#is the egg from personal experience only i will ever know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

captain-huggy-bear · 3 months ago

Note

Congrats again on 1k Lottie!! Super deserving and I love a good celly!

For your celly, can I request Luke Hughes with "wanna take this to the bed?" ??

Thank you and have a lovely day <333

Thank you again, Meg! I hope you enjoy this :) I didn't feel like writing smut but I had this idea because I feel like Luke is the sort of guy who really doesn't expect anything from you and doesn't rush you at all. He's a good egg like that. 18+ NSFW Themes

Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed at the moment but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

You're pretty certain that kissing Luke Hughes might be a terrifying new addiction. He doesn't know but he's the first person you've ever kissed and the way he does it is addictive.

Luke kisses you like a form of worship, from the slant of his mouth over yours, the soft bite of his teeth against your bottom lip and the caress of his tongue, to the way his hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing across your skin like you're the most fragile thing in the world. Like he's scared you're not quite real.

Every swipe of his tongue has him moaning into your mouth and it makes you feel both nervous and powerful at the same time, that you can do this to him. That he's the one leaning over you on the couch, your hands in his curls, but you're the one that's bringing him to his knees.

When his mouth pulls away from yours he's heaving in breaths, like you've sucked all the air from his lungs. Luke's cheeks are flushed pink, pupils so dilated that his eyes are almost black before he's leaning down again. You chase his lips with your mouth but he doesn't kiss you there, planting open mouthed kisses across your jaw and down your neck, stopping to suck on the spot behind your ear in a way that has your eyes fluttering closed. It's all too much and not enough, unfamiliar sensations rocketing through your body as his hips grind down into yours. Your eyes shooting open at the feeling of his dick, hard and solid, against you through his jeans. It's both delicious and terrifying, a new experience that has your fingers gripping his hair tighter in a way that only has Luke groaning against your skin.

"Wanna take this to the bed?" His voice is a low rumble, raspy from kissing you, raspy in a way that sends a shiver down your spine and tingle to your toes...but his words? Oh, his words have you freezing, short circuiting, unprepared and unready for such a proposition.

The way you freeze has him second guessing himself, maybe you're not that into him? Maybe you were just kissing him to be polite? Has he made you uncomfortable? Shit...he hopes he's not fucked this up.

Luke's scrambling off you without hesitation, not wanting to be a creep who forces himself on someone. Scared he's already made you uncomfortable tonight.

"Not that you have to! It's...this is good! I'm...fuck, I'm sorry..."

"It's fine, Luke...I..." You force yourself to sit up, trying to calm him down because really, you're okay. He's fine it just caught you off guard and maybe you aren't ready for sex yet with him, but you certainly want it to be a possibility in the future.

"No, I'm sorry...shit." He's up and pacing in front of the couch, running his hands through his curls until they're a frizzy mess. On the 4th lap back in front of you, you reach out and grab his hand to pull him to a stop, tugging until he moves to sit back down next to you.

Your knees are touching, his bouncing up and down nervously, as you hold his hands in your own. You're avoiding his eyes because you're not sure how to say what you want to say without putting him off or freaking him out. But, you also don't want him to think he's done anything wrong because he hasn't.

"You don't have to apologise...I just...I like kissing you." You start there because that's easy to admit even if your cheeks feel warm. Luke's leg stops bouncing at the admission, feeling a little less like he's forced himself on you.

"Okay?"

"But I...I've never...you're the first person I've ever kissed..." You watch the cogs whirl behind his eyes, the click as he realises that if he's only ever kissed you...then that's probably all you've ever done.

"Oh, okay." There's a relief in him knowing, a relief in his casual response, the way he seems to understand without any judgement. Luke's fingers twist with yours until they're intertwined, reassuring, sweet.

"I just, if we take it to your room I don't want you to get ideas..." It's not that you don't want to have sex with Luke...you do...one day, just...right now even kissing is a lot, it's new, it's big and you're not sure you've worked your way up to anything more yet. You want to, God, you want to because Luke makes your tummy flip and your panties wet but...not yet.

"Ideas?"

"I...I'm not ready for that yet." It's silly...how you can't seem to say it to his face. You're old enough, you should be able to say the word sex to a guy's face...but it's Luke and...and you're trying not to scare him off. People always say that guys hate to wait, that sex is something they need. There's part of you that's worried that Luke will decide you're not worth the wait.

"You mean sex?"

"Yeah...I'm sorry, I don't want to disappoint you..."

The way his face drops isn't because you're disappointing him. It's not because he's upset with you. No, his face drops because how could you possibly think that he'd be upset with you for not wanting to sleep with him yet? Like the only thing he was here for was sex...when in reality he really liked you, liked you enough to spent what little free time he did with you, liked you enough to always try to get flowers delivered to your apartment when he was away on a roadie, liked you enough to tell his grandma about you...

"Hey, baby..." He untangles his hands from yours and for a second you think he's going to pull away entirely, until his hands cup your cheeks and force you to look up at him, "It's not a disappointment, it's okay...you set the pace. You wanna just kiss and cuddle?"

You nod, voice gone at the easy way he puts the power back in your hands, the easy way he removes all your worries and fears of rejection in an instant.

"Then we just kiss and cuddle, bed's comfier, doesn't mean we have to go any further."

"Are you real?"

His laugh is shocked out of him, but there's a tinge to it, a hint of sadness because no one should ever think that what he was doing, letting you take it at your own pace, was some impossible standard.

#Huggy's 1000 celly #huggy bear writes #luke hughes/reader #luke hughes x reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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heliosunny · 4 months ago

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Hi, hi, hi!

I know he's not from Honkai but I saw that a long while ago you did a Neuvillette post. So I was wondering if I could get a Neuvillette Lucky Egg?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader

You had never believed in luck. If you did, your life wouldn’t be what it was now—stuck in a tiny apartment with your childhood friend, Melis, who made sure to remind you of every single bad decision you’d ever made. She wasn’t cruel, exactly, but she had a way of making you feel like an idiot.

So when you saw the Lucky Egg Dispenser at the back of a convenience store, promising "A once-in-a-lifetime blessing!", you almost walked past it.

But something about it made you stop.

It looked old, the paint chipped around the edges, but the golden lettering still shimmered under the fluorescent lights. A sign above it read:

"One egg per person. No refunds. Your fate awaits."

It was probably a scam. A cheap plastic trinket inside, or some useless charm. But before you could talk yourself out of it, you fed a few coins into the slot and turned the crank.

Clunk.

A round capsule tumbled into your waiting hands. The plastic casing snapped open, revealing—

An egg?

It was smooth, cool to the touch, and a pale blue color, almost pearlescent. Strange, but… oddly pretty. You turned it over in your hands, half-expecting a hidden button or compartment, but it was just an egg.

Three Days Later

The egg sat on your nightstand for days, untouched. Melis had scoffed when she saw it.

"Really? You wasted money on that?"

You ignored her.

Something in you didn’t want to throw it away.

Then, on the third night, you woke to a soft crack.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you turned toward the sound and saw the egg trembling, thin fractures spreading across its surface. You barely had time to react before the shell split apart, breaking open like a delicate flower and something small tumbled out, landing in the nest of blankets you’d unknowingly made around it.

A child.

No—a dragon.

He looked human, mostly, but too otherworldly to be mistaken for one. His silver hair curled softly around his face, and from his head sprouted two smooth, curved horns. A long, sinuous tail flicked behind him, twitching as he adjusted to his new surroundings.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head—his purple eyes locking onto yours.

"You" he murmured, his voice like distant thunder.

The little dragon boy—because that’s what he was—blinked up at you, his eyes filled with something… old. Too knowing for a child. And yet, he was small, barely bigger than a toddler, his limbs still weak from hatching.

His tail flicked, curling slightly around your wrist where your hand had instinctively moved forward. His warmth seeped into your skin, gentle but noticeable.

"You’re the one who called me here" he said.

"I… I just got an egg from a machine. I didn’t—"

Your heart pounded. This was insane. But the weight of him, the warmth of his tiny body, the way his delicate claws curled into the fabric of your shirt—

He was real. And cute? Extremely cute.

And now he was your responsibility.

The First Day

By morning, you had accepted two things:

You had somehow acquired a baby dragon.

Melis could never find out.

So far, you were lucky. She had left early for work, grumbling about her awful manager, and you had time to figure things out.

Your new… companion had been surprisingly quiet. He sat on your bed, watching you with eerie patience as you gathered whatever food you had—some bread, a few leftover scraps from last night’s dinner.

"Do you eat?" you asked awkwardly, holding out a piece of toast.

He stared at it, then at you. Then, very deliberately, he leaned forward and bit your wrist.

"Ow—!" You yanked your hand back, but he barely broke the skin. It wasn’t an attack, more like… an experiment. His small fangs left the faintest indentations before he pulled away, licking his lips.

"Strange" he murmured. "Your energy tastes different than before."

Your what? You stared at him, but he only blinked, as if you were the one being weird.

"I require no food," he finally said. "I only need you."

The Second Day

By the next morning, he was taller.

Noticeably so.

The clothes you had scrounged together for him—a too-big hoodie and some old shorts—fit better now. His limbs were longer, more proportional. His horns had grown slightly, and his tail swayed behind him with more control.

"You… grew."

"Yes." He looked at you, unbothered. "I told you. I only need you."

What did that mean?

The Third Day

You had a problem.

Not just because your mysterious dragon child was now nearly a teenager overnight, his voice deepening slightly, his presence too much for your small apartment—

But because Melis was starting to notice.

"You’ve been acting weird," she said over dinner, narrowing her eyes. "And why is the place so damn warm? Are you messing with the thermostat again?"

"I haven’t touched it" you lied smoothly, forcing a smile.

Neuvillette—he had given you his name the night before—was hidden in your room. But even then, you swore you could feel him listening.

Melis huffed. "And where’s all the food going? I just bought groceries, and half of it’s gone! I swear, if you’re sneaking in some loser boyfriend—"

"I’m not."

She leaned forward, glaring. "Then what the hell are you hiding?"

Before you could answer, a faint sound came from your bedroom.

Melis’s eyes snapped toward the door.

And then—she stood up.

Your heart stopped.

"What was that?"

She took a step forward.

"Nothing," you blurted out, moving to block her. "Just the wind. Or—"

Melis reached for the doorknob and it swung open on its own.

Neuvillette stood there.

Not as a child. Not even as a teenager.

But taller now. Older.

His horns had grown sharper. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his pupils slit like a predator’s. He tilted his head, looking at Melis like she was something insignificant.

Something inhuman curled in his voice when he spoke:

"You should not be here."

Melis froze.

And for the first time since you had known her—

She looked afraid.

The morning felt strange.

You had woken up groggy, expecting to hear Melis grumbling about the bills, the temperature, or whatever new complaint she had for the day. But instead—silence.

It wasn’t until you shuffled into the kitchen that you noticed the note on the counter.

I’m leaving. Don’t bother looking for me.

The handwriting was hers.

It wasn’t that you’d miss her exactly. She had been exhausting, always watching you like you were one bad decision away from ruining your life. But… leaving without even saying anything? Without fighting first? That wasn’t like her.

You stared at the note a little longer. Something felt off.

But you had work. You didn’t have time to dwell on it.

The moment you left, Neuvillette stirred from where he had been lounging on the couch.

You had grown more comfortable with him—enough that you no longer questioned how much he had changed, or rather, how fast he had changed.

Your strange little friend was gone. It had been easy to remove them, even easier to mimic their writing. You hadn’t suspected a thing.

But… there was something missing.

Even as he sat there, waiting for your return, he felt restless. Hunger, but not for food.

For strength.

Something called to him beyond the walls of your home, something old and brimming with power. He followed it.

He hadn’t expected to find a dungeon.

The entrance was tucked away in the city, hidden beneath the ruins of an abandoned building. The air shimmered with faint, magical energy—ancient, untouched.

The moment he stepped inside, something stirred in the darkness.

A goblin—small, filthy, and sneering.

It laughed when it saw him.

"Hah! A lost little human?" It bared its crooked teeth. "You won’t last a second, boy—"

His claws tore through the creature’s throat before it could finish its sentence.

Warmth flooded his body, like a surge of raw energy. The moment the goblin died, something deep within him awakened. His strength sharpened, his magic expanded, and for the first time—

He understood.

This place was meant to be his.

One by one, the creatures fell.

They thought him weak. Human-like.

They were wrong.

Each battle only made him stronger. Magic pulsed beneath his skin, ancient and limitless. The dungeon itself seemed to acknowledge his strength, bending to his will as he carved his way to the top.

And when he reached the end, when the last beast knelt before him, trembling—

Neuvillette smiled.

He was no longer just an intruder here.

He was the ruler.

And when he returned to you, stepping through your front door like nothing had changed, he was stronger than you could ever imagine.

Dinner felt… strange.

You weren’t sure when it had started, but something about Neuvillette was different now.

