#is the way you clearly love creating these patterns

[spookytragedyshark]

Part two of this one of my Ghoap x f!reader idea. Writers can take it and run; just remember to tell me where to find your work.

MDNI 18+ ONLY.

Also debating on a name so feel free to share some ideas

So, after the spectacular incident that had ghost drooling on himself, Soap is included in most everything you guys do. Problem Y/N is not as good at communicating as Ghost gives her credit for.

Soap firmly believes that he is around for fun. After all, he still sleeps in the guest bedroom some nights. You were just giving him space in case you and Ghost became too much at once. Sure his stuff is all over the apartment, mixing in just as well as Ghosts. Yes, he has been with you two every break except… he hasn't been asked for the holidays. You two spend holidays with your (family/friends). You never asked because you do not want to make him choose between his family and your relationship, and are not sure how his family would take a polycule.

So the boys go back to base. Soap fools himself into believing that was that, and he should be grateful for the few weeks he had in your home. Still, he can't help sleeping with the collar on every night, or that it brings him comfort. He only begins to question this when you text him two weeks in. It is a simple text, asking his preference on some random recipe you want to cook for him, but Soap honestly starts crying. After that, he gets texts from you every few days.

At the first news of a break, Ghost once again appears in his room, packing Soap a bag, "birdie said home." Within hours, Soap is sandwiched between you watching a movie in onesies. Soap is just eating up the attention. All too soon, they have to return.

Soap feels like he has no right to be upset that he and Ghost do not have moments on base. Ghost is just unsure how to approach the subject without his bird. But you are both so good to him on leave.

Then he gets injured, it's minor, but it could have been so much worse. Ghost drags him to his room. Soap is expecting a lecture instead he is thrown on the bed. The bounce of the mattress reboots his brain. Next thing he knows, he is blissed out, sweaty, collared, and covered in love bites with Ghost asleep on his chest. Ghost thought Soap was going to die and freaked out, needing to feel and hear Soap. Following that, after particularly rough missions, Ghosts visits him at night.

One break, you get some temporary tattoo pins and go nuts doodling on them. They are covered in colorful designs when they return to base. While they are home, you take an imprint of their mouths. Soap doesn't think anything of it, given that he once saw you wearing tooth earrings and knows you get creative.

At least he doesn't till the moment he realizes he might actually be married to you two in every way but on paper. He and Simon come home exhausted to find you in the kitchen with the counters covered in different desserts. Stress baking... the two of them are by your side, checking on you. "What has Birdie worked up?" You are evasive at first. Only Soap notices you flinch when he touches your back. The shirt is off in seconds, them checking for injury, only to find a fresh tattoo. Suddenly, you are a blushing mess. "Do you like it? It took some effort to design it right." It takes the boys a minute to catch on, to process what they are seeing. Spanning across your shoulder blade are their bite imprints simplified and shrunk down to create a wave pattern with little penguins in it.

This is the moment Soap decides to buy Y/N, and Simon rings because you two clearly are incapable of just saying what you want. You are also in for a wild night.

[claypigeonpottery]

my package from @mmgceramics arrived today and I am so excited to hold these in my hands. they’re absolutely stunning!

the backs are beautiful too, with the signature worked into the pattern 😍

(and he even decorated the box 🥹)

[screampied]

how jjk men react to you being quiet in bed and trying to hide your moans

ps: love your writing and I don't know if you've done this or not but respond when you can happy new year🎊

❛ JUST A TEASE! ❜

geto, sukuna, gojo, toji, nanami. jjk men dealing with a quiet s/o who hides their moans.

warnings. fem!reader, lots of praise, dirty talk, cunnilingus, hair pulling, overstim, hiding your moans, size kink, 18+

wc. 2.5k

an. happy new year !!!! and thank yew smmm.

★ NANAMI KENTO.

“everything okay?” he’d hum, and nanami’s got you riding him, two soft grasped hands latch onto your waist as you’re slowly lurching and bucking your hips against him. nanami ghosts a few fingers down your waist.

a sly teasing expression with the way he’s leaned back, his eyes trail from up to down as he sees your cute expressions. “you’re awfully quiet today, princess.”

and you were very much quiet, he raised his brows at the way you hide yourself into his neck, trying to deflect the situation by softly nibbling on his skin and he smiles to himself. 

“is the pretty baby shy to make noise?” he coos, his words were warm—full of tenderness with a tad of playfulness. you let off a soft gasp from the way he lightly grips a bit more on both sides of your waist. nanami makes you start to move your hips, bounce against him, your skin ricocheting from each thrust and you’re so full, pumped full of his girth you can’t even think clearly. “you don’t gotta hide from me. ‘s just me, hon. your moans are adorable, y’know?”

you pathetically nod, feeling yourself throb from not only his sloppy hits against you—but his words, the way he was so soft and tender with his praises. 

“i-i know,” you muttered, your arms went around him and he softly chortles, brushing his thumbs against your hips—creating a pattern-like trace of circles against your skin, giving your sweet curves all types of attention and touch. “i just don’t wanna be so loud. it’s…embarrassing.”

“embarrassing?” he repeats, and he’s still leaned back. nanami’s so pretty, blond hair slightly ruffled, a few beads of sweat run down the sides of his head as if they were in a competitive race with each other. 

he’s balls deep to where you slip out a moan from feeling his tip kiss against that spot that always gets you weak. “oh, don’t say that,” he happily sighs, there was a sparse glimpse of sparkle in his eye and he smiles. nanami lightly tilts your chin up to bring a kiss towards your lips. “you could never be embarrassing, my love. if anything, your sweet moans and whimpers are quite adorable. the way only i can make you sound like that makes me feel a certain type of way.”

“really?” you’d moan, squeezing your glossed lips together. 

“really, princess.” he reassures you, your entrance felt as if it was nearly at its limit, nanami’s cock stretched and stretched against you as you felt him throb—giving him a subtle glance. you could spot his sharp jawline, and the perfect way of how it clenched and tightened. you made him so aroused, for a brief moment he stared away before pulling you towards his chest. 

you choke out a whimper, pressure building up inside of you, how filthy it was at the way his tip french-kissed your g-spot, a sloppy smooch with the head of it — you’re spasming, you’re stupid. 

“k-kento, ‘m gonna cum...” you’d gasp.

“can’t hear you pretty girl,” he groans, peppering a few kisses near your face. “i wanna hear you. speak up, wanna hear that voice talk to me nice.”

once you end up creaming down his shaft for a second time. you’re shaking, a mess and he has to hold you in his arms. a warm smile on his lips as your body lifelessly rocked against him.

not exactly moving your hips anymore—you panted, tugging on the front fabric of his shirt before slumping your head against his chest.

“aww, my poor baby’s all exhausted, hm? there there, ‘s okay. i got you, kento’s got you.”

★ GOJO SATORU.

the moment he figures out you’re trying to be quiet purposely — hiding your moans. a hand covering your mouth he grows confused, yet it turns to straight cockiness. 

“heyyy, don’t be like that,” he purses his lips, you’re laid flat on your back with your legs just lightly pushed apart. just open and spread just for him and only him. “hiding your pretty moans from me? aw man, that’s no fun, princess…”

and he gives you a faux pout your right hand that wasn’t occupied, your nails dug into the depths of his skin, marking up his pale toned arm.

gojo looks down at you, one hand lightly pressing against your tummy to feel how good he was fucking you. 

“m-mhm s-sato—,” you’d pant, again and again. your pussy gripped and hugged tight against him. a bear hug practically. your walls grew out to be so needy, suffocating yet you get cut off your words once he grabs your chin. a thumb swipes against the tiny drool seeping down the corner of your mouth. 

“don’t hide from me.” he murmurs. he’s real slow with his movements against you, slow and steady. 

his bare chest presses against you, and he’s so hot, his heat radiates against your skin, almost as if he was sticking against you. “don’t cover that pretty face. matter of fact,” and then he pistons his thrusts—a hand running up and down your waist, squelches of your cunt ringing through your ears like a bell. “moan in my mouth. gimme a little kiss,” and then he teasingly puts a finger against his lips. “riiiight here, baby.”

his body jerks against yours and gojo brings you into a deep kiss once you lean. his tongue traces against yours, heaving before he starts moaning into your mouth from your sweetened taste.

“sweet girl,” he’d grunt, you could feel his erectness practically plug you full. whilst gojo’s chest pressed against yours, he started to grind slowly against you. your lips parted a bit, eliciting a needy moan from your throat.

it was the way your legs trapped his slim waist, easily locking around. you gasped — feeling gojo move your hand from your face, pinning them towards the sides, and you felt that dumb coy smile of his tug against the corners of his lips.

he smiles at how you start to cover your mouth again, but he moves your hand away. “so damn shy for nooo reason,” he teases. with a blindfold half on, gojo he playfully tugs on the band, clicking his tongue with a swift head shake. “ah ah, i wanna hear you.”

and you grew out to be more flustered the minute he pulls away from kissing. strands of spit depart your lips and his. leaning into your neck to softly, gojo nibbles against your skin all to just to drag out more noises from you.

“think ‘m gonna laugh at your orgasm or somethin’?” he whispers against your skin, still buried deep—inches inside your pussy that gripped and clamped down on him before he giggles at the way you nod. “aw. i won’t do that. ‘m not that mean.”

“promise?” you mumbled.

his thrusts, so fulfilling. it was so deep, reaching directly into those spots to make you your brain short circuit. swallowing thickly, you end up cutely tugging on his arm.

he chuckles. “oh i promise, baby,” and then he plants a kiss near your nose—cheek—then near the corner of your mouth, finally locking his fingers with yours. “be as loud as you want, if it helps, i’ll be loud with you,” and then he runs a hand down his back. “just…not too loud because it’ll be the seventh time the erm…neighbors complain about us, heheh.”

★ SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“what’s with you?” he raises a dark brow, your back’s being pressed against his chest.

riding him in reverse and you’re so quiet….

dragging a few nails lightly against his thigh and he gives the right side of your neck a few playful bites. “you’re not all whiney like ya usually are.”

his words were so smooth and sly against your neck, delicately brushing against your skin.

he throbs inside you, and you clamp and clamp down on him. you’re so dizzy—yet you seclude your moans by pressing your glossed lips together, only cute faint soft mutters of moans slipping out here and there.

“…woman,” he grunts, pausing your hips, your eyes briefly widen at the feeling of sukuna’s big hands hold your waist in place—a single shift of his thigh, and you felt his girth expand deep inside your walls. “aw don’t don’t hide from me now,” he smiles, a mere softness gliding against his deep tone.

you started to cover your face with your hands from how embarrassed you were—yet sukuna grabs your hands and chuckles. the way the tips of his fingers graze against you make you tingle. you pulsed so much—it got you off to where you felt yourself start to salivate, all from his touch and words.

“you know better than to not hide your pretty voice,” he murmurs, softly sinking his canines into your neck. nibble after nibble, you panted. a whimper leaves your throat once he starts to bounce his thigh. “or…should i stop?”

“n—no,” you choked out, a swift head shake. the way he softly sucks against your skin, gentle fangs softly seeping into your neck before giving your neck a few sweet kisses. “kuna- don’t stop.”

“i would,” he hums with a chortle. deep voice full of smug and satirize. and his cock was just idle against you. at this point you were cockwarming him, and you wanted to move but he had your hips still. “but i guess someone thought it was a good idea to hide their pretty moans from me.”

he was such a tease—you felt yourself burn up once he drags a a hand down between your legs to rub a few good circles against your clit, maneuvering his fingers, and you’re so wet….

it was sloppy.

squelch after squelch. you whimpered, gripping onto his hand to make him rub harder but then he chuckles, lightly swatting your hand away. “oh…?you like that? or you’d prefer for me to finish?”

“f-finish, ‘kuna..”

“then moan for me,” he whispers, giving your skin a soft suck. sukuna starts to bounce his thigh again and you whine. nails piercing into his thighs, you hit your lip before letting off a moan. “see, that wasn’t so hard, now was it, brat,” and he helps you start to grind your hips against him. reaching so deep, your head fell back against him and he lowly guffaws. “yeah, be loud. don’t care who here’s, ‘s just you and me.”

★ GETO SUGURU.

he’d be propped up in between your legs, eating you out like a starved man. you have the courtesy of tying his long, pretty hair back for him.

a few minutes had past yet he was taking his precious time, pressing sweet kisses against your cunt.

you felt yourself throb and flutter, gripping onto his hair and he has a smile.

“love pullin’ on my hair, huh?” he mutters, swiping a thumb against your slit. you happily coat him with your slick than ran down his chin. you gave him a pathetic nod, and you shiver, lips parting from the way geto presses his tongue against your labia — giving it lick after lick.

geto’s raises a brow at the way you’re covering your mouth with a hand, just barely keeping eye contact with him.

he plants a chaste kiss against your pussy before pausing briefly. breaking himself away and now you pout. “…hey,” he murmurs, a coy cunning voice. “stop that, baby.”

“s-stop what?” you hitched, your legs feeling warm. he was so sloppy with his tongue, yet gentle.

“girl, you know what i’m talking about.” a subtle eye-roll, geto sits up from between your legs. his tone was now filled with playfulness yet a bit of sass.

you stare down at him, a few strands occluding his view of vision.

tightly holding onto his hair, he stares at your pussy then at you.

“you’re being all timid and shy. c’mon, ‘s just me. i wanna hear how good i make you feel,” and then he slowly lays his tongue flat against your cunt. “…so…let….me,” he paused between speech. using two fingers to lightly spread open your folds, geto laps his tongue again to taste your sweet. “—finish my meal, and lemme hear you.”

“o-okay.” you stuttered. gritting your teeth for a split second, your legs felt numb and not even moments later.

he ends up coaxing yet another orgasm out of you, your mind goes blank. you were so loud.

he couldn’t help but chuckle at you, how cute you were. with the way your body jerked and squirmed all because of his tongue.

geto gives your pussy a good suck, he knows all the right spots to swirl and run his tongue across.

“there it is,” he hums, and his head goes forward before you yank a bit too hard between your legs. “e-easy, sweetheart. don’t pull my hair out now.”

★ FUSHIGURO TOJI.

toji grunts — two rough hands attached to your waist as he’s got your head pressed against the mattress. you’re biting the sheets with your teeth, strained moans being secluded entirely and toji immediately notices, you feel the curve of his dick throb against you. it was so good, your eyes rolled all the way back, toji’s got your wrists in a good hold before he pauses his sloppy thrusts.

“hmph.”

“w-why’d you stop..” you spat out, your voice was a bit shaky and muffled….solely from the way your teeth tugged against the sheets.

toji’s stubborn and doesn’t reply, and instead, he makes you move your ass up just a bit—yet he pulls out, and you gasp at the feeling of him just rubbing his leaky plump tip against your inner folds.

a few inches and he'd be right back in. you cringed. and you started to whine, face down and ass up, your body felt so hot and tingly.

“t-tojiiii..”

“w-whattt..”

he mocks your voice, and you let off a frustrated sigh, he butchers your tone in the most dramatic way. you don’t even sound like that. “aw, getting frustrated, ey? how come y’er biting the sheets. ya don’t want me to hear you or somethin’—?”

your eyebrows contorted together, and you huffed out a needy breath, back starting to arch idly. “no,” and you feel the tips of your ears grow hot at a scorching temperature—his tip, it was rounded and fat, just swiping against your folds. with just a bit of a push he’d be back inside, but he kept sliding out. “toji, f-finish…finish fucking me.”

“say please.”

you pout, your cheek pressing into the mattress now—desperately craving him to continue. “please…”

“silly girl. ya forgot to say pretty please.”

“toji….” you moaned, craving to feel him again, and he caressed his fingers against your ass, teasing you—a single playful click of his tongue, and he’s got you wrapped around his finger. he starts to make you rollick and move your hips against him, still holding your hips. you grumbled, finally letting off a moan—just wanting him to not tease and finish. “pretty please.”

“good girl,” he purrs softly, dipping his hips against you just slightly before you sit your head up. “now now, lie back,” he mutters, and he starts to go back inside again, a good squeeze and fit and you let off a soft whine once his cock hits there.

you’re seeing blanks, mouth open and all, you whimper before you start getting louder. “there we go….use that whiney voice, jus’ like ya always have, doll.”

[kngrose]

do you not write for ambessa 👉🏻👈🏻? cuz your sevika headcanons are *chef’s kiss*

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

WARNINGS: 18+, sexual content, implied voyeurism, body worship, oral, slapping, spanking, dacryphilia, implied age gap, slave/master if you squint, wlw!

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : prayers have been answered ^^

SFW

Come, come. Let's talk about it.

I don't think Ambessa strikes anyone as a lovely kind of person. Yes, she is incredibly charismatic, and might even be the love-bombing type, but Ambessa seems to clearly reserve "love" for those closest to her. Well, her version of it anyway.

She won't just walk around with her heart on her shoulder, she's a warrior for hell's sake. And we're all familiar with her opinions on becoming weak at the hands of love.

If you've managed to genuinely catch Ambessa's interest-- not just for her personal gain or a quick fuck-- then you've got a headache coming your way. Like, a migraine.

I want to really emphasize the love bombing because regardless of whether Ambessa is aware of it or not, the relationship will feel this way for a long time. There's a pattern. She's affectionate one day; showering you with praises and soft kisses, sunrise to sunset. You'll have to want for nothing. Gifts and trips, all treated to you by hers truly. Wining and dining, a good fuck. And though all of this is displayed in private, you'll be enamored. Which is exactly what she wants you to be.

And then, she'll be cold and standoffish. Uncaring of your presence or too busy to be bothered. When Ambessa handles business, there's no such thing as making time for you. You'll just have to pacify yourself until she's ready to be bothered with you again.

It'll take you a while to realize, but when you do you can't miss it; she's got an avoidant attachment. She wants to love you and to be loved, but the moment she receives it she's pulling away. She's looking for flaws in you, anything that'll convince herself that you're bad for her, to leave you where she found you.

Constantly creating exit strategies, thinking of petty little arguments to start for no reason, or an insecurity of yours to pick at. She was trained to fight, it's her strong suit in any sense. It's always easier for her to disconnect and dismiss her feelings than to just sit and talk it out. And you'll want nothing to do with her, which is also what she wants.

She just be losing the plot, I fear.

Unfortunately, cycles like this take time to break. Fortunately, she's not going to let you leave! So you have all the time in the world! <3

When you bring this to her knowledge, you'll really have to bring it. Sit her down and let her know she's not moving until she's heard every word that leaves your mouth, wagging a painted finger in her face. And she'll humor you because you've managed to make an impression with her.

She will sit, patiently and leisurely, man spread and all, watching you fuss her out throwing your hands every which way and yelling. And she will have the softest, fondest smile on her face. She'll know you love her at this moment.

She will let you say your piece without interruptions. In fact, she's so quiet that you have to question if she's even listening a few times. And when you catch sight of that little smile you just pause, dumbfounded. And she'll just humor your expression, urging you to continue with a curt wave of her hand.

After this occasion, Ambessa will be relentless. In her mind, anyone willing to fuss her out the way that you have must truly love her. So now, she knows no limits. In the past, Ambessa would have you stay put with some guards while she handled her day-to-day tasks. But now? You tag along with her everywhere.

In meetings, Ambessa has you perched on her lap. Touching you mindlessly as she discusses possible strategies and looks over speeches. Rubbing your thighs, your neck, your arms. You'll find it awkward at first--such a public display of affection-- but you'll have no choice but to get used to it.

