#ALSO HOWLING BLADE

[paintedscales]

They judge and they hate me But they'll never break me I'll never stop longing to be free (Searching for a place where I belong) They're clouding my vision I'm robbed of decisions With nowhere to go There's one thing I know

so i decided that because of how much the song 'unleashed' feels resonant with nomin, that howling blade / retsarra is a shard of nomin's.

extra:

[flavia8]

You know. Something I really hate about a lot of popular fantasy books, and it's especially prevalent in Romantasy, is what passes for Feminism in them. It's a toothless fake, used as an aesthetic/seasoning. A sprinkle of *strong female character* and a dash of deceptively misogynistic everything else, and for the finishing touch a pinch of man who's slightly better than being openly sexist and Boom. Fantasy series led by a FMC.

Generally, the Female Main character either starts out or becomes incredibly powerful, but always, always, always her power is linked to the men around her. She supposedly has agency and makes her own choices but the choices she makes are between choices provided to her by men. Her male love interest is more powerful in SOME way, and ends up besting her in some way. Experience, training, power, there's always some way the man is better than her. Female characters are never allowed to just BE powerful. Or even just BE single. Often they give up their powers, or are forcibly stripped of them. They look down on other female characters for doing "feminine" work. And, they're stupid as hell to supposedly make them relatable or endearing. Often, the male mc is concerningly abusive but it's portrayed as dreamy, romantic and Ideal. (I genuinely get the love for villains, and enemies to not, and the love for morally grey characters, I genuinely do, but this isn't that, what happens in these books is just genuinely bad (if they actually were people) being portrayed through rose colored glasses) [And in some stories that could be genuinely interesting!] If there's a second Love Interest, he will just do the same awful shit to the MC but it's better now bc it's him.

If the female character isn't white, all of this + a staggering amount of racism. They're rarely MCs. They're fridged for the MCs, they serve the MCs, they're never as beautiful or powerful as the MC, they're stereotyped and portrayed as savage, vapid, comically evil, or just as a good guy with no character at all.

These books are presented as feminist and it pisses me off. Feminism is equality for all, and the fight for Women to be equal and have their own agency. To make their own decisions. Genuinely I believe writers should be able to write whatever they want. I have no issues with having "problematic" stuff in books. My issue is when people start to believe that this shit is feminist, and the author is so skilled and amazing, and it's a masterpiece! Fuck that.

[swiftcast-selene]

dunno if anyone is interested in this information but in the french dub of the game Howling Blade seems to roll his R's, like the hhetsarro and some miqo'te do!

his voice actor however doesn't roll them when he speaks, so... make of that what you will!

[baeshijima]

u know i was just scrolling through the blade tag on my blog bc i wanted to find clean screenshots of him doing his idle for a funny re-enaction of smth i did today only to get blasted by all these unexplored, undocumented banger fic ideas from asks and now i am descending into madness 🧍‍♀️

[sophie-andthestars]

funny how howl and sophie were my only het ship bc look at them

but now i’m eyeing danstelle and whatever the hell you make up with kafka and blade. this pipeline 👁️👄👁️

[clockworkdragonffxiv]

[ofglories]

I'm here from being stuck visiting family all day! And I bring a lovely icon of Arthur from the Prototype Fragments manga. Anyway I'll be moving over my FFXIV arthurian based muses to here to consolidate the sideblogs into one- it's just gonna take a while because my doc theme hates edits kdfsbhbsf

but to do a tag drop for the ffxiv OCs and a few more Fate OCs... tags under the cut, tag drop in the uh...tags.

Final Fantasy OCs: like lavenders encased in ice; bors ff of legacies long lost; arthur ff chivalry most valiant; bedivere ff the radiance of the dawn; sylveret dance on the moonlit blade; melian fair hands and a fair heart; gareth ff eyes colder than death's touch; myrddin on silvered wings angels fly; galahad ff guard thine heart and steel your soul; elyan the scent of summer in your laugh; taliesin ff

Fate OCs: howl to the moon and tear the world; marrok madness and love entwine under the crown; claudas

[quarterlifekitty]

Im really bad at dark smut topics but hybrid Price, maybe like a big dog or a wolf hybrid forcefully breeding his little hybrid mate. Maybe she's also a dog, just a little dog, or something else small like a mouse or a bug. She's just so little she can't fight back

I personally am a huge fan of the hybrid trope where they’re not the same animal exactly, but from one of their point of views, it’s close enough, damnit! (I actually have a little blurb like this in the works for graves. It’s a part of that new years part 2 that will happen. Eventually.)

Anyways. Price as a northern wolf. A proud pack animal… let’s make it worse. A pack leader. He and his pack of five do quite well for themselves… but something is missing. And it’s his job as leader to sort that out.

They’re missing a matriarch. A female. A warm, soft thing to fill with pups.

Your owner takes with them to some secluded air bnb, on a farmstead way out in the country. You’re a little hybrid— a terrier or a chihuahua, maybe. OH. A papillon would be perfect for this. You’re not used to being off-leash, and when you’re suddenly out in the fields, chasing all manner of things, you find yourself very lost very quickly. It’s not long before the sun is setting and you’re shivering, from the cold and nerves.

You smell silly and stupid. Freshly groomed and washed, sprayed down with a mist of coconut, blueberry, and jellybean scent. It flicks at Price’s nose from miles away— so artificial and sweet. Before long, he’s advancing, stalking circles around you that tighten until it’s impossible for you to be unaware.

Your looks don’t do anything to clarify matters. Silky fur on your big ears…. Little. But underneath your looks and your shampoo you smell like a good female. Certainly ready for breeding. You must just be a very strange little wolf— but price doesn’t mind. His pack is already full of misfits, you’ll be a perfect addition.

Before long he howls and pounces, the meat of his palm digging between your shoulder blades as he shoves your haunches down and pulls your ass up, cock throbbing and hard once gets a better whiff of your true smell.

His cock feels like it’s in your diaphragm, he reaches so deep when he finally penetrates you.

He’ll court you, in his own special way, tire you out, and bring you back to the den to meet his boys. He’ll give you to his pack, and you’ll give them their first litter.

[noxcheshire]

Epic the Musical has come to a close but the way I went absolutely FERAL when Odysseus came in just taking people OUT. Absolutely no mercy, not even an ounce of remorse in those red eyes. He had gone through hell and back only to hear his own people wanting to hurt his wife and son.

Like, the amount of anger and relief he must have felt coming onto those shores after fighting Poseidon. The feeling that must have come from entering his castle’s halls, running a calloused and aged hand across the walls that have withstood the test of time while he had been away. The tension slipping from his shoulders as he makes his way further inside only to hear the noise, the rattle, of suitors plotting destruction onto those he loved.

If he had been any later, any longer — how pained did it make him to know what could have happened? What could have been had he allowed himself to slip into the cold embrace of death down into the waters?

But also, I immediately got shot back to a one shot here on Tumblr about Tim being Odysseus’ reincarnation and how Danny is the new Penelope that he loves very deeply.

Do you know how much I want Tim to do the same? How relieved he is that he is returning to Danny, that all the pain and suffering he had endured just to come home to him, to once more breathe in his scent and feel the loving weight of Danny’s arms around him? Only to stop dead in his tracks, ears ringing with the sound of discontent, of others planning harm to Danny, of slobbering eagerness to pull him down, and take Danny from Tim?

Tim who feels as if he has gone through something like this before.

Tim who feels that weight of a blade in his hand as he stalks the halls and tears through the dark, like a memory howling to be resurfaced.

Tim whose eyes are cold, without mercy, or second chances didn’t he say that ruthless is mercy upon because Danny is so very, very loved.

[ultravi0lence14]

DEVIL ON MY SHOULDER

DEAN WINCHESTER X DEMON!READER

WARNINGS: bloody fluff, slight descriptions of gore, spn level violence

SUMMARY: supernatural creatures knew to fear the winchester’s. they were ruthless and didn’t stop for no one. that and their little guard dog who bites anyone that comes too close to dean.