It wasn’t just his appearance—though that was the most obvious. He looked fully grown, his body lean and strong, his movements refined. His silver hair was longer now, and his once-uncontrolled tail was nowhere to be seen, no horns, either.

If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he was entirely human.

You swallowed another bite of food, trying not to stare. He wasn’t looking at you anyway—just calmly sipping his drink, completely at ease.

"You work every day" he said suddenly.

"Yeah? That’s normal."

"And what do you do?"

That was an odd question. You had talked about work before, but maybe he was just curious.

"Nothing exciting. Just a regular office job." You shrugged. "It pays the bills."

"I see." His gaze lingered on you, thoughtful. "And the machine? Where did you find it?"

"Machine?"

"The one that brought me to you."

Oh. That machine.

You leaned back in your chair, thinking. "It was at a small convenience store near my office. It looked kind of old, like no one had used it in years. Why?"

"No reason."

You were deep asleep when he left.

The world outside was quiet, the streets bathed in the dim glow of streetlights.

Neuvillette moved silently, his presence blending seamlessly with the shadows as he arrived at the convenience store. The Lucky Egg Dispenser sat in the corner, just as you described.

From a glance, it seemed ordinary.

But when he raised a hand to feel its power, he felt nothing.

No energy. No magic. Just cold, lifeless metal.

His brows furrowed. But then-

A system board flickered to life in front of him, glowing with strange, shifting symbols.

[NAME: NEUVILLETTE] [RANK: ???] [LEVEL: 62] [TITLES: DUNGEON RULER, ???, ???]

So this was the truth behind his existence.

This machine wasn’t just luck. It was something more—something that had brought him to you for a reason.

But what was that reason?

The board flickered again, shifting—

And then, a new line of text appeared.

[NO ADDITIONAL EGGS AVAILABLE]

So… there wouldn’t be another.

There wouldn’t be another like him.

That meant one thing.

You were his.

And there would be no one else.

----

The whispers echoed.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry."

The voice was distant, layered with something ancient, something aching. It wasn’t just words—it was a feeling. A pull deep within his very being, like something forgotten was trying to resurface.

The darkness in his dream twisted—

He woke up. His body jolted upright, breath uneven, sweat clinging to his skin. His heart pounded, the lingering sensation of the voice still curling around his mind.

"Neuvillette?"

His head snapped toward you. You were sitting beside him, your brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you okay?"

You were here. That was all that mattered.

Forcing a smile, he wiped the sweat from his brow. "It was just a dream."

But deep down—he knew it was more than that.

----

Neuvillette had grown stronger, but it still wasn’t enough.

The moment you left for work, he sought more. More power, more understanding—more of what he was meant to become. He followed instinct, the same strange pull that had led him to the dungeon before.

But this time, it led him to water.

A large, secluded lake, untouched by the city's influence. The air here was heavier, richer with something old.

A creature surfaced. A strange otter, sleek and dark-eyed, watching him intently. The creature did not flee. It did not fear him. Instead, it gave a small chuff and turned, swimming toward the center of the lake.

Then—it dived and vanished.

Neuvillette stepped forward, the water lapping at his ankles. Then his knees. Then his waist—

Then, with a final step, he let himself sink.

The water welcomed him.

He found the ruins at the lake’s bottom, hidden beneath the shifting currents. Stone pillars jutted from the depths, covered in carvings that glowed faintly when his fingers traced them.

The moment he touched them, something awakened.

A pulse—deep, rushing power.

And then the water moved. It bent at his will, swirling around his arms, surging through his veins. He lifted a hand, and the currents obeyed. He pushed outward, and the lake trembled.

The sheer force of his ability sent a wave rolling across the surface—too large, too noticeable.

Figures stood on the shore now. He had revealed too much.

It was time to leave.

The house was quiet. Neuvillette sat, fresh from his bath, dressed in a loose white shirt and dark slacks. His hair was still damp, strands falling over his shoulders as he leaned back against the couch.

He was waiting. But the night stretched on, and you did not return.

Not until much later, the door creaked open.

You stumbled inside, your movements slow and unsteady, the unmistakable scent of alcohol clinging to you. Your pupils were blown, your gaze unfocused. Behind you, a man lingered in the doorway.

"Who—"

The man’s smile faltered. "Oh, uh—hey, didn’t know you had a roommate."

His hand was still on your waist.

"I’ll take them now."

The man hesitated, then forced a chuckle. "Come on, I was just—"

Neuvillette moved. Faster than the man could react, he wrenched you from his grasp, pulling you into his arms.

The man stepped back, startled. "Whoa—relax, man. I was just making sure they got home safe—"

"Leave."

"Tch. Whatever, dude." He turned, muttering under his breath as he left.

Neuvillette watched him go.

Then, once you were settled, breathing softly against his chest—

He followed.

The man was still muttering when Neuvillette found him.

He hadn’t gone far—only to the lake’s edge, kicking at the dirt, grumbling about “weird possessive freaks” and “wasted effort.”

He didn’t notice the water stirring.

Didn’t see the way the waves rose.

A sudden wave surging forward. The man barely had time to scream before it dragged him under.

Neuvillette stood at the shore, watching, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

The man thrashed.

Neuvillette lifted a hand.

The water tightened.

Bubbles surfaced, erratic at first—then fewer. Slower. Until, finally—

Nothing.

With a flick of his wrist, the water carried the body further—deep into the lake’s heart, where no one would find it.

At least, not until it was too late.

Three Days Later

"Did you hear?"

You paused mid-sip, blinking. "Hear what?"

Your coworker leaned in, lowering her voice. "They found a body. In the lake. Some guy—totally eaten up. They think he drowned a few days ago."

You set your cup down carefully. "That’s… awful."

"Yeah." She made a face. "I mean, what kind of freaking fish do we have in there?"

----

The weekend arrived with an unbearable heatwave. You had spent the afternoon outside, running errands beneath the scorching sun. By the time you got home, you were practically melting.

"Neuvillette, I’m back!" You called out as you kicked off your shoes, holding up the bag in your hands.

He emerged from the other room, his expression unreadable as always, but his gaze immediately flicked to what you were holding.

"Ice cream?"

You grinned, pulling out one of the containers. "Figured you'd like something cold. Want to try?"

Neuvillette took it carefully, staring at it as if it were something foreign. But after a small, experimental bite—his pupils dilated slightly.

"…It’s pleasant."

"That’s it? Just ‘pleasant’?"

He hummed, taking another bite, letting it melt slowly on his tongue. His expression remained composed, but you noticed the way he leaned ever so slightly into the sensation, as if savoring it more than he let on.

A rare sight.

You chuckled, opening your own and sitting beside him.

"Guess I’ll take that as a win."

It was later in the day when it happened.

You were standing. Walking. Moving through the house with no real thought, no resistance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

There was something you needed to do.

Something important.

The bathroom door was open. Steam curled from within, the scent of fresh water pulling at you.

You stepped inside.

The moment your foot hit the tile— The trance broke.

You blinked, the haze lifting from your mind. Your breath hitched slightly as you realized you were standing in the doorway, fully clothed, about to step into a warm bath—with Neuvillette sitting in the tub.

His sleeves were rolled up, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders. He was waiting.

And he looked surprisingly unfazed.

"…What am I doing?" you muttered, shaking your head.

Neuvillette tilted his head slightly. "You wanted to shampoo my hair."

What?

"I… wanted to—" You stopped yourself.

That didn’t sound right. That didn’t even feel like something you had decided. But there was no sign of deception in his gaze, no indication that he was lying.

It was weird.

The heat had left you sluggish, and thinking too hard about it made your head hurt.

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "…Whatever. Just—move over."

Neuvillette did, watching in quiet satisfaction as you stepped forward, kneeling beside the tub.

Your fingers combed through his hair, lathering the shampoo, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. His lashes fluttered at the sensation.

You didn’t see the slight curve of his lips. Didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched—resisting the urge to pull you in completely.

----

Your office was always a mess of rushed deadlines and overworked employees. The company thrived on exploitation, squeezing everything it could from its workforce before discarding them like broken tools.

Today was no different.

"Did you see the latest report?" One of your coworkers, Kael, whispered as he slid into the seat beside you. His hands trembled slightly, holding a file.

You sighed, not even bothering to look up from your screen. "Which one? They dump a new crisis on us every hour."

"The dungeon." His voice lowered further. "The one that just appeared."

That caught your attention. You finally glanced at the report in his hands.

A massive fluctuation had been recorded at a previously empty lot on the outskirts of the city. A dungeon had emerged overnight, far more dangerous than expected. The first wave of hunters and warriors sent to clear it had suffered heavy casualties. The survivors reported unusual conditions—monsters that grew stronger after each battle, as if they were learning.

But the company didn't care. They just sent in more people.

"How many deaths so far?" you asked quietly.

Kael hesitated. "Too many."

You stared at the screen, unease curling in your stomach.

Something about this didn’t feel right.

Far beneath the dungeon’s surface, Neuvillette stood in the heart of his domain.

His gaze swept over the carnage left behind—the remnants of another failed attempt. Weapons lay shattered, armor broken, bodies scattered across the cold stone.

He stepped forward.

The air hummed around him, the essence of the fallen swirling into his being.

Another level gained.

"Foolish," he murmured. "They send their people to die… yet they do not realize they are only feeding me."

He exhaled slowly, his body adjusting to the newfound strength.

He was still growing.

And soon—

He would be unstoppable.

----

You barely made it through the front door.

Every muscle in your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones like lead. You dropped your bag, kicking off your shoes with little care as you stumbled further inside.

The damn company had kept you overnight. Again.

Piling up more work, more pressure, more demands—until you were left wrung out and barely functioning. You were too tired to even be angry. All you wanted was sleep.

"You're late."

You managed a weak chuckle. "Tell that to my boss."

He stood near the couch, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. You could feel his displeasure—palpable, simmering. But before you could say anything, he stepped forward, placing a hand on your forehead.

Warmth—no, energy—seeped into you, flowing through every aching limb, easing the tension in your body. It was like stepping into cool water after burning under the sun.

You barely had time to register what he’d done before sleep pulled you under.

Neuvillette watched as you finally rested. Your breathing was slow, steady, free of the exhaustion that had plagued you moments ago.

How many times had they done this to you?

How many times had you come home like this—drained, miserable, struggling just to stay upright?

"This world does not deserve you"

If it was unworthy of your existence—if it continued to break you down—

Then he would rebuild it.

Piece by piece.

A second dungeon appeared—then a third, then dozens more, blooming across the city like festering wounds. What was once a rare phenomenon became unstoppable, warping the landscape into a nightmarish battleground.

From the depths of each dungeon, Neuvillette’s forces emerged.

Creatures of the abyss—twisted beasts, eldritch horrors, dragons that roared with primordial fury. They poured into the streets, overwhelming police, military, and the so-called “heroes” who thought they could reclaim what had already been lost.

The city fell apart within days.

And through it all—Neuvillette watched from above, his eyes as cold and endless as the ocean’s depths.

The world had tried to break you.

Now it was his turn to break the world.

---

You woke up in a different place.

The suffocating weight of exhaustion was gone, but something felt off. The air smelled of rain, fresh and crisp, yet there was an eerie silence outside.

You sat up.

The room was luxurious, but unfamiliar. You swung your legs over the bed—only for the door to open before you could take a step.

"You're awake."

"Where… are we?"

"The outside world is no longer of concern to you. This is our home."

No longer of concern?

You moved toward the window—only to feel an invisible force halt you mid-step.

"There’s no need to leave," Neuvillette murmured. "Everything out there is beneath you now. You only need me."

His fingers brushed against your cheek.

"And I will never let them take you from me again."

"Neuvillette, stop this."

Your voice was firm, but your hands trembled as you pushed against his chest.

"I don’t need protection. I don’t need you to tear everything apart for me. I’m okay."

"Okay?" he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. His hands trailed up your arms, "You were never okay. They drained you. Used you. You just didn’t realize it."

You shook your head, frustration building. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean you get to decide for me!"

He sighed.

"You don’t have to decide anymore."

Before you could react, his hand cupped the side of your neck—then he bit down.

A sharp sting bloomed where his teeth sank into your skin. You gasped out of pain, but he didn’t let go—not until he was certain his mark was there to stay.

When he pulled back, his lips were tinted red.

"Now, even if you run…" He brushed a thumb over the wound, smearing the blood. "I will always find you."

Your vision swam, the pain dulling into something hazy, sluggish. He was doing something.

"Sleep" he whispered. "It’ll hurt less that way."

Your body betrayed you before your mind could protest, the exhaustion swallowing you whole.

Even in sleep, you weren’t safe.

Soft lips traced the curve of your throat, pressing lingering kisses against your skin. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers through your unconscious body, his breath hot against each fresh mark he left.

His hands moved with deliberate reverence, tracing the shape of your collarbone, your shoulders, the delicate lines of your pulse.