She's hand-feeding you everything. Holding your cups to your lips, licking frosting off your mouth. It's a starch contrast to the dynamic your relationship used to have. But, you suppose you shouldn't be surprised at her shamelessness, she's always been a bit... eccentric.

And now, you don't even have to ask her to share her feelings, in fact, you have to tell her that some things are a little TMI because she wants to share everything with you. Everything. EVERYTHING.

Secrets don't exist, she's an open book. Whatever's on her mind, you're going to hear about it. Which in most cases, you can appreciate. She'll open up about her past and all of the things that have led her up to this point. She'll speak of her daughter, Mel, expressing a regret that she's never opened up to her about. And she'll talk about the effects you have on her personally.

These moments are heartwarming, cause it solidifies your bond.

Undoubtably, Ambessa is a very possessive woman. She's very adamant about expressing to everyone that you belong to her. Not necessarily in a verbal sense, but people will know. They'll know when they see the lingering touches she leaves, the elongated glances, the kisses. Again she's very shameless, so don't let these things take you by surprise.

She's also very protective. She does like to have you tag along with her everywhere, but every now and then she'll leave you with Rictus while she goes to handle more trying situations. You know, the ones where she may potentially commit a war crime or two.

She'd much rather you be locked away than have to protect you on the battlefield. Though she's positive you know of her capabilities, she wouldn't like to have you see her in that light regardless. She'll go to great, violent, bloody lengths to keep you safe.

Besides her shameless physical touch, Ambessa likes to show her love with flashy gifts and large bouquets of flowers. She likes to collect things from all the places she's been to gift to you; know that every time she's out, she thinks of what you might like to have.

She also likes to share knowledge. She finds that to be one of the biggest displays of love; sharing one's knowledge of the world and life. Things you can can learn from. She will really appreciate and admire the fact that you look up to her as a mentor, and especially loves it when you ask for her opinion or perspective. It shows that you rely on her.

And she likes to be relied on!

She has a tendency to just walk around naked, and not for any particular reason other than the fact that it’s, “Comfortable, sweet thing.” It doesn’t matter what time of the day it is, if she has leisure time to waste, she’ll be naked. And she likes to be watched; “I worked hard for this body, honey..” She’ll say, flexing her arms at you.

She takes great pride in her form and in her strength. She likes to lift you up randomly just to showcase it. She’ll always pick you up when she hugs you, gripping your thighs loosely or not at all. You could honestly just hang onto her, dropping all of your weight. It wouldn’t make a difference.

She never fails to fluster you at any given chance. Every time you’re having a conversation she’s holding the strongest eye contact, chuckling to herself when you avoid her gaze. She'll randomly grip your chin, or caress your face. Sometimes twirling the hair by your ears. She likes to see you get all flustered because of her. It genuinely makes her day. That's why she does it so much.

She's old! Lol, you'll have to keep her updated with the new slang and terms of endearment. If you're someone who incorporates a lot of slang into your vocabulary, you'll often receive sideways glances of confusion before she stares at you and mutters, "...What?"

NSFW

I’m going to say it again; she’s shameless.

She has no qualms. Like, at all.

She loves to put on a show. She loves to be ogled at, it strokes her— already large enough— ego. More often than not, she’ll shove you down onto the bed, and with a calculated slowness, she’ll begin to undress, maintaining eye contact with you throughout. Her eyes always smoldering with a mix of passion and a touch of dominance.

And she’ll study you closely for your reaction, loving the look of pure awe on your face as she stands nude before you. Her voice, a low and husky murmur, would echo through the room, "See something you like, my dear?" and she’ll hum in approval at the soft, “Yes, Ma’am” she receives in return.

Ambessa appreciates a well mannered slut.

Most times, Ambessa will request that you massage her, all over. She loves it; It fulfills her desire to be worshipped. She loves to watch you take your time and rub every part of her, smirking down at you as you get lower and lower.

Ambessa will lean back slightly, her expression transitioning into a devilish smirk. Her free hand slowly tracing a path along the contours of your body. She watches you like a hawk, a smirk ever present on her lips.

When you start to kiss down her body a contented sigh will escape her lips. She’ll run her fingers through your hair, gently but firmly guiding your movements. Her head will tilt back, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. Each touch, each kiss, draws out a low and guttural sound from her throat, her desire evident in the way her body responds to your ministrations.

And the hand in your hair will tighten as she shoves your face in between her legs, a knowing glint in her eyes, “You know what to do.” And her body tenses as you start to eat her pussy, the hand in your hair tightening almost painfully as she groans.

She requires eye contact; she wants you to watch her come undone on your mouth. It’s like a reward, no? Watching the effect you have on her. She wouldn’t want you to miss the way she leans her head back, her hips rutting against your tongue at a steady pace, glancing down at you as she murmurs, “Good girl.”

And she won’t miss the hand that you trail down to your pussy, toying with yourself impatiently. A leisurely chuckle will fall from her lips, “Patience, Darling.” She’ll always say, pulling your hair to angle your head just right so she can fuck your face better. “Patience.”

And soon her breathing will turn shallow, Ambessa's grip on your hair impossibly intensifying, her fingers tangling in your locks as she guides your movements. Her control momentarily slips as she succumbs to the pleasure you're giving her.

And when she cums? She’ll pull your head back playing idly with the mess on your face, “Tsk… now you’re all dirty,” She’ll mutter, before leaning down and licking it off your chin. She’ll meet your lips in a sloppy mess of a kiss, groaning softly at the taste. And when she pulls back she’ll admire the look on your face, taking a mental photo of it. “Pretty…”

I think Ambessa would have a thing for teasing you. She likes to put you in uncomfortable positions. Make you put yourself on display in risky places. Loves touching you under tables. It just warms her core to see you so flustered, really riles her up. Especially so if you start crying, she’ll just squeeze your cheeks in her hand and snicker at you, “Ohhhh, you poor thing,” She’ll chuckle, and peck your puckered lips.

I already mentioned that Ambessa loves it when you’re well-mannered, it’ll quite literally get you anything your heart desires. You ask her nicely to make up cum? She’ll do it in a heartbeat. “With my mouth, or with my hands?” She’ll raise a brow, “Or with something else?” You use your manners with Ambessa like a good girl and she’ll be at your beck and call.

Laying you on your stomach softly to pull your ass in the air and eating your pussy until you squirt all over her mouth, and she won’t let a drop go to waste. She’ll trail her thick tongue from your clit all the way to your ass and back, over and over and over, circling the hole playfully before spitting onto it, the spit trailing back down. It’s truly a beautiful sight, she thinks.

Do you want her to fuck you with her fingers? They’re thick. You’ll hardly need two of them to satiate that churning in your core. Perhaps you want a massage of your own? Want her to suck on your pretty feet? Maybe you want her to talk you through your orgasm and praise you softly in your ear while you cum on her fingers? Everything all at once? No request is too far for Ambessa. She likes to worship her pretty thing; and loves to appreciate your body. Especially when it’s well deserved.

But when you’re ill mannered? Ambessa will show you exactly how she became a warlord.

Don’t expect any pleasure from this outcome. It’ll be hard. It’ll be brutal. And you’ll wish you’d never mouthed off at her the way you did. “What did we learn?” She’ll growl, above you, slapping your ass with a powerful force, “Quickly.” She’ll order.

And she’ll hum as you blubber loudly about being respectful, but her abuse will not stop. She will continue to keep you over her knee, slapping at your ass and thighs relentlessly. And when she’s done with that? She’ll have you on your knees, facing up at her with your hands folded politely over your lap. And you’d better pay extra attention to your posture or she’ll punish you for that too.

You’re never prepared for the swat to your cheek. “What are we not doing in the future?” She won’t falter at the cry that leaves your mouth, her gaze stone-cold and unwavering. She’ll swat your cheek again, slap, “I said, quickly.” And again, she won’t be moved by your blubbering until she’s satisfied-- until she believes you’ve learned a lesson.

And she’ll always be sure to pacify you until you’ve calmed down, offering you water and comfort, but still being stern enough that you remember your place the next time around. She’ll be sure to build you up just as she’s broken you down, affirming you gently. And you’ll fall back into her, blubbering your apologies.

She’ll conceal a smirk.

She loves to see you cry.

please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx

taglist: @opropheticsoul

[cobbled-peach]

love, factually

in which Spencer explains the facts behind love in a mildly suggestive way

cw: implied suggestive content, sfw. fem!reader. Spencer just yapping about biology and evolution teehee a/n: this is fully self induldgent because i love to yap about biology. maybe you'll learn something from this, who knows? a very short piece of work while i create something longer. this has not been edited <3 w/c: 900 words

‘You know, for someone so rational, you get awfully sentimental sometimes,’ you tease, voice light but deliberate.

Spencer watches the smile tug at your lips, then (dramatically) removes your legs from his lap like he’s been wounded. Offended. Insulted. ‘Sentimental? Me? Never.’

You laugh as he gives a faux scoff, only to shift your legs right back where they were. He doesn’t protest. Just lets your calves drape over his thighs and settles his hands on bare skin, fingers tracing idle circles just above your knees.

‘I’m not sentimental,’ he insists, fingers tightening in mock warning, enough to make your breath catch. ‘Just… selectively emotional.’

‘Mm, of course,’ you murmur, clearly unconvinced. ‘You apologised to my dying fern today, Spencer. That’s not giving selective. That’s giving deeply emotional.’

‘She’s struggling!’ he says with a soft laugh, head tipping back slightly. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and your chest goes warm. ‘She needs care.’

‘She?’ you echo, tucking a soft brown curl behind his ear. His fingers still for a second at the gesture, then resume their lazy patterns.

‘It’s a fern,’ he replies with pretend indignation. ‘It’s not going to be a he.’

You tap his nose, smirking. ‘Sentimental,’ you conclude, and it’s like putting a period on the conversation.

He turns toward you more, shoulder pressing against yours, heat radiating from his skin. Closem warm. Subtle, but intentional. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t want to.

‘Fine,’ he concedes. ‘But that’s not down to me. It’s down to science. Evolution.’

‘Oh, here we go again,’ you say, throwing your arms up in fake dispear, grinning at him. ‘Love: just oxytocin and dopamine and whatever other scientific explanation you have for sentimentality that’s stored in your encyclopaedia-brain.’

He chuckles. Short, low, lips pressing into a crooked smile. ‘Love does exist because of oxytocin and dopamine. And evolution. And natural selection.’  

You arch a brow, skeptical, but amused. ‘Romantic.’ Sarcasm. ‘Please, go on.’

He leans closer, close enough for the hem of his shirt to brush your side, for his breath to caress your cheek. His thighs shift, angling your hips more toward him. When he speaks again, its in a quiet and focused tone, almost reverent. The one he uses when explaining something complex, something fascinating.

‘Mutual investment theory,’ he begins, each syllable slow and deliberate. He says it like it’s the sexiest phrase on the planet. And maybe it is, coming from him. ‘Pair bonding kept early animals together. Emotional attachment increased cooperation – sharing food, dividing work, mutual protection. It wasn’t just about sex, but survival. And survival,’ he adds, eyes falling to your lips for a fleeting moment, ‘wasn’t easy in early hominid societies.’

He watches your response. Pure amusement combined with total perplexion. You blink, lips parting slightly.

‘So, what you’re saying,’ you pause, ‘is that biology wants us to… cuddle?’

‘Biology is insisting on it, actually.’

Another shift. His hands now; one slides around your waist, the other supporting your thigh as he pulls you on to his lap. Slow, fluid, sure. You go willingly, legs straddling his hips, hands automatically finding the sharp line of his shoulders.

‘You’re really trying to seduce me with natural selection?’ you ask, and he smiles at the way your voice is a shade more breathless than before.

‘Is it working?’ His hands settle on your back, one tracing beneath the fabric of your shirt. Up and down your spine, featherlight and teasing, feeling each dip and ridge of the bone.

There’s heat in that question. Intentional. Undeniable. Heavy. He dips his head, lips brushing beneath your jaw. It’s barely a kiss, more a breath against your skin. You hum in response, leaning into the contact. He lets his mouth linger there a second longer, then slides towards the hollow beneath your ear.

‘So,’ you whisper, ‘biologically speaking, your instincts think I’m a good mate?’

His lips pull away, but not far, letting out a soft huff.

‘Technically, it’s your instincts,’ he murmurs. His voice sounds like smooth honey. ‘Female mate choice is a primary driver of sexual selection. Females choose their partners based on traits, behaviours, physical indicators of health and intelligence…’

He trails off, another kiss pressed to your skin. You almost groan. Because only he could make Darwin sound like foreplay.

‘But,’ he adds, lifting his head to meet your eyes. ‘my instincts are screaming at me too, I suppose.’ His gaze is slightly glassy, pupils wider than normal in anticipation, but his voice remains impossibly steady.

Your hands slide from his shoulders to his neck, thumbs brushing the hinge of his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your fingers. They thumbs maintain the gentle brushing movement as you continue, feeling the tension lingering beneath his skin.

‘Are they now? And what are they saying?’

His eyes flick to your mouth again. Then back up.

‘They’re telling me that you’re very good for my survival. In an evolutionary way, of course.’

Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between a laugh and something else. ‘That so?’

‘Mhm,’ he hums. Leans in. Brushes his lips to yours. Just a suggestion, not a kiss.

You attempt to chase it.

‘Well, I can’t argue with biology,’ you whisper back.

He kisses you properly, then. Slow and intentional. Like he’s testing a hypothesis he already knows the answer to. You’re just providing the evidence – for a theory that nature figured out long ago.

[nightingale-prompts]

Time Off-DCxDP prompt

Getting Phantom to comply with anything is hard enough. He does his own thing more of the time. He is constantly shifted from team to team as a sort of contracted hero. He goes where he is needed.

So far they have learned a lot about his kind. Ghost were hard to pin down due to how different they behaved. One important thing they have learn is Ghosts have their own rules and one big rule is never skipping out on the holidays. They celebrate every holiday they can from Halloween, Christmas, to New years. They like these days. Other holidays like Independence Day depend on the ghost. But Phantom made it clear that they have their own holidays that were very important. If those days came up he had to adhere to them.

"A meeting. I can't go. Not next Saturday. It's the Veil's Thinning." Phantom said "It's the biggest part of the year."

The Thinning was the day the barrier between realms weakens and allows natural portals to form. It is the one day that they are given free rein to roam. They can visit family or finish their business. They even leave gifts or messages for the living.

"You can't come because of a party? Phantom this is serious business." Natman sighed.

"I am being serious. Your parents visit you every year for the Thinning and you can't even appreciate it. The least you could do is respect our traditions and leave an offering for them this year." Phantom pouted as he jetted off

**********

"I need a date to the Haunter's Ball. Or else Clock's gonna choose someone for me." Danny sighed flopping on the couch.

The Titans all glanced at one another to see who was going to try to claim the title first.

Phantom took the silence as a no.

"The ball is sort of like a fea party. Friendly hauntings, playing tricks on mortals, and attend a grand feast where we eat enchanted food. You have to dress in costume though. It also happens to fall on my death day so its a big deal if I don't go."

He conveniently left out that part that mortals who dare attend may earn favor with the Ancients—or become the subject of ghostly pranks.

************

Not every holiday is a celebration.

One day in particular was The Silence. A day of absolute stillness, observed once per year. On that day, all spirits cease their movement. It is a sacred time of contemplation, where ghosts meditate on their past lives and what lies beyond their new form.

Phantom took it very seriously. He sent it meditating in the Watchtower. J'onn joined him in silent contemplation. It's an emotional holiday.

It doesn't compare to the holiday that has no set date. The Unfinished Mourning. when a great tragedy befalls a world a large number of souls enter the realm on their way to the other side. Some stay, but most don't. Their deaths are often sudden and unfair. Ghosts of the recently departed come together to grieve alongside the living. Those who participate earn a brief moment of clarity, where they may remember their lives and speak their final thoughts before they depart to their afterlife fully.

Phantom isn't seen during this time. He is busy laying souls to rest and performing last rights. He knows the names of the dead and marks them all down so that they are buried properly. He tells families, the survivors of their loved ones' fate. He gives them final goodbyes. He takes the blame of angry citizens who tell him it's his fault. He is demonized most in these moments as a harbinger of death. He can not control what he is and knows his role is important. For the living and the dead.

************

On a very special night Phantom invites everyone to his favorite holiday. It was created for him after all. Clockwork named it thousands of years ago when Phantom accidentally created it. Long story.

The Night of Unanswered Whispers. A rare celestial event when the stars align in a specific pattern. Ghosts gain the ability to be heard clearly by the living but only in riddles and cryptic phrases. Many spirits use this opportunity to pass on secrets, hidden knowledge, or warnings. Scholars and mystics would spend the night deciphering ghostly murmurs in hopes of uncovering forgotten lore.

Ot was like a giant puzzle to solve as everyone could write down their messages and try to solve them. The Bat family members liked it as much as Danny did. Diana and Hal just liked the atmosphere. It was a nice moonlit picnic under the stars with wisps providing light.

(That's the end for now. I have 10 more holidays in mind.)

[walble]

Your Future Partner

Paid Readings | Ko-Fi

This is meant to be a fun, general reading, so it may not resonate with everyone. Take what resonates for you and leave the rest behind! Please take a moment to breathe, focus on your intuition, and choose the photo that calls to you. Each holds a unique message for you!

𐙚 • 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 1

Your future partner is someone who brings a sense of hope, renewal, and inspiration into your life. They're likely to come into your world when you're healing or stepping into a more authentic version of yourself. This person carries a calming presence and seems to ignite a quiet optimism in you, as if things are finally aligning after a period of uncertainty or difficulty. They're drawn to your inner light and may even reflect that light back at you, encouraging personal growth and emotional clarity.

They likely avoid unnecessary conflict and prefer peace over chaos. Their presence suggests a breath of fresh air in your romantic experiences—someone who isn't here to play games or stir up drama. Past relationship patterns or internal struggles that once caused you stress begin to settle in their presence. This is someone who chooses communication over avoidance and is mature enough to let go of power struggles, making them emotionally supportive and level-headed.

Initially, there might be a hesitancy or emotional block on your end, perhaps due to past heartbreak or a fear of making the wrong choice again. But this person’s clear intentions and decisive nature will help you see things more clearly. Their actions will speak loudly, and they’ll show you that love doesn't have to come with confusion. You'll begin to trust yourself more around them, and that clarity will make it easier for you to open up.

They are intelligent, assertive, and driven—likely someone who charges forward when they know what they want. They might have a bold personality or a quick wit, and they’re not afraid to speak the truth. This person values honesty and progress, and once they decide to pursue you, they’ll do so with purpose. The connection may progress quickly once it starts, carried by strong communication and mutual respect. This person enters your life like a gust of wind—clearing the fog and pushing both of you toward something meaningful and transformative.

𐙚 • 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 2

Your future partner is likely someone who has recently come out of a period of isolation or deep introspection. They may have gone through a transformative experience that forced them to confront their inner world and now they’re ready to step back into life, more self-aware and open. This person may have previously struggled with indecision or being stuck in their ways but is now making an intentional effort to take control of their life and act with purpose.

They are charismatic, skilled, and driven—someone who knows how to use the tools at their disposal to create opportunities and make things happen. There’s a sense of passionate energy around them, like they’re on the verge of starting something exciting, whether it’s a creative pursuit, a new project, or even a fresh chapter in life. This person will bring a spark into your world, not just emotionally but also through shared experiences and dynamic energy.