WC: 1.9k

LITTLE MONSTER’S CABINET OF CURIOSITIES

the cool night air whistled against the thick of trees, a dense fog looming over the winchester’s as they wait for the final member of their little team.

it was late at night, a gloomy storm taking over the small town sam and dean currently resided in. vampires were always a messy job, but it almost seemed to go a little more smoothly when you were around.

sam always asks dean how the two of you ended up together, and honestly, the eldest couldn’t answer that question. you were a demon, which the two didn’t have a problem with. they were just a little concerned about your love for bloodshed and mayhem.

they’d first met you and thought you were a little different than other demons. less cocky, more shy and quiet. you stayed to yourself and didn’t really interact much, which dean thought was great, for his love for demons wasn’t really taking up room in his heart.

you didn’t really give much for sam and dean to go off of, until that one werewolf case were you ripped it’s head clean off with your hands. you’d heard the howl and sprinted off into the woods without even saying a word. sam and dean were confused, a little angry, and concerned for your well being. they eventually found you against a tree, your clothes, face, hair, and hands drenched in blood.

they thought something had happened to you, thought they’d find a gnarly scratch on your body before sam noticed the decapitated werewolf a couple feet away. when looking a little closer, he also noticed you’d jammed a silver knife into it’s heart, pulling it clean out and holding the blade limp in your hands with the heart skewered on the end like a shish-kebab.

that moment was when sam and dean realized their new, quiet demon companion was actually a blood thirsty monster killer; and dean didn’t know if he should be proud or terrified.

after that werewolf hunt, you started showing off your strange, tendencies a little more. dean had to stop taking you to the morgue, for you offered to help a coroner conduct an autopsy and almost poked at one of the organs if dean hadn’t pulled you back.

you were also the resident nurse, always stitching up sam and dean when they got injured during hunts. sam always asked you how you were so good at stitches, yet you’d never answer, always shrugging your shoulders and going back to the task at hand. what sam didn’t know is you watched those surgery videos online, eyes wide and interested as you watched someone get cut into.

dean started off by calling you ‘little freak’, on edge around you and worried he’d wake up one day to find you over his bed with a knife. but that worry turned into contempt, and that edge he felt turned into a soft, blinding love.

that little freak he met and saw covered in blood turned into his ‘little monster’, his pretty girl drenched in the blood of their enemies, looking so pretty with the sheen of crimson on her skin.

you two were attached at the hip — well, dean was actually attached to your hip because he couldn’t leave you alone without you going off and doing god knows what. but it wasn’t like you weren’t a little clingy and very protective when it came to dean.

he’s had to hold you back a few more times than he’d like to admit when girls would flirt with him at bars. he’d be at the bar ordering drinks and you’d notice a girl starting to touch his arm, running her fingers down his skin, and you’d absolutely lose it. you almost always had to be held back by dean for you’d pounce and scratch their eyes out if he hadn’t. he’d only allow you to do any damage when it came to the creatures they hunted.

a wendigo took a swipe at dean, you’d be walking out of a cave, carrying it’s head to your lover. a vamp tried to bite him, you’d rip their heart clean out of their chest and hold it proudly. there were multiple times were dean had to tell you to leave things be, for he’d end up coming home to glass boxes full of the innards of supernatural creatures.

though you were still as curious as a cat, and dean would sometimes find you outside the bunker, covered in mud while trying to dig for different insects and little critters.

this hobby was shown on your walls, all the moths and insects you found being displayed in shadow boxes. you tried to hold out a caterpillar to dean once, and he almost keeled over as he saw it wiggle around in your mud caked fingers.

you were a little creepy, always scaring away hunters that came to visit sam and dean. but the eldest didn’t mind, he liked all your little quirks. you were different, a beautiful swirl of a feverish macabre that held a grotesque smile. but you were you, and dean loved you for all your creepy ways.

though right now he was worried. like most demons, you could teleport to wherever your hearts desired; and somehow, you ended up blipping away and out of dean’s sight with no intention of where you could be.

“stop worrying dean, she’ll be fine.” sam reassured for the thousandth time, his back against the impala as he watched his brother pace back and forth.

scoffing, dean stopped in his tracks and raised a solid stare into his brothers soul. “yeah, i know she’ll be fine dumbass. i’m just worried about whoever comes in contact with our own personal patrick bateman.”

“stop worrying,” sam scolded, eyes moving to look at something behind dean’s shoulder. “look, here comes your raven queen now.”

it was like the fog was bending to your will, cascading around you like a sinister halo. crows cawed in the sky as dean watched in awe as your low cut doc martin’s squelched through the damp earth, white socks a little dirty. you had on a pair of black tights and a denim skirt, with a black and white striped shirt that he could see flickers of mud on also. the hood of your black hoodie was pulled over your head, making you look like an angelic grim reaper.

a smile lit dean’s features as you walked over to him, silent as your hand briefly interlocked with his. “hey, little monster.” he greeted, free hand moving up to take off your hood to see your beautifully pale face. “please tell me you didn’t leave any dead bodies where you just came from?”

a small, dark smile graced your lips, sending a fraction of a chill down dean’s spine. “only ones that deserved it.”

dean sighed, about to scold you about going alone on hunts when a snap of teeth was heard close by. the hiss of fangs and blood thirsty growls of vampires could be heard a little ways into the woods, and dean looked over at sam to see his brother had the same look in his eye.

they needed to go. now.

with a nod of his head, dean alerted his brother to start scaling through the forest. yet the youngest wasn’t quick enough for you had already sprinted off into the dark foliage, your frame turning into a fog filled shadow before it disappeared completely.

“god,” dean breathed, running off behind you as sam followed suit. “we really need to teach her to stop doing that.”

it didn’t take long before they found you in another clearing, fighting off six vampires while another three were at your feet. you were already covered in blood, and dean could see the blood streams leaking down your face. and neck.

looking over at his brother, sam just shrugged before jumping into the fight, dean not too far behind. it didn’t take fairly long to have three more vampires down, yet the remaining were pesky little buggers. though that still didn’t deter you, your movements precise as you ducked and clawed at the bloodsuckers around you.

dean was too busy looking at you, his crimson soaked princess, to notice that a vamp had snuck up behind him. in an instant, his neck was in a chokehold, fangs snapping closer and closer to his neck as dean tried his hardest to fight the creature off.

almost about to except defeat, dean felt the vampire go limp behind him, his weight dropping onto his back from a force he couldn’t see. ducking out of the vamps hold, dean turned around to see you standing idly still. a heart was clutched in your hand, blood dripping down your fingers and arm as you held it out in front of you, inspecting the dormant organ.

you were truly ethereal, a god given to him from the deepest pits in hell. you were doused in blood from head to toe, a killer queen at it’s finest. you were a reckoning, a rabid beast that no one but dean could tame.

you were his living dead girl.

you would spill countless litres of blood for him, go to the ends of the earth slaughtering anything that came in his path. dean would watch you come into the bunker everyday with mud or blood caked on your body if it meant he got to see your pretty face.

“can i keep it?”

“no, pretty girl, you can’t keep it.” dean sighed, walking over to your looming frame as he pushed your arm down from the crook of your elbow. “leave it here, we can’t take that home with us.”

“why not?” you pouted, blood pooling around your lips and chin at the movement. the only portion of your face not covered in vamp blood was your eyes and small splotches on your face, yet dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“because, little monster,” he spoke softly, one hand holding onto your bicep while the other lifted to wipe at the blood on your lip. “there’s too many things in your room. and, that’s a little gross, don’t ya think?”

his thumb was prodding at your jutted out lip, blood soaking his fingers as he wiped away the crimson water.

“no, it’s not.” you shook your head, only the tips of your hair moving, for the top near your scalp was soaked down with blood. “i find it fascinating.”

“and i find you fascinating.” dean breathed, leaning in to smash his lips on yours in a bloody kiss. you tasted slightly metallic, yet your sweet sent of black dahlia’s and cloves broke through onto his tongue. dean heard a thud behind him as you dropped the heart on the ground, blood soaked hands wrapping around his neck and clutching the hair at the back of his neck. the strands were getting painted in blood, yet dean didn’t seem to mind.

you weren’t one of those girls made to walk through wildflowers and daisies; no. you were made to walk through cemeteries, black roses and ivey crawling up your legs as you made your way through the dead and decaying land. you were a creature of hell. a muddy, bloody, and beautiful sight to dean winchester.

the only small thing you needed to work on was your impulse control.