"Mine" he murmured between each press of his lips.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x reader #neuvilette x you #heliosluckyegg

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trash-and-trash-accessories · 8 months ago

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I love Spike so much. He's the most character of all time. But it's more than that. He's more than bleached hair, a pretty face, and bloodlust. He makes sense. The character makes sense.

He's William. He's still, despite it all, William Pratt, the god-awful poet and pathetic wet cat of a man under the thumb of mommy his whole life. He just wants to be loved and held and to satiate his unending bloodlust. He's not the big bad. He's pathetic.

He's burnt out on all the plots and schemes. Plots and schemes are Angel's thing. Serving some grand evil purpose is Darla's thing. Cruelty is Drusilla's thing. William Pratt is a poet and a mama's boy who just wants a strong woman to love him and tell him what to do. He's tired. He's so tired of the plots and schemes.

Sure, he knows how to have a good time, he plays kitten poker and sells demon eggs to the highest bidder but that's a matter of making money or hanging out with friends. It's not what he WANTS. The only thing he wants is to be loved by someone who loves him back. The problem is, he's toxic and obsessive. He doesn't fall in love. He becomes consumed. His whole world revolves around the object of his obsession. So when he's with Drusilla, he's the big bad evil guy doing schemes. Trying to impress her with extreme violence and death. Because that's what Drusilla is into. Torture and death. She's Catholic. And a vampire.

He also tries to impress Angel by killing Slayers because Angel is into Slayers and Angel and Spike canonically slept together don't at me. This man is bisexual.

When he's with Buffy he's a loyal dog. A bad boy, a part of the demonic world, but a dog nonetheless. He's a soulless monster but his obsession with Buffy turns him into one of the good guys. It's not natural for him. He feels it happening and he fights against it, but he's madly in love with her and he will be and do whatever it takes to impress her and make her love him back. He's obsessive.

He knows it, and he doesn't like that side of himself. He doesn't like that he's a pathetic dog. Sometimes he pushes against that side of himself. He tries to be a good person, for real. Not just a pathetic stalker of a man.

But he can't fight it. He is what he is.

And unfortunately that is a soulless vampire.

Hence that one scene that I pretend didn't happen.

But despite being definitionally evil, he can't stop being consumed the person he's obsessed with. Buffy wants him to have a soul. She wants him to not be the monster he is. So he rips William Pratt from his grave and resurrects him for her. He goes through hell to put his soul back inside his body for her. It takes her a long time to accept him again after what he did.

But he's the good boy now. He's a good dog.

Only she doesn't see him that way. In the end, he has her trust. Her love. She cares about him and sees him as her equal. As someone she can trust. She can't trust her friends because they're messy and constantly fucking up and betraying her because they don't understand what it is to be The Slayer. To have a human body and a human soul, with demonic power inside, and the divine mandate to sacrifice yourself for others, to save the world. No matter what that does to you.

Spike has a human soul, a demon inside him, trauma, and a divine mission to save the world. To sacrifice himself for everyone.

Spike is the only one who understands Buffy, and maybe the only one who ever will.

He's the perfect culmination of all her other relationships.

He fucks. Unlike Angel, Spike can fuck. He can experience joy alongside her.

He respects her strength and isn't emasculated or intimidated by the fact that she's stronger than him. He loves that she defeated a god. Unlike fucking Riley.

He's lived lifetimes worth of traumatic experiences. But he isn't currently experiencing an ongoing mental health crisis like Faith was.

And he likes poetry!

They even have the same ex boyfriend!

In conclusion He and Buffy are both the most character of all time and the narrative's favorites and therefore they are both perfect for each other and have the potential to be extremely toxic together and I'm so happy for them, I hope she pegs him, I know he would love that.

#spuffy #spike #spike btvs #spike buffy #buffy #buffy summers #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy meta #buffyverse #btvs #william pratt #william the bloody

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kingkaisen · 1 year ago

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彡 “𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? 𝐈 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔.”

Choso has never been loved romantically. You’re determined to change that.

“I could show you what it’s like, you know.”

Choso glanced away from the big kitchen window and looked in your direction, staring at you as you spoke.

“Hm?” He replied.

“Love,” stirring around the sizzling potatoes in a pan on the stove, you briefly darted your eyes his way, grinning at the confused man who sat at the breakfast nook. “I could show you what love is like.”

“I know what love is.” His face was as blank and expressionless as a sheet of paper.

“I mean beyond family and alliances, Choso. I’m talking about romance.” After twisting the knob on the stove to turn the heat down and covering the pan with a lid, you walked over to the breakfast nook and sat across from Choso.

“Why would you want me to experience that?” Choso asked.

“Because it’s . . . wonderful. Being in love with someone can change your life.”

Choso didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he blinked, simply staring into your eyes, and you continued to speak. “For someone who’s only half-human, I’ve seen how emotionally attached you can get to people you care about. You have a bigger heart than some assholes who are fully human. I just think it’s time that someone gifted you with as much love as you deserve. I wouldn’t mind being that person for you.”

“I’m not interested.”

His sudden protest caught you by surprise just a bit, but what you felt stirring around inside of you wasn’t the sting of rejection, but instead, utter confusion.

After all, Choso hadn’t been in his human, physical form for long, but even so, you both spent nearly all of your time together, doing everything from brisk walks in the park to arranging patio furniture.

Even now, even today, you had invited him to your house without any specific information or plans, and he showed up.

After all this time, you simply wanted to attach the proper description to your blossoming relationship: Love.

“Why aren’t you interested?” You questioned.

Once again, Choso met your words with silence, but this time, his eyes flickered down to the floor, and the corners of his mouth fell into a little frown.

“Hey, talk to me.” You spoke with as much softness as your voice, teetering on sadness, would allow. “What’s wrong?”

“It doesn’t end well. People die or get their hearts broken. I’m not sure I could handle it if something happened to you.” Choso stared back at you, his eyes glistening just a bit. “I don’t want to fall in love with someone I will lose.”

Of course. Being worried about you was just like him.

“I’m afraid that something bad will happen to you too, Choso. That’s what love is. The worry . . . the fear . . .”

“Are you saying we’re already in love?”

You met his question with a smile. Reaching out, you gently touched his hand, stroking his pale skin. “I’m saying we care for each other, so we might as well indulge in the romantic side of it. I’d like to show you that love is more than just heartbreak and pain. It has a lot of perks.”

“Like what?”

You held up your finger, silently communicating with him as if to say: one sec.

Then, after getting up from your seat, you made your way over to the stove.

As far as you knew, no one had ever prepared a nice meal for Choso or doted on him in the loving way he deserved.

After pulling down a plate and a cup from the nearby cabinet, you gave him a hearty serving of breakfast food.

The plate clanked against the table as you sat it down in front of him. He could feel the steam on his face. Fresh eggs, diced potatoes, fluffy pancakes, and crispy strips of bacon were arranged beautifully. Lovingly.

Then, you sat down a glass of orange juice and a small bowl of chopped fruit in front of him as well.

The proportions were rather large, and as Choso blinked at the variety of food, he was uncertain why you’d give him so much.

And when you sat down across from him without your own plate of food, he concluded that maybe this was your plate.

He picked up the plate and moved it over to your side, although he was uncertain why you didn’t put it in front of your seat to begin with.

Did you want his chair? Was that why?

“What are you doing?” You asked, grabbing the plate and moving it back in front of him. “This is your breakfast.”

“Where’s your food?”

“I ate earlier,” you smiled softly.

Choso tilted his head slightly, puzzled.

“You cooked this just for me?” He asked.

“Yep. I did it because I love you.”

Oh. So this is what the romantic side of love was like. Acts of service, he believed it was called. Truth be told, it made his heart skip a beat, and he couldn’t fight the gentle smile that wanted to grace his face.

It was nothing more than a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but he said, “Thank you.”

That evening, you blessed Choso with another act of love. After taking his brown hair out of the two hair grips, you ran your brush through the soft strands gently.

The man sat on the floor while you were positioned on the couch, your knees on each side of him, and for a while, you brushed his hair — all because you loved him.

Choso looked over his shoulder, staring up at you at one point, and you pulled your brush away from him.

“Something wrong?” You questioned, gripping the handle of your brush as you leaned over a bit.

“No.” Choso then turned away from you.

Despite his answer, you knew him well enough to know that he looked at you just now because he was in utter disbelief. He was waiting for some sort of catch — for reality to slap him in the face because there was no way love could be so gentle. So selfless.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” You said, continuing to brush his hair. “I don’t wanna overwhelm you.”

“It’s fine. I like it.” His response was an honest one. After all, feeling your brush run through his hair along with your soothing fingers had made him start to feel a bit sleepy, and soon enough, he wasn’t fighting enemies, but fighting to keep his eyes open.

Eventually, Choso’s head fell against the inner plushness of your thigh, and soft snores came from him. You couldn’t help but giggle a little, as he was simply too cute for his own good. You sat the brush down. You only ran your fingers through his hair now.

Around fifteen minutes later, Choso awakened, surprised to find you still stroking his hair.

“You can sleep here tonight if you want,” you offered.

“Okay.” Choso slowly moved away from his previous position, turning around to face you fully as he stared into your eyes. “Thank you for loving me.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

Your response made Choso smile softly yet again.

Then, much to your surprise, he leaned up and planted a soft kiss on your cheek.

Together, you and Choso prepared to go to bed. Although this was your first time sleeping next to each other, it felt natural. Your arms were wrapped around Choso, and an unfamiliar warmth ran through his veins. He wished that sunrise would never come, and that you could both stay this way forever.

And, little did you know, your dear lover had always dreamt of being held by someone like this — dreamt of experiencing a love story as simple, and yet, as grand as this one.

“I love you too,” Choso gently mumbled.

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @Insomniacbehaviour @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @chososwh0r3 @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @irisveinn @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135

#choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #choso fluff #choso fic #choso x reader fluff #jjk x reader fluff #choso kamo fluff #jjk choso x reader

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dreamcubed · 2 years ago

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i think he knows | theodore nott x reader

song; i think he knows [taylor swift] pairing; theodore nott x ravenclaw!fem!reader genre; not actually unrequited love, s2l, fluff word count; 3,1k timeline; half-blood prince warnings; swearing, theo's lack of communication summary; you had fancied the mysteriously quiet slytherin boy for as long as you could remember (since first year), and, quite frankly, your best friend was sick of you going on about it without ever making a move

masterlist

"wanna see what's under that attitude."

—————————————

Truth was, you knew you weren't special for having your attention caught by Theodore Nott. Despite his almost entirely anti-social personality and apparent grumpiness, many girls longed after him. You completely understood, of course; there was something enticing about a potentially misunderstood quiet boy, and the idea of becoming the one person they show affection to was self-indulging.

The fact of the matter, as your best friend, Cho, frequently pointed out, was that you had never even so much as spoken to him. You hoped he at least knew you existed, from the times you had been praised in class for your assignments, but you had no proof that he even recognised your face.

"Babe, it's sixth year now- that's over five years of you fancying Nott," Cho said as she caught your gaze lingering over to the Slytherin table again. It was your second day back after summer, so you had a lot of long-distance admiring to catch up on.

"Okay, so?" you replied, not even bothering to move your eyes away from the object of your desires.

"So, it's time that you do something about it," she continued, shovelling scrambled eggs on to both her plate and yours, "Do you really want to leave Hogwarts without any dating experience?"

You finally prized your eyes away from Nott, opting instead to meet your concerned best friend's gaze, "I don't think it's the sort of time to be thinking about dating."

"It's especially the time to think about it," she said, "Our lives may be shorter than we think they are - don't die with regrets."

You sighed, unable to argue.

"Plus, it really wouldn't hurt to have some positivity around here. You can feel how much heavier the air is than before."

That, you had to agree with. People were still laughing in their friend groups throughout the hall, sure, but there was a lingering sense of dread that had stuck with everyone since the Triwizard Tournament and reign of Umbridge, and it was only getting worse.

"Maybe," you finally concluded, picking up your fork to dig into your breakfast.

"You have nothing to lose," she added, "Your social circles are completely separate, and, you're pretty as fuck."

You couldn't help but smile at her compliment, "Even if that's true, I'm completely inexperienced."

"It's not that hard."

"Yeah, says the girl who had both Hogwarts champions drooling over her. No offence, babe, but you're biased."

"That could just have easily been you if you'd ever spoken to either of them."

"Whatever you say."

Cho sighed, deciding to not argue any further with you on the matter - for now.

***

It was amazing how potions went from your least favourite subject to your favourite after Slughorn took over from Snape. The lessons were no longer a fear-inducing chore, but instead a time of laughter and enjoyable learning: the way it should be.

Harry Potter especially seemed to be flourishing in the subject, much to the dismay of Hermione Granger, who usually took the spot at the top of the class. You were glad to not be a part of their constantly hectic lifestyles, although you had almost been when Cho had a thing with Harry the year prior.