There’s also a feeling of wholeness and completion surrounding this future connection. This person may have traveled a long personal journey to get where they are, and now they’re ready to share their life with someone who can match their energy and growth. Your relationship with them will likely feel like the closing of an old chapter and the beginning of a new, meaningful one—with potential for long-term harmony, success, and mutual expansion.

𐙚 • 𝑃𝑖𝑙𝑒 3

Your future partner may initially come across as someone who has struggled with trust, communication, or immaturity in the past. They might have gone through a period of confusion, overthinking, or being unsure about their direction in life. This could stem from lessons they had to learn the hard way—perhaps from saying too much, too little, or not knowing how to navigate emotional conversations. When you meet them, they might still be healing from past experiences that shaped their perspective on love and connection.

They carry a deep emotional scar—perhaps from heartbreak or betrayal—that has forced them to confront their own vulnerabilities. This pain, while still present, has molded them into someone more self-aware and introspective. They're not looking for surface-level affection. Instead, they’re seeking something that brings balance, truth, and fairness into their life. They're serious about love and are ready to approach it with a sense of responsibility and integrity.

When they come into your life, the connection will feel undeniably strong. It’s not just romantic but deeply soulful, something that aligns with your values and your heart. There’s a feeling of choice and commitment between you both, one where mutual respect and emotional honesty play a big role. This person won’t shy away from showing you how much they care or from stepping into something meaningful with you.

They’re also generous—not just with time or resources, but with emotional effort and energy. This person values equality in relationships and wants to give just as much as they receive. They’re someone who believes love is a two-way street, and they’ll make sure you feel valued and supported. Their journey hasn't been easy, but it’s made them someone capable of deep, sincere love—ready to build something real with you.

[cursedcola]

ALRIGHT EVERYONE!

Nobody asked - but I broke down the construction of Epel’s cardigan from the sleepwear card as best I was able (aka. Me zooming in on him and staring very intensely).

This is the pattern idea I’ve come up with and a few grid charts. This is not finished, but what I’m going forward with to make his coat this month. My goal is to be done by the end of June.

So. Looking close at his sleeves - the closest resemblance we’ll get in the crochet world is the honeycomb stitch for the argyle diamonds. My plan is to break his sleeve into fourths. Three large panels of honey comb for the diamonds, and two smaller panels of a curved half-double-crochet to create dividers. The cardigan is clearly oversized on him, and even if it’s because of his smaller stature - I want to be SWAMPED in this thing. So the cuffs need to be CHUNKY. I’ll be going in with either a ribbed stitch, or a back stitch of double crochet. When the time comes I’ll test both to see which looks better.

Now - we’ve got the granny squares.

Looking at my little dude - we can see that they’re not just the front panel. They’re going on the back as well. Since I can’t see behind him, I’m going to take creative liberty and make one large panel of honeycomb stitch to be a central strip on the back. The front panels and side panels are going to be made of jumbo cranny squares.

For those of y’all who don’t crochet - the average granny square is about 25x25 stitches. Except oversized cardis use 8 of these bad boys per front panel. So since Epel has only four on each side, that means those squares gotta be JUMBO.

Zooming in - we see that the patterns are more embroidered. They’ve got texture. Since we’re crocheting, the best way to achieve this is to do pixel crochet for the squares and then go over the designs with a basic embroider stitch. This can be any of your choosing - I’ve yet to pick but will note what I want when the time comes.

There are THREE types of squares on Epel’s coat. I’m just calling them blossom, diamond, and apple. Since there are only three, it would have been difficult to make an entire back with them without having two of a kind touching or diagonal from each other (this is personal preference. I hate how this looks) which is why I’ve decided to go for that middle panel of honeycomb stitch.

The rest of the cardigan seems simple enough. The collar and trim is likely a simple ribbing, and those look like classic farmhouse wooden buttons if I’ve ever seen them.

EDIT (5/6/25): So. Complete change of plan for the sleeves now that I’ve gotten some sleep and thought on it. There’s a cable-knit stitch in the crochet world that closely resembles knit cables. Also lattice stitch or Tunisian crochet can be used for the diamond pattern. So if you want simple/beginner then do the honeycomb with a twisted hdc. If you want advanced then mix the cable-stitch with lattice.

Now - let’s talk materials.

I’m going with acrylic for this. Would it be absolutely divine as wool or a nice, dense alpaca blend? Definitely. I bet that’s what Epel has since his family runs a farm.

I am broke so I’ll be going in with a medium - weight acrylic, hook size 6, and all the granny squares will be done with basic hdc. Although acrylic is a bit itchy - id any of y’all choose to do this? Soak that finished product in a fabric softener solution. It’s a few dollars and your project will lose that scratchy texture. Just don’t let it hang out in the bath too long or the fibers will loosen more than you’d like.

^^^^ This is my general eyeball for how I’ll be constructing this piece. There aren’t any measurements since I’ve get to get my yarn and do a gauge…also, I’m not too sure how oversized I want this. I want to be swamped but not weighed down so hmm…

-

I don’t know how many of y’all like to crochet or do fibre arts - but I fell in love with this coat the moment I saw it and knew it had to be mine. I’m the impatient sort, and already ordered my supplies despite telling myself to wait. Pixel crochet does take a hot minute, so I’m hoping for June but the finished product will likely be more around late-july or august. Just in time for fall and market living where I live!

I could go quicker - but uh, I work as a bridal tailor and Run my own small shop off this app. I spend most of my day sewing lol. It’s been a hot minute since I made something for me, but dang it Epel made it look so cute. I just have to.

No one’s asking, but I’ll be updating. I’m literally so excited and my package of supplies can’t get here quick enough

[gracie-eilish]

Could you please do something where reader is like super introverted but comfortable around billie (cuz they're dating 😛) and one day reader is just yapping so much like ranting, but then she realizes she's talking a lot and gets embarrassed and starts to apologize a bunch but billie finds it absolutely adorable when she gets passionate about things since its not too often she does it?

an: thanks for the requestttt babyyyyy:) i hope u like itttt🧡🧡🧡

Heart Eyes😍

It wasn’t often that you talked this much.

Billie knew that.

She knew you were quiet, introverted—the kind of person who preferred listening over speaking, who felt more at home in the background rather than the spotlight. She never minded. If anything, she loved it, loved the way you opened up just enough for her, how you never felt the need to fill the silence when you were together.

But sometimes… sometimes when you two were alone, you got carried away.

Like right now.

You weren’t even sure what had started it. One moment, you and Billie were curled up on the couch, her fingers lazily tracing patterns against your thigh, the two of you basking in that warm, easy silence you always fell into. And then—you started talking.

It was something small at first. Maybe a comment about a show you had been watching, something that had been bothering you about a certain character.

“I just don’t get it,” you huffed, shifting against the cushions as Billie let out a small hum of acknowledgment. “Like—why would they build up this whole storyline just to throw it away? Do they not understand how character arcs work?”

Billie smirked, eyes flicking up from where her head rested against your shoulder. “Oh no,” she teased. “Here we go.”

You shot her a playful glare, but that only encouraged her grin.

“I’m serious, Billie!” You sat up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the need to gesture as you spoke. “They spent three seasons setting this up! And then what? They just—throw it away like it’s nothing?” You scoffed, hands flying in frustration. “What was even the point? It’s lazy writing, that’s what it is. They had so much potential, and they ruined it!”

Billie watched you with an amused glint in her eyes, her lips twitching like she was holding back a smile.

“I mean, tell me I’m wrong,” you pressed, turning to her expectantly. “You know it was bad. Like, objectively bad.”

Billie finally let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, babe, I’m not about to argue with you. You’re on a roll right now.”

That only fueled you more.

“Exactly! And it’s not even just this show—writers always do this! It’s like they don’t trust the audience to appreciate a slow-burn arc anymore.” You sighed dramatically, running a hand through your hair. “Like, God forbid they actually develop their characters instead of just rushing to wrap things up in the most unsatisfying way possible.”

Billie let out another hum, her fingers absentmindedly tracing circles against your knee. “Mm, sounds like someone should just write their own show.”

You paused, considering. “Honestly? I could do a better job than half these people.”

Billie snorted. “No doubt.”

“I’m serious!” You shifted to face her more fully, your expression animated. “If I ever wrote a show, I’d actually respect my characters. I wouldn’t just throw out their development for shock value.”

Billie’s grin widened. “Oh, I believe you, baby.”

You went on, too caught up in your thoughts to notice the way she was looking at you.

“And another thing,” you continued, “it’s like they don’t even watch their own show. How do you write for characters you clearly don’t understand? How do you spend years creating something just to betray the entire foundation of what made it good?”

Billie bit her lip, watching as your hands gestured wildly, your eyes practically glowing with passion.

You barely stopped to breathe, completely wrapped up in your rant. “And don’t even get me started on how they completely sidelined the best character. Like, hello? They deserved way more screentime—”

Then, suddenly, mid-sentence—

You froze.

Your face went hot, your stomach flipping as you realized just how much you had been saying.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, your hands immediately retreating to your lap. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You turned to Billie, half-expecting her to look overwhelmed, or maybe even a little annoyed.

Instead—

She was staring at you.

Like, full-on staring.

Her blue eyes were impossibly soft, lips slightly parted, and if you weren’t mistaken—her cheeks were a little pink.

She looked completely entranced.

“Billie?” You blinked, suddenly very aware of how quiet the room had gotten. You shifted under her gaze, ducking your head as embarrassment settled in your chest. “I was totally rambling, I—I didn’t even let you say anything. I’ll stop now.”

But then Billie melted.

Like, literally melted.

She let out the softest little sigh, her entire body going warm against you as she reached forward, cupping your face with both hands. Her thumbs brushed over your cheeks, her expression so stupidly in love that you felt even more flustered.

“Are you kidding?” she whispered, her voice dipping into something soft, something almost dazed.

You swallowed, blinking rapidly. “W-What?”

Billie’s smile was slow, her lips curling at the edges like she couldn’t contain it.

“That was adorable.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your lips parted, but before you could even think of what to say, she was already leaning in, pressing the softest, most lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Baby,” she murmured, her nose brushing against your skin as she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “You never talk that much, and I swear I have actual heart eyes watching you right now.”

You made a noise in protest, your face burning. “Billie—”

“No, seriously,” she insisted, grinning now, her fingers sliding down to gently cradle your jaw. “You were so passionate, I could feel how much you cared, and—ugh, you’re just so cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Stop.”

Billie giggled—an actual, breathless little giggle.

She pried your hands away from your face with ease, tugging them into her lap before lacing your fingers together.

“Why are you embarrassed?” she teased, tilting her head. “I loved it. Love when you talk like that.”

You chewed on your lip, still trying to process the ridiculous amount of fondness in her eyes. “…You do?”

Billie sighed dramatically, squeezing your hands. “Baby. I love everything about you.”

You exhaled slowly, the warmth in your chest growing until it was almost unbearable.

Billie beamed, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Now—go on.”

You blinked. “What?”

She grinned. “Keep talking. I wanna hear more.”

Your heart stuttered.

You hesitated, but the way she was looking at you—the way she was practically soaking up your every word—it made the nerves melt away just enough.

So you did.

You kept talking.

And Billie listened.

She held onto your every word like it mattered, like you mattered.

And maybe, just maybe—

You’d let yourself get carried away more often.

[ghstyles]

Off | H.S

Boyfriendrry | Smut | One shot | HS1 Harry | Masterlist | Yours

["Can't blame a man for having a natural reaction to his gorgeous girlfriend," Harry continues, still not looking up. "Especially when she's being a little tease."]

The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts warm shadows across the hotel suite bedroom. Outside, the faint sounds of the city create a gentle backdrop to their quiet evening. Harry and Y/N are nestled in the plush king-sized bed, the white duvet tangled around their legs. Harry is sprawled across Y/N, his long limbs completely enveloping her smaller frame, his head resting on her chest as her fingers lazily trace patterns through his curls.

Harry's breathing is deep and content, his considerable weight pressing her into the mattress in that comfortable way she's grown to love. One of his legs is thrown over both of hers, effectively pinning her beneath him, while his arm is wrapped possessively around her waist. It's their favorite way to cuddle–him using her as his personal body pillow.

A mischievous thought suddenly crosses Y/N's mind. Her lips quirk into a subtle smirk as she decides to have a bit of fun with him.

"Harry?" she asks softly, her voice deliberately neutral.

"Mmm?" he hums against her collarbone, not bothering to open his eyes, clearly half-dozing in his comfortable position.

"Can you get off of me?" Y/N says, working hard to keep any hint of laughter out of her voice.

The effect is instantaneous. Harry's head flies up so quickly he nearly gives himself whiplash. His green eyes are comically wide with shock, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline as he stares at her with such profound offense it's as if she's just suggested they burn his entire designer wardrobe.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" he asks, his voice pitched higher than normal, absolute betrayal written across his handsome features.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, maintaining her straight face. "I asked if you could get off me."

Harry's mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Without another word, he dramatically peels himself away from her body, each movement exaggerated for maximum effect. He rolls to his side of the bed with such theatrical flair that any stage director would be impressed.

He doesn't stop there. Harry continues his wounded retreat, scooting until he reaches the very edge of the mattress, as far from her as physically possible without falling off. He turns his back to her with an exaggerated huff, curling into himself like a kicked puppy, his shoulders hunched defensively.

The sight of Harry Styles, global superstar, heartthrob to millions, pouting like a petulant child because his girlfriend asked him to move is too much for Y/N. The laughter she's been suppressing erupts from her in uncontrollable waves, her entire body shaking with it.

"Oh my god," she gasps between fits of giggles, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "You should see your face! I was just joking!"

Harry doesn't move, his back still firmly turned to her, though she can see the slight tension in his shoulders that tells her he's listening.

"Baby," Y/N coos, still giggling as she scoots across the bed toward him. "Come back. I didn't mean it."

Harry remains motionless, his silence only making her laugh harder.

"Harry Edward Styles," she says, reaching out to run her fingers down his bare back. "Are you really going to sulk because I played one tiny joke on you?"

He glances over his shoulder, his green eyes narrowed, but she can see the twitch at the corner of his mouth that he's trying to suppress.

"You wounded me," he declares dramatically, turning back away from her. "My girlfriend, the love of my life, the woman I worship daily, just rejected my cuddles. I may never recover."

Y/N bursts into fresh laughter, wrapping her arms around him from behind and pressing kisses to his shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "Please forgive me. I love your cuddles. I love being crushed by your lanky body. I miss you terribly all the way over here."

Harry makes a show of considering her words, his body still rigid in her embrace. "I don't know if I can trust you anymore. This is a serious betrayal, Y/N."

She slides her hand around to his chest, feeling his heart beat strong beneath her palm. "What can I do to make it up to you?" she whispers near his ear.

Finally, Harry rolls over to face her, his façade cracking as a reluctant smile tugs at his lips. "You're evil, you know that? Absolutely fucking evil."

Y/N grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You should have seen how fast your head popped up. Like a meerkat spotting a predator."

Harry narrows his eyes playfully before suddenly pouncing and caging her beneath him again. "You think you're so funny, don't you?" he growls, though his eyes dance with amusement.

"I'm hilarious," she confirms, beaming up at him. "And you're so easy to mess with."

Harry shakes his head, his curls falling into his eyes. "You're lucky I love you, because that was some cruel and unusual punishment."

Y/N reaches up to brush his hair back, her expression softening. "I love you too. Even when you're using me as a mattress."

"Especially then," Harry corrects, lowering himself to reclaim his position sprawled across her body, his weight settling comfortably on top of her once more. "And just for that little stunt, I'm not moving for the rest of the night. You're trapped now, love."

Y/N wraps her arms around him, perfectly content with her punishment. "Promise?"

Harry presses a kiss to her collarbone, his lips curving into a smile against her skin. "Cross my heart."

· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · · 

Harry remains sprawled across Y/N, his weight pleasantly pinning her to the mattress. The room is quiet except for their breathing and the distant sounds of the city below. After several minutes of comfortable silence, Y/N becomes distinctly aware of a growing hardness pressing against her thigh where Harry's hips are settled against her.

She smirks to herself, running her fingers lightly up and down his spine before breaking the silence.

"I thought you said you won't move," Y/N says with playful accusation in her voice. "What's this that I feel poking my thigh, huh?"

Harry doesn't lift his head from her chest, but she can feel his lips curve into a smug smile against her skin.

"That's not me moving, love," he drawls, his voice a low rumble against her collarbone. "That's just my body showing its appreciation for the canvas it's lying on."

He shifts his hips ever so slightly, deliberately pressing his growing erection more firmly against her thigh.

"Can't blame a man for having a natural reaction to his gorgeous girlfriend," Harry continues, still not looking up. "Especially when she's being a little tease."

Finally, he props himself up on his forearms, hovering above her with that signature cocky grin spreading across his face. His green eyes have darkened slightly, pupils dilating as he gazes down at her.

"Besides," he adds, voice dropping to that gravelly timbre that never fails to send shivers down her spine, "I said I wouldn't move. I never said parts of me wouldn't...rise to the occasion."

Y/N rolls her eyes at his terrible pun, but can't suppress her laugh. "That was awful, even for you."

Harry's grin turns positively wicked as he dips his head closer to hers. "Want to know what's not awful? The things I'm thinking about doing to you right now."

His hand slides under the oversized t-shirt she's wearing, one of his, naturally, and his warm palm glides up her bare thigh.

"Still want me to get off you?" he teases, his lips hovering just above hers. "Or would you prefer I get you off instead?"

Y/N's breath hitches as his fingers trace maddening patterns along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, deliberately avoiding where she's beginning to want him most.

"I'm waiting for an answer, baby," Harry murmurs, his curls falling forward to frame his face as he watches her with hungry eyes. "Should I stop moving altogether? Including this?"

His hand stills on her thigh, his thumb resting mere centimeters from the edge of her underwear. The smirk on his face makes it clear he knows exactly what he's doing.

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, recognizing his game. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"And yet you suffer me so beautifully," he counters, leaning down to place a feather-light kiss on the corner of her mouth. "So what'll it be? Am I getting off or getting you off?"

He rolls his hips again for emphasis, the hard length of him pressing insistently against her thigh through the thin fabric of his boxers.

Y/N reaches up, threading her fingers through his curls and tugging just hard enough to make his eyes darken further.

"I think you know exactly what I want," she whispers, pulling him down until their lips are just barely touching.

"Say it," Harry demands softly, his breath warm against her mouth. "I want to hear you say it after that little stunt you pulled."

Y/N wraps her legs around his waist, effectively trapping him against her and aligning his hardness exactly where she wants it.

"Don't you dare get off me," she says, her voice both challenge and invitation. "Not until you've made me come at least twice."

Harry's answering grin is positively sinful as he closes the minuscule gap between their lips.

"Now that," he growls against her mouth, "is an order I'm happy to follow."

Harry's lips move hungrily against Y/N's, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth before delving inside. His hand continues its teasing journey up her thigh, fingers dancing along sensitive skin. Y/N smiles against his eager kiss, pulling back just enough to look into his darkened green eyes.

"Do you ever say no?" she asks with a knowing smirk, her voice laced with amusement. 

Harry pauses, his curls falling forward as he cocks his head slightly, considering her question with mock seriousness. His thumb traces lazy circles against her inner thigh.

"To you? To this?" he responds, rolling his hips deliberately against her core for emphasis. "Not a fucking chance."