TAGS: @starzify @floralscented @deansbeer @haunteres @foolinthera1n @bluemerakis @figthoughts @taurus-0-queenie-33 @vaiieydoii

NAT BABBLES: me & @titsout4jackles created this feral little monster!! we love her down so bad and have too many creepy and crazy idea’s to go with her!!!

[pearlescentparade]

Ur probably gonna ignore cuz it’s kinda boring but can i request two time x reader angst ?

Two and reader spending time together, reader trying to enjoy snuggling up to their partner yet two time isn’t returning any of the affection. Just sitting with their hands to themselves with no attempt to do anything besides watch whatever was in front of them.

Basically reader trying to cope with two time not actually returning their feelings despite dating and probably terrible communication.

up to you if two time loves them back.

light years 🔄 two time x reader angst drabble❤️‍🩹

it's cold tonight.

you shouldn't complain, considering it was your idea to go star-gazing. but in your defense, it sounded cute in the moment.

the blades of grass uncomfortably drag against and poke your skin, prickled with goosebumps, as you shift to turn on your side to face two time. they only blankly stare up at the eternal night sky.

"timey?"

they hum, but are complacent in making any other effort beyond that to acknowledge you.

"i'm a little cold.. can we cuddle? ...please?" your whispered pleas could've been mistaken for the ambient howling of the wind. perhaps that's why they don't answer you. but there is much shame to be had in asking again, you think.

hesitantly, and with much space, you reach your hand out to them.

nothing. no acceptance, no rejection.

then, you dare to slink your arms around their body, loosely embracing them as if unsure whether to commit fully to it. you think you feel colder touching them than not.

their body tenses under your touch. did they feel disgusted by you?

you shakily exhale, trying to ignore the deep pain rooting in your heart and constricting your throat. times like these, you wish that they'd start yelling how much they hate you. at least then, you'd know for sure, and you'd know how they feel or think for once. but instead, you are left in the dark, blind and guessing, and playing a game meant for two alone.

a familiar sting burns your eyes, and you take it as your cue to distract yourself.

"..that's orion's belt. it's thr-three stars." you point to the constellation, light years away. two time blinks, inches away. it's less about telling them, and more about telling yourself.

"over there is gemini. it--hic--has the twin stars, castor and- and pollux-" despite your futile attempts, the tears fall anyway. and when one slips out, the rest comes in a flood. it takes only seconds before you're uncontrollably sobbing, muffling your cries in two time's arm.

yet, even as you wet their arm with tears, snot, and saliva, they say nothing. no comfort, no disgust, simply silence.

they couldn't say anything.

not when fear paralyzes them.

they've messed this up before. it's not out of the question to say it could happen again. the same voices that lead them to atrocity chatter viciously in their mind, angry wasps rattling in the nest, urging for another sacrifice.

to once again spill blood, warm with infatuation. to take advantage of this golden opportunity to present their devotion to the spawn by stealing the love they hold with you and metamorphosizing it into the love for their god. one wrong move, and their ghostfire dagger will plunge right into your heart.

to two time, inaction is the greatest reciprocation of love they could offer you.

without turning their head, their eyes flick to glance at your blubbering form.

it's cold tonight.

(parade postscript: sorry this one is a lot shorter mostly bc reader is talking to a fkin brick wall and yk dialogue carries all my mfin writing and also i js thought itd be fitting that everything is all short and lacking bc of the whole two time not showing reciprocation thang [me pulling out a million bullshit excuses out of my ass for why ts is so short and pretending im being a literary genius]

also fun fact! castor and pollux look close together from earth but are farther from each other in reality! castor is actually 51 light-years away, while pollux is closer at 33.8 light-years)

[mihii-i]

(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)

Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?

Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!

pitch black.

Pairings: capitano x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.

A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️

Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.

Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.

You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.

People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.

Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.

“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”

“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“

“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”

Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.

“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”

“Mother, that’s not what I-“

“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”

You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.

“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.

You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.

The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.

The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.

Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.

“Is something the matter, ma’am?”

His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.

“I was just walking home..”

“You seemed to be troubled, though.”

You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?

Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.

“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”

“Il Capitano.”

Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.

Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.

“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”

“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”

You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.

The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.

“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”

You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.

“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”

He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.

“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”

Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.

“My home should be around there.”

Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.

“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”

He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.

“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”

“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”

His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.

What a respectable and kind man.

A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL

Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay

[all-with-angel]

Cross my heart, I hope you die

Summary: In which you try to avoid the rude, short-tempered and dangerous special grade sorcerer, Sukuna Ryoumen, who happens to also be your senpai. But whatever you do, it seems that he simply never leaves you alone. Part 1 || Part 4 || Part 5(WIP)

❥ Sorcerer!Sukuna x male!Reader

❥ rivals to lovers, cursing, injury on reader, other warnings on pt.1, m!reader

W.C. 3.7k || Masterlist || A.N. I love writing Sukuna being stupid when it comes to social cues

The years had passed. Quietly, quickly. 

You were a Special Grade now, but it didn’t give you much comfort. It was still the same danger quadrupled just for people like you. The endless slog of missions and orders from the higher ups never stopped, never showed you or anyone any mercy.

Gojo had become who he was prophesied to be, the strongest. Shoko had welcomed you back to the school with a lollipop instead of a cigarette between her lips, she was able to work at the school earlier than you and Gojo after she had cheated medical school.

If anyone asked if you had a hand in helping her, no you didn’t.

Geto, well. You didn’t really keep in touch with him and you doubted anyone did either, it was complicated.

You did your job.

 You killed what needed killing. Saved who could be saved. Slept like the dead and woke up sore. It wasn’t that bad, really. You got paid very well. Well enough to risk your life daily? Maybe.

It was chaotic, but such is the life of a sorcerer.

You lived in a small, clean apartment near the Tokyo branch, the kind of place that never truly felt like home but was comfortable enough. The walls were a blank white, save for a sword hung up above your doorway- your first, dulled and chipped, but still yours.

In between the constant bursts of chaos and anxious quiets, you had barely heard his name in passing anymore. Words exchanged between admins or higher ups, about the monster grown up in the Kyoto headquarters.

He came up in missions, in briefings, in off-handed comments from your peers. A brutal Jujutsu sorcerer teetering on the edge from a curse user, from the Kyoto branch. Highly effective. A “monster in human skin” with too much power to ignore and too controversial to acknowledge.

You'd hear about him like he was folklore.

You remembered his name, somewhere in the back of your mind, he was still there. You doubted it was the same for him though. Not when he was leagues above you, despite you being a special grade yourself.

It was all in the past though, a time where it wasn’t all too bad.

Maybe it wasn’t too bad with him around. Not as bad as you thought it was, atleast.

You hoped he thought the same.

“Will you just fuck off already?”

You had your back pressed against the roof's railing, jaw tight, arms crossed. You’d already tried ignoring him, walking away, threatening him with a training blade, and none of it worked. Naturally.

Sukuna leaned back on his elbows across from you, legs stretched out, expression somewhere between smug and bored. The sunset painted the sky behind him in reds and golds, making his hair look almost like it was glowing.

“God, you’re so fun when you’re pissed.”

“I’m so close to jumping off this roof.”

He grinned. “You know, one day I won’t be here to piss you off. You ever think about that?”

“Yes. Daily. In fact, I pray for it.”

He gave you a lazy side glance. “You’d be miserable.”

“I’d be overjoyed.”

He scoffed. “Then jump.” He didn’t mean it, at least you didn’t think so. Better a reason to actually do it.

Without hesitation, powered by spite alone, you hopped onto the railing. His eyes widened as you sat on the metal bars, mouth opening as his eyebrows furrowed. “Oi-”

You grinned at him before leaning backwards and freefalling off of the roof.

A claw came crashing right where you were standing a few milliseconds ago. With a flick of your katana, the claw was cut clean off of the curse. It howled in pain, falling forwards as its arm slowly re-grew itself.