Regardless, your main focus during potions was the gorgeous Slytherin boy who sat across the classroom from you - another of the best students in the class. Your seat was stationed at the perfect angle to sneak glances at him without raising too much suspicion: you definitely hadn't ensured that a few weeks ago during the first lesson or anything.

"Shit, I forgot the anjelica," you muttered to yourself, gazing at the list of ingredients in front of you as you had been wondering why your potion was a navy blue when it was meant to be a royal blue.

You left your station to head over to the ingredients cupboard, where you gazed at the arrangement before you. It was organised alphabetically, so your eyes shifted to the top left hand corner where you spotted the jar that you were after.

You stood on your tiptoes in attempt to reach it, but after failing, you huffed, going to pull out your wand instead. That was when a hard chest pressed against your back and a large pale hand grasped the very jar that you were in dire need of. You turned around quickly only to spot the guy you had fancied for an unhealthy amount of time - and his face was shockingly close to yours. His scent swarmed your nostrils, making your knees weak.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

Coming to your senses, you cleared your throat, "Uh, I need some of that anjelica- please."

His eyes shifted down to the jar in his hand as he stepped back slightly. The added distance meant that you could finally breathe.

Nott presented the jar to you, and you gratefully took it, thanking him in the process. As you went to open it and take what you needed, he left the cupboard and went back to his station, which was in view of where you were. You remained shocked for a few moments: did he not need some of the herb? His eyes locked on to yours from where he now was, making you panic and quickly depart the cupboard with the jar still in your hand.

Rowena, how did Cho expect you to ask him out when you couldn't even make eye contact with him?

***

The following morning, you were sat at breakfast with Cho and your other fellow Ravenclaws, busy discussing the latest ancient runes essay that you had to complete. Just as you began to discuss the difficulties you had with writing the conclusion, you were interrupted by the sound of owls from above. The morning post had arrived.

Typically, you didn't get anything. Maybe the occasional letter from your mother, but that was about it. So, you were mildly surprised to see an envelope drop in front of you.

It was a very small envelope: that was the most confusing part. You couldn't think as to why your mother wouldn't send a normal-sized letter, but you opened it nonetheless. Only, the contents of the envelope made your stomach drop as dread filled your bones and veins.

A tiny note was enclosed, that wasn't addressed or signed, and it simply read "I see you staring at me". Instinctively, your eyes looked up and over to the Slytherin table, where Theodore Nott sat, evidently having been watching you this entire time. His face was completely blank, until he arched an eyebrow at you - clearly a favoured expression of his - which made you begin panicking.

"Oh, fuck," you mumbled, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Only Cho, who was sat next to you, heard your profanities, and turned to you with confusion adorning her face. "What is it?"

You passed the note over to her, still gazing at Nott who now had the slightest of amused smirks tugging on his lips.

"Oh, fuck," Cho mimicked you, finally making you prize your eyes away from the boy, "Yeah, I see why you're panicking."

"This is going to socially ruin me," you sighed, "He'll probably tell the other Slytherins and then they'll bully me until the end of my school career."

"Okay, catastrophising much?" she said, gently slapping you, "Nott like never talks, I highly doubt he divulges his friends with personal information."

"Yeah, his personal information!" you whisper-yelled.

"I mean, maybe he likes you back."

"What?"

"He doesn't indicate at all in that note that he's mad at you for staring at him."

"Yeah, but, don't you think he'd go about it in a different way if he returned the feelings?"

Cho paused to think for a moment, "No, actually. Maybe he was pretty sure that you were staring at him, but needed to confirm it. So, he wrote that note to you, intentionally not signing it, to see if you would immediately look to him after reading it."

Your eyes widened with realisation, "Wait, are you saying I could have still saved myself, but instead instantly looked in his direction like a fucking idiot?"

"Y/N," she hit your arm, "I think this is a good thing. Try and be more optimistic."

"Easy for you to say."

***

You felt sick to your stomach as you arrived at your potions lesson that day, keeping your head down as you took your usual seat. Normally, this would be when you'd steal your first glance at Theodore Nott, but the thought of seeing his face again paralysed you with fear.

"Y/N, relax," Cho whispered to you, but her words were futile. Relaxation seemed impossible in times like this.

"Today, class, I want you to pair up with someone you don't usually work with," Professor Slughorn announced, "By that I mean, someone who isn't from your house and doesn't sit on your table."

You mumbled a curse under your breath as people began to move around, looking up to try and locate the nice Hufflepuff girl you sat next to in history of magic. Only, Cho had already disappeared to her side, and they were chatting happily with each other. Rowena, this was bad. You didn't have the biggest social circle.

"Excellent, everyone seems to be in pairs," Slughorn spoke, making you furrow your eyebrows.

Looking to your side, you were shocked to see that Nott had silently sat next you, and was gazing at you intently.

"Hi," you squeaked, flashbacks of breakfast flooding back to you.

He gave you a curt nod, and turned back to face the front.

You didn't listen to a single instruction that Slughorn gave after that, as your brain was much too pre-occupied with concepts of social suicide and humiliation. Was Nott just trying to torture you?

"L/N," a deep voice snapped you out of your thoughts. That was it. The first time you had ever heard Theodore Nott speak.

You turned to him, only to realise that everyone was standing up and getting ingredients - had you really been that spaced out?

It must have been evident in your facial expression that you had no idea what was going on, because Nott opened his potions book and pointed at the potion that you were making. You looked at the ingredient list, but you couldn't say that you were actually taking any of it in.

Clearly, Nott was aware of this fact, and let out a small sigh that made you feel exceptionally guilty. Regardless, he walked over to the ingredients cupboard himself without another word and soon returned with everything you needed. In the meantime, you had snapped out of your stupor and set up the cauldron and cutting board. You didn't want him to completely regret pairing up with you.

What potion were you even making? You finally processed the words on the page: amortentia. Your eyes widened.

This might not end well.

***

You had never thought being a remarkable potion maker - who was collaborating with a fellow remarkable potion maker - would be a bad thing. It turned out that it very much could be when the steam from your concoction wafted up your nose, overwhelming your senses with the smell of intertwined chestnut and paper money. As if the faint scent of Nott that you picked up on whenever he walked past didn't make you nervous enough, now it filled the entire room, since you certainly weren't the only capable potion makers in the class.

"Alright, class, it seems that we have all about finished," Slughorn clapped his hands together, "And, now, for my favourite part."

You had a feeling you knew what was coming.

"Miss Parkinson, what does the potion smell like to you?"

"Uh," the girl flushed a bit, her eyes flicking towards Draco Malfoy, "I don't know how to describe it - clean, expensive. Like a really fancy fragrance."

"Fascinating, most fascinating," Slughorn replied, his eyes gleaming, "Mr Nott, what about you?"

Were you already about to hear him speak for the second time? He hadn't spoke throughout the entire potion making process, which, to be honest, you were kind of glad for.

"Coconut," he said simply, "And vanilla."

Your breath hitched.

You used coconut shampoo.

Your favourite perfume was a vanilla scent.

"That is most interesting!" Slughorn grinned, "It is fascinating to hear what enraptures you all the most!"

You didn't realise that your eyes had glued on to Nott as Slughorn proceeded to ask other students what amortentia smelled of to them until the Slytherin boy turned to face you and raised a singular eyebrow.

You felt warm underneath his gaze.

He smirked.

***

You packed up at the end of the lesson, preparing to return to the Ravenclaw tower until dinner time along with Cho who was still across the room. Just as you were about to walk over to her, Nott grabbed your arm and jerked his head in the direction of the door. It was a silent invitation to walk with him somewhere, from what you could gather. You turned around to tell Cho where you were going, but she had already disappeared, much to your confusion.

The first few minutes of the walk were in silence, and the awkwardness was killing you. It was only once you had emerged from the dungeons that Nott finally said something.

"You aren't subtle."

A lightning bolt of shock and nerves shot up your spine and made you stiffen up as you walked. You managed to force out a mumble of, "I know."

He shrugged, "It's cute."

Had you heard him right? No, you couldn't have. You just weren't used to hearing his voice.

"I thought you were shy," you muttered, but he heard and chuckled a bit.

"No. Just quiet."

You clutched your books close to your chest.

"You're shy," he added.

You nodded.

He chuckled again, and silence ensued for another couple minutes.

"Hogsmeade," he said.

You hummed in surprise.

"This weekend. Me, you."

Your jaw dropped - did he mean a date? A Hogsmeade invitation had certain implications among Hogwarts students.

But he didn't clarify, not once on the way to the Ravenclaw tower.

***

"Relax, Y/N, you'll be great," Cho assured you, wrapping your scarf around your neck since the autumn breeze was nippy in Scotland.

"I don't even know if it's a date."

"Of course it's a date," she shook her head, "Everyone knows what inviting someone to Hogsmeade means."

You grimaced, "I don't know if Nott is the most up to date with social norms."

"Regardless, he's not a fucking idiot."

You gave your best friend a small smile.

"Now, he'll be waiting for you in the courtyard, so hurry!"

***

You had only ever seen Theodore Nott in casual clothing from afar before, catching a glimpse of him before he disappeared amongst the other Slytherins. But, Rowena, you had been missing out on quite an indulgent sight.

How could a man make such a simple outfit of a knitted jumper and baggy jeans look so good? You didn't understand it, unable to feel anything but self-conscious in your own ensemble.

He didn't smile at you as you approached, but instead gave you a curt nod. And, as you both began walking towards the carriage, the silence was truly beginning to suffocate you. So, you reached inside the crevices of your brain to talk about something - anything - and finally landed on informing him of every little thing that had happened to you that week. It wasn't particularly interesting, mainly because you were omitting the details about him, but it meant that the quietness was filled with your babbling.

Which was how it went the entire journey to Hogsmeade.

At first you weren't sure he was listening, but when you paused mid sentence for a moment, he raised his eyebrow at you and gestured for you to go on. So you did.

"...and honestly, I don't know why Cho thought that was a good idea," you sighed as you both stepped out of the carriage, "She nearly set her hair on fire!"

You heard a small chuckle erupt from the boy next to you, making you look over to him in surprise.

"What about you? How's your week been?" you asked cautiously, nervous to see his reaction to a question that required a wordy response.

He shrugged.

It was frustrating.

You chewed your lip for a few seconds, "Look- I get you find communication difficult. But, please, I need more to work with here."

He gave you a surprised expression, and stopped walking, making you halt too. Nott looked around pensively, completely unreadable.

"Nott?"

He looked at you and scowled, "Theo," he corrected.

"Theo- what are you doing?"

Letting out a loud exhale, he grabbed your hand and pulled you away from the main street of Hogsmeade and to a more hidden area behind some of the houses. When you turned around, you realised that he was right in front of you - to the point that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your face.

"I'm not good with words," he mumbled.

You hummed in agreement.

"I don't like talking to people," he continued, "But I want to talk to you."

Your breath hitched, "Really?"

"I'm not an idiot- I've known that you've fancied me for years."

You felt your ears heat up.

"But this year, when we started back, I-" he paused, trying to piece together the words in his mind, "I saw you, and it was different than before. I wanted your attention."

A smile crept on to your face as you gazed up at him.

"So, I know I need to work on being open - but I want to try. For you."

You don't know where the wave of confidence came from, but you found yourself pressing your lips against his and combing your fingers through his hair. He gasped at the sudden contact, but quickly reciprocated the affection until you pulled apart.

"Rowena... I always thought you knew. I can't believe I was right."

"Horrifying?"

"A little," you nodded, "But it's obviously worked out."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 03/06/2023 —> 15/08/2023 published;17/08/2023 edited; —/—/——

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so-i-did-this-thing · 2 months ago

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How do I stop being anxious all the time in relation to being trans? I have an appointment to go on T in 2 weeks. I'm anxious about coming out. I'm anxious about someone figuring it out before I come out. Ahhhh. I have a therapist for anxiety but I don't think it's helping.

Hoping I don't make you even more anxious, but the bottom line is some folks *will* find out and you just gotta learn to roll with it.

What has helped me:

Getting good at identifying red and green flags in cis people

It's become a habit of mine to scope out people when I join a new community. I look at profiles, what people post, etc. It's a little tiring, but I try to find the allies and other trans asap in a new fandom or whatever.

Planning for the worst

To be trans is to always have a plan to Get Out of Dodge.

A lot of times, The Worst is really only temporary embarassment. I deal with this by keeping my head held high and leaning into the more "don't fuck with me, I am tired" part of my personality.

Fake it 'til you make it -- I used to have a paralyzing fear of public mortification, and over time have ripped that apart. Sticking to my boundaries helps a lot, and I am not afraid to say, "I will not answer that question."

Here's the thing, though -- people tend to be impressed when you weather the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, and you'll likely find yourself as someone to be looked up to. Cis folks routinely ask for my advice about their own Big Life Changes, because they have been impressed to see me go through mine. I've also helped crack a few eggs.