Y/N laughs softly, her hands sliding up his bare chest. "Even when you were dying of the flu last month? You could barely stand, but you still managed to—"

"Best medicine I've ever had," Harry interrupts with a wolfish grin, not a hint of shame in his expression. "Doctor Styles recommends regular doses of his girlfriend's perfect pussy for all conditions. Worked better than any of those pills the actual doctor prescribed."

He dips his head to nip playfully at her neck, his voice dropping to that gravelly rumble that vibrates against her skin. 

"Besides, if I remember correctly, you weren't exactly pushing me away when I had my face between your thighs that night."

He pulls back just enough to gauge her reaction, his dimple appearing as his smile turns smug.

"I was delirious with fever, and you still came twice," he reminds her, clearly proud of himself. "Thought I was going to pass out afterward, but bloody hell, it was worth it."

Y/N rolls her eyes, though her cheeks flush at the memory. "You're insatiable."

"Only for you," Harry counters, his expression shifting slightly, a rare glimpse of vulnerability beneath the bravado. "Two years and I still can't get enough. Probably never will."

His hand slides higher, fingers finally brushing against the damp fabric of her underwear. His smile turns victorious when she gasps softly at the contact.

"The day I say no to you," Harry murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers, "is the day you should check my fucking pulse, because I've clearly been replaced by an imposter."

He pushes her underwear aside, running a finger through her slick folds, his breath catching slightly at how wet she already is.

"Now, are we going to keep talking about this," he asks, circling her clit with deliberate precision that makes her hips buck upward, "or are you going to let me give you what we both know you want?"

Y/N threads her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly as she pulls him back down toward her lips.

"Less talking," she whispers against his mouth, "more doing."

Harry's answering chuckle is dark and full of promise as he presses two fingers inside her, swallowing her moan with a deep kiss.

"Yes, ma'am," he growls against her lips. "Whatever you want, you know I can't say no."

His fingers work skillfully inside Y/N, curling to hit that spot that makes her back arch off the bed. His mouth trails heated kisses down her neck, occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Her breathy moans fill the dimly lit room, a symphony that drives him wild with need.

Between gasps of pleasure, Y/N manages to find her voice.

"Harry," she moans, her words punctuated by his insistent kisses. "I want to be on top today. Please."

Harry pauses, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His green eyes are nearly black with desire, his curls disheveled where she's been gripping them. A slow, appreciative smile spreads across his face.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice rough with want. "Yes."

In one fluid movement that speaks to his strength, Harry rolls onto his back, taking Y/N with him. His hands grip her hips as he positions her to straddle him, her thighs now bracketing his narrow waist. He looks up at her with unabashed hunger, taking in the sight of her hair cascading around her shoulders, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his large hands sliding reverently up her sides, pushing his t-shirt that she's wearing higher up her body. "Fucking gorgeous."

Y/N reaches down and pulls the shirt over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. Harry's breath audibly catches as she sits above him, naked except for her underwear. The soft glow of the bedside lamp bathes her skin in warm light, highlighting every curve of her figure.

"Much better," she says with a teasing smile, grinding her hips down against his prominent erection, still confined in his boxers.

Harry hisses at the contact, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. "You're trying to fucking kill me, aren't you?" he groans, his accent thickening with arousal.

Y/N's smile turns wicked as she reaches between them, slipping her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers to wrap her fingers around his length. Harry's eyes flutter closed briefly, a low curse escaping his lips.

"Not kill," she corrects, stroking him slowly. "Just torture a little."

Harry's eyes snap open, dark and challenging. "Two can play at that game, love."

His hand moves between her thighs, pushing her underwear aside once more. His thumb finds her clit with practiced ease, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until Y/N's movements falter and a broken moan escapes her lips.

"Take these off," he commands, tugging at her underwear with his free hand. "Want to see all of you."

Y/N rises slightly on her knees, allowing Harry to slide the damp fabric down her thighs. She has to shift to get them fully off, and Harry takes advantage of the moment to rid himself of his boxers as well. When she settles back over him, they both groan at the sensation of skin against skin, his hard length pressed against her wet heat.

"Now who's torturing who?" Y/N breathes, rocking her hips to slide along his length without taking him inside.

Harry's jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck standing out as he exercises restraint. "Y/N," he warns, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Don't make me flip you back over."

She laughs softly, enjoying the rare moment of having the upper hand with him. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches between them to position him at her entrance.

"You wouldn't dare," she challenges, sinking down just enough to take the tip of him inside her.

Harry's entire body tenses beneath her, his green eyes locked on hers with an intensity that makes her breath catch. "Try me," he growls, though his hands remain firmly on her hips, guiding her movements rather than taking control.

Y/N places her palms on his chest for leverage, feeling his heart hammering beneath her touch. With agonizing slowness, she lowers herself onto him, taking him inch by inch until he's fully seated inside her. They both moan at the sensation of him filling her completely.

"Fuck," Harry breathes, his head falling back against the pillows. "That's it, baby. Take what you want."

Y/N begins to move, setting a rhythm that has Harry's fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks that she secretly loves finding the next day. She rolls her body in a way that brings him deeper with each movement, her hands braced on his firm chest.

"God, look at you," Harry groans, his eyes drinking in the sight of her above him. "Riding my cock like you were made for it. So fucking beautiful."

His vulgar praise sends a thrill through her as she increases her pace, chasing the building pleasure. One of Harry's hands slides from her hip to where they're joined, his thumb finding her clit once more.

"That's it," he encourages, feeling her inner walls beginning to flutter around him. "Take your pleasure, love. Want to feel you come on my cock."

His crude words combined with the dual stimulation quickly push Y/N toward the edge. Her movements become less coordinated as the tension builds low in her belly.

"Harry," she gasps, her head falling back as the first waves of pleasure begin to crash through her. "I'm—"

"I know, baby," he growls, his hips thrusting up to meet her movements. "Let go for me. Wanna feel it."

Y/N shatters above him, her inner walls clenching around him as she cries out his name. Harry continues guiding her hips through her orgasm, prolonging her pleasure as she trembles above him.

Before she's fully recovered, Harry's patience snaps. With a swift movement that showcases his strength, he sits up, wrapping one arm around her waist to keep them connected while his other hand tangles in her hair.

"My turn," he growls against her lips before capturing them in a bruising kiss.

He begins thrusting up into her with renewed vigor, the angle hitting spots deep inside her that have Y/N gasping into his mouth. Her oversensitive body quickly builds toward a second peak as Harry sets a relentless pace.

"Gonna fill you up," Harry pants against her neck, his rhythm becoming erratic as he nears his own release. "Gonna come so deep inside you."

His crude promises push Y/N toward the edge once more, her nails digging into his shoulders as she holds on for dear life.

"Yes," she moans, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. "Please, Harry. Come inside me."

Her words are his undoing. With a deep groan, Harry buries his face in her neck as his hips stutter and he pulses inside her. The feeling of his release triggers Y/N's second orgasm, her body clenching around him as they fall apart in each other's arms.

For several long moments, they remain entwined, breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat. Harry peppers soft kisses along her shoulder and neck, his hands now gentle as they stroke her back.

"Fuck," he finally murmurs against her skin, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Maybe you should tell me to get off you more often if this is the result."

Y/N smiles, resting her forehead against his as they both catch their breath. "Noted for future reference."

Harry gently brushes her tangled hair away from her face, his touch surprisingly tender after such intensity. "I meant what I said earlier, you know," he says quietly, a rare moment of post-coital vulnerability. "Two years and I still can't get enough of you. Don't think I ever will."

Y/N's heart swells at the sincerity in his eyes, so different from his usual cocky demeanor. "Good thing I'm not going anywhere then," she replies softly.

Harry's answering smile is genuine and warm as he carefully lays back, bringing her with him to rest on his chest.

"Good thing indeed," he murmurs into her hair, his arms tightening protectively around her. "Because I'd follow you to the ends of the earth, love. Fame and fortune be damned."

The soft afterglow envelops them as they lie tangled together, their breathing gradually returning to normal. Harry's fingers trace lazy patterns along Y/N's spine as she rests against his chest, their bodies still connected in the most intimate way. After several minutes of contented silence, Y/N begins to stir, pressing gentle kisses up the planes of his chest.

She sits up slowly, their bodies separating with a shared shiver of sensitivity. Harry makes a small sound of protest at the loss of contact, immediately moving to follow her upward motion. His hands reach for her waist, clearly intending to pull her back into his embrace.

"Stay," Y/N commands softly, placing a firm hand on his chest to push him back down.

Harry's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but an intrigued smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he settles back against the pillows. His green eyes, still dark with lingering desire, track her movements with hungry attention.

"What are you up to, love?" he murmurs, his voice still rough from their previous activities.

Y/N doesn't answer immediately. Instead, she moves with deliberate purpose, shifting her position until she's straddling his chest, her knees on either side of his shoulders. Harry's eyes widen in understanding, his hands automatically coming up to grip her thighs.

"Fuck," he breathes, his gaze fixed on the glistening evidence of their shared pleasure between her legs. "You're not giving me a break, are you?"

Y/N smiles down at him, a mixture of innocence and wickedness that drives him wild. She reaches forward, tangling her fingers in his disheveled curls and gripping firmly enough to elicit a hiss of pleasure from him.

"You said you never say no," she reminds him, tugging gently on his hair. "I'm just testing that theory."

Harry's laugh is low and gravelly as his hands slide up her thighs to grip her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh with possessive intent.

"By all means," he drawls, licking his lips in anticipation, "test away."

He helps guide her forward until she's hovering just above his mouth, her grip on his hair tightening as she positions herself exactly where she wants to be. Harry's eager breath ghosts over her sensitive flesh, making her shiver in anticipation.

"Greedy girl," he murmurs appreciatively, his eyes locked with hers from between her thighs. "Still want more after two orgasms? What am I going to do with you?"

Before she can respond, Harry grips her hips firmly and pulls her down to his waiting mouth. The first broad stroke of his tongue has Y/N gasping, her head falling back as pleasure shoots through her still-sensitive body.

"Oh god," she moans, her fingers reflexively tightening in his hair.

Harry groans against her in response, the vibration adding another layer of sensation. His tongue works with practiced skill, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks against her clit. His grip on her hips is firm but not restrictive, allowing her to rock against his mouth at her own pace.

"That's it," he encourages briefly, barely pulling away before diving back in. "Use my mouth, baby. Take what you need."

Y/N begins to move more deliberately, rolling her hips against his talented tongue. The visual of Harry Styles, global superstar, heartthrob to millions, eagerly pleasuring her with his mouth while she essentially rides his face is almost as arousing as the physical sensation itself.

Harry's enthusiasm is palpable, his groans of pleasure vibrating against her most sensitive parts. His hands slide around to grip her ass, encouraging her movements as he devours her with single-minded focus. The combination of his skilled tongue, the slight scratch of stubble against her inner thighs, and the way he's looking up at her with pure hunger in his eyes quickly pushes Y/N toward another peak.

"Harry," she gasps, her thighs beginning to tremble around his head. "I'm close already."

He responds by doubling his efforts, his tongue circling her clit with precise pressure before sucking gently on the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sudden increase in intensity has Y/N crying out, her grip on his curls bordering on painful as her orgasm builds rapidly.

"Don't stop," she pleads, her voice breaking as she feels herself teetering on the edge. "Please don't stop."

Harry has no intention of stopping. His hands tighten on her ass, holding her firmly against his mouth as he works her toward her peak. When he feels her begin to tremble in earnest, he slides two fingers inside her, curling them forward to hit exactly the right spot as his tongue continues its relentless attention to her clit.

The dual stimulation is too much. Y/N comes with a broken cry of his name, her body shuddering violently as pleasure crashes through her in waves. Harry groans against her, the vibration prolonging her orgasm as he continues to work her through it, easing up only when her oversensitized body begins to pull away.

As the intense pleasure subsides, Y/N's grip on his hair loosens. Her body feels boneless, utterly spent as she shakily lifts herself from his face. Harry looks up at her with undisguised satisfaction, his lips and chin glistening with evidence of both her pleasure and their earlier activities. The sight should be obscene, but on him, it's nothing short of glorious.

"Still think I might say no?" he asks with a cocky smirk, swiping his thumb across his lower lip before sucking it clean with deliberate showmanship.

Y/N laughs breathlessly, collapsing beside him on the bed. "I think you've made your point."

Harry rolls to his side, propping himself on one elbow to look down at her with affectionate amusement.

"Three times," he says proudly, counting off on his fingers. "That's one more than you demanded earlier. Always exceeding expectations, me."

Y/N rolls her eyes at his self-satisfaction, though she can't suppress her smile. "You're insufferable."

"Ah, but you suffer me so well," he counters, echoing his earlier words as he leans down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "And I'd say you just reaped the benefits of my particular brand of suffering."

She smacks his chest lightly, though there's no real force behind it. "Your ego is almost as big as your—"

"Heart?" Harry suggests with a waggle of his eyebrows, cutting her off. "Talent? Collection of Gucci boots?"

Y/N laughs, the sound full of genuine joy and affection. "All of the above."

Harry's expression softens as he gazes down at her, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from her face with surprising tenderness.

"Only for you, love," he murmurs, his voice losing its teasing edge. "Only ever for you."

He pulls her into his arms, arranging them so she's tucked against his chest, her back to his front in their favorite sleeping position. His lips press a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck as his arm wraps possessively around her waist.

"Now get some sleep," he whispers against her skin. "Because I fully intend to wake you up in a few hours for round two."

Y/N smiles sleepily, already feeling herself drifting off in the safety of his embrace. "I thought this was already round two?"

Harry's soft chuckle vibrates against her back. "Baby, we're just getting started."

Taglist: @triski73 @angeldavis777 @ivegotthecinemaa @bethiegurl19 @sstylezzz @spargelhund @myfavfanficsever @spinnic @catmomstyles3 @mads3502

[effieotto]

since this lovely lady blocked me, i’ll have to work with a screenshot (i could have not mentioned her at all, but like i said before, when i want to direct something to an specific person and not a pattern behavior, i mention their names. And since i can’t mention their names, that’s the only way i have)

“Only cared about Katniss and Peeta when she thought they would help her get there” Did she?

Effie was described as taking care of them since the second they stepped into the trem. She made sure Katniss was comfortable and well settled, as well as informed by their schedule, which we know that wasn’t part of her job. As soon as they reached the Capitol, Effie again assumes a position that wasn’t required from her, and starts sweet-talking sponsors and using her connections to work around the situation Haymitch had created during the reaping, so Katniss and Peeta would get better chances of getting sponsorships —which, as we all know, was no guarantee that they would even have a chance to win the Games. A sponsor was just the way to make sure their time inside the Arena would be easier, and Effie was aiming to that. And she did it all before knowing how promising Katniss and Peeta were. Actually, for all she knew, Katniss was going to be a disaster. She was reckless and dangerous and Effie had seen how those actions were extremely risky for them all.

But fine, you wanna argue that she was only treating them nicely (cause you can’t argue that she wasn’t treating them nicely) because she saw in them the potential to move up for a better District? Okay, so let’s talk about Effie in Sunrise on the Reaping.

Since her first appearance, Haymitch describes her as a nice person. She is kind, she is compromised and she does her absolute best to make sure they’re all comfortable and well treated. You can’t say she was doing it out of anything but kindness —since she made sure that she was not taking credit for none of the things she helped in the Quell. She wanted to be in the shadow— they were not advantageous to her

“That women wanted to work in the middle of child murder” Did she? Can you guarantee that?

In both the scenarios where Effie got involved in the Games, either from being dragged as their “not quite stylist” by Drusilla or becoming Twelve’s Escort, we can’t say she had any saying on the matter. Drusilla had tagged her along with the team with not much of an invitation and Plutarch said (very clearly) that he’d pitched her —not specifying how active she was on this decision. So, based solely on the books and not in the things you took out of your mind, there is no way for us to know how much she wanted to be there

“was rude and looked down on district people unless they were advantageous to her”

I could bring here many scenes to prove that Effie never, in four books, treated her tributes as they were not deserved of comfort and affection, but i don’t think we have enough space for that. She might have her disturbing ideas (that were carved into her scowl since birth from a very powerful and constant propaganda that was designed to make her believe District people were worthless) and she was wrong in state that District people were savages. No one is arguing with that. But she voicing her believes and her treating them as they were worth less than her is two completely different things. And this isn’t true:

Here, i said i wouldn’t bring scenes after scenes to prove my point, but i will bring this one. Effie is helping her sister to “beautify” the tributes (which was pretty much everything that guaranteed them enough money to result in Haymitch not starving to death in the Games), but instead of demanding and forcing her way, she asked Maysilee’s opinion on the matter. Unlike Drusilla, who treated them as animals and didn’t give a shit to what they felt or had to say, Effie respected her enough as a person to grant Maysilee the right to share her opinion and influence her job as equally capable —you can’t say this shows how she “looked down at them”, cause she did not.

•

But if you want to use Suzanne Collins to support your argument, here is what she said about Effie:

“You can see her clinging to good manners for reassurance of humanity's decency. But in terms of the Hunger Games, Effie being assigned as their escort was a lucky break for District 12. She might be ridiculous, but she's not malicious.”

In conclusion, although you have all the right to dislike and not support the character (which is fine, not everyone can handle a morally gray character), let’s not distort the things we got from the books just to justify our hate, shall we? Effie Trinket has always being a character which main purpose was to highlight that, despite being very supportive of an oppressive system, and having a direct impact into child murder (willingly or not), she always did it with kindness and humanity. She was controversial and problematic, but she was not intentionally rude, or malicious. She was a kind person —maybe not in the convencional way you want, but she was. There is nothing you can do to say otherwise, without going against the narrative, the books or Suzanne Collins

[provinzpoet]

On Engagement Bait

Whenever you see it, that's an additional five years. All currently active negative effects are dispelled.

A lil' essay.

I hate engagement bait - with a passion.

"Reblog if you care" "Reblog to mark your blog safe for [marginalized group X]" "Reblog or your mom dies in her sleep tonight."

"Reblog, or else."

I know most of these are made in jest. Harmless fun, right? But to me, "harmless fun" doesn’t excuse poor taste. Especially when it veers into manipulation.

So, here's a little something below the cut. If you're here for the poetry, you're free to scroll. If you're here for the ramblings, keep reading.

Either way, have another look at the duck. That's another 5 years on the house. Download it, look at it whenever - stack that immunity to last a lifetime. No engagement bait shall ever touch you again.

That little ducky up there was born in response to a post about you not having any original thought for the next five years.... unless you reblog.

It was meant as silent defiance, as a soft out. Then @bred-is-a-dumb-name reblogged my little ducky. With the following tags:

First and foremost: Thank you for speaking so clearly. Your tags were the push I needed to sit down and write this.

I. The Premise

Engagement bait plays with a simple human desire. Recognition. People want to be seen, they want to be recognized. Above all, they want to be validated.

From the early days of social media 'likes' equaled validation.

On tumblr, the currency of choice is reblogs. Reblogging equips a post with wings, allowing it to touch down on your own blog, be exposed to your own audience. The growth potential here is exponential, as reblogs don't just live tucked away in your profile, but are the groundwork of the tumblr algorithm on what content to show to its userbase.

My Thesis: You are responsible for the content you pass along to your mutuals. Even if you didn’t create it. Even if you reblogged it "ironically."

From the creator’s side, engagement bait is often a way to chase notes - a hit of serotonin from the numbers ticking up. And I get that. I love seeing my posts resonate too - reading your tags, your comments, the ways my words find you.

But I would never boost engagement through pain, coercion, or bad vibes in general. And I think no one should.