You kept moving. Deeper into the chaos. Your earpiece crackled. “Backup’s en route.”

“Backup has been en route for the last 20 minutes, man!” You complained, leaping up onto the curse before slicing its mangled head off. You heard a wince from the other line. “Sorry.”

You sighed, you should probably apologize later- It’s not Ijichi’s fault your so-called backup is slow as hell. 

Rounding a corner, you grabbed a small girl by the arm and hoisted her into your arms as her mother clung behind. "Go south!" you barked. "There's an evacuation team two blocks down. Don’t stop until you see them!"

You shoved them forward, barely checking to see if they moved.

“Who’s backup again?” You asked into your communicator as you sprinted through streets, leaping upto rooftops to see the situation better.

“Sorcerers from Kyoto branch-” Ijichi’s voice answered as he began listing a few names.

A tinge of excitement bore its way through the cracks of your exhaustion, the promise of finally seeing that bastard after all these years bringing a smirk on your lips.

Sukuna Ryomen.

You didn’t know if you missed that name, or the memories that came with it.

It had only been 4 years since you last seen him. Or had it been 5? You weren’t that sure.

Another explosion rattled the ground beneath you- this one loud, fiery, and close. It lit up the sky for a second, painting the buildings in a flicker of red-orange like a dying sun.

Your body reacted before your brain did, sprinting toward the epicenter.

That wasn’t a curse, atleast. No, it was too familiar. The cursed energy in the air and the sheer bloodlust emanating from that position- there was no doubt about it. Maybe you shouldn’t be grinning as you felt that bloodlust grow with every meter you got closer to the source. To him.

You pushed through the crumbling debris, leapt over the body of a half-slain centipede-like curse, and burst into the clearing.

Through the ashes and smoke, fire roared around the area. Multiple curses already disintegrating around you as your eyes immediately catch onto the man definitely responsible for the destruction.

Damn.

That was your first thought.

Sukuna, in your memory, was terrifying. In a way you hated. You didn’t exactly fear him, maybe a bit, but you were mostly appalled how the hell a human could reach that level of power. When you recall that time at the warehouse, the incident that sent him away from you, you recall his monstrous and gigantuan form. But goddamn, seeing it again? It felt surreal.

Three meters.

About three meters tall, you remembered. He still was, definitely dwarfing you no matter how much you had grown these past four years. Was he always this bulky and built though? His muscles were covered in a sheen of sweat and blood on some areas, his tattoos looked more intricate than they did before and what definitely caught your attention was the mouth on his stomach.

His torso was drenched in curse blood, soaked all the way down to his boots. Four arms twitched and flexed at his sides, and his face-

God.

His face.

He was grinning, wide and insane as he licked up the blood splattered on his face. Half of his face was that same monstrous mask, two crimson eyes watching the battlefield like its playground. It was disgusting, terrifying and full of unfiltered violence.

It was him, and it was perfect.

You noticed a curse that was halfway crumbling away lunge towards him. Before Sukuna could turn around and deal with the curse, you beat him to it. You sent a slash that cut the curse into two, falling limply on the ground and fully dispersing into thin air.

Sukuna’s deadly gaze fell on you, psychotic grin faltering just a bit.

“Yo! Senpai! Been a while!” You waved, flicking your katana to the side before sheathing it. 

You wanted to say something else, but you were caught off when you felt a gust of wind and cursed energy right in front of you. Before you could react, there was a large, bloody hand on your throat.

You hit the ground with the sounds of branches and leaves getting crushed under you, the otherwise fatal fall cushioned by the very well-trimmed but now very crushed hedges. You groan, moving your shoulder only to hear it audibly pop way too loudly.

Above you, you were vividly aware of a mop of pink hair peering down at you from the rooftop and hurling curses of your stupidity at you. 

So he didn’t mean it, huh?

You smiled in some twisted sense of victory, the world still spinning around you as you got up in the most nonchalant way possible. Brushing off some leaves on your uniform and picking a twig out of your hair, you look back up to Sukuna’s face- Much more clearer now.

“I didn’t mean to faceplant into the fucking ground, idiot!” He screeched at you, although you weren’t sure if it was him or the sound of the metal of the railings being crushed under his grip. Oh, he was pissed. Maybe worried?

You give him the finger before running off further into campus.

Behind you, you could hear the sound of branches and leaves getting crushed even further.

His body was right up against yours- hot, radiating power like a wildfire barely held in check. His chest heaved once, twice. Close enough to feel. The smell of iron and ash clung to him. Freshly spilled blood dripped from his fingers where they curled around your neck.

Not choking, but firm. Controlling. His claws barely grazed your skin.

Time slowed down, as if the entire world took a deep breath and waited. You couldn’t hear the cries anymore. Couldn’t feel the heat of the fire. It was just him. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your arms twitched by your sides, unsure whether to raise your blade or… do nothing. 

The atmosphere, so full of distant firelight and battle haze, suddenly felt like a still forest after a predator steps into it. The kind of quiet that makes even the wind afraid to move.

You couldn’t breathe for a second.

Not because of his grip but because of the intensity of his eyes.

All four of them locked onto you. Unblinking. Something unreadable swimming behind them, dark and sharp and too much. Your throat bobbed beneath his palm.

“…Sukuna,” you said lowly, wary now. “What the hell are you-”

“You’re still an idiot.”

“Huh?”

His voice was quiet. But it wasn’t soft. It was like a growl of a beast holding itself back, a snarl of anger of a wolf looking down at its prey. But it wasn’t anger directed at you, at least it didn’t feel like it.

His claw dragged against your pulse. Like a predator surveying if its prey was worth playing with. You felt your breath hitch.

“You’re bleeding,” His claws continued to drag over your skin, lightly pressing at your pulse point and- Ow. You felt a sting that you barely noticed was there. “Like an idiot.”

The moment Sukuna saw you on the battlefield, something inside him lurched violently. A brutal, visceral kind of recognition. Like hearing a song you forgot you loved—except this one had a blade and blood and your name carved into every note.

He stood motionless in the middle of the crater, surrounded by charred curses and melted asphalt, but his eyes… all four of them locked onto you.

You hadn’t changed, atleast in a way that really mattered. You looked like yourself, older, but in a way that made sense to him. As if he knew how you would already look in every year of your life, throughout every lifetime. Your eyes looked tired, though. That irked him.

Years. Years they kept him locked away. The Kyoto branch had always been stiff, but after a few “incidents” too many, they all but collared him. No missions without an escort. No conversations with other sorcerers outside official channels. No personal calls. 

No visiting the Tokyo campus. 

No you.

Not like he ever talked about you, no, he’d rather slit his own throat than let the stupid higher ups know that he had a weak point. Something they could dangle in front of him like a treat. Something to control him.

They didn’t know what you meant to him. Not really. He wasn’t stupid. If they even suspected the extent of it- if they knew how often he’d close his eyes at night and imagine your voice, how he remembered every fight with you in perfect fucking detail, down to the sweat beading at your jawline- they’d dig their claws into you, not him.

And Sukuna could suffer. He was good at that. He could endure years of condescension, forced silence, bureaucratic leash-yanking. But he couldn’t stand the thought of them holding you hostage. Emotionally. Physically. Politically. However they wanted.

So he buried it. Or tried to.

It didn’t stop the dreams.

It didn’t stop his eyes from seeking your face whenever your name came up in mission briefings. Didn’t stop his thoughts from looping around the image of you—the way your back arched mid-fight, the way you bit back a grin when you got under his skin, the way you’d always been just out of reach.

You weren’t even friends. Not really. You were rivals. Maybe not even that, depending on who you asked. You mocked him. Challenged him. Laughed at him.

He missed that laugh like a man starved.

So kept quiet, he behaved. Mostly.

He did what he did best- fighting, training, toying with the other Kyoto students like a bored cat with mice. But it wasn’t the same. They didn’t look at him like you did. They flinched. They obeyed. They feared him.

Other than a white-haired first year who he had met much earlier in the year, no one really satiated his boredom. And even then, this underclassman didn’t bite nor bark as much as you did.