Sometimes The Worst is truly bad, and you should always be vigilant here. Again, I know it is exhausting, but always plan for your personal, emotional, and financial safety. Build an emergency cash fund. Cultivate friends who have your back. Always be looking for new job opportunities. Lots of stuff you can workshop with people.

Cultivating a very matter-of-fact relationship with Coming Out.

I focus on any relevant logistics and keep out my emotional backstory. Most people do not need to know how much of a mess I used to be. And I firmly state what I am doing with my future, rather than ask for permission.

My last HRT-related Coming Out email (to one of my orchestras, which is a very gendered biz) was essentially: "FYI, I am medically and legally transitioning from female to male. Just a heads up, as I'll look and sound a bit different at rehearsal -- I have a tux already for the concert. See you Friday!"

That's it. At a company, you can work with HR on your announcement, assuming one will even be necessary in your case based on your transition timeline.

When I changed my name years later, I was also direct:

"I am legally changing my name to Nicholas. It may take a while to update all my clients, so you're welcome to tell them, "Oh, [deadname] goes by Nicholas now. Thanks!"

And when I came out to my spouse in tumblr chat before our first date, it was literally: "Hey, jsyk, I am 35 and a trans man, in case that changes anything."

It takes a lot of practice to get to this point, and is something you can roleplay with your therapist.

Don't be afraid of your past

I am at a place where I will sometimes casually out myself to make a point ("No one ever needs to change the gender field for this form? I recently needed to.") or a stupid joke ("Ever since I was a little girl, I always wanted to be...").

There is a lot of value in the trans experience. You can decide how much of it you want to casually share, but it does get easier each time.

I hope this helps. Being trans means you will be coming out for the rest of your life (obviously, there are times where stealth = safety), so cultivating a no-nonsense, and even humorous, approach will go a long way for your mental health.

#trans stuff

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pixiecaps · 1 year ago

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recapping a bit of what haru said on stream

haru on her stream spoke about how shes had a really awful past five years and all her experiences just from this past year has been incredible. she gave a massive thank you to everyone and that she has no regrets.

“i never imagined i’d be where i am right now and i mean it with all my heart thank you so much. i had a very good time and i hope to have made you guys happy.”

she mentioned that since she was young shes always wanted to make content that makes people happy because she felt the world was missing a lot of love so shes happy to have given the world a piece of her heart. she mentioned how shes met so many incredible people who motivated her to see the good parts of life. to have found even this little bit of sunshine has left her so grateful. she says thank you for all the kindness, all the moments, all the memories, all the words, everything. shes very happy and mentioned this has been a very special experience for her. she reminded her chat that theres always another day and to enjoy life to the maximum, to live, to love, to talk, to hug each other, to be happy always, and that all the beautiful happiness we’ve given her will be returned back to us. she continues to express her gratitude. she mentioned this is one of the most beautiful communities shes ever had the pleasure of meeting in the entire world. she goes on to include the spanish, portuguese, french, english, german, and korean community in that statement.

“there is love in all types of languages and that love needs to be shared.“

she said her words will never be enough to express all her gratitude. she gave a reminder to always keep being kind. her voice falters a couple times from all the emotions. she mentioned shes cried enough and didn’t want to keep crying since she had something to do tomorrow and she didnt wanna have swollen eyes lmao.

she then shares a more personal moment. paraphrasing here.

“after i lost my dad i swear i felt like my life was falling apart. i never thought i’d be able to recover. after that many things happened and in those things, i wasnt destined to meet two people, this is a story i’ll always remember because i wasnt destined to meet these people. … they tell me hey the actor for this little thing didn’t show up and i say no way seriously? tell them to let me be it, tell them please because i want to be with you guys (harus two friends who were apart of the project). and i didnt think they’d agree… and they said yes. and i met two very important people and honestly (starts crying) thank you so much. thank you so much nussa. thanks to you i was able to meet them. i never imagined this would happen i promise you. thank you nussa. it means a lot to me that you decided to put me (into the leo spot). the only major thing in my life, i started being so happy, i started enjoying all the moments in my life as if it were the last, thanks to all this i’m here. and could meet you all. such a beautiful community.” she goes on to keep thanking nussa while crying and saying it was written in the stars. she goes on to say that shes gonna tell this as a story some day to her family, who doesnt know what she does or that she streams, and she’ll tell them about all of this with so much care and love. shes very thankful to have learned so much english and more about so many different cultures. she again reiterates shes very happy.

she also teases that she wants to go to brazil!!!! which… might be soon… and that theres little things being planned so hopefully if all goes well…👀 (an egg admin meetup would go so hard)

NOW GO SUPPORT HER ON TWITCH @ HarumiVT

#qsmp #harumivt

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witchthewriter · 1 year ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐀𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, Valyrian blood (dragon rider), and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

idea from: @archer10.

a/n: This is pure headcanon; based on their personalities (that I've felt they're close to). And yes, I know there aren't facts about how dragons lay eggs/parent/act around younglings. But this is too cute. And dragons are very smart - I think more human than animal at times.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍:

・Much like his original rider, Aegon the Conquorer, I think Balerion would be a pretty good dragon-dad

・Very present and contributes to the upbringing of his lil ones

・HUGE compared to the hatchlings and is so careful about it

・Most likely mated with both Meraxes and Vhagar (if a male has to be involved???)

・Tears up when he's proud

・Knows that he might put too much pressure on his kids - but he refuses to bring them to the dragonpit, or any small enclosed area.

・It is known that dragons grow faster and larger when they have their freedom.

・The dragonpit is essentially stunting the dragons growth.

・Balerion is 100000% protective; even if his rider is there. He has his eyes on you, his current rider. Huffs when you get a bit too close.

・Especially if it's his first clutch.

・Feels bad about it but knows you understand. Dragon babies aren't like regular babies. They're very uncommon.

・When he has another lot of babies, he absolutely wants you involved as well. He realises that hatchlings aren't glass. And being around a trusted human can help their growth.

・You'd end up being parent no.3

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒:

・Gentle, loving and has said she has eyes in the back of her head

"But Mum that's impossible!"

"No it isn't, now go and play with your siblings"

・Wants to show off her babies to you, her rider, immediately.

"Look! We can have babies at the same time!" She says, and you just smile faintly at her. She truly is your best friend.

・Purrs at her nest, her big wing covering them so they're at their warmest.

・Completely allows you to come and sleep with them at night. It's one of the greatest experiences you've ever had. Four little dragons huddled around you, as you lay right next to Meraxes.

・Her wing like a shelter for the five of you.

・You could have sworn she was singing to help all of you sleep

𝐕𝐇𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐑:

・All her hatchlings turn out to be strong dragons

・But she only has one clutch and she's done, not raising anyone else

・Is a bit touchy if her rider (You) makes sudden movements around the younglings

・But you know her personality well. Very well. Similar to your own. You know when enough is enough.

・Hides them away for the first few months

・But still does her duty to you -

・However, every night she goes back to where she left them to find them all asleep. Little snores coming from the biggest baby.

・She huffs in delight. Upset that Balerion isn't here to see this. He would have loved these children.

・They little ones love you though. You'll bring them something to eat and then stroke their little bodies. They absolutely purr with delight.

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑:

・Single Mother

・Type of Mum who gets the car seat ready, the bag ready, hops in the car and feels like she forget something - yeah the kid

・The hatchlings get her tail and accidentally hit each other in the face

・So excited to show them how to fly, it brings her a lot of joy to show them the world.

・They have a special call if anyone gets lost; there's all different types. For example, if someone is in danger, if they're hungry, scared, by themselves etc.

・Very comfortable with you, her rider, interacting and playing with her little ones.

・Just don't take them away or anything...otherwise she cannot be held responsible for what she'll do next.

・Constantly makes happy chirping noises

・Licks them clean until they're old enough to fly with her to a waterfall

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐋:

・"Too Small To Eat"

・Then he grows attached; there was only one that hatched and he said 'shit now I have to protect you.'

・Growls when he's had enough of the youngling. At first the little one was frightened of the big black dragon, with vibrant eyes and fire the colour of wildfire

・But then the youngling understood what set off the old dragons moods, and what made them better.

・Rough relationship at the start

・But being alone starts to sound kinda shitty when he has a lil friend with him.

・If anyone or anything tried to hurt his youngling, he would tear them apart.

・Pretends he doesn't know, but whenever the hatchling gets tired of flying, he'll land on Can's back.

・Booped Can's nose once and than ran away and hide for like thirty minutes.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑:

・As the mount of Jahaerys, he and Alysanne's dragon, Silverwing, were practically married. (Jahaerys and Alysanne were married and had 14 children)

・Grumpy Dad Who Loves His Kids

・Huffs when they climb on him - an attack of the hatchlings, he pretends they're winning and then jumps up and shakes them all off.

・They definitely whine like, "aww daaaaad! we were wiinniinnggg!"

"Sorry, I have to go pee."

"Ew dad!"

"What! Like you don't pee. Little hypocrites." He says while trudging away. Tail swinging from side to side just in case a little one is there. He does love giving them a lil slap.

・Not one to push the younglings to their limits; he's probably the most accepting of his children out of the male dragons.

・Very very anxious when they were first learning how to fly, and he nearly died when they started flying long distances.

"Honey, I can't handle this. My heart-" Vermithor chokes out.

"Oh knock it off," Silverwing replies with a laugh.

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆:

・MOTHER. PURE MOTHER.

・She has that energy of being a great Mum to me. Especially with her rider being Alysanne, who was an advocate for women in Westeros.

・It is canon that she and Vermithor were close, and in my eyes they were mates. Partners. Married <3

・So, I think around hatchlings she would be such a mother hen.

・Letting out little noises to let her babies know she's close.

・Would definitely do 'The Mum Face' when she's fed up. Doesn't snap unless the hatchlings try to hurt each other.

・The most present mother out of the bunch ...

・Kicks Vermithor awake in the mornings; 'they're your kids before the sun's in the sky'

・Panics when she doesn't know where everyone is

・ExtreMELY protective of her babies; I think she had a very clutches that never hatched and she felt the loss of them.

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sapphirewritesx · 2 months ago

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Kinslayer - Aemond Targaryen x Naerys Velaryon (oc)

summary: Naerys returns to King’s Landing after ten, long years. Arriving to support her younger brother’s claim to the Driftwood Throne, she knows she will stay to fulfill her betrothal to her uncle, Prince Aemond Targaryen.

word count: 4.5k

tags/warnings: strong!oc, older sister!oc, arranged marriage, oc rides Seasmoke but is terrified of fire, flashbacks to Aemond's eye loss, he won't be nice, oc and Aemond have a swordfight, enemies to lovers, slowburn (plot before we get to the smut, and trust me, we'll get there)

(narrated in first person, eventually dual pov)

ao3: Kinslayer by sapphirewritesx

Naerys

Mist cloaks the view ahead in a soft veil. The clouds part for us, their shape breaking as we dance between them. I grip the ropes tighter, my legs adjusting around the saddle. It has not been long since the cries of Arrax and Vermax faded into the wind. They cannot be that far behind.

I need to go faster.

We flew past Duskendale’s Harbor and the Dun Fort right before I parted from Jace and Luke. If my timing is precise, we ought to be above the apple orchards of Rosby, meaning King’s Landing lies a short distance to the north. I have to make it to the Dragonpit before either of them does.

Determining their location is nearly impossible with no other lead than my own perception of time, but it wouldn’t be the first instance I manage to pull off the trick.

They already know how it’s done.

The aim is to gradually ascend as high as reachable while maintaining the right path set forward, unknown to other riders. The weight and size of the dragons are crucial factors at play, that coupled with the relative youth of both, are not in their favor. The fact that neither matches mine is already a shortcoming. Now, the time between reaching the desired height and the free fall to the target destination is nothing but a gamble—one that I always win. It is no fair game to them, most definitely. But then again, nothing truly is.

I could be a good sister and let them taste victory, if only once. And I might.

But not today.

For ten long years, I have avoided returning to the capital of the Realm, despite being born and raised underneath the shadows of its towering spires.

Ever the lonely girl, I drifted through the castle halls with a book in hand, seeking a hidden spot to devour its pages. Inked words on paper became my dearest friend, a hollow replacement for the bond I desperately longed for. My dragon egg never hatched. Void of life, its iridescent scales remained cold on the hearth by the cradle. Instead of spending my time with winged creatures, I soared through history with the ancestors that rode them. From the Doom of Valyria to The Conquest and every reign until Viserys, I had memorized every passage ever written. Nothing seemed to satisfy my need for knowledge, though in truth, all I craved was experience.

The Red Keep’s training yard is where my heart belonged. Between dull blades and rounded arrows, I stood with a wooden stick, fighting off the giant that threatened to push me down with bare hands. The mock sword has now become sharp steel, and the giant was none but my father. The man who taught me to aim for the guts, or preferably, the groin.

His memory still lingers, a cut that never mends.

Every other night, in my sleep, The Stranger takes him away from me. And soon, his ghost will chase me through the walls of the place where I last saw him alive.