II. The Danger

Here's the catch: reblogging engagement bait feeds a manipulative feedback-loop.

But, at the same time, Let me be clear: Not all engagement bait is created equal.

Baity posts like "reblog to show your moots you appreciate them" (you know who you are! And I appreciate you too! c: ) are fine. Sure, they're meant to play the algorithm and the very human rationale that 'external validation is more valuable than internal validation' . basically: "If I reblog this post it'll mean more than if I just tell my moot they mean a lot to me".

At best, they're a reminder to be kind.

But - and this is the important part - there is also a different kind. Engagement bait like "Reblog or your mother will die tonight", "Reblog or no more creativity for 5 years".

These aren't funny to everyone. To some, they're not even neutral.

They're cruel. They are emotional abuse hidden under the guise of a 'funny context'. Of the absurdity of a duck holding that power.

Let's be real. It's not holding that power. And you'll reblog it ironically with funny tags in the vein of 'oh, better be sure, mighty duck'. Unless you don't.

Because guess what? It IS holding that power.

To those with OCD. To those in intrusive thought loops. To those with deeply rooted fear of loss. To the neurodivergent. Maybe even to you? To those, these posts can be triggers.

III. The Mechanics of Harm

To people like that, the harmless meme becomes a source of real-world stress.

It's toying with - to me - deeply problematic, psychological concepts:

Compulsion and Intrusive Thoughts For someone with intrusive thought patterns, seeing a post that ties inaction to harm can spark a cycle that’s hard to break. It’s not a meme - it’s a trigger.

Guilt-Tripping and Moral Coercion There’s a quiet cruelty to coercion wrapped in kindness. ‘Only good people will reblog’ is just a digital form of social blackmail.

False Urgency & Manufactured Stakes The moment a post tells you "do this now, or else" - it's bypassing your agency. It swaps thought for panic.

Neurodivergent Sensitivity to Harm Avoidance This isn’t about superstition. It’s about the fear of what happens if we don’t play along. That fear is real. Many neurodivergent folks have built entire internal systems around minimizing perceived danger. These posts poke at that. They exploit it.

The Illusion of Safety through Compliance Some users - especially those who’ve seen harm happen "coincidentally" after ignoring a chain post - develop ritualized engagement. It becomes a way to feel in control, even when logic says otherwise. Engagement bait can reignite old fears tied to punishment, loss, or abandonment. And I get it. These posts feel silly. But they sit in the mind like a splinter.

Yes, it's uncomfortable having it called out like this - and it should be. It's meant to be.

IV. Walk a mile in their shoes

I’m not writing this from a pulpit.

I’ve wrestled with compulsive thoughts and weird little rituals my whole life. So when I say this stuff can hurt, it’s not theoretical. It’s personal.

And I’m not here to scold. I’m just inviting you to zoom out. To consider that your reblog might have more impact than you intended.

V. Being Responsible

I try to bear responsibility for what I put out here. Tumblr is full of vulnerable, brilliant, open people. The way we talk to each other matters.

Don't get me wrong, sharing a joke is fun - But if you knew a joke would hurt your friend, you'd probably hold it back. The same logic applies here.

I'm not here to shame anyone - unless you’re making this kind of post in bad faith. If you’re knowingly feeding on people’s fears for notes? That’s not a joke. That’s cruelty. That, to me, is despicable.

All I wanted was to offer this, another point of view. And just maybe, if you’ve ever reblogged something like that without thinking, this helped you see it through a different lens.

Be nice to each other. Look out for each other.

We're all navigating this life for the first time, let's not make it any harder than it needs to be, okay?

Yours truly,

Poe

Just silently accept. The donkey will know.

[mourning-sapphire]

bruised fruit | aemond targaryen | chapter one

Summary: he wasn’t the warmest man on earth, he walked ashed fields and scattered fruitless seeds, that was until the sun delivered him the ripest fruit from the arbor, his to harvest. The story of a man learning to love his saccharine ladywife and all her softness.

Pairing: aemond targaryen x redwyne!reader

Chapter warnings: none really, some harsher swearing, descriptions of panic, some description of boats.

Word count: 12.6k

authors note: I literally have read this so many times, if there's a mistake you'll live okay, love u enjoy :P

masterlist | next part

Some could mistake the sunlight that patterned through the shutters of the small council room as a sign for a glorious day in Kings Landing, a sign from the Gods that this would be magnificent and bright. But, Aemond could only look into his mother’s eyes that morning with a feeling of helplessness.

But Aemond could not see it that way. Not as he sat across from his mother, her eyes steady and sad, her mouth drawn in a line of reluctant resolve. The sunlight only seemed to mock him, casting its warmth over a moment that felt anything but.

This was not a sign from the Gods, this was an act of mental warfare on him.

Exactly 2 moons into the new year, the air of the Red Keep was chilled like the cold defeat in her eyes as she told him exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Aemond,” Her sigh was weary as he sat across from her at the small council table, the vapid gaggle that was lords of the council surrounding them as she looked at him with a plea to understand, “I understand this isn’t an easy feat, but...” He cut her off with a scoff.

He was usually soft to his mother, one of the only women in his life who saw past the marred skin and leathered exterior. Aemond was usually the dotting son and the only one who did everything she asked, bent to her sad eyes and long silences. But as this moment hung over them, he wasn’t sure he could afford her the luxury of doing this.

“But what?” His voice was chilled as the stones outside, chipped but still strong, “You wish to move me like a piece on your board? to what prevails exactly, your own liberty?” His eye was wide as it flicked between them.

The nervous demeanour of his mother and the ever-cool stoicism of his grandsire; Aemond was tempting them to utter the words everyone knew was on the tips of their tongue.

To one day help make Aegon king instead of your sister…

At that moment, he was happy he kept the majority of the council on his blindside, just so he wouldn’t need to see their loathsome faces as he stood his lonely ground. He hated all the self-righteous cunts anyway.

“It is your duty to marry, lest I remind you,” His grandsire cut in, Otto Hightower; ever the family man and doting peacekeeper of the keep in the king’s sickness, “Your duty to your house and your family.”

Aemond was sure in that moment that he could feel the chilly hands of the winter sky wrap their fingers around his neck, as his grandsire commanded the room with an ease that only a viper could.

“She’s a nice girl,” Alicent raised her hand and tried to keep her tone light; her son’s disposition was often a cause of contention for her, ever the actual peacekeeper of the family, “A sweet girl from the Arbor, and from what I’ve heard, she’s well-read and pleasant, a well-suited match.”

Well-read and pleasant. Aemond could have sniped at that. He could have laughed so loud that he was sure they would hear him on the coasts of the Arbour. It was flattering that they thought a pretty little thing with enough wit to read words on a page was enough to settle his fire. That it was enough to ease the burden of creating life with someone.

Like that made any of this better; he has always held the notion that he would be afforded a bit more liberty when choosing a bride. As not just her son but as Prince of the realm, but it was at this moment he was reminded that he was merely the second son. A second son who clearly can’t be left to his own devices or freedom of choice.

The spare to shove around their fictitious little chessboard, and plant in whatever house they felt kept them strong in the war of succession everyone knew was bound to happen.

The whole situation felt like dust settling on his tongue as he glanced at the two of them. The murmuring of the other lords felt more like roars in his ears as his blood started to boil, congealing in his veins. He could taste the words he wanted to say, like burning embers on his tongue that were still light enough that he could spit at them. Watch them burn with at least a little pain.

“House Redwyne are not only allies of the Hightowers but have a strong naval fleet that matches even the seahorses himself.” Tyland Lannister in all his stuttering glory cleared his throat and interjected.

“The match was not made heedlessly, Your Grace…” He continued as Aemond’s head slowly looked over at him, the glare enough to have the supposed lion trailing off towards the end of his sentence, “Her father’s support would be great for any issues that could…arise”

“She could be the re-imagining of the mother herself for all I care, you toad” Aemond snipped his face blazing with anger; fingers clenched in fists of rage, “But that still doesn’t negate the fact that I do not wish to marry, especially not marry the Redwyne girl, her fucking ships be damned.”

Aemond had always hated the way the Lannister almost pouted after every scathing word towards him. For a lion he was more akin to a pup who whimpered at even the nudge of a shoe, he was truly pathetic. To think he had even the foolishness to lecture him on what was good for him, now that was a notion so laughable, he wished he could have drawn his dagger where he sat.

“It matters little what you wish, boy” Otto snapped, his hand slamming down on the table, silencing the lords and his mother, “You will entertain the Redwyne girl when she arrives here in 2 weeks’ time, you will marry her and seed her when the time comes; as is your duty to the Realm.”

The Realm, Aemond could have scoffed.

“Aemond,” His mother tried to soothe the anger on his face, her own tired and desperate as she looked at him like he was just a little boy again, “Give the girl a chance, you may even come to like her in time.”

Aemond doubted that with his entire being, he’d even go as far as to say that he didn’t like the idea of the girl just from the few short words his mother had spoken to him.

“Girls from the Reach are all the same,” He could hear Aegon’s drunken prattling in his ear, the memory of him making eyes at one of the ladies from House Crane, “Pretty girls who want a silver prince and dozens of silver babes galore, but with a tongue like thorns, they are just needy cunts”

Aemond didn’t need to remind Aegon their mother was a woman from the reach, as by that point he’d staggered off to probably deflower the Crane girl; as he often did. But it did leave the question rattling in his brain, were all girls from the reach as shallow as his womaniser brother stated?

He supposed it would be something he’d be forced to learn, especially if his mother and grandsire were pushing hard for this union between him and the Redwyne girl.

Aemond could tell the council chamber was waiting with bated breath to see what he was going to say to his mother and Grandsire’s pushing. But all he could do was rise from the chair with a sneer at them, lips curled like he found their words disgusting.

The scrape of the wood against the stone sounded eerily like a dragon screeching in the night as he rose, his hand placed on the wood of the table to look around them all with a glare so harsh he was sure that at least one of the council members would catch fire.

Truthfully, there was nothing for Aemond to say, he was peddled into a corner not of his choosing and unless the Redwyne girl's boat sank on the way here; they would be stood at the sept for their union in the moons to come. He wasn’t a child anymore, tears would only sway his mother so far, and you might as well have tried to get blood from a stone before his grandsire let up.

So, with one last look around the room, he did the only thing he could do.

“Hm...” The noise vibrated from his lips as he moved to stride out of the suffocating chambers, his gait speaking on the anger brimming in his bones as he paid them little attention; the guards at the door merely opened the wood as soon as he neared.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him upset, but he would set them all on edge for when he would snap.

That itself was his victory to claim.

The Arbor.

You looked like a vision of a nymph, reddened with the sun and relaxed on the hammock like you were waiting for the sun itself to come down and bless you with grace. Nestled deep in the home of the Redwyne’s was you, the youngest Lady Redwyne, lounging on your balcony like you weren’t set to leave your home for the last time tomorrow, soaking up the sun and sipping chilled wine like you weren’t going to memorise every nook and cranny of the grand home and vineyard, relaxing in the sunshine like you could do this again tomorrow.

You had many memories on this Balcony, the grand white stone that overlooked the cliffs and the ocean below held a special place in your heart; beyond it being part of your home, it was the place you felt you could truly relax. Sat in this very hammock watching the way the ivy draped from the roofing and danced in the wind, the ships you would see come in from the summer isles, and the sounds of joyful sailors cheering from the leagues away. You would find peace reading, understanding things your Septas and Maesters would give you to read, the blush that would colour your cheeks as you delved into your own interests.

The weather in the Arbor was warmer than the rest of the Reach, the island was constantly washed in heat so dense that wearing anything thicker than tulle or silk was a crime. It was the reason it was so bountiful with fruits, the wine capital of Westeros, it was a sight to behold; the heat gave way to luscious lands so rich and green that it looked like something out of a painting, florals and fruits almost blooming overnight with the kiss of sunshine, the air so clean and fresh that you felt every breath like it was your first.

It was a far cry from the stink that was Kings Landing, or at least that is what you had been told; the two places were as comparable as Dorne and the Wall. Your maids had told you some of their tales from their own visits or their families' visits, the way the poor lined the streets like permanent fixtures, rats crawled in every nook and cranny, the stink of overpopulation marring the air so badly you needed a scented handkerchief to even ride through flea bottom.

Even now, you were hard challenged to remove yourself from where you lounged, the sun at its peak tickling your skin as huge wafts of salted air cleared your nose. It was amusing to hear the voices filter from the double doors of the chamber behind you, the cackles and japes from your maids carrying out the door like a memory you never wanted to let go of.

“I’ve heard they’re closer to the gods than any of us,” You could hear the tinkling voices of the maids from your place on the balcony, their hands busy packing her things into trunks, “Some say they shed their skins at night for their true scales” The giggles were something the young Redwyne girl would miss in these moments.

“Gods can you imagine,” you could hear the deep laugh of the older maid, Meredyth, chortle, “Waking up next to one and seeing those slits of eyes, gods I'd be paralysed.”

“Oh, I’d scream the bloody keep down!” Tayra, another one of your other maids gasped out loud, coupled with a ringing laugh, “Run for Visenya’s hill and walk on foot back here.” Their laughter was infectious, and you felt your chest rumble with amusement.

They never heard you coming as you rose from your hammock on the balcony, bare feet warm against the stone as you strode back into your chambers; the sheer curtains kissing your shoulders as you peeped back in with a smile.

“I’ve heard their hair is silver because once upon a time a dragon rider flew to the moon,” your voice was a gentle tilt as you smiled softly, the maids turning from their jobs with wide amused eyes as they listened to you, “And the gods decided to spin magic into the strands, blessing them for making the long journey.”

There was a pause as you stopped with a smile before the women in the room started laughing again, their laughter contagious as the winter fever as you settled on your day bed, body warm from outside, with a content sigh. Your hand fan was doing little to cool the heat from outside. A day like this was truly a kiss from the summer isles.

“Now that’s a story,” Meredyth smirked, her hands busy folding one of your summer dresses, “Be sure to tell your silver prince that one, petal, you might just make him laugh for once.” You could only roll your eyes.

“Be nice,” you sighed softly, relaxing into the daybed, “I’m sure he’s not what the stories make him out to be, Meredyth.”

“I’ve heard he hides his eye because the other could turn someone to stone,” the youngest maid, Mara, tutted softly, “Careful, my lady, lest they ship you back here to be a pretty statue in the gardens” You could only smile softly at that.

“Really?” you smiled as Tayra piped up, “I’ve heard he’s a ferocious fighter, trained by a man from Dorne; but prettier than the rest of the siblings.” Tayra huffed with a smile as she was packing up your jewellery.

“The Targaryen’s are pretty…” Meredyth sighed wishfully, her smile was almost a smirk as she recalled something beyond your years, “I remember seeing Prince Aemon in my younger years, now that was a prince” She raised her eyebrows in a lustful remembrance at the young girl.

“Was there ever a Targaryen that wasn’t pretty?” You could only tilt your head as you sighed out your question, your hand still delicately moving your fan to keep you cool, “I’ve heard stories that they’re just born looking godly, it’s unfair really.”

“Isn’t he called one-eye?” Tayra stopped packing to ask with a furrowed brow, “Something about losing an eye at a young age?”

“Does it really matter?” you sighed softly, your hand reaching for a glass of chilled fruit juice; the juicy peach taste coating your mouth delectably, “Tis only an eye, he seems like a strong man regardless if the stories are anything to go by.”

“Let’s hope he isn’t like the other prince~” Mara sang softly, “My sister told me, that someone who works there told her, that the Keep is constantly having to find new maids because the older prince Aegon is too... Handsy.” Mara received a smack from Meredyth at that.

“Don’t scare the girl, Mara” Meredyth hissed softly, her eyes looking at you as you lounged on the daybed; the beginning of your lip starting to worry with your teeth, “I’ve heard the two princes are completely different, Prince Aemond takes after his mother.”

Alicent Hightower.

You could scarcely remember the woman, not like you sisters did, but you remembered her father Otto visiting The Arbor some years ago for business; or friendship. Your father was a funny man to understand sometimes, so people visiting could never be pinned for business or pleasure, but you remembered the gruff man all the same. He had a fondness for his daughter over his son, but a sternness that didn’t afford the same love. But from what she understood now, the Queen was devoted in her faith and tense, but a lady in every textbook definition of the word.

“Well, if he’s anything like the youngest, Daeron, I’m sure he’s a charmer” Tayra mentioned with a soft smirk towards the young girl.

“Isn’t the youngest more Hightower than Targaryen?” Mara raised an eyebrow at Tayra, her hand stopping mid-folding her soft nightgowns, “He’s been in Oldtown since he was a lad, has he not?”

“Does he have a dragon?” Meredyth rolled her eyes, the crow’s feet around her eyes smoothing out at she looked at her two younger maids with a look that said ‘tread carefully’.

“Well yes,” Tayra hummed, “A blue thing from what I’ve heard from the mainlanders, couldn’t tell you the name, you can see him flying over the waters most days if you squint hard enough.”

“Then he’s a Targaryen,” Meredyth tilted her head for a second, “The royal family and their bloody… Lizards.” She mumbled as she folded yet another gown

You could only repress a soft smirk at that, truthfully, you’d never imagined ever meeting a dragon – let alone marrying someone who had one, but you supposed that this was going to be your new life now. A princess of the Realm who shared a bed with a dragon rider, or a dragon incarnate.

“Do you think the prince will show you, his dragon?” Mara asked innocently, “He rides Vhagar doesn’t he? The last of the big dragons or something...” Mara waved her hand like she was trying to recall some intricate title, but the little lady Redwyne could see the smirks forming on Tayra’s and Meredyth’s faces at her wordage.

“Oh, I’m sure that the prince will show her his dragon alright,” Tayra smirked lustfully, much to Mara’s shock whose jaw dropped; Meredyth cackled as she watched the two girls, “If you catch my drift.” Tayra winked at her.

“Tayra,” Mara screeched softly, her face aflame as she threw one of her rolled-up nightgowns at her, “Not in front of the Lady” Tayra reached over to swat her for that.

“It’s alright, Mara,” Your face was aflame much like Mara’s, the implications of Tayra’s words warming your cheeks more than the blistering sun outside, “You can speak freely, I must be prepared I guess.”

“Are you nervous?” Meredyth asked softly as she placed some of her gowns gently in the trunk, “Meeting the man you’re going to marry is no easy task, it’s okay if you are” She could have smiled at that.

Despite having sisters of your own blood, you were the youngest of the bunch, and by the time you had reached your moon’s blood; your sisters had been off into the world and married to various lords of the Realm. You rarely had women to counsel you and soothe your fears, and your mother no longer with you, so you were thankful for your gaggle of maids; they took care of you like they were your blood.

Meredyth was the oldest of them all, a woman well into her fifties, who had served your family since she was a young girl; she had seen every side of you and your family. She travelled with them everywhere and took care of you when your Septa’s could no longer handle you. She was less a mother figure and more an aunt, her tongue loose like she wasn’t serving a lord and his family, but her openness was welcome by both your father and yourself.

Tayra and Mara were her wards in a sense, she showed them the ropes of the house; and made sure they did every task to her perfection but remained youthful and fun. They were a far cry from your average maids, but as long as the house was kept and they were respectful when guests stayed, your father cared little. You’d be damned if you saw their light go out despite their position. They were like your sisters in a sense, they joked and prodded each other like so, and made sure that you were never lonely in the large estate.

So, you felt comfortable joking and gossiping with them like this, your oldest friends in a sense, there to soothe your worries about the new chapters in your life.