It irked him to no end, he became a beast in every mission and tore up classrooms when he felt like it. He became a bigger pain in the ass- Now without you to entertain him, he was going to make it everyone else's problem too.

He gave them what they asked for. But never more. Never less. Just enough to stay out of the cage, never enough to let them glimpse the truth.

He was waiting.

For what, he wasn’t sure.

Maybe for an assignment that would bring him back to Tokyo. Maybe for the day you’d finally show up in a mission brief, and he could volunteer to be the “escort.” Maybe just for the chance to look at you again and breathe like something close to whole.

And now here he was.

Four years later.

Fucking finally. 

The second he heard the rest of his pathetic little ‘coworkers’ rush out on a backup mission, he didn’t really care. Probably some sorcerers messing up and needing a cleanup crew for their mess, some losers not worth his time. He lounged on the dark leather couch, taking up its entirety while Uraume sat modestly at the other side.

One of the old bastards clicked his tongue at him but he didn’t really care, either. Not until he heard the magic word: “Tokyo.”

At the mention of the place, all he could think about was you. The snacks you’d buy and how you would yell at him to get his own after he stole a piece of your well-earned treat. You had good taste atleast, and he was able to note down what kind of flavors you liked and threw similar food at you that came from a vending machine sometimes.

You’d look at him like he grew a second head, clutching a plastic-wrapped cream bun that he had thrown at your head seconds prior. He’d scoff at you and say something about you looking like shit and seconds away from collapse, which in all honesty, you did- After a few back-to-back missions within a day.

As he walked away, he’d mentally pat himself on the back for being so smooth and nice. Definitely plus points in your book. 

He got up from the couch, cracking his neck as he half-heartedly complained about his coworkers getting nothing done anyway. He followed as backup, under the guise of helping out.

The old man couldn’t say no, not when lives were on the line and curses were on the loose in an area full of civilians.

So when he saw you, at the edge of his previous flare of destruction, he couldn’t control himself from rushing to you in that same second. He noticed it too, the cut at your neck. He raised his hand to heal it, almost hesitating when he noticed the blood on his hands smeared onto your skin. Oh well, he’ll make up for it later.

Warm. You were warm. He almost forgot how nice you felt under his touch.

He stared. Long and hard. The world shrank down to the length of his arm. The ruined buildings, burning remains and disintegrating curses around the two of you- They all melted away.  All he could see was you, all he could feel was your pulse, all he could hear was your breath.

He thought he’d look like a savior. Like some dark, cursed knight, riding in to save the idiot he’s loved in secret for years.

A goddamn prince charming, in his own mind. Maybe surrounded by roses and stars. A walking executioner, in yours.

Typical.

When he heard your voice again, it sounded nice. Sounded like you. He didn’t mean to cut you off, but he panicked.

He let out a breath through his nose, slow and steady. It was the only thing keeping the emotion from leaking out too fast. He spoke lowly, like he had seen in movies. Wasn’t that how love interests spoke to the main character? Was he doing this right? 

Probably.

“You're still an idiot,” He said.

Okay maybe he could’ve worded it better, but it was true anyway. Plus he did say it in that nice way like in the movies, it probably came off sounding sweet.

Four years of yearning condensed into a single moment. His fingers brushed along the cut with feather-light care, the way he imagined your hand would move over a lover’s cheek. 

Nice one.

“You’re bleeding,” He continued. “Like an idiot.” He explained himself. Yeah, that sounded right. That made up for how he worded the first thing he said, right? I mean, only idiots got hurt after all.

Yeah. He was really good at this.

If it scarred, he’d be reminded that someone else had gotten close enough to touch your throat, and he hadn’t. That someone else had drawn blood where he only ever wanted to feel it race beneath his palm.

His thumb lingered there for one more beat. Then another.

Then a third, because he was selfish and he didn’t get many moments like this. And because he still didn’t know how to say I missed you without sounding like a stalker.

In the stillness, he realized how much he’d fantasized about this.

The reunion. Your smile. Him catching your wrist mid-swing when you tried to play-fight like old times. Him catching you off guard, brushing your hair back and saying something effortlessly suave.

But this wasn’t like that.

This was clumsy and tense and half-feral. He was bleeding from three places. You smelled like someone else’s cursed energy. And he had his hand wrapped around your neck like he was checking the quality of livestock.

Not how he planned. Oh well, he was sure he’d turned the situation around with his suave.

He poured cursed energy into his hand, almost instinctively. He wasn’t even sure it would work. His RCT had always been fritzy- especially when it came to him healing others. Not that he did it all that often.

The cut vanished. Your skin knit together like it had never been torn. But blood was still painted on your skin. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, he thought about wiping it off but he didn’t have much cloth on him that wasn’t already covered in blood.

Sukuna had half the mind to just wipe it off with his hand, but he remembered that it was bloodstained too. 

Even with the cut healed and the blood on his hands on your skin, he couldn’t bring himself to let go of you yet.Instead, he smiled. Like a prince charming would. Dashing and dramatic. That dark, brooding type that the other guy would secretly admire. This was the moment, wasn’t it? When he’d realize they were meant to be. That Sukuna had always cared, even from afar. Even from inside his cage.

TAGLIST (open)

@prettorett @rikabby69 @iamlizardgod @cheeselordbones @mistalli @poopooindamouf @im-so-goddamn-tired @someone0vx @enchantingkitty @majest1cfrog

[spider-stark]

LITTLE DRAGON

Aegon II Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader

Summary - Your elder brother, Jace, attempts to teach you how to wield a sword. Aegon, your new betrothed, interrupts.

Warnings - slight Jace x Reader but you can ignore that alright

Word Count - 3.8k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

“You aren’t tucking your elbows!”  

Jacaerys shouted from across the training yard, sparing your horrid fighting stance a half-moment’s glance before shifting his focus back to the weapons table laid before him, enamored by all the fresh steel he had to choose from.  

Sweat dripped from your hairline, trickling down your temples and giving your reddened cheeks a glossy sheen. The sun’s rays felt particularly relentless today, blistering down upon the yard and reminding you of just how much you hated summers spent in King’s Landing, already dreading the thought of being stuck here.   

You had grown accustomed to the cool, dampness of the island you had called home for the last several years. Dragonstone was almost always engulfed in a cover of clouds, and the soft breeze rolling-in from the Blackwater ensured that the warmer months were never quite as stifling as they were in King’s Landing.  

“I am tucking my elbows!” You howled at him, gritting your teeth against the growing pain in your biceps.  

The two of you had been out in the yard since sunrise, going over the basics of swordplay over and over and over again. By this point it felt like your brother’s instructions had been all but carved into your mind—plant your feet, square your shoulders, bend your knees, and tuck your elbows.  

Remembering the steps hadn’t been the hard part, however. The hard part was actually doing them—and doing them right.  

“No,” Jace grinned as he plucked a delicately forged rapier from the table. “You’re not.”  

You blew out a breath, frustrated as you dropped the faulty form all together and let your arms hang limp at your sides. The training sword hung heavy from your hand, the tip of its blunt blade digging into the dirt.  

“This is ridiculous,” you huffed, watching as your brother drew closer to you, admiring the nimble blade in his hand. “I’ve bent my elbows a thousand different ways—and none of them have been right!”  

“That’s the issue! You’re bending your elbows, not tucking them!” Jace reprimanded, though his voice remained gentle, as it oft was when speaking to you.  

Your patience was wearing thin as your frustration grew, aggravated by not only the sweltering heat and swordplay, but also yourself. Your brothers had mastered the basics of fighting when they were less than half your age—and yet you couldn’t even manage a half-decent defensive stance.  

Exasperated and nearly at the end of your rope, you knew that you probably looked as miserable as you sounded. “Are bending and tucking not the same thing?”  

“Bending your elbows is a subtle movement,” Jace started to explain, “it helps you maintain some degree of flexibility. But tucking your elbows is more rigid, making for a better defense mechanism. By keeping your elbows close to your body, you’re tightening your posture and making it harder for your enemies to land a blow.”  