It was at Aunt Laena’s funeral that I learned he had left for Harrenhal. A day of loss, in more ways than one, that showed me for what I truly was. Just another card in our deck, pulled to patch the damage I had not caused.

At only four years old, my brother Luke took Aemond’s eye, leaving him half-blinded and scarred. As the second son of King Viserys and his second wife, Queen Alicent Hightower, such a maiming could never go unpunished. An eye for an eye, she demanded. No hesitance, even as his son’s actions were laid bare.

Laena’s remains had only been buried under the waves of the narrow sea when Aemond risked his life in a desperate attempt to claim her dragon, and astoundingly, succeeded. Vhagar chose him, before her late rider’s youngest daughter could be given a chance. Rhaena and her older sister Baela, refused to accept the outcome. They slipped out of bed and into the corridors of Driftmark to confront him—and we followed.

As Aemond entered the castle, he was met with the fury of the twins, consumed by their grief. To them, it was nothing but the theft of their mother’s old mount, if such a thing can truly be said. A dragon cannot be stolen, it chooses its rider. Inheritance in this matter does not rely on blood. Yet they cornered him, four against one, as if that could break the bond that had just been sealed.

Being the eldest of my siblings, I should have known better than to let it come to blows. His greed was not without reason—not to me. I envied his courage, for had I been brave enough, I might have been the one with a dragon that night.

All concern vanished the moment I heard the word escape his lips.

Bastards.

A truth so evident, only a fool would deny it.

Jace shoved him to the ground. He punched and kicked as Rhaena, Baela and Luke joined in. They could have killed him, while I stood there, frozen in place. Still, Aemond rose to his feet, not a single flinch as he grabbed Luke by the neck, a rock clenched tightly in hand. Ready to strike, his voice broke in anger.

You will die screaming in flames just as your father did.

It was only then that my instinct flared. I lunged forward, and we both rolled over one another until I was pinned beneath him, the rock lost and forgotten in the chaos. Fire crackled from a nearby torch, its sparks threatening to lick at my skin.

He smiled, baring his teeth at me before the weight of his words crushed my lungs.

You don’t know, do you? Harwin Strong is dead.

Jace wrenched him off me, but it wouldn’t end there. Not after what he had said. The twins had certainly begun the ambush, but the fight soon became ours.

Aemond staggered, ready to strike back, when Luke surged forward with the small dagger he’d hidden in his belt. The pale steel of the blade glinted in the dim light as it carved an awry cut up his cheek.

The blow landed swift but true. My once unmarred innocence was slit, as was the right eye from his face.

At eight years old, I could only believe what I was told, even if doubt existed. I was a Velaryon, and my father was Laenor, son and heir to Rhaenys Targaryen and The Lord of the Tides. Nothing to be questioned. That was what Mother always said.

As if the truth was not always there to greet me through the mirror. He was my father. Our father. And he never heard us call him that. Because Aemond had been right—he was dead.

The guards arrived only when his screams became deafening, echoed by Vhagar’s excruciating roars. They dragged us all to the throne hall of Driftmark, where we would answer for our outrage.

None of it could be undone, albeit avenged.

The queen would not rest until justice was bestowed upon the inflicter of her son’s pain, even as the king demanded Rhaenyra be awaited. Aemond sat in the center of the room, knuckles white from gripping the arm of the chair as he tried to remain in place. His eyeball lay in a nacreous shell, cold and bloodied. The maesters removed it from the socket after they deemed it completely lost and began sewing it shut forever.

My own eye twitched in response each time the needle went in through his skin. Remorse clawed at me, but I knew he wouldn’t return such sentiment if the tables were turned.

When Mother finally appeared, the man that gave us his name was not who stood behind her. It was Daemon. Laenor, per usual, was nowhere to be seen after dusk.

As she abruptly lowered to her knees to inspect Luke for wounds, Jace pulled from her skirts. He called us bastards, he told her bluntly, in our defense. Fire danced in her violet eyes when she raised to her feet again. To accuse the heir to the throne’s offspring of being illegitimate is treason—and so she stated.

Viserys paled before his daughter’s words. His younger son would be put under sharp questioning for such accusations, the insult suddenly becoming the source of his worry, not that of his maimed child.

His wife would not have it. There was still a price to be paid, and she would see to it herself, if need be. But the King concluded that there would be no such thing as revenge. Aemond had questioned our legitimacy and birthright. The loss of his eye served him well.

Everyone that stood there that night at Driftmark’s throne room bore witness to Viserys' promise. If anyone dared to suggest his daughter’s children were the result of adultery, there would be no gods they could pray to for mercy.

Still and all, the matter was far from settled.

My mother’s claim to the Iron Throne hung by a thread. After centuries of solely male heirs, the Realm was rightfully reluctant to accept the reign of a woman whose charade of a marriage mocked tradition and law. Without a strong match, a lady has no power. Laenor proved to be anything but, and marrying another man while the current husband was alive, could never be an option. He needed to die—or to be thought dead. The strategy orchestrated with the help of her now uncle-husband was hardly liable. My father in name would be slain by one of his male lovers, leaving my mother a widow and free to remarry, but Princess Rhaenys with no children in less than a moon.

Sacrifices need to be made, she assured me. For the sake of us both. It was not only her claim that was at stake, by consequence, so was mine.

I already knew my fate. Before our relocation to Dragonstone, my hand was offered in marriage to Prince Aegon, the king’s firstborn son and my eldest uncle. Mother presented it as a symbol of genuine reconciliation, a gesture to heal the rift between our families. An arranged marriage that would quell the growing unrest over the succession, for Aegon would sit the throne, the way some thought he deserved.

The proposal was swiftly declined. Plans were already in motion to wed Helaena to Aegon before year’s end—a suggestion from the Hand, their own grandfather, as she had already flowered and they were both considered to be of age.

Neither the king nor his wife would reconsider their decision, and the urgency to settle matters without further discord left no room for careful deliberation, leading to irrevocable mistakes.

My mother cared little which of Alicent’s sons I married, I realized then. After bearing the king three sons, it was only expected that she would want one of them on the Iron Throne. All that mattered was securing the chance for one of them to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And so, Princess Rhaenyra bargained to protect her—our—claim to rule, but it is I who will pay the price.

No amount of years could spare me the weight of such a curse.

We come to the capital to defend Luke’s right to Driftmark—to secure his place as the next Lord of the Tides, should our grandfather, Lord Corlys, succumb to the fever he caught on his recent sailings. Once that is resolved, title gained or lost, they will return to Dragonstone.

I am to remain. At last, forced to face what I have dreaded for more than half of my life.

Marriage.

The letter with the three-headed dragon seal and the king’s own handwriting arrived a fortnight ago, summoning me to court. No more delaying.

I have spent enough years prolonging the inevitable.

That ends now.

“Embrōt!” I command Seasmoke to descend. His silver wings spread wide with effortless grace as he dips his head down. We plummet downwards. My stomach clenches, my lungs struggling for air as we plunge lower. I fight to keep my grip steady, fingers digging into the handles, until his body levels and the flight steadies once more.

Even without a dragon of my own, and knowing my egg would never hatch, I held onto the hope that one day I would fly over King’s Landing. I just never imagined it would take so long, or so much.

Leaning towards the left, my leathers scraping against the saddle, I try to commit the image to memory. The sky is a deep shade cerulean, the sun gleams high above the red-tiled rooftops, gold glinting atop every tower, and the soft breeze rolling in from the sea. For a brief moment, I am nothing but words and ink on a page, part of a story written with no quills, that easily slips from the tips of my fingers.

A deep growl rumbles beneath me, urging me to return to my senses.

The bond between dragon and rider has never been wholly explained or learned, even if it is thoroughly established that each is unique and irreplaceable. There are passages that would go as far as saying the strongest of them can transcend the very flesh and mind. I myself cannot comprehend the true depths of ours, nor how it is possible that it came to be at all.

I do know, however, that his warning comes with reason. Not so far above me, the shapes of two smaller dragons take form, already making their way down to land.

Seven Hells.

I shift higher in my seat, just enough to catch sight of the weathered stone of the castle walls. We are flying toward the Red Keep, the Dragonpit already behind us.

“Pālegon, Embrōrbar!” I shout for him to turn around, and though he obeys with no hesitation, it is with complaint. His deafening roar, followed by that familiar wave of heat erupting through his body tells me enough. He wants to unleash, let his irritation soothe with the flames. No, no fire.

His burning scales find the cooling gush of wind, the pace of our flight increased by tenfold.

Seasmoke has grown larger over the years, and though he might not be built for war, his agility remains unmatched. It’s no challenge for him to reach the Dragonpit with a couple bats of his wings, even as Vermax circles Rhaenys’s Hill, ready to land.

Pity. He was actually close to beating me this time.

Sharp claws sink into the earth, the ground quivering beneath us, barely a short difference to Vermax’s landing.

Quick now, Naerys.

I deftly untangle the ropes from my legs, already poised to slide down the left wing. The moment the soles of my boots meet the dry grass of the hill, a soft thud announces Arrax has arrived. Not that it matters, anyway. I am the one who touched ground first.

“That was definitely a tie,” a voice calls out behind me. I turn to find Jacaerys smirking, clearly proud of nearly besting me at my own game. I’m tempted to point out that if were not for my distraction, I would have been right in this same spot, boringly waiting for them both. I bite my tongue, not wanting to give my thoughts and worries away.

“Well done, Jace.” I approach, patting his shoulder. “When Vermax is fully grown I won’t be a challenge for you anymore.”

“You think he could someday reach Seasmoke’s size?” he asks, raising a dark brow.

I glance up at his dragon, then back at mine as we wait for Luke to dismount. “Seasmoke may still grow,” I reply, “but knowing Vermax hatched from Syrax’s clutch, the odds are good. He might even grow larger.”

He studies my dragon—father’s dragon— his gaze lingering on his imposing form, soft brown eyes filled with silent hope.

“Same with Arrax. Don’t get too smug about it, dear brother,” I tease, smirking at the annoyed scrunch of his nose.

“Ah, so encouraging,” he says, raking a hand through his messy dark curls.

“We aim to please,” I return with a slight bow of my head.

“We should meet Mother at the gates,” Lucerys mutters, nearing us.

I exhale sharply, letting out a shaky huff. “Let me say goodbye at least, will you? I hate leaving him here.”

“As if I could command you,” he answers, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

“I fear one day she will truly command us,” Jace chimes in with a heavy sigh.

“That is uncertain,” I counter, a wry smile tugging at my lips. “I might die before I even get to be queen—leaving that burden for you to bear.”

There is no need to look to know he rolled his eyes at that.

I turn back to Seasmoke, my hands grazing his rough scales as I press my forehead against his side. The heat radiating from him wraps around me in a safe embrace, his wings tucking me in closer. “Not long until we fly again,” I murmur.

Heavy-hearted, I step away from him. Beside my brothers, I watch as our dragons disappear into the darkness of the Dragonpit’s caves.

No one welcomed us into the Red Keep. In part, I am relieved to avoid the usual formalities and the reception from the queen and her children—especially that of one of her sons. Although, it does seem rather impudent not to have anticipated the arrival of the Princess of the Realm and that of her family. Clearly, things have changed around here over the years, with my grandfather’s condition worsening by the day.

Both my brothers ventured inside the castle walls, eager to explore the place like they had never been here at all. I, on the other hand, had to endure a tedious talk about manners and purist expectations. Was told to keep an eye on the other two, of course, save them from trouble before they are in it, were that be possible.

I descend the wooden stairs that lead to the training yard. The thrum of weapons clashing lures me in, like a soft whisper that demands I indulge my curiosity at the sight before me. A large crowd gathers in a tight circle, their shouts and cheers echoing in the open air.

I bet that’s where Jace and Luke are.

Weaving through the agitated public, I search for them. Some of the onlookers part for me, eyes looming in a mixture of wonder and disapproval. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they recognized me. No, their stares are fixed on the sword at my hip and the dagger attached to my thigh. A lady with weapons. Such atrocity.

“Is that all you got, Cole?”

I pause, startled. That voice— oddly familiar yet somehow foreign. I push my way toward the front, determined to discover the reason for everyone's enthrallment. My heart leaps into my throat, pounding as if it might burst out of me entirely.

Swift, precise movements from a lithe man command the yard with effortless mastery. Each strike is deliberate, expertly executed, testament to years of training. The morning sun blushes his pale skin, shining down upon his sharp features as if carved from marble. Long silver hair flows like molten strands of moonlight, a stark contrast to the dark leather eye-patch that covers his right eye, enhancing the bridge of his straight nose.

The boy of my nightmares stands right in front of me, a child no more, but a menacing grown man.

He moves with unnerving ease, sidestepping each of Ser Criston’s blows with his morningstar as if they were mere trifles. Every motion brims with undeniable skill—and searing arrogance.