“Truthfully?” you hummed softly, looking down into your glass of juice, “I’m terrified, being away from home… It’s an ache in my chest that I can’t seem to shake” You tutted softly, taking a sip.

Your eyes were cast out the open doors of your balcony; your room faced the cliffs that overlook the crystal-clear waters of the Arbor. The air a mix of salt and the waft of florals that kicked from the fruit fields.

“I’m not sure what scares me more,” you shrugged, “Not seeing this place for a while, or the fact that I am going to get married to a man I’ve never met.”

“It’s okay to be scared, petal” Meredyth sighed softly, dropping her folding to wander and sit on the edge of your daybed, her hand reaching and squeezing your knee through your dress, “No one expects you to just be completely okay with being sent to King’s Landing.” Her lips pursed at that.

“You won’t be alone,” Mara settled down on the ground in front of the day with a gentle smile, her hand reaching out to touch your arm, “Meredyth will be with you, and your father till the wedding is over…”

“Yes, I know…” you sighed placing your glass off to a side table, “But what if we do not get along, what if he hates me?” Your eyes were wide as you stared at the two of them scared as a lamb.

It was a possibility you had rolled around your head in the many days since your father had told you that you were going to be married. The prospect of marriage was something you knew would happen but just not like this. You were well over-considered ‘of age’ but you never thought it would be to a prince of the Realm, you had thought as the youngest that you would marry another smaller lord of the reach and that would be it.

You remembered your father’s face as you were summoned to his study that afternoon. He broke the news to you then, and it felt like a blow to the heart more than the deliverance of good news. You still could remember the way he looked both overjoyed and hesitant to talk to you; you could tell as soon as you had entered the sun-washed room that whatever he had to say, was going to change her life.

“Sit, my petal,” Runce Redwyne was weathered by the years as Lord of the Arbor; his once orange hair was faded to a grey, tufts of the burning stands still visible in the sun, and his face tense and aged from years of dealing with five daughters and no sons, “We must speak.”

You had never looked like him, the man cursed with no sons had also been cursed with five daughters that all looked exactly like their mother.

Your father hadn’t been the same since your mother passed from what you had heard, the spark for life that he once held was snuffed out as he became quieter and more reclusive in his older years. You had only been a babe when a striking fever took your mother, but the pain of losing her still wore on her father’s face even years on. 

“What was so urgent that you called me away from my studies, father?” You had asked so softly as you sat in one of the chairs that he used for when he held meetings, the leather soft and worn as you played with a string on the arm, “Is everything alright?”

“My petal” His smile was reserved but still there as he spoke the news like he was granting her the greatest wish of all, “I’ve just had an interesting proposition from King’s Landing…”

The rest of that afternoon was a blur, from the shock of hearing that your father had found a marriage for you, to the even greater shock of finding out it was to a Dragon Prince of the Realm no less; you were practically a husk of a woman by the time you’d left his study. The blood rushing in your ears, and the fright of change grasping at your heart like death's cold hands.

Marrying a Lord of the Reach would have been one task, but having to learn to tame a dragon? That was completely out of your reach.

“My petal,” Meredyth interrupted your thoughts, “We will not know until you meet, stories aside; he is still a prince who was raised with a strong handed mother” She soothed you softly.

“Yes,” Mara agreed with her, “It is all thoughts until the two of you meet, who knows you might find yourself charmed with him; you were always a romantic at heart,” Mara tried to ease your pain with a smile and a joke, squeezing your arm softly as her round eyes looked up at you.

Mara was right though; you were a romantic at heart, painfully so.

Despite being educated to a level that most ladies didn’t dare to be, your heart laid with more than history or theories from the citadel. Romance, love, and tales of grandeur often found themselves in the young Redwyne’s hands; stories of people yearning so deeply that it fractured their very soul and caused an ache so deep only their love could fix.

It was girlish and childish to yearn for something so deep, but you couldn’t help but dream of a world where you found a love so bright that it formed your very life. You had read everything the Arbor’s library had to offer in terms of romance, even the more salacious novels, and despite never having been in love, you could almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. The honied feel of it so close yet so far from reach.

“It is a marriage of politics,” You could only shake your head at Mara, “I doubt the prince would find much interest in me, that’s if he hasn’t already found a mistress.” Mara could only tut at you.

“Maybe so,” Tayra said to you with a patient look, “But she is a mistress if that’s the case, you are to be his wife – that itself holds more power than you think, my lady” Tayra’s brow was raised in challenge as she also made her way over, sitting on the small table in front of the day bed.

“We shall not baby you, and tell you that you’re travelling for romance,” Meredyth sighed, her hand patting your knee, “But a marriage match can still result in feelings if two people are willing.”

“You think the prince would be willing?” You sighed softly, your eyes flicking to the older maid for guidance, “I mean, I’m not sure why they picked me for a match – why not a Tyrell?”

Meredyth looked pained for a second before she sighed, “Truthfully, petal, I could not tell you why it is you they want, but it must be for a reason if they’re willing to travel you to the capital now.”

It wasn’t like House Redwyne wasn’t powerful in its own right, but even you were confused why you were being picked for a prince over the likes of a Tyrell or even Baratheon; the lord of the Storm’s having four daughters for the choosing. You were the youngest daughter of the Arbor,

“It is all too much…” Your voice trailed off softly, a sheen coating your eyes that could only speak that the young woman was about to be moved to tears, “Why did Father agree to this? Why could he not settle for a Lord of the Reach? Maybe the Stormlands? Gods, I'd even take the Iron Isles.”

Meredyth’s face softened as she reached for your hand, her touch warm and grounding. “Because, darling girl,” she said gently, “your father sees more in you than you see in yourself. He would not send you to the capital unless he believed you capable of standing amongst royalty.”

Tayra gave a soft hum of agreement. “And perhaps… he believes you are worthy of more than a simple lord, a life less ordinary than just being the lady of a house.”

Mara leaned in, her expression mischievous yet tender. “Besides, it isn’t so bad to dream of the capital. Silks and jewels, grand balls and a place bigger than all the Arbor… You might come to enjoy it more than you think.”

But you didn’t want silks or jewels. Not really. Not if they came tied to duty you hadn’t chosen. To a man you didn’t love.

You pulled your hand away to rub at your eyes, blinking the sheen back before it could fall. “I just… I thought I would have more time to choose for myself, or to at least know the man before he became my husband.”

Meredyth didn’t have a comforting answer for that. She simply stroked her fingers down your arm and offered a quiet, “Many women don’t.”

“But many have found joy in what seemed unbearable,” Tayra added, her voice soft, “we cannot promise you that everything will be perfect, but there is still a level of respect that will come from this marriage, he’s a prince and not an average lord after all.”

A silence stretched between the four women after that, the kind that lingered just long enough to settle into your bones. Outside the window, through the sheer curtains, the sun was beginning its descent over the horizon, like always painting the sea it was about to kiss in ribbons of gold and rose.

Mara stood and stretched, casting a glance toward the balcony door, hands moving to continue packing. “Well, whatever comes next,” she said with a brightness she didn’t entirely feel, “you’ll face it with your head high, we know you will...”

“You're a romantic,” Tayra added with a wry smile before joining her. “Which may yet be your greatest strength.”

You gave them both a watery smile, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, sinking more into the daybed than ever before. “Then let’s hope he has even a shred of love in him,” you whispered. “Or at the very least, the sense not to trample mine.”

Meredyth smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss your brow. “Hope, petal, is the only thing that makes the unknown bearable.”

And as the last light of day slipped beneath the horizon, you allowed yourself—just for a moment—to imagine that maybe, just maybe, the prince would be something more than duty.

Aemond wasn’t sure why he was here, he didn’t feel like he needed to be nor did he want to be.

The docks that led down from the Keep were astringent with the smell of salt and something sour he’d rather not think about. Even though the sun had warmed up the late morning, he couldn’t help but grimace as the beams reflected off the glistening water and into his lone eye. Trying to subtly blink the glare away as he found himself nearly blinded in what he had left of his vision.

No, Aemond didn’t want to be here at all, not that he could voice that to his mother; who was so nicely standing next to him, ridge backed like a statue and ready to snap at him if he even made even one comment about standing on the stone dock.

He had to be here, or so his family says, for it was the day that the Redwyne girl and her family would arrive.

A mere fortnight had passed since the council had informed him of the arrangement, and despite the nudge from his mother, he had no communication with this girl whatsoever. Ravens had come and gone, but the two scrolls from her had laid on his writing table untouched and seals intact—he had no wish to bolster a relationship with the girl prior to the meeting.

It was childish really, that much he was very aware, perhaps the most childish he had been in years; but frankly, Aemond didn’t care at all. He would respect whatever wife they gave him, for women were the mother personified, but he wouldn’t like her. No husband had to like their wives, especially the ones he didn’t want.

He wouldn’t caress her like a lover, and kiss her silly as novel princes did, he would be as he always was; Aloof and uninterested in anything besides duty. He had no want for carnal desires beyond what a whore and coin could give him. Aemond didn’t want a doe-eyed lover to stroke his hair, or murmur adoration to him in the hour of the wolves.

He especially didn’t want someone who had likely grown up on tales of love and longing, expecting her prince to be anything but a blade honed by fire and blood. If she came to King’s Landing dreaming of romance, she would be sorely disappointed.

Aemond's lips tightened at the thought, as the salted wind flustered his hair, as his good eye scanned the horizon. A speck in the distance that was rapidly getting closer.

“That must be her.”  He hummed quietly in his head.

The Redwyne girl. His betrothed.

His jaw flexed as he folded his arms behind his back, posture stiff with reluctant anticipation. Would she be frightened of him? Most were. The patch over his ruined eye, the quiet fury that always seemed to simmer just beneath his skin like a dragon ready to blaze fire. His presence like the quiet clicking a dragon’s throat made just before hells unleashed, it unnerved those who did not understand him.

He rather preferred it that way.

“Stand tall,” Alicent said quietly beside him, pious as ever with her tone even but firm, though beneath it, there was the steel edge only his mother could wield. “And for the love of the Seven, try not to look like you’re going to gut the first person who speaks.”

Aemond didn’t look at her, didn’t shift a muscle as he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ship bobbed closer with every passing second. “I make no promises,” he murmured, voice low, laced with dry humour that almost curled the edge of his mouth into a smirk.

Alicent turned her head sharply to glance up at him, her lips pressing into a tight line. Her eyes—green and sharp with years of courtly scrutiny—narrowed, sending a clear message. “You will make an effort, Aemond.”

He gave a shallow nod, more a concession to timing than obedience. Not because he agreed with her, nor because he thought there was anything worth making an effort for, but simply because fighting her here—in public, on the docks, with his grandsire, the Kingsguard and servants watching, whispers already forming on tongues—was a wasted breath.

Aemond knew this game. He knew the eyes that watched from balconies above, from the shadows of cloaks stitched with gold. They waited for any sign of dissonance, any crack in their image. Like a singular ember falling onto dry grass, any sign of upset would cause fire faster than they could breathe.

So, Aemond stood as his mother told him, like a perfect carving of Valyrian stone—chin high, shoulders square, both hands folded behind his back. The sun gleamed off his silver hair, tied neatly back, though a few loose strands danced in the breeze like flickers of flames.

Aemond always knew he looked the part of a Targaryen prince, more so than some of his family, his image more akin to the likes of his uncle than any of his immediate family. He knew how to play the game if needed and now was very much needed to play the part of the steely prince.

Even if, inside, he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel, mount Vhagar, and disappear into the sky where no one could ask anything of him.

But he remained where he was on the docks.

Because duty demanded it.

Because his mother demanded it.

Because this girl—this betrothal to her and whatever babes she was going to birth—was yet another piece on the board he was meant to play, whether he liked it or not. His mother and Grandsire play a game greater than he cared to ever play at some points.

Still, he leaned the slightest fraction closer to his mother, voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “If she simpers at me, I may very well walk into the sea.”

Alicent exhaled through her nose, long-suffering after years of dealing with her sons, but her mouth twitched with the smallest flicker of restrained amusement. “If she simpers, you will smile. And you will do it like a prince, not like a snarling dog.”

His eye slid sideways to her, dry and unimpressed. “I was born a dragon, Mother, not a lapdog.”

“Then try not to burn the docks down before she’s even stepped off the ship,” she muttered, her fingers tightening lightly around her prayer ring. “For all our sakes.”

He didn’t answer, but the silence between them held the weight of reluctant understanding.

This whole ordeal was a farce. Everyone knew it, though no one dared say it aloud. And yet, somehow, Aemond was the only one who had to endure it first-hand. Duty, he understood it, he followed it, revered it even.

But gods, Aemond had hoped for a few more years of silence, of solitude before they pressed a wife into his arms like a burden wrapped in silk. It was a cruel fate to be tied to someone like him, and at his core, he had hoped he could have chosen someone who would withstand him, or at least have the sense to leave him alone besides doing their duty.

As the ship drew closer, its deeply coloured sails caught the light. The Redwyne banner fluttered high above the deck, proud and unmistakable. Aemond watched with a practised indifference, though his jaw tightened slightly as the figures aboard began to sharpen into clarity.

The deckhands started moving briskly, shouting orders, ropes unfurling and anchors dropping into the water the closer they got. And there—near the bow—a small figure stood motionless, her soft blue gown rippling like petals caught in a breeze.

Even from a distance, Aemond could tell that she looked... hesitant.

Her posture wasn’t poor, quite the opposite really, but it held the quiet restraint of someone trying not to take up too much space, almost like a mouse trying not to get caught. Her chin slightly raised, hands clasped tightly in front of her on the railing, her shoulders drawn as though she feared being noticed and yet knew she would be the closer they got to disembarking.

Aemond could read people like a book, she was trying to appear calm, trying to look graceful. It was written in every careful line of her body, practically screamed it.

Timid, he thought, fragile.

He didn’t like that the thought had formed at all. He turned his face away sharply, eye narrowing against the glare reflecting off the water. She would disembark, curtsy, and offer some nervous pleasantries. They would nod, exchange a few stiff words, and then retreat into the suffocating rituals of royal engagement.

He should not have looked again, but he did.

She was still there, still standing near the railing, while chaos of people trying to get things in place fluttered around her. Her fingers now lightly brushed the edge as if steadying herself from the rocking of the boat. The wind caught her hair, lifting it gently away from her face.

It was then that Aemond got somewhat of a good look at her. Her features were soft—almost delicate like a child but there was still a womanly aspect to her—but uncertain in a way that struck something quiet in him.

She looked young just in general presence, the kind you see in someone sheltered from the harshness of the world, younger than she should for such a fate.

But she was pretty, almost devastatingly so, and if he was a lesser lord he was sure that he would be blushing at this moment. But all his heart could do was give a thud as something that he had to call appreciation curled in his stomach.

“Mother,” he muttered under his breath, “what exactly do you know of her?”

Alicent blinked at him, surprised by the question. “Not as much as you think, she’s the youngest of lord Redwyne’s daughters. Overall unscathed by any scandal, apparently. Studious. Graceful. They say she’s gentle and well-mannered, the sort of girl who knows when to speak and when not to.”

“Hm,” Aemond replied, his eye drifting back to the ship despite himself.

Gentle. Quiet. Obedient.

Exactly what they would think he needed in a wife, and perhaps they were right to some extent. But if she came here with the intention of looking for softness and silence, she would find no warmth in return. Not from him.

Let her be timid. Let her bow and smile and follow wherever they told her. He would still keep her behind the same walls he kept everyone else.

Love had no place in his life, no matter how pretty the package that it came in was.

There was supposed to be a calmness that came with being at sea, or at least that is what you had heard from the passers-by as you watched them pack your things into the large ship that fateful morning. Unless it was rocky waters or war, the sea was supposed to imbue a sense of peace, being alone out in the water was supposed to be as freeing as the wind. But right now, the vast sea had never felt so suffocating.

The waves stretched endlessly in every direction, and the ship’s creaking timbers groaned beneath each swell as if echoing the tension in her chest. Your cabin was warm, too warm, and yet you could not bring yourself to climb up to the deck without purpose. So you stood there, halfway in shadow, watching the sliver of the sky from the narrow window and clutching the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing grounding you into this realm.

You didn’t know if it was dread or homesickness that weighed heavier in your bones.

You had spent the last night in the Arbor pacing in silence, walking the fruit fields one last time while you gazed out at everything you were leaving. This had been your home, your quiet solitude away from the main part of Westeros. The air had been still, fragrant with ripe grapes and damp earth. Your quiet, sun-dappled corner of the world, far from the noise and posturing of court life. The Arbor was known for its wine, its trade, and its civility. Not for war. Not for dragons. It was untouched by most of the political nonsense, the lands and your family known for its wine and trade. That was it.

And certainly not for daughters being sent off to marry princes.

You were never destined to be any sort of royal, you were supposed to marry some lord of the reach. Perhaps a Fossoway, or Rowan, not a Targaryen. You had tried to picture him on your last night, staring out past the vineyards to the sea, but the image would not come.

All you had were whispers and stories. Your letters to him, the ones your father had prompted you to send, were left unanswered and probably still sealed or fed to the fire.

It was a ridiculous notion to begin with, but a part of you, the hopeless childish part, had hoped that maybe he would read one and at least have the warmth in him to answer. But, after the second one had remained unanswered, you had burnt the rest you were being asked to send, a bitter feeling in your chest.

The reassurances from Meredyth and the rest of your maids did little to soothe your soul, you were a ghost in your home from the moment you found out you were leaving. Watching as the days dragged on and the reality of leaving set in, too tense to cry, too overwhelmed to sleep anymore.

Father had reminded you at your last dinner (and every dinner since he told you that you were leaving) that this was a great honour—that marrying into the royal line and joining our houses was something other girls could only dream of. You had only nodded because nodding was easier than speaking. He was proud of you. Nervous, too, but proud.

He didn’t see how your hands trembled beneath the table every time it was mentioned.

The Arbor was already fading into memory, a glaring white jewel on the cliffs swallowed by the blue horizon the further the boat sailed away. The wind tasted different here—saltier, harsher. Everything about this journey had been unfamiliar: the sway of the ship beneath your feet, the endless stretch of sky, the way her stomach had twisted with each passing day.

You had never left home before.

Not truly. Not like this.

The Arbor had always been your world—lush, warm, sun-drenched. Even the rain felt gentle there, warm, like something that asked permission before falling onto the ripe earth. The long, winding paths through the vineyards had been your solace, the scent of ripe grapes mingling with the soft, earthy fragrance of soil. The way the bugs and the butterflies fluttered around and helped. It was a place where the rhythm of the seasons was a constant companion, where you could watch the changing tides from your window and feel the pulse of the land beneath your feet.

There, the world had felt small, intimate, safe.

But out here, at sea, everything was vast. The wind rushed by ears, the ship groaned with each rocking wave, and the sky stretched on endlessly for miles like the land wasn’t in existence anymore. While the air was warm, a kiss from the summer isles, the open water felt like an unspoken threat—an endless, empty expanse that made your heart pound faster with each passing moment.

The original plan was to sail to Old Town, and then ride a few days from there to Kings Landing, but your father hated carriages and had insisted that they would arrive by boat, much to your discontent.

The first few days at sea had been disorienting.

The ship’s sway unsettled your stomach like never before, the rocking motion unrelenting, as though the very world was in flux beneath you. There wasn’t much to do on a boat, you had tried to sleep, to rest your mind, but the fear of the unknown kept you awake. Every wave that rocked the ship felt like it might tear you from the safety of your past and toss you into a future you weren’t ready for.