Adjusting your grip on the training sword, you brought it back up into a ready position, both hands now clutching the hilt. “So all I need to do is pull my elbows in closer?”  

“Exactly!”  

Focusing on each of the movements, you slid one foot slightly ahead of the other, balancing yourself as he’d instructed earlier. You took care to keep your knees bent, just enough to ensure that you could easily dodge or leap out of the way of an incoming strike.  

Once you were confident that you had done those steps correctly, watching as Jace nodded along in silent approval, you lifted the sword so that the pommel fell just a few inches below your breastbone, the point rising high above your head.  

Then, finally, you tried tucking your elbows as close to your sides as you could, attempting to block as much of your torso as possible from incoming attacks.  

“Like this?” You asked him, gritting your teeth against the throbbing in your arms, still so unused to the weight of the weapon.  

Jace cocked his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Well…”  

“Seven Hells, Jace!” You howled at him, trying to hold the position, “There are only so many ways to move your elbows!”  

“Yes, but now it’s not your elbows causing the problem!” He retaliated, extending his arm and using the tip of his rapier to point to your legs. “Standing like you are now, if you had to dodge your legs would probably lock up and slow you down. You need to drive your knees further apart!”  

You did as you were told, albeit a bit begrudgingly. 

“Better?” You hissed through your teeth, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you.  

Jace studied you, eyes narrowing as he scanned every inch of your form. “Push your shoulders further back,” he instructed, “and straighten your back out a little bit.”  

Again, you shifted into the new movements, adjusting and tweaking the positions to his liking. Your fingers hurt now, too, and painful blisters had already begun to form on your palms.  

“Straighter,” Jace snapped, still finding your posture to be sub-par. “And try to keep your toes pointed towards-”  

Your frustration finally peaked as you fell out of the intricate form, nearly doubling over as an exhausted groan ripped from your throat. Jace’s eyes widened at the sound, doubling back slightly.  

“And what next?!” You cried loudly, letting your sword fall to the ground. Throwing your aching arms out to the side in a dramatic display, you sneered at him, “Shall I hop on one-fucking-leg and shake my ass?”  

A sigh escaped your brother's parted lips, shaking his head as he leaned down to pick up your discarded weapon. Regret already seeped into your mind and dulled your anger as you began to prepare for the lecture that was surely about to leave his mouth—one that was no doubt about the level of discipline required for swordsmanship, and how you needed to maintain a level head.  

But, before he had the chance, another voice broke through.  

“Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt to try,” Aegon quipped from somewhere behind you, sounding far too amused with himself. “Go on,” he urged, “give it a shot. I for one would love to watch.”  

With clenched fists you spun around to face him, glaring into his lilac eyes, resenting the way they sparkled with something like delight. It wasn’t until his gaze traveled south that you lost your cool, however, noticing how he eyed the low neckline of your tunic, watching as sweat slipped between your breasts.  

But as soon as you took a step towards him, fully prepared to strike the arrogant Prince, Jace snatched your wrist and held you back. Level-headed enough to think for the both of you, he refused to let you do anything that would give Queen Alicent further reason to despise you—even if he would have loved to watch his sister beat Aegon’s ass.  

“You’re interrupting our training,” Jace told him, keeping his voice respectful despite the undeniable edge of frustration.  

“Am I?” Aegon pursed his lips, staring at the training sword that was still discarded on the ground, abandoned when Jace realized he would have to hold you back from your uncle. “Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a very good job, then. It’s easier to fight when the sword is in your hand-”  

Jace interrupted, “We should really get back to work,”  

“No need,” your uncle swiftly retorted, flashing a cocky smirk that only served to make your rage grow further. “I actually came here hoping for a moment alone with my niece,” he continued, pinning your brother with a stare, “you wouldn’t mind, would you?”  

You recognized the trap that he had set for your brother. If it were anyone other than Aegon, Jace would have wasted little time in telling them off, but this was different. Rejecting Aegon would create conflict—the one thing your mother had asked you and your siblings to avoid, if only to avoid upsetting the beast that was your step-grandmother, the Queen Alicent.  

“Now isn’t a good time,” Jace tried to protest, searching for some peaceful way to turn Aegon away. “You saw her just now, didn’t you? She’s clearly in need of more practice.”  

You were silent, primarily because you could feel Jace’s fingernails digging into your skin, a warning to stay silent. When it came to you, Jace wasn’t violent by any means, but he was more than willing to be assertive if it meant keeping you safe.  

Aegon drew a breath, still wearing that sly smile that made your skin crawl. “Very well,” he said, and you felt Jace’s grip on your wrist loosen at his assumed victory. “Then I’ll teach her myself.”  

Jace’s eyes grew wide, a muscle in his jaw feathering. Refusing to back down, his mouth fell open to speak, trying to form some other nonsense excuse to keep you from being alone with Aegon—but you stopped him.  

“It’s fine, Jace,” you told him, slipping your wrist from his grasp. “If Aegon believes himself capable of teaching me, then let him.”  

The look on Jace’s face stubbornly pleaded with you to take it back— to say that you were done with training for the day, to say anything that would keep you from being stuck with him.  

But you refused, steeling yourself and meeting his gaze with an equally unrelenting stubbornness. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to avoid Aegon forever, and you refused to let your uncle think that he had enough of an effect on you that you would resort to cowardly excuses to get out of being alone with him.  

Jace leaned closer to you and asked in a low voice, “Are you sure?”  

You grimaced at the question. “Yes,” you snapped, not wanting to appear as the image of a helpless little girl in front of your uncle. But then you saw the hurt flash in your brother’s dark, doe eyes and immediately felt guilty for it. “I’ll come and find you when I’m done,” you reached for his hand, squeezing it in yours, “I promise.”  

His brows furrowed, still unconvinced that it was a good idea to leave you alone with Aegon, but aware that he wouldn’t be able to change your mind. You smiled, a sweet and gentle kind of smile that was reserved only for your older brother.  

“You heard the woman, Jacaerys,” Aegon waved an impatient hand, sneering at Jace. “Leave me and my betrothed.”  

The word betrothed seemed to drip from his tongue like tar—a nasty and vile sort of sound that was used only to further antagonize Jace.  

Jace went rigid beside you, his cheeks growing red with anger. But his hand was still clasped in yours, and so you gave it another squeeze. “Go,” you told him, having switched roles with him and now being the one to counsel him in restraint. “I’ll be fine.”  

You knew that Jace didn’t fully believe you—not because he didn’t trust you, but because he didn’t trust Aegon. And while you were surrounded by a plethora of weapons that could be used in self-defense should Aegon try something, Jace also knew just how lousy you were at properly using them.  

Even so, he didn’t argue, biting his tongue and stifling his rage in favor of the peace your mother so desperately wanted.  

But even the prospect of peace wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling his hand from your grip and replacing it with the rapier he had chosen earlier, his lips brushing against your ear as he leaned in, “If he tries something,” he whispered, “then shove the pointy end through his throat.”  

You held in a laugh, gripping the hilt tightly. “Got it.”  

With that, Jace stepped back and turned to take his leave, roughly knocking into your uncle’s shoulder as he pushed past him. Aegon cut his eyes, but you found it hard to tell whether it was because of Jace’s insolence or if it was because of how close you were with your brother.  

You didn’t care enough to ask.  

“Was there a need to provoke him?” You scoffed as soon as Jace was out of sight.  

Aegon feigned innocence. “Well, it’s not my fault that your brother is so easily provoked,” he said with a roguish grin. “He’s the one that’s so greedy with your time. I wouldn’t have to interrupt your pathetic sparring sessions if there was ever a time where Jace wasn’t stuck up your ass.”  

“Our betrothal was proposed five years ago,” you told him plainly, narrowing your eyes, “if you were that desperate to spend time with me, then I’m sure there were plenty of opportunities.”  

“You’ve been on Dragonstone.”  

“And you have a dragon,” you reminded him, fully aware that the flight to the island was quite short from King’s Landing.  

Aegon lifted one of his shoulders in a lazy gesture. “And you have a Jace. If I had been foolish enough to venture to Dragonstone these last few years, then I likely wouldn’t have left with my head.”  