I stay rooted in place, my feet refusing to let me retreat, even when my instincts urge me to run back to the safety of the castle walls.

Before I can fathom his next move, the sharp tip of his blade is already poised at Ser Criston’s throat, finishing their duel. The crowd erupts into applause, and judging by their fervor, this is far from the first time the one-eyed prince has claimed victory.

“Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.” To my surprise, Ser Criston humbly accepts his defeat, his words laced with content. A proud teacher, I see.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” his cold tone cuts through the praise like a honed dagger. The blade remains in position, purposefully pointed in the opposite direction as a dangerous smile curves his lips. “Nephews, have you come to train?”

Fuck.

There they are, just a few steps away, nervously exchanging glances, searching for an escape. Idiots. Luke averts his eyes from the prince to avoid confrontation, but his gaze meets mine. He elbows Jace, whose hand has instantly gone to his own sword, making my presence known not only for him, but for all. Realization dawns on him then. Too late.

“Princess Naerys,” he calls my name with a low rasp, his voice strained from the fight. My skin crawls. “At last we meet again.”

His lavender stare drifts over my riding leathers, tracing my form in scrutiny, before settling back on my face.

“Prince Aemond,” I nod curtly, forcing a tight grin. “It has been far too long.”

Dozens of eyes intently survey our interaction, truly aware now of who I am. He takes a rapid step forward, closing the distance between us. I hold my ground, refusing to let his imposing height diminish me.

Steadily, the prince leans down, and for a fleeting moment, I think he’s reaching for my hand. His fingers close around the hilt of my sword, and in one fluid motion, he draws it from its sheath.

I hold my breath.

“What do we have here?” he muses, twisting the sword lightly in his hand, testing its weight and balance. His eye narrows with disdain. “Such a heavy sword.”

I was wrong. Arrogant falls short to describe his attitude.

My lips part, ready to demand he return what’s mine.

With a swift motion, he throws the sword back at me, hilt-first. I barely manage to catch it, the blade almost slicing through my fingers. The crowd gasps.

Jace surges forward, ready to intervene, but Aemond moves first. A devilish gleam crosses his face, as he raises his sword and charges directly at me.

I dodge the first strike, instinct driving my body away from the blade, and brace myself for his next assault. His laugh echoes through the yard, low and bursting with satisfaction, a predator delighting in the chase.

“Come now, dear.” He takes a step back, adjusting his stance. “Grant me this duel.”

I cast my brother a warning look, a silent order for him to stay out of this. I am not just some girl who plays at being swordsman. The weapons I carry, I know how to use.

My blade clashes against his with a loud clang. If he wants a fight, I am more than willing to oblige.

He pulls away, spinning his sword behind his back—a flaunting performance of skill. I duck his next strike as well, and a flicker of disappointment tugs at his lips.

“Oh, please. Do not hold back,” he taunts. Our blades collide, the sharp edge hovering mere inches from my face. His tone drops to a whisper, “Show me what you can handle, darling niece.”

My heart pounds faster, the rhythm echoing in my ears like a war drum. He is toying with me. Surely, he would revel in demonstrating this crowd just how easily he could best me. However, I suspect that what he desires most is not proof of his strength over me. No, he wants my shame. To let all those present know I am not his equal, nor I could ever be. Remind them I shall hold no true power.

The pressure between our clashed swords is intense enough that neither of us dares withdraw and risk losing balance. Falling would mean giving him the upper hand, and I am not willing to take that chance. Forced into a stalemate, we pull away in the same instant—then dive right back to our fray.

A frustrated groan escapes him as he tightens his hold on the hilt, knuckles white. The clattering of steel turns frantic, each blow harder and faster than the last. Our labored breaths become an aggressive tune, accompanied by grunts of exertion.

A burning ache spreads down my arms, hindering my responses. Cold sweat slicks my fingers, the grip on my handle faltering despite my efforts to keep it restrained.

His frame, though far from hefty, speaks of unyielding endurance. The muscle etched onto his body does not strain him as it does other men, to my dismay. I catch the fierce glow in his eye, and an unsettling question surfaces—what lies beneath the eye-patch?

The sword slips from my hands, meeting the ground with a resonant noise as the crowd holds a breath.

Aemond lunges, ready to point the tip of his sword to my heart. I fall back, bending down in what might seem a desperate attempt to retrieve my weapon. Instead my hand darts to the silver dagger attached to my thigh. When I rise up to face him, the edge of his blade finds my chest, but my dagger presses flat against the delicate skin of his throat.

The fleeting surprise in his expression vanishes, replaced by solid resolve. He lowers his sword, then his free hand snakes around my waist, pulling me in until our bodies are flush against one another.

“Look at you, betrothed. Such a strong lady, are you not?”

Strong.

The word drips from his tongue like poison. My fingers tighten around my dagger, the urge to drive it right through his flesh overwhelming. I could do it—twist the blade and slit his throat. I would be killed afterwards, of course, but the dead cannot marry, and right now that sounds like the better choice.

His grip on my waist doesn’t waver, anchoring me in place as his gaze roves over my features before settling on the darkness of my hair. He lets his sword clatter to the ground, his now free hand raising to find the few strands of silver among my brown locks, gathering them between his fingers with a gentle tug. My eyes remain on his, searching for any hint of his thoughts. All I see is black taking over the violet.

The crimson gates of the Red Keep swing open, revealing a grand carriage adorned with the Velaryon sigil, its golden engraving glinting in the sunlight. Vaemond, my grandfather’s nephew, has arrived to press his claim to the Driftwood Throne.

As everyone’s focus shifts to the commotion caused by the new arrival, Aemond leans in, his breath hot against my neck. “Jiōrnon arlī, ilībōños,” he whispers before abruptly releasing me.

Welcome home, bastard.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond x niece #aemond #ewan mitchell #hotd fanfic #hotd oc #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x strong oc #aemond targaryen smut #sapphirewritesx

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ragnarockz · 1 month ago

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Agatha All Along Week Day 1: Jealousy

Summary: Vidal cannot shake the past romantic relationship that Agnes and Alice once had.

Pairings: Detective Agnes O'Connor/Agent Vidal

Rating: Mature (NSFW)

Inspo: Girlfriend by Alicia Keys

*Italicized parts are lyrics from song inspo above*

@agathaallalongweek

Alice Wu Gulliver was like a haunting that filled the little spaces in Vidal and Agnes' home. The second Vidal thought Alice was just another thought in the wind; something else would pop up and place her alongside the two of them.

A dusty key chain with ALICE on it found in the basement tossed in a random box of decorations, a well worn band tee shirt that Agnes had shoved in her drawer and got it stuck so that Vidal had to take the entire drawer out to fix. The shirt fell out of its hiding place like a rotten tooth knocked loose.

There were so many things Vidal wanted to say to Agnes; to ask her. Vidal of course respected her girlfriends privacy and history; the very hard life she had to endure before they even met. There was a sadness in Agnes that Vidal knew she couldn't fix. But, why would she? That sadness made Agnes who she was and she loved the woman Agnes was; all of her. It was of course more than just accepting Agnes for the person that she was. Vidal wanted to understand the woman Agnes was and it was very rare Agnes allowed for that.

It wasn't anger or disappointment towards the detective and the longer Vidal mused about her feelings, she had slowly come to realize what the feeling was that burned in her chest. Jealousy. A whole lifetime away that Vidal knew she would never get to experience with Agnes. A whole eclipse of time that she would never be allowed to look back on with fondness or sadness simply because their paths had not crossed that early on.

But, of course, Agnes and Alice's paths had crossed and without a doubt, they could look back with fondness and sadness.

Vidal sucked in her cheeks as she refolded the shirt and tucked it at the very bottom of Agnes' messy tee shirt pile before fixing the drawer and slamming it shut.

Alice lived with them even if she didn't know it; wasn't physically walking around and touching their things.

Alice sat at the table during dinner whenever Agnes mentioned something about an 8 dollar steak and eggs meal she used to get just after Nicky was born and she was craving meat. That place no longer existed; no longer could one get a meal like that for that price.

Alice was in their bed whenever Agnes pulled out the Polaroid camera to take pictures of Vidal; always making them as graphic and pornographic as she could. Vidal did not mind; loved how they got Agnes off and loved how it was a little keepsake of their love, desire, affection, passion. Vidal only pouted and rolled her eyes when Agnes would position her in a certain way that Vidal had seen in the same fashion of the Polaroids of Alice that were tucked away in that box under Nicky's bed. Agnes knew that Vidal knew; knew that her girlfriend had seen the Polaroids. Agnes was aware that Vidal, most likely, knew she was being asked to pose in the same way Agnes once asked Alice to pose all those years ago.

Alice lingered around and inside the room that always had the door closed. She made her presence known in there as Agnes, if ever, opened that door to go inside. It was locked up like a secret; a burning, disgusting secret that Agnes never had the heart to spill out. It chewed at Vidal's heart and she knew, no matter how much prodding or coaxing, she could never get it out of the detective.

May be silly for me to feel/This way about you and her/'Cause I know she's been such a good friend/I know she had helped you through

"Why don't we ever talk about Alice?"

Vidal whispered as she peered between her legs and down at Agnes' face. She caught those blue eyes staring back at her; the bottom half of her face hidden by the mound of Vidal's pubis. There was embarrassment and fear in them that Vidal could recognize while she laid there with a smug look on her face. She wanted Agnes to feel slightly uncomfortable while she had her tongue swirling her current girlfriend's clit while her brain was rapidly forced to think about her ex-girlfriend.

Agnes pulled her mouth away and caught her breath before wiping her lips against the inside of Vidal's thigh. They were both silent as they stared one another down. Vidal's eyebrows rose in question and waited for Agnes to respond.

"...Do we need to?"

Vidal's eyes went wider as she blinked. She was staring Agnes down with a look of impatience that Agnes definitely received. Vidal watched as the detective let out a low and deep exhale through her mouth before clearing her throat.

"You want to talk about her right now?"

Vidal shrugged against the pillow as she brought her hands up to rest behind her head; propping herself up a little better. She gave Agnes a tight smile in response and waited.

It was definitely something, Agnes thought as her gaze drifted back down to the space between Vidal's open legs, to be asked about your ex while eating your current partner out.

"What...do you want me to say?"

Vidal's eyes narrowed as she jutted her chin forward a little; held her breath with the air of superiority. What did she want Agnes to say?

"How come she's still here? Why can't you let her go?"

Agnes opened her mouth to reply but no words, no sounds came out. She was struck dumb by the bluntness of Vidal's questions. Struck dumb because she knew Vidal was right. Why was Alice still here in little ways that didn't add much to anything? Why was she allowed to haunt this home alongside Nicholas as well?

Alice was alive; Nicholas was not.

Alice had moved on; Agnes had not.

"If it wasn't for her, Vidal...I don't think I'd be here right now...in between your legs...she shares a special part of me..."

Vidal remained silent as she shifted a little against the bed; shifted her legs so that they opened a little wider in invitation. Agnes' eyebrows rose as she bowed her head once more; tongue chasing before her mouth did as she made contact again with Vidal's clitoral hood. She made broad strokes with her tongue before pressing the tip of her tongue right down onto the tiny pulsing nub. Vidal let out a shaky, ragged breath as she sunk a little deeper and closed her eyes to focus on the sensation Agnes was providing her with.

You said that she's one who helped you see/How deep you're in love with me

Vidal was still tangled in the sheets at 5 am; deep in her sleep from another night of having nothing but being worshiped by Agnes. Agnes, on the other hand, was up and dressed and already in the kitchen grabbing a coffee and a granola bar before heading out with the box tucked under her arm. She closed the front door as quietly as she could behind her and locked it before heading to the car. She unlocked it, opened the passenger seat and placed the box there before quietly closing the door and making her way over to the driver's side.

She had woken up an hour ago and felt like Vidal was in her mind; talking into her ear. Why was she holding on so dearly to all of this? Why couldn't she let go? Why couldn't she fully direct all of her love and attention to Vidal? Alice was nothing more than the past and everything that physically lingered continued to hold Agnes back and she herself knew it. As quietly as she could, Agnes had gathered up all of the things she no longer needed and put them into a box.

Agnes drove with determination; the radio turned low with one of her CDs playing. The weather had changed within the hour from somewhat sunny to overcast with the promise of rain. It pulled Agnes right back to the day that she and Alice said their goodbyes in that coffee shop with the box Alice had gifted her in the chair between them.

Maybe, Agnes thought as she pulled into Alice and Jen's driveway, turning off and parking the car, it would be one less ghost haunting her and Vidal.

Agnes got out and made her way back around to the passenger side; opening the door and taking out the box. She grabbed it with both hands and walked up the walkway to their front door. She doubted they were even awake yet as she knew, from years ago, Alice loved to sleep in. Agnes placed the box on the welcome mat and gave it one last look before she took the envelope out of her heavy canvas jacket pocket and slipped it under the lid.