You had spent most of the journey under the deck in your room, staring out at the horizon from the small window, trying to reconcile the life you had left behind with the one that awaited you.

But the further you sailed, the more the familiar sight of the Arbor seemed like a fading dream—blurry and distant, swallowed by the boundless sea. Meredyth, the one maid you were allowed to bring with you, had tried her best to keep you sane while you sat in your bunk, chatting mindlessly to you about what she knew of the capital, the people there, and what the likelihood of that Tayra and Mara were up to no good back home.

It was sweet the way she tried to keep you sane, but it just didn’t do that, the more you listened to her, the more you were reminded that soon she would be back on this very boat after the wedding, sent back home, and you’d be truly alone with people you did not know. 

Every second the ship approached closer King’s Landing, you felt your chest tightening.

There was no mistaking the looming silhouette of the Red Keep against the morning sky, a red fortress that held years of terror, power and fear. The city below it sprawled out behind it, chaotic and bustling, nothing like the quiet sunny solitude that you had known.

The smell of saltwater gave way to the pungent scent of smoke, and the sharp, acrid tang of people. The capital was a place of hard edges and high walls, and even at a glance, you could already feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders. A crown clawing into your skin, never to be taken off.

Your father had stayed away from most of the journey, his eyes had grown distant, his words few. You were leaving behind the only home you had ever known, and he said little more than that it was a great honour to be betrothed to a Targaryen, that you should be proud.

He had reminded you often of the importance of the union, how many would envy you, but each time he said it, his voice had sounded almost hollow. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that this was what you were meant to do, but deep down you felt truly lost in the weight of it all. How could anyone be proud of leaving everything they had ever loved behind?

A part of you wondered if he felt sad that the last piece of his wife was now going to be gone. He would truly be alone until he either decided to remarry for a son or decide to pass on the Arbor to one of your sister’s children.

You wanted to ask, be was a man of so few sentimental words, but all of it would remain unanswered, but a part of you hoped that the fear of loneliness would have him change his mind. No matter how selfish of a notion that was.

Overall, it had been a five-day sail to King’s Landing.

Five days that felt both endless and far too short. The gentleness of the sea had lulled you into a false sense of stillness as if the world beyond the ship’s bow didn’t truly exist. Giving your mind time to occupy itself on the thought that maybe the ship would sink, or you’d arrive at the capital to find that the prince was charmed with another.

The horizon remained a blur, the mainland a foreign concept, and for a while, you had allowed yourself to believe it might never come. Out there on the blue open water, with only the creak of the masts and the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, it was easy to pretend that time was suspended, that this journey was just that—a journey. Not a turning point. Not a life change.

But the illusion was shattered on the morning of the fifth day.

The captain’s voice rang out across the deck, clear and certain, calling down that the ship was making its final approach to the docks of King’s Landing. In an instant, your body betrayed you, your breathing hitched, your pulse jumping and thrumming harder, and a cold panic blooming deep in your chest.

The calm you had tried to cling to slipped away like water through your fingers. You tried to still yourself, to slow your breathing, to remind yourself of your lessons from your septa’s; your poise—but your heart only raced faster, pounding against your ribs with each step the ship took toward its destination.

There was no turning back home, there was something unknown beyond this point in time. No pause. No last request to delay just a little longer. The moment you had dreaded, rehearsed, braced yourself for, was here.

There was nothing left to do but face it.

You stood at the railing as instructed, hands clenched tightly around the wood, knuckles pale from the force of your grip. The wind off the sea whipped strands of hair across your face, the scent of salt and smoke already beginning to replace the crisp, sweet air of home. Below, the dock drew closer like a hand reaching out to grab you from your comfort—massive, foreign, loud. You could hear the faint murmur of the port from where you stood: dockhands shouting, carts creaking, gulls crying overhead.

Everything about it felt too loud. Too fast.

Your father came to stand beside you, his boots thudding gently against the deck. He didn’t speak at first. He only watched the dock draw nearer; his brows furrowed in thought as the image of a redhead and the striking head of silver started to become clearer.

You wondered what he was thinking—if he regretted this decision, if he worried for you like you worried for yourself, or if he was simply focused on appearances. Then, quietly, he laid a steadying hand on your shoulder.

“It’s time,” he said, voice low, palm warm through the fabric of your gown.

But there was no comfort in his words. No reassurance that if things didn’t work out you could go home. Just the quiet finality of your duty.

You nodded once, not trusting your voice, and turned to face the coming shore. The gangway would be lowered soon, and with it, the last remnants of your old life would be left behind.

The boat lurched as it docked onto land, a rush of breath leaving you as you held on tight while ship hands scrambled around you at a speed, you’re not sure you could move at.

Eventually, the gangplank was lowered with a shuddering creak, the wood scrapping on the stone dock while your father placed his hand at the bottom of your spine, the dockworkers already hurrying to secure the ship and prepare for disembarkation.

The commotion was dizzying—shouts of greeting, the slap of boots on wet wood, the flap of banners in the rising wind. You moved slowly. Deliberately. Hand tangled in the soft fabric of your skirt, each step down the ramp feeling more like a small betrayal of the life you’d left behind than the start of something new. The wood beneath your feet was firmer than the ship’s deck, but somehow less stable.

This was land, yes, but it was not your land. The people did not know your name, your steps, your roots.

And waiting there standing, just beyond the gathering of guards, was the prince.

You saw him before anything else.

Aemond clearly did not wear his station like the others.

He stood apart, not speaking, not smiling, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light. His posture was straight, unfathomably tall, almost unnaturally so—like a marble statue that had never been allowed to bend. Even at a distance, he radiated a quiet, coiled danger, much like the stories about him. He was not theatrical, not overt in any way, not dripping in rich fabrics of every colour.

He was simply there, stood in his leathers, sheathed like a blade kept just out of reach.

But by gods, was he beautiful.

Painfully so, that your heart gave a pathetic thud as you looked at him, he was dreamy in a dangerous way. Hard lines and edges, something almost sinful to look at, novel in the sense that someone had created him from a mould, unlike any others. You had seen many lords who tried for your hand in your time, esossi travellers docking, but nothing compared to the Targaryen beauty, your maids were right in that sense.

Aemond was something different entirely, the slash through his eye and the eyepatch did nothing to draw away from his beauty. Creamy skin, and strong boned, his nose and jaw were the centre feature of his face. Your hand twitched as it grasped your skirts, itching to reach up and trace every line, feel the warmth of his skin on your skin, and see that beauty up close.

Pitifully, you could feel the yearning in your chest.

Your feet slowed the closer you got to him and his family, but you did not stop. You knew better. You moved forward, your father walking at pace beside you, guiding you to your new future with one step at a time. You were dressed as they had instructed—nothing too rich or gaudy, but tasteful, demure.

The dress itself was a gift from a traveller that had traded with your father, something pretty and soft like most women of the Reach wore; layers and layers of soft tulle fabric that came together to look like a soft blue. It was similar to the colour of where the sky met the sea, a nod to your home. Your hair simple with a soft twist up away from your face and delicate pearl pins that caught the light.

And then, you were in front of him.

Your hand gripped your skirts tighter than you thought was possible as you sank into a curtsy, perfectly measured with a bow of your head. Deep enough to show respect for the royal family, but shallow enough to retain your dignity. The way Meredyth and your Septa had made you practice over and over again both at home, and on the ship, until your knees ached and your patience wore thin. There would be no greater embarrassment than not curtsying properly to the prince.

Your breath was rattling in your chest as you paused for a second out of respect, counting the seconds in your head before you looked up.

Aemond was looking down his nose at you, his one violet eye unwavering as he scanned your face. His expression betrayed nothing. Not amusement, not curiosity. Not even indifference. Just a blank page.

It was strange, you expected at least the comfort of twitching lips, or a gentler demeanour to at least ease the awkwardness, but it seemed as if Aemond relished in it, made him stronger. Up close, he was just as beautiful as you’d seen at the end of the dock, but there was an aura to him that drew you in like a moth—something addicting about him.

But at this moment there was only stillness, everyone around holding their breath like they knew something about the prince that you didn’t.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“Lady Redwyne, welcome.” His voice was deeper than you had imagined.

It was soft, shockingly so, but still cool and precise like he spared his words for when they mattered. But the greeting came with no hint of warmth, your name sounded like a formality to him, an obligation, not a greeting.

Still, it was more than you'd expected.

“Your Grace,” you answered, managing a soft, steady tone despite the way your hands begged to shake. “I thank you for your welcome.”

It was the most formal exchange of your life, and yet, he left your knees trembling beneath your skirts. Raising back up to full height, you noticed the stark height difference between the two of you, his ability to still look down his nose at you even stood was shocking. He was every bit as tall as he was strong.

You could feel the eyes on you though—guards, servants, all strangers who already had opinions of the exchange they would not speak aloud. You didn’t dare look away from Aemond though, couldn’t look away until he gave the faintest nod.

And then, mercifully like a copper angel intervening, Queen Alicent stepped forward.

She moved with the grace of someone who had long mastered the art of appearances. Her gown was dark green, finely embroidered but still simple. Like extravagance wasn’t part of her ritual, her expression measured but kind. She took your shaking hands in hers and squeezed them gently like someone might take hold of a dying bird just to make sure it was still breathing.

“We are pleased to have you, my lady,” she said, voice low and careful but a smile on her lips like a mother calming a child. “You’ve travelled by ship, and you’ve still arrived with grace... That speaks well of you.”

Her words were a balm, even if rehearsed. You managed a soft smile at her though, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is... all very new.”

Behind you, your father said something polite and deferential. You didn’t catch the words. You were too aware of the weight of the prince’s silence; of the way he had already turned his gaze elsewhere—as though you were no longer worth looking at.

You turned when the Queen guided you toward the waiting carriage, but before you climbed inside, you glanced over your shoulder one last time.

Aemond had not moved.

He was staring back at the sea.

Let him, you thought, gripping the edge of your skirts tightly. Let him face the waves, if he liked them better, found them more interesting.

You would not chase his gaze, and you would not beg for warmth.

No matter how much your heart cried already just for a glance.

Everything else after the arrival was a blur of people directing you places, the Queen speaking lowly to you as she escorted you through the Red Keep on a short tour. Pointing out various places that you would soon see more in depth in the coming weeks.

She filled the space by asking you questions, and all while you tried smiling politely as you stuttering through various facts about yourself. It was equal parts embarrassing and exhausting, your father none-the-wiser as he lingered behind the two of you, catching up with the Hand of the King, old friends reunited after years apart.

You couldn’t help but feel like a burden slotted between reunions and political obligations—the sacrificial offering exchanged while the men caught up on their glories of the last few years. But it was nice for your father to at least have a familiar face to talk to, Otto seemed as happy to see him as much he was able to.

At one point, Queen Alicent paused by a grand terrace that overlooked the gardens, and with a soft sigh, offered her apologies that her other children had not been present to greet you.

“My daughter, Helaena, is occupied with her little ones,” she said, the corners of her mouth tightening in a way that suggested she wished it were otherwise. “And Aegon, as I’m sure you can imagine, is often... engaged with matters of the court and the children also.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, you had heard stories otherwise of her oldest and his whereabouts but you weren’t going to say anything, she moved along before you had to anyway.

“Daeron, of course, remains in Oldtown,” she added with a hint of pride on her face, the first you had seen since she’d even mentioned her children. “He sends his warm regards through raven, but I imagine you’ll not meet him for some time.”

You noticed that she didn't dare mention any of Aemond.

More small talk followed that more you walked. Polite, measured, and relentless. You answered every question with the poise you had been raised to show, but your cheeks ached from the effort of smiling, and your temples throbbed from the mannered chaos that was the whole morning.

It was like being on stage, only the role you were playing was yourself, and every word felt both too much and not enough.

By the time you reached the quarters assigned to you, rooms tucked into a quieter wing of the guest wing with a sweeping view of the sea, you felt as though you had lived through a full week, not a single morning.

The Queen took your hand briefly before leaving you in the care of your maids while the men continued on, your father would greet you later, you knew that they were all heading to the small council room this afternoon to discuss the matters of your betrothal and undoubtedly the wedding.

Alicent's hands were still warm as you both stood outside your door, a guard lingering just off to the side, the moment as private as you were afforded.

“You’ve held yourself with admirable composure, my dear,” Alicent said, her voice warm, though her eyes never lost that assessing glint. “I know how overwhelming it must all seem right now…But I assure you, it gets easier.”

You smiled, bowed your head, and thanked her as graciously as you could manage, the throbbing feeling in your temples getting stronger as you pardoned yourself to your chambers, eyes following with a soft sigh as the Queen followed after her father to what you could only assess as one of the easier talks of politics that would happen in that room.

Your chamber door shut with a soft click, and the silence fell like a soft shroud over the chamber, all you could think was how very far from easy it all felt.

It was the first time you had been truly alone since your departure from the Arbor and arrived here—no ship hands yelling, no handmaidens darting around with curtseys and murmured instructions, no quiet humming of the Queen Mother or the low, commanding voice of you father as he made polite conversation with the King’s Hand.

It felt like some semblance of peace as you moved further into the chambers, hand pressed over your stomach while you breathed as deeply as you could, being alone at this moment was good, it was needed. You just needed yourself for a moment longer.

The room was far too grand to feel anything like the safety of home, and you supposed that was purposeful, what there any true safety in this place?

The walls were a warm stone colour, with candle sconces littered all around, you assumed it would be well-lit at night with the number of candles shoved around. It was marginally bigger than your room back home, equipped with a sitting room that you assumed you would be expected to receive guests in, a comfortable set of settees in front of the unlit hearth, a desk by the window, and a table that you assumed would be used to having dinner alone if you wished.

It was a fine room, fitting for a princess, but you didn’t know if it was fitting for you.

The sleeping chamber was sectioned off with large arched lattice doors, cut with the shapes small flowers as it hid the bed. Some privacy that no one would dare to enter, besides your maids, and eventually your husband.

From your place by the hearth, you could see that bed was canopied in soft pinks and reds, similar blankets with tasselled corners, cushy duck pillows and soft white sheets that practically begged for you to crawl and hope this was all a terrible nightmare. All the windows around the room stood tall and arched, the very tops of them glazed with coloured panes of dragons and fire that tendriled of coloured light across the stone floor as the sun moved in the sky.

Everything around smelled faintly of beeswax and polished wood and a strange perfume that did not belong to you. But it wasn’t unpleasant, it wasn’t your room back home, but it was nice, it needed personal touches that you assumed would come in time—but as a start it was good, it was blank, it was needed.

You found yourself by the hearth, unmoving, eyes fixed on the old smoke stains and the fresh logs that were too perfectly cut to have come from anything real.

It was just you now… and Meredyth.

Meredyth was the only maid you were allowed to bring with you, Tayra and Mara were tasked with keeping the Arbor in check in her absence, but it was a silly comfort that you knew was going to leave as soon as the vows were said. You did not doubt that the Queen would find you new maids to serve you, and from what you heard in passing from your father, eventually ladies-in-wait who you would counsel and raise as companions of your own.

What a frightfully daunting task.

Meredyth was already silently moving around the chamber like a helpful ghost, efficient as always as she zipped to unpack your comforts, your life packed into trunks. She’d clearly wasted no time in opening your trunks, humming low under her breath, deft as always with the already laid out various bottles of scented oils and cosmetics. It was something to focus on to temper the panic rising in you as your eyes focused on her shaking out gowns with quick snaps of her arms.

“There’s no lilac in this room,” Meredyth muttered as she walked to the wardrobes, her sharp eyes narrowing at the corner where a folded sheet sat slightly askew. “You’d think with all this royal ceremony someone might have remembered your preferences; they were sent ahead for a reason. It smells of cypress and dust and… Targaryen pride, if that had a smell.”

You didn’t answer her. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight. You hadn’t spoken since you were dismissed from the Queen’s presence.

The welcome had been cordial. Formal. Cold.

Aemond had barely looked at you, only said your name in a voice so dry it might have been carved from stone. Queen Alicent had offered kinder words, even a smile that seemed genuine enough beneath her careful politeness. You were a means to an end for something you didn’t understand yet, and your value had already been tallied before your feet touched the dock.

The hand that wasn’t pressed to your stomach reached to one of the pillars of the hearth, breathing deeply as your fingers touched the cool stone, grasping it for support as you glanced around the room. Watching Meredyth work her magic to make the room seem a little more homely, you could feel your stomach turning the more you watched her.

She saw your pain clear as day, her fingers gently placing down a nightgown to look at you the way only an aunt would.

“Sit,” Meredyth said at last, softer now, gently guiding you toward the cushioned stool before the dressing table. You didn’t resist. Your limbs felt stiff like they weren’t quite yours anymore.

You sat like she asked. She stood behind you, plucking the pearls and the pins from your hair quickly to let it down; just as you liked. Before she was running a brush through your hair in long, slow strokes. She had been doing this for years, since you were a girl with scraped knees and sticky peach fingers, and the rhythm of it made something in you finally break loose.

“I can’t do this,” You whispered with a crack in your tone. The words barely left your mouth, more like a whoosh of air leaving your mouth rather an anything tangible. “He didn’t even speak to me, walk with me, it was like I didn’t exist.”

Meredyth paused for only a breath before resuming the brushing, steady and sure. “He doesn’t know how to speak like you wish him to,” she said lightly. “Not to people, anyway. I’ve heard the stories—they say he’s a man of few words, he only really acknowledges his sister and mother if he has to.”

You blinked at the mirror, meeting her eyes with your own wide ones. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Meredyth gave a dry laugh, shaking her head as she parted sections of your hair to brush easier. “No… But, it’s meant to remind you that it’s not just about you, it’s about the situation.”

“I appreciate you lying to me.” You said quietly as you watched your reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at you was pale, drawn. Her eyes were tired, her mouth downturned in a line of exhaustion. “But he hates me, or at least wishes me gone.”

You didn’t recognise yourself right now.

“I miss the Arbor already,” you said, your voice barely heard like it was being pulled from somewhere deeper than your lungs. You looked down at your lap, fingers twisting the soft fabric of your gown. “Do you think it’s too late for father to change his mind?”

There was a silence then. A long one.

Meredyth’s brushing had slowed as she let out a soft sigh, it was times like this that she wished that she could truly lie to you; tell you that it wasn’t too late. But this was your reality now, no matter how much you wanted to beg to go back.

“No,” she said at last. “But it’s too late for you to ask him to, the only way this changes is if something else happens—but your fate is here and now, petal.”

You looked back up, startled.

She leaned in, resting a hand on your shoulder; not firm, not light, but grounding you with her at that moment. “You’ve already stepped off the boat, you stood before him and the Queen. You were seen, and you don’t get to vanish now, court knows you’re here, the fire has started between both you and him.”

You swallowed hard. “But I don’t even know Aemond, I don’t even know if he wants this.”

“He probably doesn’t.” Her honesty stung. “But that doesn’t change what’s expected of you and him, and it certainly doesn’t change who you are.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the room quiet bar your own breathing, the brush trailing gently through your hair once more.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, and it felt like the most dangerous thing you’d said all day.

Meredyth didn’t mock you, but she didn’t rush to soothe you either, she simply kept brushing, like she always did.

“I know,” she said softly. “But you’re still going to be the most composed and watched girl in that feasting hall tonight, and tomorrow, you’ll wake up, and do it all again, and you’ll keep doing it till it gets easier to deal with.”

The feast.