A scowl etched onto your face at that, fully aware that he wasn’t entirely wrong for assuming that.  

While it had been five years since your betrothal to Aegon had been proposed by your mother, hoping that it might bridge the chasm that divided your family, it hadn’t been until this past month that the Queen Alicent had finally given way and consented to the match. And, if the rumors could be believed, then you had heard that her sudden change in heart was in part due to Aegon’s insistence. 

But regardless of any hearsay, you did know one thing for certain—Jace had always held onto the hope that the Queen would reject the proposal. You often told yourself that it was because he didn’t wish to see his little sister wed to your vile uncle, but many others—Aegon included, it seemed—believed that it was because your brother wished to have you for himself, as was the Targaryen way.  

You knew that there was merit to those claims, even if you sometimes didn’t want to admit it.  

“He wouldn’t have killed you,” you finally settled on an answer, your frustration mounting with each word. “Maimed, maybe, but Jace is no kinslayer.”  

Eyeing the rapier in your hand, Aegon asked, “And what about you?”  

You paused, glancing at the nimble blade of your weapon.  

It was thinner than the training sword you were using—and a lot sharper—but it was awkward to hold, all its weight concentrated towards the hilt rather than distributed throughout. Even if you did want to use it against Aegon, you were probably more likely to hurt yourself than him with how little experience you had and how poorly training with Jace had gone.  

After a moment, the corners of your mouth tilted upwards in a twisted imitation of a smile, flashing your teeth at him. “Let’s just say that I’m not my brother,” you answered, purposely vague.  

Aegon’s stare narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look intimidated by your declaration. “Then go ahead,” he responded coolly, spreading his arms out wide. “Give it your best shot.”  

Your eyes flickered around the yard, realizing for the first time that there were no guards around right now to witness your interaction. If you wanted to kill him, now would be as good a time as any—you could call it an accident, even if Queen Alicent would try to deny it. But due to your poor swordsmanship, it was a believable enough lie that you knew most would believe it; knew that your grandsire, King Viserys,  would believe it.  

If you killed Aegon now, then you wouldn’t be forced to marry him.  

If you killed him, then you knew your mother would sooner betroth you to Jace before ever even considering Aegon’s savage little brother, Aemond.  

And that would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Jace was kind and pleasant and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Your brother would make you a Queen—a beloved Queen, at that.  

And yet…  

Aegon snorted a laugh, letting his hands fall when he saw your brow crease, your body unmoving as you refused to lunge for him. “You’re right, you’re not your brother. I might have little good to say about Jacaerys, but he’s undeniably Strong,” he quipped, the mischievous glint in his tone causing your blood to boil, “but not you—you’re just a coward.”  

Your heart thrummed wildly in your chest, knuckles turning white as you gripped the hilt of the rapier tighter. Then, without Jace here to hold you back, a primal scream of frustration ripped from your throat as you launched yourself at Aegon.  

The rapier’s blade led the way, your movements fueled by a rush of adrenaline. But your arms were weak and your footwork clumsy and predictable, and Aegon easily side-stepped your attack with a smirk.  

Breathing heavily, you went to swing the awkward blade again, but Aegon had already made his next move—taking advantage of your lack of speed and coming up beside you, snatching the hilt from your inexperienced grip and disarming you, tossing the weapon a few feet away so that you couldn’t try and get it back from him.  

But with your nerves still lit by frustration and a refusal to accept defeat, you curled your fists and aimed for his jaw.  

Aegon caught you by the wrists before your knuckles collided with his face. He held fast even as you struggled against his grip—firm but not rough.  

“Your brother was right,” he taunted with a laugh when you finally wore yourself out, “you do need practice.”  

“Shut up-” you snarled, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.  

You weren’t used to this.  

You weren’t used to fighting, you weren’t used to the heat, and you weren’t used to Aegon—or, at least, you weren’t used to being this close to Aegon.  

It suddenly hit you just how intimate the position seemed. Your heaving chest bumped against his as he held you close, his grip on your wrists never loosening, even once you had stopped fighting and he had been able to lower your arms to your sides.  

You weren’t sure that you had ever been this close to Aegon—close enough that you could smell the faint trace of mulled wine on his breath—and you felt your pulse skip at the realization, fear settling deep within your bones.  

You weren’t afraid of him, you realized, but of the fact that you didn’t quite mind being held by Aegon—not as much as you should have minded it, at least.  

“I could help you, you know.” He offered, his lilac eyes flashing with some distant emotion that you couldn’t recognize. “I wasn’t just trying to get rid of your brother when I said that I would teach you how to fight.”  

Still pressed close to his chest, you tilted your head back to look up at him, his jaw tightening when you asked, “What do you know about swordplay?”  

“I was trained by the Kingsguard,” Aegon reminded you sharply, his offense evident by the sharp crease in his brow.  

You gave a dry laugh, thinking back on your childhood prior to moving to Dragonstone. “If memory serves me, you spent more time parading around with courtesan’s than training.”  

Your laughter was cut short, breath catching in your throat when you felt Aegon release his hold on your wrists just before one of his hands snapped upwards, his fingers curling around your jaw. His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, and you couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t something intoxicating about the way he held you—his lilac eyes seeming to admire every contour of your face. 

“Even so,” he began, his voice hardly a whisper as he ignored your claim, “I still know more than enough about swordplay to teach my helpless little dragon how to defend herself.”  

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks as the pet name slipped his lips. It stirred a hunger within you that you hadn’t known existed, and certainly didn’t expect. Your muscles went slack, relaxing in his grip as your lips parted ever so slightly, your body suddenly urging you to lean in and taste the honey that seemed to drip from his tongue.  

But even as you began to oblige with your body’s urges, rising on your toes to meet Aegon’s sweet, wine-stained lips, you heard some familiar voice chime in the back of your mind—urging caution, reminding you of who was holding you right now.  

Your deviant uncle—the son of Queen Alicent, who was all but your sweet mother’s sworn enemy. She might have asked you to wed Aegon out of duty, but she certainly hadn’t expected or wanted you to like your uncle, did she? In some twisted way, it felt like a betrayal to her and your true family to allow yourself to find pleasure in this—and yet you couldn’t quite deny the warmth flooding in the pit of your stomach at the feel of his touch against your face. 

But, taking advantage of that swift moment of clarity, you forced yourself to take a step back and reclaim some sort of control over yourself. As his hand fell, Aegon stood frozen in the agony of his own perceived rejection as he watched you turn on your heel, walking away from him without so much as a single word.  

But to his surprise, instead of exiting the yard altogether, you leaned down and plucked the blunt training sword off the ground where it had been abandoned far earlier. You left the rapier where Aegon had tossed it when he disarmed you, thinking you had no use for a blade that could cause actual injury. 

“Alright,” you took a deep breath as you turned back around to face him, offering a weak smile as you swallowed your nerves and said, “If you’re so confident in your skill, then teach me.”  

It was Aegon’s turn to pause now, a flicker of doubt dancing in his lilac eyes as his own insecurities continued to bear down on him. While he hadn’t wanted you to walk away, he also hadn’t expected you to say yes.  

But here you were—standing in front of him, not rejecting him, and allowing him to help, regardless of how wrong it might have felt. 

He's to be my husband, you thought to yourself, biting back against your feelings and trying to rationalize your desire to spend a bit of time with him, I should at least learn to tolerate him.

“Okay,” Aegon eventually said, his voice more uncertain than you’d ever heard it sound before; but hopeful too, wearing the faintest hints of a smile. “Show me your form.”  

As you did as he instructed, clumsily moving through each of the movements that Jace had shown you and listening to him laugh and correct your failures, you couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty as you started to think that being stuck in King’s Landing wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

And that, maybe, Aegon wasn’t so bad either.

a/n - had this sitting in my drafts for a bit cause i wasn't totally happy with it, but decided to polish it up and post it anyways cause why not lmao

[fourthemarauders]

The marauders era characters when eating a brownie🍃 for the very first time

James

He’s giggling before the brownie even kicks in. Five minutes later he’s lying on the floor whispering “do you think stars have feelings?” He gets weirdly emotional and says “I’d die for all of you” with zero context. Tries to hug everyone at once. Fails. Tries again.