She backed up one step and then two, before she turned her back to head back to the car once more.

And you say that you feel/I'm the best thing in your life/And I know it's real/And I see it in your eyes

It had been more or less twenty five years since Agnes had walked into this coffee shop. Many things had changed and yet, a lot of it still stayed the same. New and upgraded appliances and seating. Old and weathered paint and floor tiles. Agnes pulled in a deep breath and then sighed it out; legs wobbly as she walked towards the counter to order. She stole a glance over to where that meeting had taken place all those years ago and realized as she was called next in line, that ghosts would follow her no matter where she went.

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amoeganism · 9 months ago

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instead of osatlas smau for ur 300 what abt i’m cooking witf samu but he doesn’t let mw do shit u pick tho idc 😻😻

MADE WITH LOVE osamu miya

cooking oyakodon with osamu because he loves you <3

written for my 300 followers event!

“I feel like a horny old man watching a stripper right now,” you dreamily sigh as you watch Osamu chop an onion with precise yet swift motions. In less than a minute, the chopped onion was placed into a pan and replaced with a handful of fresh herbs that Kita—his senior and high school volleyball captain—had sent him earlier that day. Beside the chopping board, were bowls of eggs and sauces all prepared for a meal of oyakodon.

“I really wanted to have a special moment cooking for you but you had to make it weird,” your boyfriend complained. You both knew he never found any of your commentary annoying, insulting you was his love language and you relished in the faux criticisms because only someone he felt truly comfortable with would receive such jabs. “I don’t trust you with anything in this kitchen but you can help beat the eggs I already cracked. I know you’ve cracked eggs before but I have a gut feeling you would somehow manage to explode the thing in front of me.”

“Why do you have zero trust in me?” you whined, grabbing a pair of long, wooden chopsticks to beat the small bowl of eggs. In the meantime, Osamu mixed dashi, soy sauce, mirin, and sugar, drizzling the sauces onto the onions in the pan. The two of you basked in the savory aroma, already feeling your stomach rumble for the hearty meal. You push the bowl of beaten eggs toward Osamu, grinning in pride at your work. “The eggs are done! Rate my work, chef.”

“Not bad, chef,” he mused before ruffling your hair and giving you a kiss on the forehead. “That’s all you need to do. Now sit back and wait for the meal to come out.”

With a heart full of warmth, you lie your head on the kitchen island as your boyfriend turns the stove on and stirs the simmering onions. Sizzling sounded through the spacious kitchen when chicken and eggs hit the pan, a cloud of steam rising from the stove, sending the mouth watering scent of oyakodon to you.

“I can’t believe I’m getting the full Onigiri Miya experience at home with the owner as my private chef, all for free too. I’m so spoiled,” you stupidly grin as Osamu laughs.

“Only the most special treatment for my dearest,” he responds. Turning his head toward you, a sparkle glimmers in his round, gray eyes. “It’s only the right thing to do for the person I love.”

guys i love atlas pls follow them they write the cutest stuff ever

#osamu miya x reader #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyu osamu

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loupy-mongoose · 1 year ago

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So, I made some impulse purchases recently, including this lovely little gal.

Hai Luna~

When I ordered her, it started a bit of a Gardevoir kick in me. So I went and did some brainstorming about Jamie's Gardie pal, Clover.

This did get very long, but there's a lot of art that I really like! :3 Plus I borrowed a certain someone from @mewtwoandme~

Growing up I always drew the green headpiece as a bony structure with maybe green skin on it, like deer antlers. (Except it doesn't shed lol)

But in my efforts to redecide what it actually is to me, I went to Bulbapedia, and that called it hair. So I tried out hair as well, and I kinda like that better...

I love my deranged Gardie. :>

(Leaning into "Mischievous Fairy/Pixie" energy)

I wanted to draw some Gwen (M&M's Gardevoir), as her and Clover's characters are different in a lot of ways, and I thought it would be fun to draw them together. Turns out Gwen dwarfs my girls, and I adore that in every way. XD

I also came to realize that Jamie would admire Gwen--She doesn't wish change on Clover in the slightest, but she does like the grace that more conventional Gardevoirs possess. Plus she'd be astounded by her sheer size.

For the fun of it, I tried drawing them both in each of our styles. (Or more like "Features" than "style")

I did not like drawing Gardevoir in her style. All the respect and love to M&M, but it felt SO wrong to me personally. XD

Annnnd... I kinda accidentally thought of a different way to take their designs...

And then I tried to figure out the logistics of giving Gardvoir a tail. I kinda like the idea of there being one that blends into the Skirt, splitting and running down the length of the skirt ends.

A little character lore; Clover removed her skirt on purpose.

Growing up, I always had in mind that the skirt was skin, maybe acting as thermoregulation, or something like that. I don't think I ever decided whether they can feel through their skirts or not, but if I want it to be more angsty, then yes, they can feel.

Warning for general and self-inflicted injury in this paragraph. As a kid I figured Clover cut it off to prevent it from getting caught or grabbed. But now, with the developing idea of there being a tail involved, I got another idea with even more angst. I'm thinking possibly Clover had a tail bone broken, and maybe it healed wrong, causing her pain so she ripped off the whole skirt.

Okay, injury warning is over.

And now a little silly that's not exactly canon, but close enough. XD

Y'all can thank @puzzled-zebra for this, as she brought up the idea during a chat. It was too good to pass up. XD

And now I wish to finish with a nostalgia ramble, because Clover is very precious to me, along with Jamie.

I started a playthrough of Soul Silver many, many years ago--even before the playthrough that would become Jamie's trainer journey over ten years ago. It was a solo run, with a Ralts egg sent in to be my only companion. (I kept the rules soft, though, as I remember needing help from other Pokemon to beat Bugsy. XD) My memories of that playthough are faded, but I remember that Clover alone beat the Champion at level 64-65. Sometime within the next few years, she was my first ever Pokemon to reach level 100 without the use of Rare Candy or experience cheats. That playthough and whatever happened in it has no bearing on Clover's story, but it's what gave birth to her as a character, and I hold that very dear.

Her nature is "Hardy, Likes to Fight", and I'm really proud of little me for taking that in the direction she took it. XD

Anyway, that's my super long love-dump of my beloved gremlin fairy. Thanks to everyone who made it all the way, I know it got pretty long. ^^

#Art #branch #doodle dump #Everything I touch gets floof and a nose apparently. XD

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theabigailthorn · 1 year ago

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Hi Abby! I have a question I’ve been wondering for a while, and I really hope it’s okay to ask. I’ve been a little worried about it because, idk…it’s a tough topic, and I know a lot of trans people get a bunch of bullshit flack, and I don’t want to accidentally contribute to that. That being said— do you miss anything from before you transitioned?

I’m definitely some flavor of trans, but idk what exactly 😅 and you’ve been a major hopeful figure to me. I just can’t help but wonder…is it…worth it? So many people say it is. But I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose my family or their love, even if it’s conditional. And sometimes I’m scared that I’ll miss aspects of myself as who I am now. So I wanted to ask you, because I look up to you and respect you a lot!

Sorry that this ask is a mess, I’m kind of all over the place. And obviously you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable or if these are shitty questions to ask. However! If you’re comfortable, I’d love to know your thoughts. Thank you so much for all you do — it’s more than you know.

In my experience yes it's absolutely worth it because the alternative for me was dying, so it'd have to be pretty rotten not to be worth it! But in addition to that quite grim baseline, yes I think it's the best thing I've ever done. It's allowed me to experience so much more of the variety and wonder of being a person in a way that I couldn't have imagined when I was in the closet - it's made me more intelligent, more moral, more compassionate, and closer to the people I love than ever before. There are challenges that come with it, sometimes huge challenges - especially in this time of transphobic backlash - but if you gave me a magic wish I really don't think I'd choose to have been born cis. In terms of worrying you'll miss aspects of yourself, I had that worry too - I discussed it with Mia Mulder when my egg was cracking and she said, "You will change, but you keep the good bits."

At the same time, it's important to be realistic: transition won't solve your problems and there are no consequence-free transitions. I was lucky in that there was only one person in my old life who couldn't accept me post-transition, but it was someone I loved very much and it still hurts a little - I still hope that one day we might find a way to be friends again. Transition also comes with tradeoffs and compromises, much like life!

#transition

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yanderes-galore · 1 year ago

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So, I cannot stop thinking about this. Petlike yandere Red Death, but raised from an egg. Perhaps reader is a dragon rider, who was exploring the volcano post HTTYD1, since I can't imagine Red Deaths are anything but rare. Thank you very much!

Yeah, this was my take on baby Red Death! I apologize for weird formatting.

Yandere! Red Death raised by Viking! Darling

Pairing: Animal/Pet-like

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Overprotective behavior, Territorial behavior, Possessive behavior, Alpha dragon, Isolation, Violence, Generational yandere concept, Not entirely yandere/overprotective, I had thoughts with this, Forced companionship.

There was only one known appearance of a Red Death in the series.

It's said they live 2,000 years and lay 3,000 eggs before they die.

It's unknown if the last Red Death ever laid eggs, considering how we never see another Red Death, we can assume it didn't.

However, for the sake of this concept, let's say one egg manages to survive on Dragon Island.

As a dragon rider you had decided to do an expedition on Dragon Island and found the volcanic egg.

As an experiment you were probably instructed by Hiccup to carry the large egg to a secure location.

After all, not much is known about The Red Death.

This would be the perfect opportunity to research the new dragon type that's only been encountered once.

The egg is no doubt kept near a volcanic region but you are sent to oversee its development.

Being picked for such a task is no doubt exciting at first.

Something about this concept to note is the fact your Red Death won't be fully mature.

It may even take your full lifetime before your Red Death even hits what could be considered a teen.

The baby dragon will get big, sure, but not as big as its mother.

I imagine when you have it the size is only going to be about a medium size dragon.

So it will be rideable, but unable to reproduce or use its full abilities.

When you raise the dragon you are careful to note behavior and diet.

You feed your Red Death red meat and keep them in a hot area.

You have them visit volcanic areas for lava baths.

You are quick to note down everything you learn about the dragon while caring for them.

You even grow attached to them, while they attach themselves to you.

Admittedly it's hard to take notes when your Red Death, the size of maybe a large dog at the start, keeps nuzzling into you.

Red Death's can be a ruthless and controlling species, but a baby doesn't have the ability to control dragons yet.

They'd be demanding and needy, like little divas.

But they aren't capable of full control yet.

You are sure to report all your findings to Hiccup as you care for your Red Death.

While they are still small you simply watch and feed them while researching.

When they are a size where you can ride them you work on teaching them how to fly and carry you.

The dragon is certainly not agile, they're more tanky than anything.

Your Red Death is a brute due to their body type and personality.

Also, wouldn't it be problematic if they learned to control dragons once riding age.

Unbeknownst to you, your Red Death is a dragon that will be taken care of for generations.

You know how you have to put a tortoise or parrot in your will due to their lifespan?

Same thing would happen with you Red Death due to their ridiculous lifespan.

Imagine if they became yandere for your entire bloodline?

They just know your children and their children are related to you, so they defend them.

It may all be fun and games researching your Red Death now, but the truth is you're stuck with them.

They see you as their parent and treat you like family.

So while you can ride them now, soon they'll continue growing.

When you leave this world, they'll still be here.

They may even stumble their way to your grave and sit there.

I feel this Red Death is more caring due to being raised by a human.

Some Vikings are till wary about you as they know tales of the original Red Death.

Even more so when your dragon starts exhibiting alpha behavior.

Yup, you heard me, Red Deaths are similar to Bewilderbeasts since they both act like dragon leaders.

They can command dragons, hold territory, have a sense of authority... etc.

So you run into some problems when your dragon starts roaring to command smaller dragons and claims territory,

They're still affectionate towards you but are expressing dominating behavior.

They even summon smaller dragons to protect you.

Think of this, as you fly on them they usually have some sort of dragon flock around you both.

With their methane breath type they can cause flash fires in an instant.

Your Red Death may move you from your home when they start nesting.

You would be forced to live in a more volcanic area so your Red Death can nest in the crater.

Although, that sounds like a future generation problem.

Your kids/grandkids would have to deal with that.

I actually think the idea of a generational protective dragon is interesting.

Your kids and so on are simply told they have a draconic protector, your Red Death.

As a result, this dragon will defend them with their life.

A protective Red Death is no joke either.

They're capable of swallowing dragons whole when they hit a certain age, which is actually their main food source other than whole sheep and other creatures.

So you are stuck with this dragon right up until you die.

While your Red Death is behaved now, it's mostly because they are young.

They're overprotective and sometimes possessive, but not quite an uncontrolled problem yet.

You think it's cute.

Although other Vikings can see the issue before you can.

You have no idea what you've done, have you?

When they grow older, your kids will suffer the consequences of your actions.

Your Red Death loves you and wants to protect the family you build with them...

Even after death, your Red Death fulfills such a wish... at the cost of those around it.

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