you’re getting better. 

  Though it may have something to do with a certain distinguished butler with careful hands taking the utmost care of you at this moment.

  You don’t have to open your eyes to know that the individual hovering over you, neatly tying the bow on the front of the borrowed nightgown you’re dressed in is your Sebastion. You just know it’s him. Still, you fight against the sleepy lull that keeps threatening to pull you under once more to open your eyes and give your savior a small smile. 

  “Hi...” Your voice comes out in a harsh whisper that has him shushing you in an instant. And you don’t blame him. All that saltwater you must have swallowed throughout the course of the night is truly catching up to you. It burns your throat with any attempt to use your voice like no other. A sign of your survival sure, but your mind can’t help but wander to others’ perception of the ugly sound you have no other option but to produce for now. You must have sounded awful to him. To the others. It was so unlike yourself. “Sebastian, I…”

  Your mind stalls the minute his voice leaves your lips. What to say, what to say? What can you say at this point? Your head feels like it's full of clouds and your eyelids feel as heavy as stone. The nightgown covering your body is cool against your skin, still warm and tinted red from the bath Sebastian must have drawn for you. But your biggest enemy was no doubt the bed he has you laying on. The quilt beneath your body was incredibly soft. Perhaps even softer than your bed at the Phantomhive Manor- something you dare not say beyond the comfort of your own thoughts. You feel safe. It’s a welcomed change after all that you’ve been through last night. A thank you is in order. And you’d prefer for it to be sooner rather than later. But one look on your face is enough to convince you to delay your words of praise. 

  “Shh…” This time, the sound comes out firmer. An order from your senior. A request from your lover. Your lips part on instinctive, but there’s nothing for you to say. Not with him hovering over you, signs of wear and tear covering his gorgeous figure. He protected you and Master Ciel last night. He always protects you and Master Ciel, no matter what. The very least you could do was listen obediently and not cause him any more trouble. “Don’t speak now. Just rest. I’ll have something here for your throat soon enough.”

  Red eyes meet yours- so full of concern and care that it’s hard not to shiver when he takes the second away from dressing you to place his hand against your cheek. Despite your best efforts, embarrassment springs forth from the back of your mind. You’re filled with an overwhelming urge to hide yourself. You’re more capable than this. As a servant of the Phantomhive family, you know you’re more capable of this. But ever since the night started, you’ve felt like little more than a nuisance. 

  The last thing you can remember, was while you were still on the deck of the rescue ship. The one that had finally plucked you, Master Ciel, and Sebastian from the little lifeboat out in the middle of the ocean. At that point, you were fighting to stay conscious as you were carried in Sebastian’s arms. Always fading in and out against your wishes. The warmth of the sun’s beams proves to be an easy lullaby to your cold and tattered body. But the constant stream of voices in your ears and light on your face proved to be the opposite. Still, you couldn’t muster up the energy to do anything but listen when you could. Not being able to muster enough strength to stand on your own two feet or to think coherently is a humbling experience. A frightening one. And all it does is serve to remind you of the strength you just don’t have compared to the others around you. 

  Before that, you recall drawing into yourself as shivering to keep warm as Sebastian kills off the rest of the living corpses- mere seconds after pulling you from the freezing cold waters of the Atlantic. Minutes bled into hours. The gruesome show never stopped. The chill that overtook you came with a vengeance. A vengeance that took away any shred of assistance you could even offer in such a dangerous situation.

  Even now, you’re not completely sure of the details surrounding what happened after the three of you were thrown into the water. In fact, the only thing you could remember was the feeling of hitting the water and going down. Down, down, down, and not being able to tell which way is up. Thinking you were going to drown. Knowing you were going to drown. All until you felt arms circling your wasting and pulling you to the surface. 

  From there, the images in your head become a blurry mess. Master Ciel’s voice is laced through your memories. Just like the scent of rotting flesh and the sight of red-stained waters. Your mind races with the encounter you just had seconds before being through off the ship. Scientists that go too far. Reapers that fight with a laugh in their voice. The dead that find a way to walk and to bleed again just so they can die once more. Then Sebastian. Doing everything in his power to protect Master Ciel. To protect you. Including getting hurt. 

  Including getting hurt.

  “Sebastian!” His name tumbles out of your mouth clumsily as you sit up and make a mad dash for him. He’s quick to stop you from moving any further with a firm push to your shoulders. Still, the damage has already been done. You can’t focus on anything else. You can’t think of anything else. With your memories from last night slowly uncovering themselves, your attention zeros in on a dark red, ugly stain left on his torso. The place he was stabbed. “You’re…you’re injured!”

  “And you…” In a flash, his voice is dangerously close to your ear. Another shiver passes over you as his labored breaths brush over your skin. His tone was serious. A quiet type of fury only he held when he was frustrated while trying to keep his composure. You’ve seen it a few times. Directed at the other servants. Directed at those who proved to be a nuisance in the way of Master Ciel’s plans. Directed at those who set out to harm you. But to feel it- to feel it with every breath he takes, and to wonder where his anger lies. It’s a different story entirely. “You were very close to a grave last night. Too close. Too close.”

  A story that you’re not sure you want to hear at all.

  “I’m-” You start to say. His hands squeeze your shoulders once. Twice, as if to serve as a reminder that you’re still here with him, before traveling downward. It takes him little effort to lift you from the bed once his hands have found a suitable position. And even less of an effort as he holds you like a bride upon his lap. The servant in you can’t help but think of all the stains that might rub off just from close contact like this. But the human in you just sits there and breathes in the sight of a lover growing closer and closer until it’s impossible to part from each other. And even then, he grows closer. “I just…”

  An apology. An apology sits in your throat. An apology for getting in the way. For not being of more use. For making him vulnerable. Weak. For getting him hurt. But it dies right where it lies due to a silent killer. A kiss. Behind your ear. Then on the lobe. And on the cheek. The nose. The eyelids, the forehead, the chin, the jaw, the neck, the lips- everywhere. Quiet kisses that told you that the danger has passed. Quiet kisses that land on every tear that rolls down your cheeks. Quiet kisses that make you feel warm. Warmer than embrace he holds you in. 

  And the warmest you’ve felt since getting on this damned boat and sailing straight past hell.