A welcome feast for you and your father, your up coming betrothal, something you’d been told to prepare for in advance. It was to be your first venture into the snake pit that was the royal court. You could see what you were supposed to wear hanging from the door of the wardrobe; your dress for tonight, a soft pink, something gentle, something so inherently you—they were going to tear you apart.

“You’ll get through tonight,” Meredyth murmured, her voice low and certain. “One step at a time. And if you stumble, you’ll get back up because I know you can, you know you can." she added, meeting your eyes in the mirror with a flicker of a smile.

That was all.

Not a promise of glory. Not a lie to make it easier.

Just enough. And somehow, it helped.

Tonight would be something, and something in you hopped that it would be something you would survive.

You didn't have a choice.

[yzzyhee]

lucky three — sjy & psh

bf!jake x fem!bodied yn x bf!sunghoon

warnings: established poly relationships, mlm ( 1 kiss sorry 🧌 ), kisses? idk just fluff mostly (98%) , maybe petnames?? not proofread, anything else lmk!

synopsis: on a rainy afternoon, you and your boyfriends realise how lucky the three of you are to have found each other

wc: 1.4k

a/n: idk guys its just my bday… its been raining for the past two days and i badly need this to happen to me + what aj wrote in her guess who fic 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 read it now.

jake’s arm drapes lazily around your shoulders, while sunghoon’s head rests comfortably on your lap. the three of you fit together as if you have been carved out from the same piece of clay. nothing ever feels incomplete when you are all together.

"tell me again why we decided to stay in today?" jake asks, his voice low but with a playful lilt as he tilts his head toward you. he traces lazy patterns with his fingers along your arm, the touch sending electric warmth through your skin. he is always tactile — always touching, as if afraid you will slip through his fingers.

"because it's raining, and i love the sound of it," you reply softly, your hand brushing through sunghoon’s raven-black hair. he closes his eyes, his lips tugging upward slightly, clearly enjoying the soothing motion of your fingers. sunghoon is quieter — thoughtful; his affection comes in soft waves, almost unnoticeable until you are pulled under and engulfed by the depth of his love.

"you love the rain, but jake hates it," sunghoon finally speaks, his eyes still closed. his voice deep, resonating through the quiet atmosphere of the room.

" i don’t hate it. i just don’t love it like she does," jake teases back, glancing at sunghoon before turning his gaze to you. his eyes, always full of light, sparkle with a mischievous glint.

it has been like this for a while now — your lives intertwined so naturally. your relationship feels like a melody, each of you three contributing with a different note and yet when you’re together, you create the perfect harmony. sunghoon brings calmness and stability, a quiet strength. jake is the warmth, the laughter, the chaos and you’re the centre, grounding them both in a way they never realise they need.

you shift slightly, pulling your legs under you and leaning back into jake’s chest. you sigh, contentment washing over your face like the rain outside.

"you know," you say softly, "i don’t think I've ever been this happy."

jake's fingers stop their movement as he leans down to press a soft kiss against your temple. "that’s because you’ve got both of us," he whispers against your skin, his breath warm.

sunghoon opens his eyes at this, a small smirk playing on his lips. "he’s not wrong," he says, shifting so that he can sit up and face you. his eyes meet yours, dark and intense, but filled with so much love it nearly takes your breath away. "you’re our everything."

you feel a lump form in your throat at his words. it’s moments like this — when they are so open, so raw with their emotions — that remind you just how deep your connection goes. the world outside doesn’t understand it;

some people judge, others whisper behind your backs. but none of that matters when it is just the three of you, like now, tangled in each other’s arms, completely content with the love you have found.

"i still remember the first time we told you," jake says suddenly, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "i thought for sure you’d reject the idea."

"reject you? never," you respond, shaking your head "you know i could never say no to either of you."

sunghoon raises an eyebrow, playful skepticism in his eyes. "you hesitated, though. for a second."

"i didn’t hesitate," you insist, but there is a teasing tone in your voice. "i was just…surprised, that’s all. it’s not every day you realise two guys you love are willing to share a relationship with each other and with you."

"and you never looked back," jake adds with a grin, his eyes filled with pride. "you belong with us."

sunghoon’s hand finds yours, gently pulling it into his lap, thumb tracing the back of your hand. his touch is always soothing, like an anchor in a storm. "we belong with you, too," he corrects, his voice tender.

your relationship is unconventional — some would even say complicated. but it isn’t for you. for you, sunghoon and jake it’s something as natural as breathing. there are no jealousy-fueled fights, no insecurities you haven’t already talked through. communication has always been your greatest strength. yes, it isn’t always easy, but you make it work because none of you can imagine life any other way.

"you two are everything to me," you say softly, looking between them. "i mean it. i don’t care what anyone else says."

jake's hand tightens on your shoulder, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "we’re yours. always."

sunghoon nods, his expression soft but serious. "we’re in this for the long haul, yn. you know that, right?"

"i know," you whisper, your heart swelling with emotion. "and i wouldn’t have it any other way."

the rain outside seems to slow, softening into a light drizzle as if mirroring the quiet calm that has settled over the room. jake’s eyes meet sunghoon’s, a silent understanding passing between them before jake speaks.

jake’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries all the weight of the moment. “come here,” he says, his fingers lightly tilting your chin to face him.

shift slightly, your heart racing with a mix of anticipation and love that bubbles beneath the surface. the connection between the three of you is palpable, the air thick with unspoken emotions. jake’s lips brush against yours in the softest of kisses — tender, almost hesitant. it’s sweet, gentle and yet it sends shivers down your spine, the kind that makes you melt into him even further.

sunghoon watches quietly, his dark eyes studying the two of you with a calm intensity. there’s no jealousy, only a quiet reverence for the love you share. after a moment, he reaches out, his hand resting on the side of your face, guiding you toward him. his lips meet yours next, the kiss deeper, slower. where jake’s kiss was light and playful, sunghoon’s is grounding — steady, like him. his thumb caresses your cheek as he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, both of you breathing in sync.

"you’re so beautiful," sunghoon murmurs, his voice deep and quiet.

jake presses a kiss to your shoulder before leaning back into the couch, watching the two of you with a soft smile. “i could stay like this forever,” he says, his voice breaking the quiet but only adding to the warmth surrounding all three of you. “just the three of us, like this.”

you let out a soft laugh, leaning into the warmth of jake’s chest and resting a hand on sunghoon’s knee. “we really do fit together, don’t we?”

sunghoon nods in agreement, his fingers running absentmindedly along the hem of your shirt, a comforting gesture. “perfectly,” he says softly, almost as if he’s still amazed by how seamlessly you all connect.

jake chuckles, his hand slipping down to intertwine with yours. “we’re like puzzle pieces. weird, unconventional puzzle pieces, but we fit.” his grin widens, eyes sparkling mischievously. “and no one else can figure it out but us.”

the three of you share a soft laugh, the kind that fills the room with a warmth even the rain can’t dampen. outside, the storm has softened to a gentle drizzle, the rhythmic patter of raindrops on the window creating a peaceful lullaby.

sunghoon leans in again, this time pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before turning to jake. there’s a pause, an unspoken invitation hanging between them before jake smiles and leans forward. their kiss is unhurried, filled with a mutual tenderness and understanding that never fails to make your heart swell. when they part it’s with a soft sigh, their foreheads resting together for just a moment longer.

you watch them, feeling a deep sense of contentment settle in your chest, you’ve never felt more at peace, more loved than in moments like these — wrapped in the arms of the two people who mean the world to you.

“let’s stay like this a little longer,” you suggest quietly, not ready to break the spell of the lazy afternoon.

jake chuckles softly, pulling you closer to him. “i’m not going anywhere.”

sunghoon hums in agreement, his thumb still tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. “we’re right where we’re supposed to be.”

and with that, the three of you settle back into the quiet comfort of each other’s embrace, the rain outside fading into the background as your world becomes nothing but the love and warmth that you share.

it’s moments like these that remind you just how lucky you are — to have found not just one, but two souls that complete you in ways you never thought possible.

[pastafossa]

Thoughts on Matt's 'This all feels fake' line from the last DDBA episode and why it was a genius move

I've had a night to think and process the episode last night, and the more I think about it, the more I think that line was the absolute best way to go.

Obviously, spoilers ahead.

Let's set aside 'is the show good or bad' for a moment since everyone's vibing with it differently (we know where I stand, I'm happy and having a grand old time, but that's not important). Let's instead think about where Scardapane and the new writers found themselves when they were hired on to do the rewrites and reshooting.

Imagine being a cook. A good one. And someone comes to you, with an absolute dumpster fire of a cake. 'Hey man, we got the potluck in a few hours. It's really important there's a cake since it's someone's birthday. If you fix this, I'll let you bake the next one.'

Except the cake is a mess. Parts of it are burned, the flavor's all wrong, it's unfinished, and you have no idea why it's shaped the way it is.

You don't have the time or all the ingredients needed to entirely make a new cake. Your only option is to save what you can and cut off what you can't, and then build from there.

But how do you do that?

That's essentially where they were, writing-wise. The OG writers had created an absolute mess, something that didn't feel like Matt at all, something that had no respect for all of the lore and character building that came before. And it's definitely not the Netflix vibe show that Feige had asked for (which was why that team was fired, shocker). But reshooting the entire season would have thrown off the larger schedule, it would have required contract changes, and it'd be expensive as hell. That meant they had to use at least some of the footage that had already been shot, and build onto it rather than sweeping it away. But what do you do when the new footage you want to shoot has a very different vibe than the old footage? Especially when those two energies are very, very different?

Answer: you acknowledge it.

There's a technique in writing known as lampshade hanging, when instead of ignoring something that's implausible or weird, you point it out instead and move on, while also sometimes using it to advance the narrative. It's one of my favorite tropes! I love to use it, and I love to see it used.

Even better? They made it feel weird, which is something multiple people have brought up as a theory, this idea that it's intentional, and I agree with them. Even some of the teaser trailers before DDBA came out even played off of that feeling, Matt's voice hoarse and dark as a monologue while beneath his voice you get an eerily soundtracked montage of him going through his new 'normal' life day after day after day in a way that makes it clear this new life doesn't fit, and it never will.

I've been fascinated by how they've played it over this first season, both the writers and Charlie himself, using these jarring tonal differences to leave you intentionally unsettled. Sometimes it's done with music, like that early scene where Matt's getting ready for his day, clearly repressing and disassociating his way through life, all while more upbeat music is playing, or the slight alteration to our OG Daredevil theme. Sometimes it's a subtle pattern, these little ticks and tells from Charlie's portrayal - Matt always wearing his glasses even in softer scenes because he doesn't feel safe with these new people around him that are supposedly his friends, hell, even in his own apartment when he's entirely alone because it's not a home like his last place was.

And then there are moments like last night, when Matt literally came out and said it: this all feels fake sometimes. It's not my home. This isn't my life.

We know he doesn't belong there. And they managed to change the original story so that Matt? Matt knows that, too. He's known the entire time.

It weaves a thread through all the original footage, the tonal differences, and Matt's behavior. It's a thread that not only amounts to the new writers saying to us, the audience, 'trust us, we know,' but it's also one that reinforces this idea that Matt is literally just fucking faking it in the hopes that it will keep him away from Daredevil, in the hopes that he can be the man he thinks Foggy would have wanted. He's trying so hard to live that perfect, happy, wonderful life while repressing all of his trauma and depression and it's left him in this bizarre otherworld that he doesn't recognize. He's not himself. It grates on him every day.

And it makes that creeping darkness, that gritty reality, that dirt on his hands and the blood on his lips and his visceral screams all the more thrilling when it edges in, because that? That is the real Matt, his true self, the Devil tearing its way out of the prison he's trapped it in just long enough to bare its teeth and snap and bite before he forces it back into its cell.

And god does it feel real compared to the moments where Matt is just pretending this is all fine, all bright, all good.

I fucking love that they went in that direction. It's the best thing they could have done when locked into reusing the old footage which was different in tone than the Netflix vibe they want to bring back. It was always going to be jarring mashing both of them together. So they ran with it.

Like I said, I'm already really happy with DDBA. Some eps nailed it for me better than others (Ep 6 is just an absolute blast), but even when it gets a little rough, there's this sense of Scardapane and the new writers giving us a wink going, 'yup, we know. Just hang in there until we're not bound by old footage and we can take you on a fucking ride.'

They want what we want. And they're going to take us there. That line solidified it for me. I'm so fucking pumped for Season 2 when the chains are off and they're free to come out swinging.

Anyway thanks for coming to my rambling ted talk.

[beiibeiii]

tracing her curse marks

arlecchino x f!reader fluff

tw: none, soft arlecchino, comforting arlecchino, slight angst..?you call her peruere, she loves u sm :( sorry ending kinda rushed, making my monthly appearance just to disappear again, not proofread.

ty @vissanctuary for the idea :>

it was late in the knave's bedroom. a small, dim light lit up the room. you and arlecchino were laying together in her soft bed, in a comfortable silence. you were curled up beside her with the side of your face against her chest, listening to the soft beats of her heart. her chest gently went up and down with each breath. you were basking in the warmth of her body, the flames coursing through her blood.

arlecchino's long, silky hair was sprawled out against the soft cotton pillows. the dim light, softly lit up your faces. arlecchino's hand was in your hair, soft strands of your hair inbetween her fingers as she rested it ontop of your head. her eyes were closed, relishing the warmth and tranquility in the air. she looked so peaceful.. a sight only for you to behold.

arlecchino wasn't asleep and you knew it. you let out a soft sigh of content at her act as your lips curled into a sleepy smile against her chest. you knew she always prefered to fall asleep after you, no matter what. she always had a strong sense of protectiveness when it came to such things.

your sleepy gaze wanders away from the bedside table and down to arlecchino's bare arms. her strong arms faded into black around her forearms. black marks traveled down her arms, creating tattooed-like patterns on her. a contrast to her milky white skin. you knew of her curse, but she would never clarify what it specifically was. you knew she was awfully aware of her marks. she would never admit it but was uneasy about showing them in public, so it warmed your heart to know she trusts you to show them to you now.

you felt the urge to trace her marks. your gaze lingered on her arm, your eyes tracing up and down her arms with weary eyes. you wanted to reach out and trace them lightly with your fingertips, but you wouldn't know how she'd react. you didn't want to take advantage of arlecchino's rare show of vulnerability.

arlecchino being a harbinger, could feel your loving gaze on her, glancing up and down her arm, specifically. she finds it strange that you take a liking in her despite her rough blackened hands.. she choses not to comment on it, letting you indulge yourself. her fingers slowly start to play with your hair again. she's extra careful that her sharp, well taken care of nails don't scratch your scalp too hard.

"what is it my dear..?" she mumbles lowly with an hint of softness. her eyes open slightly, trying to maintain her aloof demeanour. you reach your arm out and hold her hand. you feel her hand stiffen slightly. you feel the roughness of her palms against yours. intertwining your fingers together as your thumb lights rubs her hand. her hand is alot warmer than yours, its comforting.

you find yourself at a slight loss for words. you didn't want to stir up any uncomfortable emotions within her. you hesitantly answered with a small frown.

"did.. it hurt..?"

arlecchino fell silent. she tensed slightly when your hand touched hers. she could instantly feel the contrast of your soft hand against her tough skin. the feeling of your head nuzzling against her chest was distracting but in a good way. she could feel some of the memories and visons from her curse awaken. she wasn't the type of person to elaborate on personal information. she was never good at explaining herself, having kept everything in for a long time.

"don't worry, it isn't important. just rest now my love." she exhaled out quietly, clearly avoiding your question. she wouldn't admit it but the pain was excruciating. the feeling of flames running up her arms were painful, something she could never forget.

in truth she was afraid. afraid that her story would scare you away. that you would be disappointed in her.

that you would see her as a monster.

arlecchino closed her eyes once more, trying to ease back into that previous comfort. your eyebrows furrow at her avoidance. you can remember all the times you've confided in her, but cannot recall a single time where she had confided in you. you didnt want her to suffer alone, you wanted her to also be able to find comfort in you. to also need you.

she knew well that you'd catch onto her avoidance, despite the aloofness etched onto her face. arlecchino tried to seem tough like the unfeeling harbinger she is, but she knew even she had troubles sometimes. she loved how you could easily read her like a book, you knew her all too well.

your hand gently slips out of her hand, your fingertips dragged themselves up her arms, following the intricate remnants of her curse. arlecchino held back a slight shudder at the feeling of your fingertips grazing gently against her marks. she was sensitive about them.

"peruere.." you whisper quietly. there it was. the call out for her name. the forbidden name that tainted her.

her jaw clenched slightly as your touch travelled up from above her wrists. she let out a slightly strained, low hum. her eyes opened to peer down at your actions. the contact was overwhelming, but.. comforting in a way.

your hands continue to slowly trace the rough lines of her skin, following the beautiful dark markings etched onto her arm. you can hear her heart picking up its pace as you do. peruere feels her walls breaking down before building them back up again. a voice in the back of her head torments her, feeding her with lies, telling her she'd hurt you and how disgusted you are of her.

"thats.. enough now.." she mutters with an hint of nervousness. an warning to keep you from treading on dangerous territory. her words are all bark but no bite. she doesn't make an attempt to pull her arm away.

"but, they're so beautiful peruere.." you utter quietly, her name rolling off your tongue so perfectly.

"you know you can tell me anything right..?" you mumble again. your touch was so gentle, handling her so delicately like glass. as if she'd break if you pressed too hard.

a quiet breath left her parted lips. she wasn't used to being cared for like this. her tough facade started to crack once more under your touch and words. she wanted to deny your comment on how beautiful her hideous black markings were, but she couldn't bring herself to refute it. your tender traces made her feel vulnerable, a feeling she didn't know how to handle at all.

"i know... i just... don't want to burden you with my issues." she whispered quietly. vulnerability was seeping right out of her mouth and into her words.

her words hit you like a truck, how could she ever feel that way..? you sit up a little to glance at her face. your fingers started tracing back down her arm now. grazing against her perfect, unique markings.

"peruere.. my love. you would never burden me. i am more than happy to listen to you.."

her icy facade thawed a little more at your gentle words. she could see the concern and sincerity in your eyes, it was like you were piercing through her armor and laying her vulnerable heart bare. it was a look she couldn't refuse. your words were so full of meaning and tenderness, she couldn't rip her eyes away from your pretty ones.

"i.. don't know where to start." the knave.. no, peruere finds herself at an loss of words for once.

your hand slips back into hers. giving it a little squeeze. giving her a soft and reassuring smile.

"its okay.. i can wait, you don't have to tell me now. when your ready, i'll be there to listen to you peruere." you uttered quietly to her. that name making her feel weak.

peruere's eyes darted to your intertwined hands. she was not used to being comforted in any way and her instinct was to push you away, not to be vulnerable. she took in a deep breath, her stoic facade crumbling even more at your unwavering patience and understanding.

"even if it takes days?.." she questioned.

your hand brings your intertwined hands up to her face. your lips curling into a soft smile. the dim light shining on your face only making it brighter.

"even if you never end up telling me." you quietly whispered.

you can see her sharp features soften at your words slightly. you had completely broke her words down, even letting the tiredness into her system.

"lets sleep now okay? i love you." you smiled sleepily as well, as you plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

"i love you too dear, thank you." she utters softly.

her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into her warm embrace. her chin rested on top of your head. no more words needed to be exchanged. the two of you drifted off to sleep, basking in the comfortable silence.

maybe one day peruere will tell you. as of now, only small remnant's of arlecchino still remain. your fine with that, perhaps soon, peruere will let herself confide in you properly.