Sirius

Realizes he has cheekbones and spirals into a monologue about how he’s “too beautiful to be emotionally stable" flirts with himself. Tries to fight a chair for looking at him wrong. Ends up crying in Remus’s lap because “no one ever taught me how to be loved.”

Remus

Starts logical, ends feral. At some point says “grief is a spell we cast on ourselves” and everyone claps. Tells Sirius he’s the most annoying person he’s ever loved and then blames the brownie. Spoiler: it wasn’t the brownie. Also has a full-on existential crisis about the moon.

Peter

Thinks he’s dead. Like, genuinely. Follows Lily around asking if she can hear his ghost voice. Tries to walk through a wall. Bumps his nose. Says “it’s the veil. I’m not worthy.”

Lily

Sits everyone down for a lecture on internalized misogyny and then immediately cries about the potential of lesbianism. Makes everyone drink water and calls it a feminist act.

Marlene

Takes off her shirt and howls at the moon. Declares herself a nature lesbian. Kisses Mary. Kisses Dorcas. Tries to kiss a tree. Tried to kiss Sirius cause he looked like another tree. Declares all four experiences life-changing. Later gets into a heated debate with a broomstick about blond visibility.

Dorcas

Doesn’t speak for an hour. Then randomly says “none of us are making it out of this whole.” Throws a knife into the wall. Where did she get the knife? No one knows. But it lands dead center and everyone claps like it’s normal.

Mary

Reads everyone’s auras like it’s her job. Tells Remus he’s “made of haunted poetry.” Says Regulus feels like an abandoned piano. Makes Sirius cry by calling him a disco ball trying to be a mirror. Asks Lily if she wants to move to a cottage and start over. Kind of means it.

Regulus

Claims he’s fine. Five minutes later: lying on the floor whispering “I think I’m a haunted Victorian lampshade.”

Starts rating everyone’s energy: “Sirius is fire, Dorcas is a blade, I’m a dying poem.” Cries because the cat looked at him “with judgment.” Won’t drink water unless it’s called a potion.

Snape

Absolutely not okay. Crying, muttering, possibly hexing his own shoelaces. Says “I should’ve loved better” with zero context. Everyone assumes it’s about Lily. No one asks. Lily puts a hand on his shoulder like “okay. But also? Stfu.”

Pandora

Absolutely off the rails. Eats four brownies, sees the fabric of the universe, draws symbols on Regulus’ arms and calls them “protective blessings.” Starts floating? Might be a spell. Might be vibes. Tells Barty “your soul is a little cracked but it sparkles.”

Barty

Full chaos. Tries to seduce a lamp. Fails. Blames the lamp. Starts narrating everything he does like he’s the villain in a Shakespeare play. Yells “I AM THE DARK LORD OF VIBES” and then immediately trips over a shoe.

Evan

Eats it like it’s nothing, pretends he’s not affected. Fifteen minutes later he’s lying flat on his back whispering “you know, if you think about it, death is just a very long nap.” Stares at the ceiling like it offended him personally. Tries to flirt with both Sirius and Barty in the same breath. Calls Regulus “my tiny goth prince” and kisses his hand dramatically. Accidentally joins Mary’s spiritual circle. Says “this is stupid” but does not move for three hours.

Later claims he doesn’t remember any of it. He does.

Follow for more shit like this

[leighsartworks216]

Sweet Mindless Love

werewolf!Sylus x gn!Reader

Part Two

This is the sweet soft "only I can calm my beast down" fic just before the monsterfucking cuz I can't just leave that unsaid

Title from "Howl" by The Unlikely Candidates

Warnings: light angst, mild hurt/comfort, fluff, swearing, pet names, werewolf AU, scent stuff, painful transformation with minor descriptions, temporary character death (silly)

Word Count: 948

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Coarse, yet somehow soft, fur glides through your fingers. Powerful huffs of breath have it standing on end, shuddering with effort as the creature in your lap contains itself. Luke and Kieran are hiding in the safe room, no doubt. They have to. Otherwise, they'd be torn to shreds without a second thought.

You, however, are never safer than in these moments, your beast pressing his snout into your belly and your thighs and taking in your scent. You are the only one allowed to touch him like this, hold him like this - and the only one that can calm him down on nights like these.

"Good boy," you whisper into the electric air. His muscles are so tense, ready to jump up and lash out at anything that comes near. Mephisto is an unfortunate victim tonight, having been caught when he led Sylus straight to you. You're grateful for his sacrifice, and even more so for his mechanical nature that means it's not permanent. "I'm here, my love. It's only me."

Sylus whines low in his throat, a pleading sound that clings to your heart. You know he hates this. Hates becoming a monster. The first time you saw him is burned into his brain with every full moon. The way your eyes widened. Your arms coming up to protect your face as he charged right for you. The scream you let out as he toppled you into the ground. Your rapid heartbeat when he laid upon you.

The fact you stayed is a miracle in itself. He couldn't be more grateful.

You lean down to press a kiss to his fur, wherever you can reach with him laying like this. His claws curl into your back at the gentle contact, before quickly pulling away so as to not hurt you. He never would on purpose, but the thought of hurting you even accidentally destroys him. The amount of clothes he's torn and ruined just trying to hold you...

"It's almost morning. The sun's almost here. Just a little longer, okay?"

He inhales deeply. Your scent - the body wash and hair product and lovely smelling things you use - is like a sedative to his wild mind. Where normally he would be overwhelmed by all the sounds and smells of the world, here he can simply allow you to wash over him, block out the rest of the world, and put his instincts at ease. Of course, it comes with the caveat that any intrusions, be it smells or sounds, can be enough to set him off again.

You begin humming. The song doesn't matter. You can feel the muscles in his powerful back relaxing with every note. His fur does not stand so on edge. His breaths become less harsh and more even. This only becomes more true as the first rays of the sun hit the blinds.

It's always amazing to watch the transformation back into a man. It's painful - when he turns into a wolf, his cries and howls echo in your ears alongside the creaking of bones and tearing of skin - but also a relief.

His fur begins to shake as it recedes back into his skin. Bones pop and crack as they fit back into place. His fingernails - not claws - cling onto your shirt as his snout compresses into his strong nose. Until soon enough, instead of a half-wolf half-man laying across your lap, all that remains is a full man, laying on his stomach with his face pressed into your tummy and his arms hugging your waist, legs stretched out across the rug, entirely nude.

He sighs slowly, as if he's trying to adjust to his lungs once more. You comb now through his hair, soft and sweaty. Your other hand rubs reassuringly over his back, also slick with sweat, massaging his shoulder blades and spine after the transformations they endured.

You lean your head down slightly. "Okay?"

He nods and rubs his nose against your hip before turning his head to the side to uncover his mouth. "Okay... Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay." You brush hair from his face. Though he doesn't open his eyes yet, his brow relaxes with the tender care you offer him. "You didn't even damage my shirt this time. And the boys are okay, too. But..."

He tenses, visible eye shooting open with a frown to look up at you. "But?"

You smile, though it comes out more as a grimace. You nod over to a pile of black feathers and exposed wires, sparking occasionally. "Mephisto wasn't so lucky."

He growls, closing his eyes once more and biting at your clothed hip. "Don't frighten me like that."

You laugh despite his upset. The sound puts him at ease. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I won't do it again." He can still hear the giggles bubbling out of you for the next couple minutes. Still, he's actually glad you can joke about his destructive nature. He'd rather have you laugh at him than scream because of him. "Do you want to take a bath?"

"Not yet. Just wanna stay here for a minute."

"You were there all night."

"Yeah, and he doesn't appreciate it enough. I'm just doing my due diligence, sweetie."

"Uh-huh. Well, my ass is starting to hurt."

"Tough."

You laugh again. He smiles for the first time since transforming. It's no wonder his wolf form is so infatuated with you when you make him feel like this normally, without heightened senses.

"Thank you for taking care of me tonight," he coos sweetly. "I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, puppy." You bend over him to kiss his head. "In every form, always."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko