#*❈ ‣ call — made her sword into a doll.

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

[mrsriddlenott]

The Seventh Day Of Smutmas

[smutmas masterlist] [main masterlist]

~ Stocking Stuffers ~

dom!Theo x sub!Reader x switch!Mattheo

Summary: Insanely horny Mattheo and Theo help you decorate for Christmas in your cute holiday themed outfit and hear you refer to putting gifts in their stocking as needing to stuff their stockings, and can’t help but get distracted by the idea of stuffing your stickings with a gift too.

Warnings: Teasing, Cumplay, Threesome, no Penetration as Punishment, Overstimulation, Sword Fight, Thigh Fucking.

The way you strode around the house in your velvety red dress with matching stockings was driving the boys crazy. They’d already had two talks about the way you swayed your hips and spoke to them in a higher pitched voice than usual, you were baiting them, you knew they couldn’t keep their eyes off you and you loved it. So they agreed to deprive you of all their attention as they continued decorating. That was until they felt your presence behind them, Mattheo locking eyes with Theo, begging him to let him succumb to your desires as your hands ran up their biceps to their shoulders.

“We still need to stuff the stockings,” Theo’s jaw clenched noticeably as he turned to you with angry eyes. Watching as you purposefully poked your chest out further, smiling as his eyes trailed across you before returning to your pleading eyes.

“Are you trying to get another punishment?” Theo asked you, trying to ignore the way you batted your eyes up to him sweetly as Mattheo made his way behind you. His rough hands tugging at your waist, pulling you into him as his lips attacked your neck, unable to control himself as he forced a gasp from you.

“Come on Mattheo,” Theo rolled his eyes as he watched his boyfriend and girlfriend, “You’re too fucking easy on her, you always give in.” He sighed, groaning as Mattheo licked up to your ear, eliciting a moan from your lips before he spoke.

“Hey! She deserves it. Look at her, she’s all dressed up for us,” Mattheo shook your hips slightly in his big hands with a bright smile, watching Theo’s eyes fall to watch your thighs shake, climbing up your body as your tits threatened to slip past the fluffy edge of your Christmas outfit.

“Yeah Teddy, I picked it out just for you guys. Look it barely covers my panties!!” You said excitedly as you turned in Mattheo’s arms, his hands migrating to your ass where the straps of your stockings disappeared, connecting to the matching underwear that peaked out from under the fluff on the hem of the Christmas dress.

“Look at her Theo, she’s been such a Good Girl today, practically giving us a show all afternoon,” Theo scoffed at his boyfriend’s words, rolling his eyes but being unable to stop himself watching Mattheo’s hands as they groped your ass, lifting your dress to expose you fully for your boyfriends.

“If you call being a little tease good than sure, but I think she’s been a but naughty,” Theo joked, stepping forward with a harsh smack to your ass before continuing, “Way too naughty for this little Santa outfit, but I guess that’s what makes it so fucking sexy.” He laughed as Mattheo chuckled, letting Theo tug you around to face him.

“Don’t think you’re getting off the hook, you wanna wear this cute little outfit then you can keep it on while me and Matty….stuff your stockings” The two laughed as your brows scrunched, eyeing Theo and cocking your head back to silently plead with Mattheo for only a second before Theo’s rough hand was tugging your chin back to face him.

“You’re gonna stand here and look pretty in your little outfit okay Baby,” Mattheo whispered into your ear as the clank of two belts filled the room, the boys seemed to know exactly what they wanted to do with you as though they were communicating without you knowing. Soon, Theo was tugging you forward, one hand on his hard cock as he spoke, “Are you okay with this? Do you want us to use you like a pretty little doll to get off?”

You were immediately shaking your head yes and within seconds Mattheo’s hands roughly grabbed your hips, forcing your thighs together before shoving his leaking tip between them with a breathy moan, fucking into your thighs as his arm came around your stomach to hold you in place. Theo watched as Mattheo’s dick moved against your plush thighs, watching his red tip poke fully out towards him before disappearing between your flesh teasingly. Theo felt himself twitch in his hand at the sight, your head tossed back against his shoulder as you squirmed around him waiting for Theo to join in on the fun.

Mattheo’s hooded eyes met Theo’s, his lazy smile disappearing as he moaned against your neck, practically begging him to help him find his release. Theo roughly grabbed your waist, lining himself up above Mattheo and shoving himself through, forcing a whine of a moan from the boy behind you as their dicks rubbed against each other. They timed their thrusts perfectly to rub fully against each other with each pull, Theo’s cock just barley rubbing up against your clit teasingly as he focused entirely on Mattheo’s pleasure as he whined behind you.

The feeling of your thighs surrounding him as the veins of Theo’s dick rubbed against his making him whine uncontrollably as he bit into your neck out of embarrassment causing you to squeal and clench your thighs harder around your boyfriends, eliciting loud moans from the both of them before Theo spoke again, “Don’t hide those fucking noises Matty, you’re almost as bad as her sometimes, you’re getting punished too.” He casually teased as he pushed Mattheo’s face away from your neck forcing him to moan and whine every time their tips touched, jolting him forward against you as you wiggled and moaned from the slightest touch.

Mattheo’s thrusts we’re becoming sloppy and faster, smacking his balls against the back of your thighs with a bruising pace before he was stuttering against you with a loud moan. His breath fanning over you shoulder as thick spurts of his cum painted your stockings and covered Theo’s cock as he continued to thrust into your thighs, pulling away before Theo tugged his front against your back, “I didn’t say to fucking stop, you’re not done until I am Mattheo.”

Theo fucked into your thighs slowly, watching Mattheo shake as his arms fully enclosed you, his mouth focused on your neck and shoulders to keep him from whining. The sight of him fucked out and slowly going limp between your thighs as he drained himself down your stockings sending him over the edge as he stuttered against you, leaning in further to nip at Mattheo’s neck and force him to whine in his ear pushing Theo over his edge as he covered your panties and thighs with his cum, mixing with Mattheo’s as it soaked into your stockings.

~~~~

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[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

putting out so many bellamy fics, here's the playlist I listen to while writing fics

Bellamy Blake - Arkadia

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You had a dream about your best friend Bellamy, and you try to suppress the feelings by avoiding him. Bellamy doesn't let this slide. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: smut, piv, praise, nsfw, gentle Bellamy

His hand glided along my thigh, sending shivers down my spine. My breathing became erratic the closer and closer he got to my cunt, the place I craved his touch the most. Bellamy leaned down, giving sweet kisses to my stomach area before I finally felt his fingers on my pussy, sliding up and down coating his fingers with my slick.

I just about came when he pushed two fingers inside me, thrusting them up and hitting my sweet spot.

"Hey!" Octavia, my roommate, yelled.

I shot up instantly looking around taking in my surroundings, a wave of disappointment washing over me, suddenly missing the dream I had just awoken from. Why had I been dreaming of Bellamy of all people? He was my best friend!

My disappointment was replaced by my guilt.

"You've been asleep an hour past breakfast, wake up." She spoke, putting on her black boots and lacing them.

An hour? What happened to my alarm clock?

Octavia noticed my confused look towards my clock, "You didn't set it last night,"

Shit.

I climbed out of bed and almost tripped on my blanket. I walked to my dresser and pulled out a fairly cute outfit. Shorts, a tank top, and Bellamy's guard jacket I still needed to return. But I knew he'd have to steal it back to get it.

"Where are you off to today?" I asked Octavia, putting on my socks and then my brown boots. I saw her stand and grab her sword, placing it in the holster on her back.

"Gonna spend the day with Lincoln, makes things less boring around here." She opened the door to our room and left.

Leaving me to only my thoughts memories of the dream came flooding back to me. It was like I could actually feel his touch on my thigh. His big, calloused hands, his soft kisses to my stomach, touching me as if I were a porcelain doll.

Shaking my head I snapped out of my thoughts, I had things to do today.

Walking to my little clay shop beside the Armory I sat down on my stool. Reaching under the desk I brought out a lump of clay I left to dry.

I had a clay shop, though it wasn't really a shop. Bring me the dirt and I'll make you whatever you want. It made the days less boring and brought smiles to everyone's faces, people would commission things for their partners, moms, siblings, and friends. Knowing my little sculptures could bring such joy to the people of Arkadia was a nice feeling.

Slapping the lump down on the desk I rolled up the sleeves of Bellamy's jacket and began kneading it, this is where most of my strength came from. Once I was sure it was soft enough to work with I sat back down, dunked my hands in the water, and began sculpting. Taking mini lumps from the big piece of clay.

I had finished two before my thoughts caught up with me.

Kneading the clay again, I thought about Bellamy's hands, mouth, hair, and body. How good he'd feel against me.

"Clays not gonna knead itself," Bellamy spoke in an amusing tone.

I hadn't even noticed I stopped kneading.

The sight of Bellamy made my heart drop, without his usual jacket you could see his muscular arms, a sight I needed engraved in my brain.

Looking at his face my eyes were wide, I had hoped he didn't notice my unusual staring. I needed to get my head out of the gutter.

"Yeah, just got distracted," I replied, an awkward laugh coming after.

Bellamy raised an eyebrow, bringing his hands to his hips. He definitely noticed.

"You okay, princess?"

That name again. I practically melted every time he called me it, though I'm sure he meant it in a friendly manner it just sounded so good coming from him.

I let out a series of stutters before taking a breath, "Yes," It came out as more of a question than an answer, and I knew he didn't believe me.

Then finally, my saving grace came.

"Oh, look, customer," I say, the look on Bellamy's face still evident.

A customer from two weeks ago approached my shop, Bellamy looked between us and took his leave.

A part of me felt bad knowing I had pushed him away slightly. But id never get any work done if he was standing there looking so damn good-

"Hi, I'm here for the fox statue. For my boyfriend." She greeted me with a bright smile, clearly full of excitement to see the final result.

I returned her smile and nodded, "I remember! Let me get it,"

A few hours had passed since then and the sun was setting, many happy customers, and I somehow seemed to get a lot of work done.

Closing down shop I washed my hands in the bucket of water and walked towards the mess hall, feeling my stomach rumble.

Entering the room I looked to see what was on the menu for tonight's dinner.

Fish and tomatoes were an odd pairing but given our resources it was fairly good.

Grabbing a plate from Sinclair I searched for some familiar faces, to which I only found Bellamy.

Thinking the previous feelings for him faded I walked up and sat in front of him, a smile greeted me at my presence.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, getting comfortable and taking a bite of the fish. Not very flavorful.

"They headed to bed early,"

"Why didn't you?"

"Wanted to ask what was up with you earlier,"

Thank god I had finished my food, the intensity of his stare would've made my appetite vanish.

"I've just been distracted," I stated, hoping he would just take that for an answer. But I knew he'd keep budging.

"With?"

"I'm getting pretty tired, I'm gonna head to bed," I stood abruptly, not wishing to continue the conversation further. How else am I supposed to tell me best friend I had a wet dream about him and everytime I see him it comes back to me?

"Bye, bell," I flashed a nervous smile and quickly walked off before he could say anything else.

I knew I'd have to confront him sometime, but I'd hold off as long as I could until then.

Making it to my shared room I quickly opened the door and entered, Octavia probably spending the night in Lincoln's room. I was grateful for that, tonight I just needed to be alone.

Getting undressed I put on a pair of pajama shorts and just used Bellamy's jacket as a top.

Climbing into bed I slid under the covers, making sure to set my alarm this time.

Staring up at the ceiling for a good hour my mind clouded over with thoughts of Bellamy, it was expected at that point. I hadn't even noticed my hand going towards my cunt, rubbing myself through the fabric. Letting out soft, quiet moans at the feeling. As good as it felt I needed more.

My hand slid underneath the shorts and I teased my entrance, just as Bellamy did in my dream. Pushing into myself with two fingers the feeling was amazing, but imagining It was Bellamy again wasn't enough. I craved him, and in my lusty haze, I shot up and headed for the door.

I couldn't believe I was going to do this, I couldn't believe how badly I needed him.

I made a B-line for Bellamy's room, knocking on it. I was practically banging on it. A few seconds passed until I was met with the sight of Bellamy towering over me, his messy hair going in all directions, his shirt that hugged his arms so well, and his sweatpants that barely hid anything.

"Is your roommate in there?" I ask breathily.

With a shake of his head, I connect our lips in a messy needy kiss. The feeling of our lips touching for the first time makes me shiver, Bellamy makes no motion to push me off, instead, he pulls me inside, shutting the door with his hand. He picks me up and carries me to the bed, needing this just as much as I do.

He only pulls away when he sets me down on the bed, unzipping the jacket to find nothing under making him slyly smirk, my face flushed with an unimaginable redness. My mind now catching up with my heart.

This was really happening.

His hands gently fondle my breasts, soon snaking their way down my sides, to my hips, and then to my shorts, with every touch of his fingers, my body shivered, bathing in the attention from his hands and eyes.

He easily took off my shorts, the cool air hitting my now vulnerable warm cunt.

Bellamy was at a loss for words, never seeing something so beautiful before. The bulge in his pants now makes the material stick out in a more than noticeable way.

The feeling of embarrassment caught up with me, I moved my arms to cover myself but was stopped by Bellamy's tight grip.

"Don't," He demanded, letting go of my arms once I nodded shyly.

With a flushed face, Bellamy lowered his pants, revealing his cock. He took ahold of my legs and placed them on his shoulders, "Okay?" He asked, making sure this was really happening.

"Yeah, that's... that's good," I replied, reassuring him.

He guided his tip along my slit, coating it with my wetness as a type of lube. The feeling of him being so close to me made the hairs on my neck stand up.

I had wondered for a moment what people would think of us, but too in the moment to care.

Readying himself, Bellamy looked down at me again, taking in the sight of me with his jacket on.

"Please, I needed this," I muttered, "Needed you,"

"Feelings mutual, princess,"

And before I could reply he pushed in slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. I let out a moan as he bottomed out in me. My hands reaching out for his, he met me halfway and grabbed ahold of them. His big hands intertwined with mine. He placed our hands above my head and gave them a squeeze.

I squeezed back, hard.

"Can I move?" He asked, he so badly wanted to move. But he wanted our first time together to be gentle, sweet, and full of genuine love.

I nodded hesitantly, preparing myself for the pain and pleasure.

Bellamy pulled out and pushed back in at a slow pace, agonizing to him, it took everything in him not to just slam back into you at a rough pace.

The moans I let out sounded like heaven to him, he couldn't help but join in with his own grunts of pleasure, the way I would tighten around him started to become too much, and he couldn't keep his own sounds in.

"You're doing so good," Bellamy assured between groans, his voice had become gruff.

I bit my lip to try and stay quiet, fearful the room next to him might hear.

Bellamy didn't like that at all, "Let them out, princess,"

And when I shook my head 'no', he slammed into me hard, forcing my moans out as I squeezed his hand more.

"Bellamy!" I moaned out.

This only egged him on, loving the way his name sounded on my tongue.

As much as it hurt, it felt amazing how well he filled me, and how easily he could hit my sweet spot.

"Faster, please," I begged, staring into his eyes.

"Alright, princess,"

Bellamy leaned in closer making my legs bend more, letting him go deeper inside me. His pace began to speed up, making my moans grow louder in volume.

Every thrust was a new place deeper inside me, I felt my legs begin to shake, the familiar feeling of ecstasy creeping up my stomach.

He must've caught on, "It's okay, cum on my dick, princess, go ahead,"

His reassuring words put me over the edge, "Bellamy, Bellamy!"

My back arched as I reached my high with Bellamy fucking me through it.

My climax brought him even closer, the way my pussy clenched around his cock was overwhelming for him. His thrusts became sloppy and unhinged. He tried to keep it in, to make this moment last longer.

His brows furrowed while he stared into my eyes, saving this memory forever, "You're so beautiful," he breathed out, "So pretty with my jacket on,"

With a few more erratic thrusts he quickly pulled out, finishing on my stomach, bringing a newfound warmth all over.

Full of hesitance he let go of my hands, taking off his shirt and cleaning his cock and my stomach off while catching his breath. He threw the shirt into a bin in the corner of his room. Now taking a place next to me, wrapping his arms around my exhausted body.

"Been dreaming of that since we met," He whispered in my ear, placing kisses all over my neck.

I smiled.

If only he knew.

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[apothe-roses]

Dance of the Sugarplum Prince

Nutcracker!Aemond x Clara!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: violence, character death, smut, tiddy sucking, oral (f-receiving), uncle-niece incest, unprotected sex, piv sex, breeding kink, possessive Aemond, obsessed Aemond

A/N: I may not be the first nor the last to do a nutcracker au, but I’m doin it anyways! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All rights go to HBO and George RR Martin

The snow falls heavy and thick outside the window. You watch the snowflakes dance to the ground while your family makes a ruckus behind you. The adults Gossip amongst themselves while your brothers laugh and joke amongst themselves. You love your family, but you’ve grown tired of your overbearing aunties trying to set you up with “nice boys” they know.

You notice a figure making their way towards the front door, making your own way towards it to greet them. Right after the doorbell rings, you open the door, smiling at the woman on the other side.

“Aunt Alys,” you smile and embrace the older woman.

“Forgive me for my tardiness, but it’s nearly impossible to make one’s way through that,” she replies, indicating to the storm outside. Other family members come to greet Alys, so you move to the side and let them. She pulls a large case out from under her coat. She reveals several beautifully made dolls, winding them up and letting them dance across the carpet. Your family is in awe. While they’re distracted, Alys approaches you.

“I have a special gift for you,” Alys says. She opens her bag, gingerly pulling out a final doll. He was a beautiful man with long silver hair and black armor accentuated with gold.

“This,” you aunt explains, “is no ordinary knight. He is a prince of a faraway land.”

“Oh Alys, she’s too old for dolls!” your mother calls from across the room.

“Oh, but he’s so beautiful!” you rebut. “Couldn’t I just put on on my shelf and admire him?”

“You can put these dirty dishes in the kitchen,” your mother tells you. You sigh, setting your doll on the windowsill. Alys follows you into the kitchen.

“Perhaps you should’ve brought me a real prince. That would’ve made mother happy,” you laugh. Alys simply smiles at that.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounds from the sitting room, followed by your mother shouting “Luke!” You rush into the room. Your doll is lying on the floor at your brother’s feet.

“It was an accident!” Luke explains. “I only wanted to get a closer look!”

You rush over, picking your doll up off the ground. One of his eyes is broken. Luke apologizes profusely while you carefully extract the broken pieces. Alys approaches.

“I couldn’t find a spare eye, but this should fit,” she says, handing you a small sapphire. You slip it into his empty socket; it fits perfectly. She provides a small strip of black fabric that you use as a makeshift eyepatch.

“Thank you, Alys,” you say, giving the older woman a hug. You don’t notice the worried look she gives your doll.

BONG

BONG

BONG

Was it midnight already? You must have nodded off at some point. You look down at your prince, admiring his handsome face. Perhaps it’s the dim light, but it looks as though his mouth twitches.

You’re about to go to bed when something moves at the edge of your vision. A small man walks out from under your Christmas tree! For a moment, you think it’s your prince. However, this man has two eyes and looks older. He wears a crown that looks like it’s made of wood. He’s looking around, clearly searching for something. You stay as still as possible, hoping he doesn’t notice you. Theres a possibility you’re still dreaming, but you’re not willing to take that risk.

“Looking for someone, Daemon?” a voice calls out. Both your heads snap to the corner where it came from. Your mouth falls open. It’s your prince! But he’s alive! He approaches the man, sword drawn.

“Aemond,” Daemon greets. “It appears you’ve suffered a horrible accident. Shame. I was hoping for a fair fight.”

“And you’ll get one,” Aemond snaps. At that moment, more figures storm into view. You recognize them as your brothers’ toy soldiers.

“Alright. Two can play at that game,” Daemon raises a hand, and several mice scurry out from nowhere. You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to scream. Daemon and Aemond draw their swords, circling one another. Daemon strikes first, but Aemond is quick to block. The mice and toys launch at each other. You’re enthralled. Though bloodless, the battle is intense.

Suddenly, Daemon strikes Aemond’s blind side. He’s sent flying to the floor, his sword clattering away. Daemon smiles viciously, standing over his nephew. He raises his sword to strike the killing blow and—

WHAM!

A giant slipper knocks him off his feet. Aemond glances at you, noting you are now missing a slipper. He grins, then springs into action. He draws a dagger, races to his uncle, and plunges the blade into his neck. Daemon never had time to regain his senses before he bleeds out, choking and clasping at his throat. The battle stops. The now leaderless mice scurry off, and the toy soldiers return to where your brothers left them originally. Aemond walks over to you. As he does, he grows until he’s the height of a normal man. You stare up at him, lips parted. He’s tall, and even more handsome as a man.

“You saved me,” he states, kneeling at your side.

“I-it was nothing,” you stammer, blushing. “I didn’t want him to…kill you.”

Aemond’s lips curl into a smirk. “Such a sweet thing you are,” he muses. He reaches out, winding a lock on your hair around his finger. “It’s not every day a man can say he was saved by someone so beautiful or kind.”

Your blush deepens. “You’re too kind,” you whisper.

“You must come back to the castle with me. My family will want to meet the girl who helped defeat my wicked uncle and his wretched mouse army,” he stands, extending a hand to you. You look around the empty sitting room, wondering what to do.

“It’s only for tonight. I promise to have you back by morning,” he assures you. You bite your lip, not noticing the way his gaze darkens. Then, you smile and take his hand. When you stand, you notice how much taller he is. you look down shyly, but he tucks a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to his. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But then he says, “let’s be off then,” and leads you to the Christmas tree. With each step, you shrink until you can easily walk under the branches.

You spot a castle in the distance. A beautiful red fortress perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a sprawling city. The faint ringing of bells can be heard.

“It seems word of our victory has spread,” Aemond observes. “I imagine the celebration is well underway.

“Oh, but I’m not dressed!” you realize.

“Look down, little one,” Aemond replies. You do, and you gasp. Your simple nightgown had been replaced with a beautiful white dress, tied by a large red ribbon. The skirt floats in light layers down to your calves. Your feet are covered by red slippers with ribbons wrapped around your legs.

“How…?” you start to ask, the question dying on your lips when you look up and see Aemond had changed as well. He’s wearing a black and red jacket adorned with golden epaulettes, and also matching breeches and shiny black boots. His hair is loose, and the swath of ribbon covering his eye is replaced with a proper eyepatch.

“Come,” he requests, extending his hand. “We don’t want to miss out on the festivities.”

The walk to the castle is filled with merriment as the small folk throw flowers over your heads and dance and cheer. Inside the castle is even more merry as ball is in full swing. You spy the king and queen at the end of the hall, their matching silver hair catching the light.

Aemond leads you to the middle of the dance floor and leads you in a waltz. The night passes in a series of twirls and lifts, until a hush falls over the crowd.

The king leads his queen off the dais into the center of the crowd. Everyone pushes back, forming a wide berth around them as they lead a solitary waltz. You feel a large hand on the small of your back.

“Come with me,” Aemond whispers. His breath tickles your ear.

He leads you out of the room. The two of you race down the halls. You haven’t felt this exhilarated since you were a child chasing your brothers outdoors.

You’re lead into a bedroom that you presume is his. You don’t have time to take in the decor, as he grabs your face and kisses you hungrily. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his soft hair.

He deftly undoes the bow on your back. He tries to untie the laces, but he gets impatient and just tears your dress open. You gasp as your dress falls from your body.

Aemond scoops you up and lays you on the bed. He looks over you like a lion about to devour his kill.

“Have you ever been with a man before little one?”

“N-no,” you stutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Well,” he starts, “allow me to show you.”

He tears the rest of your underthings off, leaving you bare before him. Without breaking eye contact, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. Your head rolls back as he sucks on the sensitive flesh, kneading your other side.

“So beautiful,” he gasps, switching to the other tit.

“So perfect.” He trails kisses down your torso. He fingers swipe through your folds. He brings them to his lips and sucks them clean; his eyes roll back and he groans.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” he purrs. He lowers his head to your mound and drags his tongue through your folds. You gasp and instinctually shy away, but he pins you with this hands on your hips. You can only moan as he relentlessly devours your cunt.

“M-my prince…”

“Aemond. Call me Aemond,” he breathes, sending a shiver through you. You feel your peak approaching, closer and closer. It’s just about to wash over you when he pulls away. You whine at the loss of stimulation.

“The first time I make you come, it will be on my cock,” Aemond states, once again leaning over you. He sheds his clothing with ease. He’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. His cock is long and thick, and already leaking. He strokes himself as he gets into position.

“What if it doesn’t fit?” You ask innocently.

“It will fit.” He replies. “I’ll make it fit.”

He angles his cock and enters you with one sure thrust. You gasp loudly, clinging to his shoulders.

“Gods you’re tight,” he whispers. He begins to rock in and out of you, setting a steady pace.

“So wet, and I’ve barely touched you. Such a needy little thing. Absolutely begging to be fucked.”

You babble incoherently in response. Aemond chuckles and starts playing with your pearl.

“Already cockdumb are we?”

He pinches your pearl.

“I could keep you here you know. Fuck you—breed you— day and night, until your belly swells with my child. You’d like that wouldn’t you? My perfect little princess. My broodmare. Mine.”

You’re a little frightened by his declaration, but you’re to overwhelmed by pleasure to do anything about it. You can only lay there as you climax, the pleasure melting your bones and heating your blood.

“That’s my girl. That’s my good girl,” he groans, and you feel his cock pulse followed by a sense of warmth. He keeps his cock plugged inside until he starts to soften, then he pulls out. You feel a mixture of your fluid and his seed leak out. He hold your legs open, admiring the sight. Then, he lays down, pulling you into his arms.

“You’ll want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You lay against his chest, and it isn’t long before sleep claims you.

“Sweetheart, wake up!” you hear your mother call. You reluctantly open your eyes. You’re in your own bed, in your own room.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but we have some surprise guests waiting downstairs,” she pulls open the curtains, and you wince at the sudden brightness.

“Get dressed quickly! I need to get back downstairs!” she rushes out of your room, closing the door behind you.

At first, you don’t move. There was a heaviness in your chest. It had all been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. Mice soldiers, living dolls, and princes could only be the product of dreams. This is the real world, and there are guests waiting for you.

As you get dressed, you realize your prince doll is nowhere to be found. You must have left him downstairs.

Voices could be heard in the sitting room as you make your way downstairs. Unfamiliar voices. You round the corner and freeze. Sitting around the room are three very familiar faces.

“Darling, these are my half-siblings.” She leads you to the Sugarplum King. “This is Aegon,” then to the Queen, who smiles sweetly at you, “Helaena,” then finally to the most familiar of them all, “and this is Aemond.”

He takes your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. You stare up at him with wide eyes. He’s wearing an eyepatch. Over the same eye your brother broke. Was he hiding a sapphire under there?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you breathe.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine, niece,” he purrs, looking at you in a way an uncle should never look at a niece.

“What happened to your eye?” Luke asked abruptly. Jace whacks him on the shoulder, admonishing him.

“Ow!”

“It’s alright. It was an accident long ago,” Aemond replies.

“Oh, let’s not dwell on unhappy memories,” your mother says, turning to Helaena. “How is Alicent? It’s been too long since I’ve heard from her.”

The conversation carries on, but you’ve stopped paying attention. You’re not looking at him, but you feel his gaze on you. Just as intense as it had been when he made love to you in your dream.

A dream.

It had only been a dream.

Right?

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Pearl's Secret - Bucky Barnes

Character: Bucky x female!reader

Summary: After a traumatic night at the Celine Mansion, young Bucky grows up to hunt stolen art tied to his past. His investigation leads him to a high-stakes auction, where a dramatic theft uncovers new clues. A chance encounter in a park propels him closer to unraveling long-hidden secrets.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was the coldest day Bucky could remember. Heavy rain lashed against the windows, the wind howled through the cracks, and darkness enveloped everything outside. He couldn't believe how the warmest place he'd ever known could turn into something so bleak and terrifying.

Ten-year-old Bucky hid inside the fireplace, tucked tightly into the small space. He hadn't known about this hiding spot until the owner, Mrs. Celine, had shoved him in there. "Don't come out until I say so," she had whispered urgently, her voice quivering with fear.

Despite her own terror, she had saved him from the intruders, protecting him as if he were her own, even though he was just an orphan—a nobody. She looked different now, her face pale and eyes wide, unlike the calm and gentle woman he used to know.

"Where is Y/N?" Bucky asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"She's safe," Mrs. Celine replied, her hands trembling as she grabbed a long sword from a knight sculpture standing near the fireplace. She paused for a moment, then looked back at him with a fierce determination in her eyes.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” she said, her voice steadier now, though still edged with fear.

“Yeah?” Bucky replied, his small hands gripping his knees tightly, trying to make himself as small as possible in the cramped space.

“Protect my daughter,” she said, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him shiver more than the cold. With those words, Martha turned and rushed out of the room, leaving Bucky alone in the shadows.

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration. Every year, the Celine mansion hosted an Easter event for the local children and those from the orphanage.

The owner, Antoine Celine, a French aristocrat, and his wife, Martha, an American socialite, were known for their generosity. They were wealthy and loved to do philanthropic work. Every holiday, the Celine mansion was filled with laughter, food, and games, and the children always went home with gifts.

The reason the Celines opened their home was for their only daughter, Y/N. Bucky had heard from the older kids that she was too weak to play outside or go to school. Her parents invited other children to the mansion to ensure she had friends and didn't feel isolated.

The first time Bucky met Y/N was when he was trying to catch a white cat, which had climbed up a tree. He looked up to see a girl dressed in fine, porcelain-doll-like clothing with the cat nestled comfortably in her lap.

“She’s afraid of strangers,” the girl said, her voice soft yet confident, as she jumped down from the tree with surprising grace.

Bucky stared at her, quickly noticing how different she seemed from the other kids. "Are you the owner of this house?"

"Yes," you answered simply, a small smile playing on your lips.

"They said you're weak, but you could climb and jump from the tree. I couldn't do that," Bucky said, his tone filled with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

Hearing his words, you extended your hand to him. "Let me show you. It's not difficult."

From that moment on, Bucky and you grew closer. You would call for him, and he would come to the mansion, welcomed with open arms by your parents, who were thrilled to see their daughter finally making friends.

While playing at the mansion, often playing hide and seek with you, Bucky would explore every corner. The place was filled with paintings, artifacts, and old weapons—like a treasure trove. One room that particularly caught his interest was a gallery with three large paintings, each depicting a woman wearing pearl accessories. He wondered what the Celines had done to accumulate such wealth.

But perhaps it was this very fortune that brought about the tragic events of that day. After most of the children had gone home and only he remained to play with you, the lights suddenly went out. Darkness fell, and chaos erupted. Intruders burst through the windows. Antoine, your father, was quick to act, ushering everyone to safety.

You were panicking, struggling to breathe. Bucky helped you use your inhaler, his hands shaking as he held it to your lips. Your body was weak because of your asthma, and you were clearly frightened.

“Bernard, take Y/N to the safest place,” Martha ordered, handing you to the elderly butler. Bernard quickly scooped you up, moving as fast as his old legs could carry him.

Then, a scream pierced the air. Everyone froze, terror written across their faces. Martha's eyes widened with fear; she knew that voice—it was her husband.

"Go!" she yelled at Bucky, dragging him towards the fireplace. "Hide, and don't come out, no matter what you hear."

Bucky nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He squeezed into the fireplace and tried to control his breathing, making himself as quiet as possible. He stayed there, trembling, until he heard the distant wail of police sirens.

Finally, he crawled out, his legs numb and unsteady. A policeman he recognized, Jack, was standing in the foyer, looking around with a grim expression.

“Bucky?” Jack said softly when he saw him, quickly taking off his jacket and draping it over the boy's shoulders.

“Where are Mr. and Mrs. Celine? Where are Y/N and Bernard?” Bucky's voice was a mixture of fear and desperation.

Jack sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying. "I'll tell you when the time is right. For now, you should go home."

“But where is Y/N?” Bucky insisted, his eyes searching Jack’s for any hint of reassurance.

“She’s not here,” Jack said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

The next day, Bucky learned the truth: there had been a burglary at the Celine mansion, and a murder had taken place. Your whereabouts, along with Bernard’s, remained unknown. He also found out that the stolen items were the three paintings of the women with pearls.

Bucky realized, as he stood outside the now-empty mansion, that he was still just a kid who couldn’t do anything to help that night. From that day on, he vowed to become a police officer so he would never be helpless again.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

15 Years Later

Bucky had made it his mission to find you and Bernard. Growing up, he had followed the news of the Celine Mansion murder closely. The case had garnered international attention, primarily due to the mansion's extensive art collection. Despite the media frenzy, the three paintings of women adorned with pearls—the ones that had captivated him as a child—were never mentioned among the stolen artworks.

Determined to uncover the truth, Bucky joined the White Collar Crime Unit, specializing in art theft. He hoped that recovering the stolen art from the Celine Mansion might also lead him to you and Bernard.

He felt a deep sense of obligation to the Celines; their charity had provided him with an opportunity to attend college, and he was driven to repay their kindness.

In his office, Bucky was a whirlwind of focused energy. His desk was cluttered with files, photographs of artworks, and leads on various stolen pieces. His eyes, sharp and intense, scanned documents and screen after screen, piecing together clues with relentless dedication.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the keyboard as he pulled up images of art pieces and cross-referenced them with the stolen inventory.

Most of the time, Bucky encountered counterfeit artworks. When a seller insisted that a piece was authentic, Bucky’s expression turned skeptical. His jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed with irritation as he examined the so-called masterpiece, especially when it's related to Celine.

“This is fake,” Bucky said decisively, his voice steady and unwavering as he handed the appraisal report back to the seller.

The seller, visibly uncomfortable, stammered, “But how can you be so sure?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. 'Because when we were kids, we have our own little marks on those paintings and artworks. Little signs only we knew about,' he thought.

He glanced down at the art piece, his eyes narrowing in recognition. “And this,” he said, pointing to a specific detail on the painting, “is not one of them. It’s fake.”

Bucky’s confidence came from the mischievous games you used to play together, where you both secretly marked the paintings with tiny, almost imperceptible symbols—proof of authenticity known only to the two of you. Those childhood secrets now served as his key to identifying the genuine articles from the forgeries.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Back at the office, Bucky was engrossed in his work, his eyes scanning through a new batch of leads when a snippet of conversation from a nearby cubicle caught his attention. He leaned closer, straining to hear the details of the conversation between two colleagues.

“…I heard from my informant that there’s going to be a big auction soon,” one of them said, a hint of excitement in their voice. “Apparently, a major painting is going to be featured—one of a woman wearing a pearl necklace.”

The mention of the pearl necklace made Bucky's heart skip a beat. He straightened in his chair, his pulse quickening. The painting described matched the ones he had been searching for, the very ones that had been stolen from the Celine Mansion.

He immediately reached for his phone, dialing his friend and fellow investigator, Mark. As the phone rang, Bucky’s fingers drummed impatiently on his desk, his mind racing with possibilities.

“Mark, it’s Bucky,” he said as soon as his friend answered. “I need you to pull some strings for me. There’s an auction coming up, and I need to attend it. It’s about a painting with a woman wearing a pearl necklace.”

Mark’s voice crackled through the phone, a mix of curiosity and concern. “Are you sure it’s one of the Celine paintings?”

“I’m positive,” Bucky replied, his voice steady but filled with urgency.

There was a brief pause on the line before Mark responded. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do."

Bucky hung up, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this auction was more than just an opportunity—it was a chance to finally uncover the truth and perhaps, after all these years, find the answers he had been longing for.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The auction hall buzzed with excitement. Guests in sleek, tailored suits and elegant evening gowns filled the room, each one wearing a mask to maintain anonymity. The atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and whispers of the extraordinary painting set to be revealed.

Bucky, his own mask fitted securely, scanned the crowd. The guests chatted animatedly, their voices rising in a cacophony of admiration and speculation. The painting, a masterpiece by a renowned artist, was highly coveted due to its association with the Celine family. The prospect of owning it was thrilling, especially given the painting’s rumored price.

“Did you hear? It’s supposed to be worth a fortune!” one guest exclaimed, adjusting his mask with a gleeful grin.

“Absolutely,” replied another, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s related to the Celine collection, and with the owner’s death, the value has skyrocketed. It’s going to be a high bid for sure.”

Bucky could barely contain his frustration. The chatter was deafening, but he needed to stay focused. He knew that the value of the painting had increased significantly because of its connection to the Celine family’s tragic fate.

Finally, the auctioneer, a distinguished figure in a sharp suit, stepped up to the podium. He raised his hand to silence the crowd, his voice commanding attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “it’s time for the highlight of tonight’s auction. We are pleased to present an extraordinary painting, a masterpiece that has captivated collectors and historians alike.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. The auctioneer pulled away the cover, revealing the large painting. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight.

The painting depicted a woman adorned with a pearl necklace. But what struck Bucky most was a single pearl that was a deep, unmistakable red. It was unmistakably one of the paintings created by you—its distinct mark making it immediately recognizable.

His shock was palpable. The painting was genuine. The mark of the red pearl was a detail only you would have included, a personal touch from his childhood friend.

Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. The sound of gasps and frantic murmurs filled the air as guests scrambled in confusion. Bucky’s heart raced; he struggled to make sense of the chaos around him.

When the lights flickered back on, the painting was gone. A wave of panic swept through the crowd. The auction hall erupted into chaos as guests shouted and tried to make sense of the theft.

Bucky sprang into action, pushing through the crowd. He searched desperately for any sign of the painting or the thief. Amidst the confusion, he spotted a figure in a full-face mask moving swiftly towards the exit. Without hesitation, he pursued her.

The confrontation was fierce. Bucky tried to grapple with the masked woman, but she was swift and skilled. Before he could gain the upper hand, another masked figure appeared, and together they overpowered him. Bucky was forced to retreat, bruised and breathless, as the thieves escaped into the night.

The next morning, the news headlines were dominated by the heist. The stolen painting was a major story, but for Bucky, it was a clue that brought him one step closer to finding you.

Sitting in a park, Bucky sipped his coffee, the warm cup a comfort against the chill in the air. The stolen painting felt like a breakthrough, bringing him one step closer to unraveling the mystery he had been chasing for years.

The scene was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous night. He was lost in thought when he saw a person with a yellow umbrella approaching. The umbrella’s bright color was a stark contrast to the grey sky, catching his attention.

As the figure stopped in front of him, the voice that came under the yellow umbrella was heavy but familiar. “You want to climb the tree?”

It was like a thunderclap in his ear. The voice was the same as it had been fifteen years ago. Bucky looked up, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw you standing there, grown up and with a knowing smile.

“Hi. It’s been a long time,” you said, your eyes shining with recognition.

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Author's Note: Hey everyone, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! I’m currently grappling with a writer’s block and have tried various methods to spark new ideas, but nothing seems to be working.

Any feedback or suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for your support!

[l-in-the-light]

One Piece Chapter 1126 commentary

Fresh spoilers under cut!

Yes, Luffy, you're right. Anyone would be curious after 100 years. I just can't with Luffy sometimes. I still wonder if this serves as foreshadowing that Luffy will become immortal smh.

Such cheerful idiots. They remind me so much of Zoro and Sanji, and they also served as parallel to them all the way back in Little Garden too.

Just look at them. They love each other so much, my god. I guess in One Piece, fighting each other constantly means you just love them so much you can't refuse any opportunity to interact, geez.

Also it's so sweet that Dory and Broggy still keep it a secret that their weapons broke down because they helped Strawhats leave the island. They will take that secret to their graves, won't they.

This is so wholesome. Kuma's consciousness might be barely there, he can't even speak, but Bonney knows it's still her dad and wants to just spend time with him together <3

I admit this hit me right in the feels. Bartolomeo knows that if he asked for help, Luffy would run miles to him, but he just won't because he doesn't want to be a burden.

I don't think I ever saw Shanks doing that expression before... I wonder if Bartolomeo's words just hit too close to home.

Also hi Shanks, finally I get to see you more often than once every 200 chapters, about the effing time. Don't spoil me too much or I might expect seeing you more often from now on, and I'm not ready for the disappointment if that's not the case!

"Softer than I expected", oh, Bartolomeo, you have NO IDEA. He's so right though.

Oh. My. God. When was the last time I saw you smile like that, Shanks?? Must be a thousand years ago! All the way back when Ace visited you and thanked you for saving Luffy's life. And before that? Must be in East Blue with Luffy. It was way too long. Please smile more often, you doofus! Bartolomeo, honestly thank you for exisiting. You made this man smile like this again <3 also you're a chad Barto, please, you're great.

Also Shanks, you have no idea how many people are doting on Luffy! Lots of very nice people. I wish you could have met Law as well...

And boom, another young pirate crew got eradicated. Seeing Shanks reactions in this chapter though makes me more convinced that Kid will be fine and alive too. Narrator in One Piece is so unreliable lol.

Speaking of narrator in One Piece... who is it actually? Who is commenting the events for us? Is it you, Morgans?? Admit it, you stupid bird!!

I don't believe you even for a second Kuzan. Not after that trick you pulled off with Saul. You clearly did everything you could to SAVE Garp's life there. He was in such a bad shape too, after all. Garp's rep is insane btw. And he looks a lot like Ace locked away forever ago in Impel Down...

Big bro and Big Sis? Caribou, do you mean Devon and Augur by that? LOL. Or does Caribou actually have a big sis??

Hello, new adventure of Strawhats in a Lego land! God, how much I envy them! I also want to explore a lego land!

Okay, so what happened here. Did they shrink and now they're dolls in a lego house? Because this is not Elbaf. It's not like I thought it will be Elbaf anyway, I read a good theory that Elbaf won't happen yet, we're entering floating storyline arc. It might be wrong, because it predicted Strawhats somehow landing in G-14 base (which is supposed to be somewhat near to Egghead, that's where the kids from Punk Hazard are kept, as well as many Sword members are part of it).

But let's explore the possible explanations that were given to us in this chapter alone:

Robin's idea is a funny one. But Robin's ideas and visions are always wrong, that's like the repeated gag in One Piece lol. So I'm not placing a bet on that (also what sort of fish has a lego mansion inside it's stomach).

"There's a chance it'll make you hallucinate". Interesting. And it's called Green Fairy huh. We see Sanji, Zoro, Nami and Usopp getting seriously drunk with it. Coincidentally, those are the Strawhats that are currently missing in action (+Luffy and possibly Chopper as well?). Actually, the whole Sunny is missing. What could make a whole ship just disappear? I mean, it was even tied up to the Giants ship, wasn't it?

Yep, seems it was. Probably using Sunny's anchor. Which means, if a fish actually swallowed them up, it would be dangling on that anchor. But anyway I didn't buy Robin's comment anyway, no one should lol.

So someone had to undo that anchor for the ship to leave... and here's my most logical conclusion to that: it was Luffy. Luffy doesn't like to drink. For some reason he abducted them somewhere? I mean it's not exactly something impossible for Luffy to do. The crew also somehow pins it down on Luffy, just look at this:

Or, it was someone else capable of stealing a whole ship. There's one problem with this idea though. We were just watching reactions from folks all around the world about Vegapunk's broadcast. We basically know where everyone is and what they're doing (which excludes possibility that it was for example a prank from Shanks), besides literally a few exceptions, like most of Luffy's grand fleet. I can't help but notice Law is still missing in action too.

Right before the environment is revealed to us, Nami comments this must be all alcohol's fault. And that's indeed my guess on what's happening: Nami is experiencing a hallucination from drinking too much of Green Fairy. Which means she isn't a reliable narrator right now and what we're seeing isn't 100% accurate. I still envy her though. I also want to be in a Legoland <3

There's also the chapter's title: 落とし前 (otoshimae) which means: payback, return of favour, taking responsibility, but the most known association is with the yakuza's custom of cutting off a finger as apology for making a blunder. We saw one of such examples happen in this chapter: Bartolomeo had to suck it up because he messed with Shanks and Shanks couldn't let it slide.

I admit I thought it's gonna be a red herring plotline, but Oda actually delivered on that promise! I'm glad I was wrong, ha! This was delicious. Bartolomeo drinking a fake poison to show his loyalty to Strawhats was absolutely fantastic. And Shanks testing him in such a way is so disgusting but also awesome. He cares so much to make sure people around Luffy are actually good people... Shanks and Bartolomeo's encounter is basically two biggest fanboys of Luffy meeting up and it's gotta make this my most favourite chapter for a while now <3

Next, we could probably see "taking responsibility" also in what happened at the very end of the chapter. Strawhats got literally drunk, yeah, so they're literally taking responsibility now for it. But it could also suggest someone kidnapped them to either 1. give them payback 2. repay a favour (despite the ominous line at the end of the chapter, I think it might be the latter actually. But we will see). Wouldn't be the first time Oda uses subtle hints like that to let us know what's actually going on.

There's probably a few more tie-ins to the title in this chapter. Dory and Broggy still gonna continue their duel (it's also taking responsibility, right? Once said words can't be taken back), Bonney and Kuma (she took him with her so she's now taking care of him instead of feasting with others), Blackbeard and Kuzan (Kuzan kinda took responsibility over what happened and made up for the losses when he took Garp hostage). I'm not sure how accurate it is though, because I though otoshimae is related to "making up for some wrongdoing or a mistake", not just taking responsibility for your own actions (or collectively for the whole group). But it might be both, I guess?

But then we can't ignore a tiny callback to that line Zoro says in Water 7 here: "we need to take responsibility for accepting Robin into the crew and that's why now we have to decide: is she a crewmate or an enemy?" The word he uses back then is also "otoshimae".

I'm so into this story's development right now, I literally can't wait for the next chapter! I liked the lore in Egghead, but futuristic islands are just not my type of thing in general. Whatever is happening now, I'm so into it already haha.

[angermango]

"I'm not cooking or anything, this is just a silly idea- (looks down at canvas) ffffuuuu--"

...

so, first I only wanted to draw Professor Layton with a Reiterpallasch from Bloodborne because haha funny hat man with gun-sword, but then i ended up drafting concept art for "Laytonborne", apparently.

"Puzzles all over the shop... You'll be stuck on one of them, sooner or later."

extra artist commentary:

Layton

yes, this really did just start with me wanting to give Layton a Reiterpallasch because he's a canonical fencer and Bloodborne trick weapons absolutely slap. The Reiterpallasch is literally a rapier with a pistol attached that can mechanically switch to prime either the blade first or the gun first so you can stab and shoot someone at the same time.

Giving Hershel the Bloodborne makeover was kind of funny because he wears such a simple look in canon it was hard striking the right balance between his recognisable look and BB aestheic since Bloodborne loves embellishment especially via lots of belts/buckles and those weird shoulder-cape things. I tried to keep it simple enough though because as much as i think he could pull off a hunter ensemble i don't want to have to keep track of all the funky bits. the Top Hat Stays, of course.

Aurora

Aurora is eerily good a fit in a Soulsborne-esque setting considering she fits the criteria for a "Soulsborne maiden" classic archetype sort of character: After all she's a mysterious pale-haired young woman with mystical origins/powers and a foreign-sounding accent and may or may not have some connection to the wider lore and powers that be of the setting. hell even her whole thing being a golem works in a way as even Bloodborne has artificial humans existing as a concept.

i got a little lazy with changing up her dress for both time and lack of inspiration. I thought maybe i'd really do her up but then I chickened out that her costume wouldn't be recognisable any more so just slapped a belt and some patterns on the shawl bit and called it a night :P (if i'd been braver/more motivated she'd probably look good in an approximation of the White Church set, something like that)

and yeah so as the sketches off to the side are like, no real clue how/why it might be triggered but imagine her having the potential to be an optional boss or something (and she'd whoop your ass)

Flora

idk tho Flora also seems like she could be a good contender for the "Soulsborne maiden" position too in a way, or even if not her whole character and story fits into the world quite well. especially with Bloodborne having the Plain Doll who is a sentient doll made in the image of someone her creator loved/was obsessed with and Flora living in a village of human-like robots which started after her father tried to build a replacement for her dead mother.

Her dress is a combination of all her canon costumes across the games. The fur-trim shoulder cape is from one official art of her, the short shawl and white sleeves and bit around her waist is based on her first dress, and the rest of the dress design is based on her second and third game appearance.

The 'Doll Flora' concept there at the end is just some idea of a false/clone Flora running around as well. She's got some little differences including elements of other parts of Flora's designs over the years that aren't on OG Flora, such as the sash and shoes.

Anton

Anton fits in scarily well to the Bloodborne-y setting, perhaps not too surprisingly given the whole 'vampire' thingy. I sort of envision Folsense and Herzen Castle being a bit like the Castle Cainhurst area of Bloodborne which leans more into the classic gothic horror of a remote and looming haunted castle occupied by a sinister enigmatic character.

And yes, that is a reference to the infamous "LAYTOOON" scream from his canon 'boss fight' in the second game - imagine the whole steaming up and screaming thing being like his boss phase transition animation.

The whole 'withers to an old man/husk' concept seems so very Soulsborne-y it really just fits yknow. like if you defeat him he shrivels up/ages to dust or whatever. RIP gassed-up grandpa.

I partly rizzed up his suit using inspiration of the Cainhurst Knight set because like. come on. it's too good to pass up the chance to pretty up with and looks a lot like his canon suit in parts.

Did I trace the foyer background art for Herzen Castle for the mockup just for laffs, only to realise partway that 1) Layton and Anton actually fought in the ballroom, and 2) the ballroom would actually make a much better boss arena setting because it's wide open and the arch from the front room leading into the ballroom could totally be the 'boss fog door' part better than the front room?

...so yeah I then drew the ballroom background without tracing this time like a true madman and had a hell of a time with perspective but the plus side is we also get the sword collection from the game there as a cameo because in Laytonborne the good professor brought his own already.

The Masked Gentleman / Randall

Had a bit of a time deciding how to Bloodborne-ify this guy because his suit in canon is actually really. really boring. it's just a white suit like cmon. so to give it that Bloodborne makeover I fell back on the classic shoulder-cape thing that almost all Bloodborne characters have, added some patterns and accessories based on the Mask of Chaos' patterns and the Decorative Old Hunter's set from the Old Hunters DLC (in the leg brace, forearm guard and the hints of gold chains around the upper arms).

He also gets a Threaded Cane, another trick weapon of Bloodborne fame which is as it suggests: A cane weapon that works a bit like a baton/sword combo but in its alternate form it's a whip covered in serrated metal blades which form the cane itself when locked together.

It seems very appropriate for Randall to be like a boss who starts out as the Masked Gentleman and then at half-or-less health you break his mask, reveal Randall and then wings burst out of his back as he enters his second phase rage mode. This concept part felt more DSouls-y than Bloodborne-y to me i think since Bloodborne is less fantastical and leans more into the body horror/monstrous kind of boss transitions? But at the same time it was too good an opportunity to pass on at least sketching out, plus get you some sick fallen angel imagery out of it.

Also the hanging arm pose miiight be a bit inspired by Artorias of the Abyss. just a bit.

Descole

i recall seeing a post somewhere once with this very low-res rare art of Descole sitting in a throne from somewhere i have no idea what it was for. and I remember it kinda reminded me of Lady Maria's promotional art for the Old Hunters DLC so that's why the last picture of Descole exists.

mf already dresses so extra i legit could think of nothing to add to make him more Bloodborne-y unlike the others. I also used his canon sword's design from the games with a custom sheath because again couldn't really think of anything more to do to make him fit more when he's already got a cool signature weapon to show off.

[stheresya]

Similarities between the twins Baela and Rhaena and the sisters Arya and Sansa:

“Baela is too wild, […] “How can she rule the realm when she cannot rule herself?” (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) "Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it." (Arya II, AGOT)

"Where Rhaena delighted in being the center of court life, Baela bristled at praise, and seemed to take pleasure in mocking and tormenting the suitors who fluttered around her like moths." (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) […] And it is past time that Arya learned the ways of a southron court. In a few years she will be of an age to marry too." "Sansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought to herself, and the gods knew that Arya needed refinement." (Catelyn II, AGOT)

"[...] In the Vale, Rhaena had enjoyed a life of comfort and privilege as Lady Jeyne’s ward. Maids had brushed her hair and drawn her baths, whilst singers composed odes to her beauty and knights jousted for her favor. The same was true at King’s Landing, where dozens of gallant young lords competed for her smiles, artists begged leave to draw or paint her, and the city’s finest dressmakers sought the honor of making her gowns." (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) [...] And the Vale of Arryn was beautiful, all the songs said so. Perhaps it would not be so terrible to stay here for a time. (Sansa VI, ASOS) Alayne's apartments in the Maiden's Tower were larger and more lavish than the little bedchamber where she'd been kept when Lady Lysa was alive. She had a dressing room and a privy of her own now, and a balcony of carved white stone that looked off across the Vale. (Alayne I, AFFC) "You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. […] Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor." (Alayne I, TWOW)

Baela’s time on Dragonstone had been more troubled, ending with fire and blood. By the time she came to court, she was as wild and willful a young woman as any in the realm. […] Baela lived to ride…and to fly, though that had been taken from her when her dragon died. She kept her silver hair cropped as short as a boy’s, so it would not whip about her face when she was riding. Time and time again she would escape her ladies to seek adventure in the streets. (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) […] Yet somehow she felt calmer than she ever had in Harrenhal. The rain had washed the guard's blood off her fingers, she wore a sword across her back, wolves were prowling through the dark like lean grey shadows, and Arya Stark was unafraid. (Arya I, ASOS) Both horses were lathered and flagging by the time he came up beside her, reached over, and grabbed her bridle. Arya was breathing hard herself then. She knew the fight was done. "You ride like a northman, milady," [...] (Arya III, ASOS) No one spared Arya a glance. They were looking for a highborn girl, daughter of the King's Hand, not for a skinny boy with his hair chopped off. (Arya I, ASOS) "Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart's desire." (Catelyn VII, ACOK)

Even more gravely, Baela had a taste for unsuitable companions. Like stray dogs, she brought them home with her to the Red Keep, insisting that they be given positions in the castle, or be made part of her own retinue. [...] Septa Amarys, who had been given charge of her religious and moral instruction, despaired of her, and even Septon Eustace could not seem to curb her wild ways. (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody." (Sansa I, AGOT) […] I despaired of ever making a lady of [Arya]. She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. (Catelyn VII, ACOK)

Lady Rhaena proved to be as tractable as her sister had been willful. She would of course wed whomever the king and council wished, she allowed, though “it would please me if he was not so old he could not give me children, nor so fat that he would crush me when we are abed. So long as he is kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.” (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) ""Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong." (Sansa III, AGOT)

“Baela’s dragon brought down our late king. There are many in the realm who will not have forgotten that. [...]" (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) The queen stepped forward. “You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. [...] That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off.” (Eddard III, AGOT)

“It must be Rhaena. She has a dragon, her sister does not.” When Lord Corbray answered, “Baela flew a dragon, Rhaena only has the hatchling,” (The Hooded Hand, Fire & Blood) The girls do not even have that much, he thought. Their wolves might have kept them safe, but Lady is dead and Nymeria's lost, they're all alone. (Jon VII, AGOT)

This is obviously not word-for-word similarities but in general terms, their personalities and journeys etc. Both sisters from a great house. One of them willful and tomboyish while the other of a more gentle and conforming nature. The two being separated as they're about to reach adolescence. One of them growing up "peacefully" in the Vale while the other grows amidst war. One of them losing their animal companion. I don't like making speculations on characters based on other characters, but I think it's worth pointing out that the Targ twins survived the war and played a major role in reestablishing peace in the realm. Will the Stark sisters take the same route?

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 6!

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got. So he still is not a unicorn yall but he is at least imo he is decent and nice.

🔷Wordcount :3347 

Warnings below the cut

WARNINGS: Gore, mentions of assault (but it doesnt happen, and its not aemond who wants to do it) mentions of blood, gore, and violence as well as miscarriages (oc's mother)

Blood does not scare you. It once did, but not anymore.

It is liquid, water in a way. And there is nothing more natural to you than water.

Just funny coloured water that comes pouring out of your body if you are injured.

You came into this world, covered in blood as your mother bled out on the sheets, according to Fyrand. You were screaming and crying, kicking and alive. Despite Maesters feared the worst, despite your enemies hoping the worst, you came out alive. 

And you did just that.

Time and time and time again.

Whenever you see blood, it brings you back to a distant but fresh memory. Not your birth. You don’t recall what your own mother looked like. You never saw a portrait, or anything. You never dared to ask Fyrand either. Your mother is a wound that never healed.

So, another memory surfaces from the dark instead. A dark memory of you, standing on a ship, during a storm. Your brother close to you, his fingers holding a crown. Your family’s crown.

You recall how badly the ship and the men smelled. Like piss, like beer, like all unpleasant unladylike things. Like hell, if you are being honest. You never had any man eye you with desire, but in that very moment you had. The captain of the pirateship couldn’t keep his eyes off from you.

Fyrand had made a deal, selling the crown for passage to Westeros. But the Captain had decided he wanted more. He wanted you. ‘’Westeros is a boring place. It would be best to have her stay here.’’ You remember the way his crew laughed, that sickening, twisted laughter.

Fyrand has never been kind to you. But he was not stupid either. He would not give up his pawn to a mere pirate. Not when he already offered the crown of his mother.

It is funny how the gods have a sense of humor, as that man that wanted to marry you, too missed an eye. And his teeth were almost falling from his mouth, caused by rotting.

Fyrand huffed, took the crown and left the ship, dragging you with him. But you were denied access and grabbed. The captain placed his dagger against your throat. He hissed that you needed to be quiet and that Fyrand had to make a choice. ‘’Either your sister gives me her hand, or you do.’’ You weren’t sure what you ever did to that man. But you noticed a golden sealion that day. A few weeks after the attack, you found out your house tried to destroy that house. He was taking revenge for a crime none of you were even alive to remember.

You remember how you screamed when Fyrand took a sword of a crewmember and placed it at his left wrist, and just chopped. The flesh teared, blood poured and the captain finally released you as you sobbed on the deck, hearing Fyrand’s roar of pure pain and agony. The hand wasn’t off fully. It remained, tangling by pieces of flesh, as a leaf dancing in the wind. You felt your stomach turn and whatever meal you had would soon come back up. The captain approached Fyrand, grabbed his hand, and just pulled, tearing the flesh fully as Fyrand threw his head in his neck and screamed. 

After that, somehow, you were both allowed to stay. It was a uncomfortable journey for you, but no incidents had happened aside from people calling ‘’doll’’ and smirking whenever you passed. 

You and Fyrand shared one room aboard, and in that room, you stitched close his wound with a needle and ripped threads from one of your dresses. You never had stitched a wound before and Fyrand didn’t have anything to soften the pain. You were afraid at first. But you knew he would die if you didn’t get over it. So you pierced his skin and started stitching, bringing the wound flesh close, and tied it close.

It is strange.

Many years and moons have passed since that night but you can still hear your brother scream and picture his hand, the way the blood sprayed out of his hand, coloring the deck red as the pirates cheered.

Aemond does not seem to notice that you are not there anymore, but your feet become quicker as if you are a dancer that takes the lead and your breath increases. Aemond, Aemond doesn't notice. In truth, Aemond seems happy. Almost dazed, enchanted or drugged. He can't seem to stop smiling as you drag him with you, faster and faster as memories plague your mind.

You think back of the conversation the two of you had earlier. How Ser Criston was allegedly a good sword fighter. How good can he be, if he injured the Prince? “I thought you told me that Ser Criston was an excellent swordsman?” Your voice sounds snappy, angry and furious.

Aemond barely hides his chuckle. You turn around to look at him, so he can see the pain and worry in your face. The moment he sees how much this hurts and worries you, the smile dies. He steps forward. You back away at first but he bumps into you anyway. Clumsily he grabs you gently and kisses your forehead. “He is, Revaera. It was a small cut and my own fault. I got too impatient. I am many things, patient is not one of my qualities.”

You smile, mischievously and play with the pins on his shirt, touching his chest. “Someone should teach you patience. I don't want you injured.” You tell him, kissing his cheeks. 

He breaks into a grin, a stunning bright grin that lights up your entire world. You feel your cheeks warm and are pressed against his body. “Maybe you can teach me.” He whispers, seductively. You like the way he has you where he wants you to. You feel safe and relax, until you see that the wound still drips with blood. You stare at it, as the world seems to fade.

“We need a maester.” You hear Aemond say, but you don’t react. This time, he needs to drag you with him.

You and Aemond soon find the maester in his room. It is nicely decorated and as you assumed, it has dozens of books. You wonder if the Maester himself wrote anything. The maester in question is a bald man, wearing classical robes and a chain, as you suspected. He is reading a big book that lies in front of him on the desk, not paying the two of you any attention. 

That is until you speak, pushing Aemond in his direction, surprising the young prince, who stumbles on his feet, his good eye widened in surprise. ‘’He is hurt. The prince is injured.’’ You speak, your voice clear and calm.

You expect perhaps some urgency. Perhaps a worried glance. You don't expect what happens.

The maester slams his book closed, his eyes full of fear and terror as he looks at Aemond. ‘’What? Where? Show me!’ He cries out. The chair he was sitting on falls on its back and you watch, a bit flustered.

Even Aemond seems shocked.

That was perhaps not a good idea.

You feel terrible when the concerned and dutiful Maester looks at the tiny cut in Aemond’s hands. You really scared the poor man and avoid his eyes for now on. 

Aemond chuckles, smiling at you as if you are his whole world. You don’t understand why, you scared a poor man, and you also made a scene. Yet he seems to appreciate it. 

You think back of his words. Earlier, he mentioned that his father wouldn't even notice if he did not attend the supper you two skipped. What was that supposed to mean? 

The maester allows himself to calm down, sighing with relief as he takes in Aemond's injury. He looks at the cut. ‘’O. A small cut.’’ The maester says, after studying it. “Luckily it looks like a clean one. Did you injure yourself when fighting?” He asks prince Aemond.

Aemond turns his head away, so that is a yes. “It was just a scratch, but Revaera insisted.” Aemond should be annoyed or fed up with your behavior but instead he smiles adoringly at you, holding your hand in his free one as the maester looks closer at the wound.

‘’You have a protective wife, my prince.’’ The maester comments kindly. “It is Princess Revaera, is it not?” He asks you, and you can tell by his piercing glare that he knows all too well who your family is.

You nod. The maester does not say anything but his look says it all. Disapproval.“To have a Marthyralys back in the castle. Your ancestors left a colorful mark on Westeros's history books.” You know he is right. You know your ancestors killed a lot of people. But is it really the time to have that conversation? And is it really up to him to judge you for the crimes of your ancestors? 

Any other day you might have reconsidered: This man has a story, same as you. Maybe he is a family member of someone killed. Or maybe he simply wants to keep the castle and the royal family safe.

But you can't stop the words rolling off your tongue. You can’t stop the fire that burns in your veins. “So did any family worth their salt.”

The maester makes a disapproving grimace. Next to you, Aemond nods approvingly as his wound is cleaned, smirking proudly.

The Maester turns to Aemond, tying the bandage over his cutted hand. “A fierce wife. You do best to muzzle her. I'm not so sure Westeros is ready for such a free spoken woman.” You wonder instantly if the Targaryens knew you were hiding in Pentos. You told Aemond, you assume the court knew but why does a Maester know this? A maester, who knows everything about curing a illness….

And causing one.

You look at Aemond and he seems to know you caught on too, quickly scratching behind his ear and turning his head away once more. You will talk with him about that. But you have another problem. The Maester is right. 

You embarrassed Aemond. You spoke out of line. You threw a tantrum like some little girl. You disappointed him beyond words.

Aemond speaks, and you can't even look at him. You really aren't cut out to be a Princess. “She has become quite fierce. I don't mind it one bit, however. She can speak however she wishes.” He says, fierce and protective. He kisses your knuckles as a token of appreciation and love. Then his gaze hardens when he looks at the Maester. “Westeros might not be ready for her, but she is ready for Westeros. Whether it likes it or not; Here she is and here she'll stay. Am I understood?” You beam, pleased as the Maester visibly cowers, afraid of the temper of the Prince.

You see the Maester gulp and know that Aemond has made his point very clear.  “Yes, my prince.” The maester mutters.

Aemond smiles, barely hiding his pride, that you are his wife. ‘’I am truly blessed. My princess has enough worries on her mind. She does not need this as well.” there is a barely hidden warning there. The maester must not disturb you.

The maester does as he is told, and you and Aemond soon leave his rooms. You walk back with him, your left hand into his injured right one. You try not to think of how your brother lost his own hand. But that is difficult.

You two walk in a peaceful silence and when Aemond speaks, you nearly jump out of your skin. “How has your day been?” You think back of your talk with Fyrand. A baby must soon be made. A child. A heir. And you hate how your memories keep haunting you, whenever you see blood.

And there’s something else.

On your wedding day, Princess Rhaenyra said something that haunts you still. She said she had her ‘’own’’ maesters. Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing? And can you even trust them? And why did she tell you, of all people?

Aemond is unaware your thoughts are gathering and forming a storm in your head. “What hobby did you pick?” He asks Excited to know your answer  as you remain silent.  You freeze. You had forgotten all about that. You would try to find something to entertain yourself. To bring him joy, rest, and so that he doesn’t have to worry when doing his duties.

Some wife you are.

“Uhm, well…I…” You laugh first then you become nervous, as the walls seem to close around you and your breath quickens. 

You laugh, begin to breathe harder and eventually you become dizzy. You sway on your feet and begin crying as the air is taken from your lungs, as you collapse to the ground.

Aemond is shocked at first. He kneels down by you right away however. “Calm, my love. I am not mad. Calm.” He whispers, holding you by your wrists, gently so you may be free any moment you want. He also allows you room to breathe and takes deep breaths with you. You follow his example and soon you feel better and calm and stand back up, with his help.

He kisses you after you have stopped crying too. “I had a change of heart. If it truly makes you that anxious to be outside of my rooms, if it truly upsets you so much…” He swallows and looks at the tiles, clearly ashamed he encouraged you.

That's all he did. Encourage you. To be free. To be happy. To let your trauma go. To live your life. Maybe he is right. “No, maybe you were right. Maybe I need this push.” You speak.

He shakes his head. “I don't want to become someone you fear or worse, hate.” He whispers. 

You could never hate him. “You were only worried for my own wellbeing and safety. You were right, Aemond. I can't stay cooped up in your rooms as some chicken.” No matter how safe you feel there. “No matter how comfortable your bed is.” You add, to jest. He takes it well and laughs, grinning.

Aemond helps you stand, testing if you can remain on your own two feet before letting you go. “How about we try to find something fun to do tomorrow? I never showed you the city. We can do that, should you wish for it.” King's Landing.

You have never seen it. Only heard stories. Stories of fierce men and dangerous dragons and treason and loyalty. “Your ancestors built this city side by side with mine. I know my family wants to erase you from our accomplishments. I know your ancestor was a great traitor. But he is not the only Marthyralys that lived. There are dozens before him that advised and counseled my family…” He is right. You know he is.

But…

Seeing your own history…

You aren’t sure you are ready for that.

Your ancestors might have build this city…

But they build it over the grave of millions.

Is it truly something to be proud of?

But Aemond doesn’t seem to know shame when it comes to history. “So, you could learn your history and ancestry, should you wish it.” He finishes a bit shy, and that makes you understand how important this is to him. He wants to show you the city he grew up in. He wants to spend time with you and to hold your hand as you walk through stinking streets as two ordinary people in love.

“Is that even allowed?” You ask. You doubt his father will approve. The king hates you, you are certain of it. And to have a Marthyralys wonder the streets, learn about Targaryen secrets and plots…

He chuckles. “I'm the Prince. You are the Princess. Asides, how can we learn from our mistakes if we do not acknowledge them?” He asks, and there he makes a good point.

Still, you aren’t sure. “That is true.” You mutter.

He breaks into a grin, victorious at last. “It stands then.” He kisses your cheeks and you are reminded of what you and Fyrand discussed. His baby. Aemond kisses increase as he leaves a trail of kisses on your collarbone, his smile something between a smirk and a smile as he softly pins you against the walls of the hallway, quickly looking around for servants or any other witnesses.

You tremble. And just like that, the spell is broken.

Aemond's good eye closes suspiciously, and the sweet kisses end. “What is it?” It is terrifying how well he can read you already.

You know he wants a baby.

You know so.

And you can’t say that you don’t want that. That you can’t want that. That you are terrified of dying like your mother. “Nothing.” 

He scoffs, concern written all over his face as his body language changes from excited to worry. “There clearly is. Tell me what is the matter? I do wish us to discuss this.” You nod, and Aemond allows you to leave the wall. 

You go to his bedchamber, tears burning in your eyes and you hear his footsteps, never that far behind you.

Aemond closes the door and waits for you to explain yourself. You sit down on his bed, sniffling.  “Fyrand has been pressuring me about a baby.” You admit.

At first he is confused. “A baby?”

You wipe away at your tears, furiously that this makes you so upset. Giving Aemond a child, an heir, making princes and princesses, it should be the highest honor. So why does this terrify and hurt you so deeply? “Yes. A heir for you. For your father too.” You blurt out.

Aemond raises a brow.

“You want to carry my father's heir?”

You would rather die. Disgusted, you shake your head. “No! I meant, I'd give you a son, and him a grandchild. According to Fyrand that will disincrease the hate he has for me.’’

Aemond scoffs, and you can tell he does not agree with that idea. He scoffs at Fyrand, not you. “My brother thought the same thing for a while. But nothing will please that old buffalo.” You keep crying. No matter how eager you are to stop.

Aemond sighs, and he soon joins you on the bed, sitting next to you. He grabs your hands, where you are pulling your skin, to stop just that. “I know it is expected of both of us to soon present our child at court.” You nod at his words.

But he grabs your hands tightly and kisses your knuckles. “But I want us to have that child, when you want to have a child.” You are shocked. 

He continues, storking your belly through your gown. “I want you to glow, beam of pride and joy and to stroke and caress your belly and to love our child. I want you to be ready for it.” He says. 

You can’t believe this.

And so you won’t. “But what of your legacy? The Targargen line? Don't you want my baby?” You ask. You can’t imagine Aemond being fine with his line dying out. You just can’t.

He grins, and you can tell he is hiding something from you. He cares. He cares so badly, about having his legacy, about having this child with you. He is hiding his own darkest desires, his own insidious thoughts. ‘’I want you. I married you. I didn't marry your title. I didn't marry your bloodline. But you, Revaera.’’ You tear up, lips trembling as you wrap your arms around his neck, burying yourself in the safety of his arms. “It's alright, my love. Just let it out.” He whispers, holding you. ‘’We will find a way. I just know we will.’’ You nod, and you wonder just how much he believes his own lies. 

/TRAILER CAME OUT

so uh

IM SCARED xD

[toychest321]

Finding information on Jamila wasn't particularly easy, but from what I can gather...

(credit to @eepop-stuffs btw for getting her on my radar!)

Jamila was first released in 2006 by Simba Toys Middle East. According to an article published upon her debut at the 2006 Middle East Toy Fair in Dubai, her prototype initially intended to include fashions representing Turkey, Bangladesh, and Indonesia. However, these concepts never made it to final release, and we unfortunately have no photos of what they would have looked like.

Her initial lineup consisted of four dolls: herself, her male Arabic friend Jamil, her Indian friend Sunayana, and her Egyptian friend Kareema.

The name Jamila means "beautiful", and she seems to have only really been released with one outfit. She wore a black abaya with silver detailing with black shoes, and underneath wore a light blue tanktop with a white pencil skirt. Like her friends Sunayana and Kareema, Jamila has dark hair, brown eyes, and henna on her hands and feet.

(Credit to Bababolond on Flickr for the images)

For those unaware, Henna is a form of body decoration which originated from Africa and the Middle East, used with a natural dye from the Mehendi (lawsonia inermis). It is commonly tied to religious ceremonies such as engagements, weddings, Diwali, and Eid!

For Eid Al-Fitr, Henna would be applied towards the end of Ramadan as a symbol of the earthly delight of being alive. Jamila (and Sunayana if we're to believe they had identical Henna) seems to have eye imagery in hers, which represents protection from evil thoughts or wishes. It's also found on the top of her hands, also symbolizing protection, and on her feet, meant to soothe the nerves.

The name Jamil means "handsome". Jamil was initially released clean-shaven, but it seems later releases gave him facial hair. This might have been around the same time he was changed from Jamila's male friend to her husband, likely because (although opposite-sex friendships aren't explicitly forbidden) certain Muslims worry such friendships might result in inappropriate romantic thoughts. While this doesn't seem to be a unanimous belief across the board (many believing opposite-sex friendships are fine so long as you're careful), it might have caused enough controversy that Simba felt the need to marry the two so there weren't any implications. (Credit to Jan Unwichtig and Bababolond on Flickr for the images)

Ngl tho he is giving me major Kenergy...

Jamil comes with a white Thobe with silver buttons, a white Serwal ( undergarments traditionally worn beneath the Thobe), a white cotton undershirt, a white headscarf known as a Ghutra (tied with a black band called the Egal), black sandals, and a small dagger.

I'm actually not sure why his doll comes with a knife? The closest I could find was the Kirpan: a knife or sword which serves as a reminder to promote justice and protect the weak, mandatory for Amritdhari Sikhs to wear at all times. However, although non-Muslims sometimes confuse the two, Sikhism is a completely separate religion from Islam.

If anyone knows what this knife might be intended to represent, please let me know and I'll reblog an edit to this post!

After they were married, Jamila and Jamil had two children: Asad (meaning "Lion") and Almira (meaning "Princess"), both seen in the first illustration on this post. However, I can only seem to find one doll release for their daughter Almira, and none for Asad. Jamila comes in this playset in her base outfit, while her daughter (who cries when you press her stomach) wears pink pajamas. The playset includes a crib and several plastic accessories, including two hair brushes, a blow drier, and a baby bottle. Not only is this only release for Almira, but this also seems to be the only other release for Jamila aside from her initial core doll.

Sunayana means "woman with lovely eyes". She has long braided black hair, wearing a blue Lehenga Choli with a yellow Dupatta. Like Jamila, she also has henna on her hands and feet. She wears silver bangles, a silver necklace, and what I believe might be a Maang Tikka. Based on her images on the back of the doll boxes, I'm fairly certain she came wearing yellow sandal heels as well!

Honestly she might be one of my favorites of the line, since you sadly don't see many culturally-accurate Indian dolls compared to other ethnic groups. I especially love the use of color, and just how much jewelry she comes with!

Finally we have Jamila's Egyptian friend Kareema, whose name means "generous" or "kind". She has pale pink undergarments painted on beneath her clothes, which I assume Jamila has as well. Weirdly enough, however, she doesn't seem to have Henna like the other two.

Like Sunayana and Jamila she has long black hair, which is kept beneath a white hijab. She wears a long blue overcoat, matching jeans, blue shoes, and a multicolored striped shirt. As far as I can tell, her clothing doesn't seem to have Egyptian cultural roots like Sunayana's has Indian, however her modest style of dress and hijab are common for most Muslim women.

I've been meaning to make this post for at least a full week, and it's nice to finally get to share another beautiful yet obscure Muslim doll! It's a shame this doll didn't have more releases, since I'm honestly curious with the direction the might have taken with her and her friends based on the prior illustration! Regardless, I'm happy I got to share her and her friends with you all :)

Ramadan Kareem!

[thatdumbmexicanbimbo]

everyone was sword fighting in her mouth.

Perv!Mean!Bully!Eddie Munson x Bimbo!thick!latina reader

A/N:*INHALES LOUDLY* I cannot stand the lack of people, writing for latina's, SO I'm just gonna write myself *grins evil like*, but with a twist, HEATHERS AU!!, Eddie is ram Sweeney bc he's my fav, and reader is like Veronica Sawyer in the situation :P, Chrissy is heather McNamara, Nancy is heather duke, heather Halloway is heather Chandler!

WARNINGS: SMUT!!, NONCON,drugging ,impiled oral sex(F only), virgin reader!, PIV

you wonder how your life would be if you stayed in New Jersey, you sighed as you unloaded your boxes to your new house.. well trailer, you and your papa have been slightly struggling, your pink suitcase was heavy so your papa came to help, it wasn't a shabby trailer it was quite expensive, 3 bedrooms and 1 bathroom was okay for you and your dad.

Now it was your first day , you've been to racists schools your whole life, casually getting rude remarks on your weight and race, but ever since you moved away from Hawkins temporarily, you can't shake the thrill of coming back!, you struggled, to slide your white skirt on, you made sure your thong wasn't peaking out so your dad wouldn't see, you put on a lacy white bra obviously!! a push up, a pink tube top,and cute black backpack a bow on the zipper!

When you arrived you got loads of flattering and a few un-flattered looks, you just looked at your schedule, you go to your locker number

seeing a woman already there, but the sudden turn around revealed a long-haired man, "Whats with the staring,baby doll?" he chirped,

"my apologies, I'm confused on how to open my locker? I forgot how, I use to be at this school I just moved but came back for personal family issues", he looks you and up down scanning your hot thick body up n down,

"you ain't new then?". you nod meekly, "ah okay, well let me tell ya sweetheart I don't recall seeing you 'round these halls" he says while pulling a cigarette out, you look away embarrassed,

"I was slightly overweight, glasses and baggy clothes..i-i was called chunky y/n.." you say stuttering,

he looks at you "oh now I know you, you looked HIDEOUS, those glasses were not for you" he says chuckling, his smile fading seeing your face form a frown,

"is a pretty face and body all that matters to you?"you say annoyed,

"well, what else is there to offer?", you scoff and storm away, fucking guy judging your body fucking looking at you like a pervert.

you skip your 3rd period class, your lip liner was fading, fashion emergency!, you reapply your lip-gloss as 3 girls walk in, one of them goes into a stall and forces themselves to throw up, another girl trails behind another, LOUD RETCHING NOISES, "god Nancy hurry up!" the main girl shouts checking her pores

a teacher walks in to use the restroom, "what are you lady's doing out of class??", you were quick to write fake passes after you recognized your first period teacher's handwriting and signature, you quickly hand the 3 girls one and say

"um Ms Burn-ham gave us each a bathroom note" you show the teacher, "oh very well you ladies stay out of trouble" she said as she exited the bathroom

"sick forgery, thanks for helping" the main one says, "the name's Heather Holloway, i'm pretty popular, among the school",

the second one chirps up, "ugh didn't even bother to introduce us Heather, i'm Nancy wheeler, and this is Chrissy Cunningham", Chrissy waves shyly,

"I see you being a popular girl stick with me and you'll be on top of the other low-life losers" heather says wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

a month has gone by heather wasn't fully wrong you were popular with her guidance, But so much people noticed you finally, even that sick pervert hasn't stopped trying, you were laying lazily on your bed, and get a call from Chrissy, "y/n I need help i'm at the cemetery"

before you could respond Chrissy hangs up you made your way to the cemetery, you see Chrissy in her car

, "uh why is uh Eddie munson passed out?" you questioned

"well nancy, steve,eddie, and I were ya know hanging out and they dung into the booze, then Nancy and Steve were together and Eddie tried hooking up with me..and he wouldn't stop trying to grope me..." she says blankly

"so after all this happened why'd you call me??" you say tugging at your annoying socks

"oh well that was the deal, if I called you Eddie promised to leave me alone"

"SO you avoided date rape by volunteering ME for date rape?"

"gosh you make it sound so ugly"

eddie groans drunkly, "HEYYYY Y/NNN, I WAITED HOURS FOR YOU!!"

he passed out, Nancy comes from Steve's car, him attached to her while she buttons her skirt, "Chrissy, open the door" she says sharply

"UGHH don't leave me like this baby!!" Steve whines. he lays on the grounded passing along-side Eddie

Eddie rises, when Chrissy and Nancy drive away, "so you're my reward huh" he says says while smirking

"as if , you have a left hand use it" you reply with disgust you hear a noise off in the distance looking away.

he whimpers, but replies, "there's some alchol left?" he was quick to slip in a roofie

"welp this Friday was shit i'll take it" you chug it down

"I don't feel so awesome" you pass out but Eddie catches you

"oh trust me sweetheart you will soon.."

your eyes flutter open, still in a ditzy unable to move trance, you feel an odd stomach twisting feeling between your thighs, a long- haired man between your thick thighs, you cry as he shoves fingers into you, you gush out more slick and cum

"fucking naughty girl, getting her tiny unused cunt violated, n getting wet off it, pathetic" he says degrading you

you whimper, and try moving or screaming unable to from the roofies effects, he tugs his boxers down, aligning his cock to your virgin cunt, you sniffle as he shoves his cock in, he thrusts uncaring if you're enjoying it

"so fucking tight, mmm yea just for me, fucking bitch you rejected me??, I don't fucking think so, you are enjoying this you're clenching go ahead slut, cum for me, cum on my cock"

you sqeaul and cream on his cock. after this everything fades to black

you awaken in your bedroom, you walk into your bathroom, hickeys everywhere, bruises, you sniffle knowing it wasn't a dream..

you arrive at school seeing Nancy cleaning out heather Holloway's locker, you heard she was kidnapped by billy who also died or dissappeared,

"jeez what are you rummaging for??" you say

"a little respect, I'm cleaning out a loved ones locker" Nancy scowls at you

"I don't think heather would want you going through her stuff-"

"lets not focus on me right now, more about your new reputation, Eddie n Steve have been telling the whole school about a scandalous little three way last night after Chrissy and I left" she said smirking

"there was no three way, I don't even recall doing anything with either of them-" you get off by the boys giggling

"THEY"RE WAS A BIG SWORD FIGHT IN HER MOUTH DUDE!!"

"MY BIG SALAMI BENT HER LIKE ORIGAMI!!" they both cheered

you ran into the bathroom crying terribly.. it was just a rumor but what could you do..

possible part 2?

[meet-again-in-another-life]

Character Peek

The Spirit Maiden

Since there has been a lot of time going into the main character art posts, I've decided to do these to at least get some consistent posting in the meantime! :) Closeups and more details under "read more." Click them for better quality!

Her Grace, Lady Zelda! This is the Zelda seen in Skyward Sword, a knight in training who found herself fighting a war she had no idea was her own. She recently turned 17 during the events of Skyward Sword, but now is 19. Her birthday is July 16! Zelda likes to spend a lot of time sewing (mostly making dolls) and studying this era's wildlife on the Surface. She is often plagued by nightmares of Hylia's war and glimpses of Link's battle with Demise, as her soul was within the Demon King at the time.

After Skyward Sword, Zelda decided to live on the surface. When Link agreed to join her, he confessed there was something else he meant to talk to her about (the same thing she tried to tell him before Ghirahim sent his tornado). They shared their first kiss beneath the light of the Triforce and above their new home - between earth and sky. They have been together ever since and have formed a small settlement with the friends they made on the Surface World, which Link has nicknamed Hyrule as a running joke. Zelda is hoping such a pun doesn't stick... but it's what everyone in Skyloft calls their small home now.

Now that her father has let her origins as the goddess spill, her old friends have begun to treat her somewhat differently. It didn't sit right with Hylia long ago, and it certainly doesn't sit right now... She has to accept that part of her, doesn't she? There have even been suggestions of her taking a role as the high priestess and ruler of the settlement below. After all, they say, a goddess is most fit to guide humanity. But must they forget that now - and for as long as they've known her - she is one of them?

Thank you to my friend @cherrysalsa for the idea of goddess plume earrings! They are SO cute. Thank you for letting me implement them!!!! <3

Closeups + Alts:

AU Info:

In Another Life follows a fued of the Goddesses. Tired of the cycle caused by Demise's Curse, the three come to an agreement: they will break the boundaries of space and time and allow the fued to be settled by their Champions. If one seeking destruction, chosen by Din, holds victory, then the world will be erased and built again without the demon's influence. If the heroes blessed by Farore and the princess blessed by Nayru succeed in returning their foe to their seal, then the world will live on. Farore hopes too to end the cycle, but Nayru believes it not to be her place.

The eternal bond between Hylia and her chosen hero will be tested as Hyrule's branches in history reach out to them through broken mirrors. They have found each other in every lifetime - but will their unbreakable connection be enough to save existence itself?

Pinned Post:

Info

[soraviie]

signing NDA.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ navigation

━ about: mostly angst (fluff for Tae, crack for JK)  ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: a weird reaction but I felt inspired. Maybe some of you will dig this a bit more realistic look into that sort of relationship

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: Looking quietly at the paper in front of you as much as you tried you couldn't come up with a reason to be angry with him. Namjoon had been perfectly candid from the start.

"Being with me will be difficult and to be honest..." he'd taken a heavy sigh, looking somewhere in the distance, not seeing quite anything. "I'm not excited to give you that kind of life."

Even yesterday he'd been nothing but the perfect image of put-together. Calm and analytical, he'd gone over every point with honesty and respect. The same thing he expected to be returned. So do you tell him? Do you tell him of the jumps your thoughts made, of them running at first eager and uncaring? This was just a piece of paper and you understood what it meant long before the particular topic was even broached in passing - you couldn't say you were in a relationship, you couldn't mention it to your friends, couldn't whine about his shortcomings. Couldn't share a picture. Your parents would know of him only when things got serious, and you'd be given more binding jewellery than a simple bracelet on Christmas.

If, you amended in your mind, if things got serious. Who's to say he's not going to tick you off one too many times and that resentment will build with no way of release, given how you couldn't talk to anyone about it in the eyes of the law. And it'll surge and surge until finally -

- snap!

And all the wonderful moments of him holding your hand, of trying to make pancakes to surprise you in the morning only to set a dish towel on fire, of hundreds of little joys will be gone, lost to bitterness and void, to never be remembered. You'll have to destroy him because it'll be easier, in the long run, to not remember him at all than remember and choke on that knowledge wholly alone. And the future you will look back at this very moment, with her past self holding a pen in hand and gazing at a single piece of paper. But if your future self remembered further, then she would recall Namjoon's text appearing at the top of your phone. Respect, honesty and kindness. Perhaps he couldn't give you much be it his time or public visibility but he could give you the best of himself and do so in earnest.

"Let's think about this together, okay? :)"

YOONGI: When he called for the 39th time, you finally picked up.

"Hey."

"Hey," he echoes, though much rougher. "Can I come up?"

You glimpsed around the dishevelled apartment. Yoongi won't mind.

"Sure."

When you opened the doors to greet him, the air was stifled between you. The unspoken question lingered like a sword on a rope about to snap.

"You've been avoiding me," he stated quietly, shaking the raindrops out of his hat. Perhaps he spoke just for the sake of conversation, as you're not quite sure how to even begin talking about all of this. Neither does he probably.

"I needed to think," you answered honestly, shifting from one foot to another. He hums, a frown marring his features.

"You...you must have known this would happen."

"I did but...sorry, it does not make it any less difficult."

Signing an NDA wasn't normal. Sure for expensive business meetings and or accidental brush in's that meant nothing; that would only be amusingly funny story years down the line but nothing about this is even remotely funny.

"Nothing to be sorry about, doll."

His voice was grave but at the title, you managed a small, mirthless smirk.

"Still trying them out?"

He shrugged, momentarily easing into the echo of your dry gaiety.

"Practice makes perfect."

You kept standing in stilted silence, and the hand of invisible fear closed around your throat. Mere talk of NDAs had driven a wedge between you, and yes, maybe, it was all your fault, maybe it was you who ran over the hills but even now, bound by an unadorned, verbal promise and common sense, you couldn't call up a friend with an indignant "you won't believe what just happened" and gather your thoughts together the traditional way. From here on out, you needed to be much, much more independent. Yoongi hadn't even said anything. It was an innocent response to an equally unassuming question - what are those papers on your desk.

"Schedule," he grunted. "Schedule, boarding pass, I think. NDAs. The usual."

He'd gone rigid the second the words left his mouth. The usual. His usual which you hadn't been introduced to. Maybe because he trusted you that much or maybe because he knew if he did, it all would simply end. Either or he seemed to be much more certain of your decision than you yourself were because even after five days of mulling it over, you had no clue which direction would be the right one.

"Why did you come here?" you sighed, wincing at the sheer amount of guilt in his eyes. He shouldn't feel guilty. This was his life; this was his usual. Just because it wasn't yours didn't mean it was inherently heinous.

"I don't know," he breathed weakly. "Just wanted to see you. I thought...I worried," he pulled in another gasp, appearing strong for a second before crumpling into a round-back figure, staring at your carpet. "I was scared."

"I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

He looked into your eyes, tired, appearing older, worn. You wonder if he saw the same in you.

"I don't want to say bye either."

You swayed on the backs of your heels.

"So what is the situation?"

He drew a huge sigh, hand reaching to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

"The management is hounding me for you to sign an NDA. Strictly speaking, it should have been done months ago but I vouched for you. Assumed full responsibility. Said you were smart and caring. You wouldn't harm me."

Your breath stuttered. Trust was one thing, putting his own neck on a chopping block - quite another.

"Why would you do that?" you cried out, battling the sudden onslaught of too many unwanted emotions.

He gazed at you with genuine confusion just before simply answering:

"Why wouldn't I?"

JIN: "Don't pick a fight, please," Jin mumbled, disinterestedly kicking around the dirt outside of the ice cream parlour.

"I'm not picking a fight," you objected, though you could feel your voice raising in pitch from the surging frustration. "I just want some clarity."

"There's no need to rush into this..."

"I'm not rushing! I'm just ready, I'll sign it and it'll be done. I'm okay wit-"

"But I'm not," he interrupted harshly. Hands twirling with each other in that damning way they did when anxiety was swallowing him whole. "I...I don't want you to sign it."

Seven words. Neither of which prolonged or complicated in nature. The basics of language any newcomer would know. I'd like to order a taxi. No, I don't need a bag.

I don't want you to sign it.

So why was it so difficult to grasp? Why did it feel like you were just sat down in front of an exam that needed a several thousand-word literary analysis, and you had no knowledge of what subject this even was.

I don't want you to sign it.

Had you not retired to a bench nearby, no more than three minutes away from the damn ice cream shop you could just ask him but you doubt he would give a genuine answer.

A cup of three-scoop ice cream floated into your vision and without much thinking, you accepted it with a quiet thank you. Jin dropped down on the bench, not quite near to touch you but not so far to feel like a chasm had erupted between you. For a while, you both lounged, each in your own thoughts and eating the ice cream, enjoyed the good weather.

"So, the reason why," Jin coughed, clearly battling to find the next word. "I don't want you to sign it, is because I've seen all of this before."

"What do you mean?" you blinked at him but he avoided your gaze, appearing uncharacteristically solemn.

"I've seen dozens of people thinking they understand, thinking that they'll be okay; signing off with smiles on their faces only for it to turn sour," he shook his head, hair flying about. "No, turn brutal. Engagements torn apart, accidental lawsuits, I love you's turning into I hope you croak like a sick dog."

With another sigh, he placed the cup of ice cream on the bench, nausea written all over his sullen expression.

"And I'd rather we fight a thousand more times before it goes that way. That document..." he trailed off, needing a whole minute to pick up the conversation again. "That document is like an infection. We need to be our healthiest when signing it and even then it's never a guarantee of survival."

"But we've come to an awkward stop point," you noted faintly. "A neither here nor there."

"Stops are not a bad thing," Jin insisted, reaching to cautiously interlace his fingers with yours. You accept and he smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Not if you know where you're going eventually and you're spending it with someone you like."

"I guess so," you drawled, gazing up at the passing cloud.

HOSEOK: If one would think, it'd be smooth sailing after two looped lines of your signature over the dotted line, they'd be sorely mistaken. He probably didn't intend for you to feel like the villain, perhaps no one did but hearing the lawyer go over every point, mechanically pouring over one hot tar of blame after another...well, you couldn't just shake off the sickly feeling that Hoseok thought very little of you.

"You're not allowed to besmirch, demean or in any way belittle the reputation of my client."

"I would ne -"

"You're not allowed to share any details of my client's personal schedule with any third-party informants, digital, personal or otherwise. Direct or even indirect violation will be pursued with legal punishment."

"I understa -"

"The individual, that is you, shall not be held criminally or civilly liable under any federal or state law for the disclosure of this agreement only if it is made in confidence to a federal, state, or local government official or either directly or indirectly, or to an attorney; and is done so solely for the purpose of reporting or investigating

a suspected violation of the law."

"In cases such as?"

The attorney shrugged.

"Domestic abuse, et cetera."

Even now chills racked your spine. All too abruptly a dream had turned into a chilling nightmare of reality.

"What did you get yourself into?" you muttered to your paled reflection in the mirror. You just handed all of your trust into one person. Yes, that person might be Hoseok but he was after all one person. How many "would never's" had turned into restraining orders, pain, and betrayal?

The soft knock at the bathroom door startled you so bad it pulled a scream from the bottom of your lungs. He stood on the other side of those doors, looking the most dishevelled you'd ever seen him. Heavy bags clung underneath his eyes and even fraught with panic, you wondered when was the last time he slept.

"How are you holding up?" Hoseok asked softly and you gave a timid shrug. "Do you want me...to stay?"

"Yes? No? I don't know? Fuck, I don't know anything anymore."

Hoseok outstretched his hand and guided you to sit on the sofa, expression growing increasingly worried.

"You're freezing," he fretted. "Here, get underneath the blanket."

After a brief moment in which he made tea, Hoseok returned to sit on the floor by your side.

"How bad was it?" he questioned barely above a whisper.

"It's just a legal document but even so I feel..." you clutched the edge of the thin blanket. He'd actually given it to you. On which occasion you couldn't recall but it was definitely a gift. Would you have to get rid of it if things ended? How many more things you would have to?

"Cheap. Trapped. Scared."

"Are you," he swallowed nervously. "Scared of me?"

You sagged into the sofa.

"I don't know. I know you would never hurt me but..." you trailed off into silence. "It's terrifying all the same."

The silence lasted for a whole hour with numerous seconds of attempted questions that all were laid to waste. What you either you or he could ask that didn't end up with "I don't know". You couldn't see into the future though at times like these you desperately wished you could.

JIMIN: It seemed that he had hoped to God that in the face of his overwhelming love this unsettling bit of reality grinding in your eye like a grain of sand would go entirely unmentioned. That you would not think about it, doltishly sign the agreement and ride him quite literally into the sunset.

No, no, not doltishly, you reminded yourself after a sharp exhale, shaking off the tremors of lingering wrath, he doesn't think you're dumb. He was just...scared.

Looking at the clutched paper in your hands, whilst sitting on the cold sand, you saw why he would be.

"I've got a temper."

"That's fine."

"I can be distant."

"I'm going to respect that."

"I have trouble apologizing."

"We can work on that."

"I'm independent and I won't be bound by some silly rules to dictate what I will or will not do."

At that, he'd finally blinked and you'd felt sad? Happy?

It was a sickening circle - to find the perfect person, then raise the bar so high that they couldn't possibly jump that high and be left behind. Rather they leave because you were too much than leaving because you weren't enough. If someone would say it makes no damn sense, to be so afraid of abandonment and yet go through the same motions over and over again all but ensuring that you would be, you would say "yeah, that's fucked up, what can I tell you".

"That's understandable," he'd only replied and you had leaned back into the chair, astonished. Was Jimin finally the perfect person who would love you unconditionally? Well...no. He was a person and faults were normal. Out of seven days a week, he annoyed you three, pissed you off maybe one or two. And that was normal. For him, you finally learned that it was expected and instead of blowing up into pieces of bleeding shards, you could simply exhale your anger. Free of judgment. Of course, he was not perfect but that meant he could accept your imperfections as well. Some he shared, and some were polar opposites but he accepted them just like you did his. But this...This was a bit different.

And now you understood that in those seven or eight blinks he'd taken in the seat across the restaurant table on one of the first official dates, he hadn't been exactly taken aback by your forthcoming attitude on your own shortages, but rather he grew intrinsically aware of how badly the inevitability of this paper would go.

You shuddered. In a frightening mix of rage and panic, you'd fled the hotel room in nothing but a thin shirt. His actually now that you looked at it. Without your knowledge, you had made it seem that if he would present you this paper, you'd drop him without a moment's hesitation. And truthfully -

"You would have," Jimin quietly finished behind your back, coming to a stop by your chosen spot on the beach. A jacket and a blanket in hand. Perfect - no, considerate? All the way.

Feeling him tuck it over your shoulder, you grumbled:

"Stop somehow reading my mind, it's creepy."

Plopping down next to you, he stared off into the sea. Funny that you should have met by water too. When he had accidentally kicked a ball in your face but that was neither here nor there.

"You just have a very expressive face."

For a while, you both listened to the waves, wanting that to be the end of the night. A peaceful conclusion before a series of everything going the usual way. But it will not be the usual way, unfortunately. This measly slip of printed paper suggested so.

"So is this going to be goodbye?" Jimin questioned thinly. "In the past, you would have said "see ya, would never want to be ya" and dip."

Even now he somehow managed to make you laugh, though his own smile was just an alternate mask of sadness.

"Thing is I'm not my past self anymore. For better, worse?" you shrugged, abandoning that thought to another. "And I...I don't want to lose you anymore."

With the corner of your eye, you spot him glimpsing towards you absolutely stunned. So he couldn't read the whole of your mind yet.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I should have...approached this differently. Sooner? Better? But I was just so..."

"Scared?" you finished for him and Jimin hid his face into his forearms, a vague smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

"Now whose reading my mind?"

"Soulmate things," you flipped your hair and he chuckled. "Well, second to Taehyung or whatever, cheater."

TAEHYUNG: The phone rang itself off the nightstand where it crashed unforgivingly against the ground.

"You sure you're not going to get that?" you asked and Taehyung snorted, wrapping his arm around you even tighter.

"What are they going to do? Fire me? Don't think so."

You listened to his heartbeat enjoying this brief respite of normalcy. You lying on your boyfriend's chest, watching TV and Tannie snoring in between you both. Domestic bliss. When his phone began to ring again, this time vibrating like a chainsaw against the boards, you and Taehyung ignored it as well. You loved this man to death but oh you hated his work line. How you hated all these prying eyes, watching how much he weighed, did he have stubble or not, did he bow at the correct angle. Sometimes you just wish it'd be feasible to take him away and never return back.

"I wish I could abduct you," you mutter, knowing he won't take offence to these silly thoughts. "Bring you far, far away where people wouldn't go crazy about who you are."

"I wish that too," he sighed. The NDA that was thrust aggressively in front of your face had Taehyung frothing at the mouth. Apparently all this time he'd been trying so hard to make everything seem so normal. Your perfectly normal boyfriend with your perfectly normal lives in between aberrant series of events that spiralled beyond your control.

"Is that selfish?"

"Yes," he kissed the top of your head. "You're a horrible, selfish person and I'm but a helpless victim, ensnared by your sensual prowess."

You slapped his chest and Tannie barked, hazily lifting his head to glance around out of focus and then crash once more.

The phone kept ringing and you kept on ignoring it, despite the pauses between the calls growing shorter and shorter.

"I don't want to sign it," you mumbled. "Not yet. I hope you're not mad."

"I'm not," he assured. "I don't want you to sign it either. I don't want to put...this chain around your neck. That's not what love is."

"You're not the wrongdoer here."

"Yet, I feel like one," he sighed. "I want to love you without papers, without documents, without some lawyer always ready to tear you for something that you should be able to have. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

"Last night we said a great many things. You said I was to do the thinking for both of us, well, I've done it," the movie droned on.

"Whose going to do the thinking for us, Tae?" you hummed and he sighed.

"Tannie."

As the phone finally felt silent, after the consecutive 73 calls, you wondered aloud:

"How long do we have?"

"No idea. Maybe a week, maybe a day. They're going to force the thing on us eventually. Either way, I've intended to spend it with you and you alone. No paper will tell me whether or not I should trust you."

JUNGKOOK: When you kicked open the doors to the conference room, the two lawyers were so startled they fell out of their chairs and onto the ground, badly bruising their tailbones in the process.

"You cannot publish -"

"I understand."

"You cannot share this -"

"I don't have any friends."

"Your family must not -"

"I'm an orphan."

Jungkook had to press a palm over his mouth to stop the bubbling laughter that would surely be inappropriate at a time like this.

The lawyer wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Do you have anything to add?"

You beamed at the man and pulled your own NDA, held together by a hello kitty clip.

"I'd like for him," you pointed at Jungkook. "To sign this."

After a terse academic and verbally violent exchange spanning for a whole hour and forty minutes, you signed Jungkook's NDA and he did yours, and with ashen faces sporting quite the thin veneer of politeness towards you the lawyers left. Jungkook reached to hold your hand, smiling from cheek to cheek.

"So... officially together," he congratulated quietly and you nodded.

"Yes," looking him over, you pondered. "So can I jump you now or...?"

He sputtered.

"Are you using me just for my body?" he covered his chest in mock indignance.

"I mean, partly," you drawled in deep thought. "Though as much as I like your boobs I do love the heart behind them."

After a kiss to your nose, he swayed in the hug, pretending that the car horns blasting outside were the strumming notes of a romantic movie soundtrack.

"You're sure of this, right?" insecurely, he questioned. Just to make sure. Just to know...that...

The thought evaded him yet the fear did not.

"I'm not stupid, Jungkook," you scoffed though with no malice. "I know who you are and have decided to be a responsible adult about it."

He nodded, mentally checking out what size of a ring would he need to order.

"Besides," you flicked his forehead. "If anyone's going to break the NDA, it's going to be you. You're like obsessed with me."

Accusingly, you dug a finger into his chest and Jungkook was only 50% sure it wasn't done to have an excuse to touch him. Apparently, you wanted to bite his pecks.

"Oh, my genuine congratulations," Namjoon had drawled aridly when Jungkook in fact had crashed his studio drunk and giggling about this cutie he'd been on a date with. "You managed to find someone as equally weird as you. Get married, you freaks. God bless."

He thought it was endearing and yes, maybe he was healthily obsessed but at least something so frail as a paper and the fragile ego of strangers will not sabotage his joy.

© soraviii/soraviie 2022-2023

[oristian]

i know theres speculation about narben in the fandom and i think koschei is probably going to find it in someway. a death god and a death sword, it only makes sense. do you have a theory on what’ll happen to narben?

I try to stray away from posting theories on my pages for a few reasons—namely, because I do not want to seem like I am thinking too deeply into a book of the same caliber as ACOTAR. However, I have been thinking about Narben and about the folklore surrounding Koschei the Deathless. If SJM truly is planning on following as close as possible to his mythology, here are my thoughts —

I believe that Narben will be found as it was spoken about more than once. Another Made death sword, connected to the Dread Trove? Seemingly lost at sea due to Amarantha? Considering that SJM is consistent with using similar number patterns across her series—three, four, seven, et cetera—collecting Narben would equate to three Made swords: Ataraxia, Gwydion, and Narben. I personally would be curious as to how those swords would sing to one another, especially used in proximity in battle.

I want to touch on a little folklore about Koschei the Deathless before I touch on Narben. Previously, my thoughts had been on Gwyn wielding Narben, as it had been thrown into the sea and there have been connections to her being half-nymph. After reading HOFAS, my new conclusion will be that Gwyn wields Gwydion, Nesta wields Ataraxia, and Jurian wields Narben.

Koschei the Deathless is an ancient wizard carved from dark magic who is neither alive, nor dead. His immortality is locked within an egg, that is locked within something larger, and so forth—essentially, a Russian nest doll. He is cunning and is known to steal beautiful women and trap them within his palace. In the case of ACOTAR, Koschei is a Death God, brother to the Bone Carver and The Weaver (Stryga), and entraps beautiful women in his lake on the mortal continent. In folklore, he is bested by a man named Ivan Tsarevich.

I have heard the tale of Koschei being used consistently to support the idea of three brothers and three sisters, however I believe that Koschei the Deathless supports the tale of Jurian and Vassa—The Gray Wolf and the Firebird.

Ivan’s fate had been very similar to Jurian in that they were both cut up and were revived by the “water of life.” In the original tale, Ivan’s wife, Marya Morevna, had been captured by Koschei and Ivan had followed behind—the following confrontation is what had led to Ivan being cut up. This reads very similar to Jurian’s fate after Clythia. Ivan had three wives, one being named Vasillia the Wise—the Firebird. Giving the language associated with Jurian and Vassa currently, it appears that SJM is taking a romantic route for their relationship.

On to why I believe Jurian may wield Narben. In the folktale, Ivan Tsarevich wielded a blade called Sword Kladenets.

Sword Kladenets is said to have been a “hidden sword,” and was powerful enough to destroy the enemy with a single swipe—similarly to how Ataraxia worked against Lanthys and the Asteri. Now, if SJM is going down the route where she is pulling bits and pieces from Koschei’s actual lore, this would be the most fitting piece, especially if she plans on bringing Narben into the story again.

I have always seen Vassa being taken by Koschei again and Jurian going to rescue her. I have also always seen Elain and Lucien on a journey to find Koschei’s box that holds his immortality, which, according to lore, is scattered in different places. Elain’s visions have already allowed her to see the onyx box that holds his fate.

Could Koschei have Narben? I do not believe that he has it at this current moment. In the case that he does come into possession of such a sword, I see that being a major plot point in one of the next books—possibly even being the reason why he is freed from his lake and able to come and retrieve Vassa. There could very well be a possibility that Narben being in the sea could ultimately connect to his lake in some capacity—especially in ACOSF when Nesta released her power and it drew back the water.

At the end of the day, everything is up to SJM. I personally love diving into lore and theories, because I am so interested in seeing how others perceive the same things that I do.

[thimbledoll]

A Doll's Defenses

Her armor was spellcraft the likes of which no mundane blade could hope to pierce. Her porcelain shell was fired in the Magicked blaze of her Witch’s kiln, imparting it with steel-like durability. Her core was pure diamond; ancient matter placed under impossible pressures for literal eons. Her Witch’s enemies would find no chink, crack, nor breach in her defenses. She was as impregnable as her begifted name implied. She was Inviolet.

Arrows clattered to the floor upon striking her. Swords shattered against her wards. Spells left the land more damaged than their target. All offense they could muster against her was rendered inert. Still, they broke upon her like waves upon a cliff.

“Your tenacity is admirable,” Inviolet declared to the gathered hunters. Under the clash and clang of their weapons striking her impervious form, her small voice barely carried to those who dared engage her in melee. “But this one must ask that you leave, otherwise she fears she will have to remove you from the premises.”

Her request was answered with a gout of spellflame direct to the face. When at last the flames subsided, the caster was met with the doll’s cold, steely, and unblemished gaze. “Very well. Then you have made your choice known.”

Belladon hummed happily to themself as they rummaged through the cupboards. The sounds of battle that had been ringing out from the courtyard had since died down, meaning their doll was likely going to be walking through the door shortly. Eschewing traditional roles (as they were wont to do), they went about preparing kettle, leaf, and china. “After what she’s had to deal with today, I’m sure she’d appreciate a pot of tea to… unwind when she gets in,” the Witch thought to themself, giggling at their unheard jest.

As if on queue, the porcelain clink of Inviolet’s hand upon the doorknob alerted the Witch to their doll’s return. If not for that, they likely wouldn’t have heard her enter at all. “I’m in the kitchen, dear. Spot of tea? I was thinking the hibiscus,” they called out in greeting.

“Hibiscus sounds lovely. Thank you, Miss,” Inviolet answered from the kitchen doorway, her movements about the house as silent as her entry. She carried such an unnatural ease for one who had just come from battle, the Witch thought. Her demeanor was as impregnable as the body they’d crafted for her. It never ceased to amaze them.

“Perfect. I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes,” Belladon declared, turning away from the cupboard, letting the momentum of the movement swing the door closed with a small bang.

Belladon froze as they realized their mistake, the sound of the slamming door echoing throughout their conscience.

Inch by inch, crack after crack after crack spidered out across Inviolet’s body. What a thousand blades couldn’t manage, Belladon had accomplished completely without intention. It took only mere moments before the doll crumbled to nothing but a pile of porcelain shards on the floor. Her weathered, beaten, and overly chipped diamond core laid atop.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Belladon cried out, as they began carefully picking their doll up, shard by individual shard. “I should know better by now. I’ll-I’ll do better… I swear. We’ll have you back together in no time.”

Though she had no voice with which to say so, Inviolet knew the truth of her Witch’s words.

(I've been hesitating to post this one for a while... It was originally supposed to be part of the second volume of Emptied Spaces, but it seems like that endeavor has sputtered out. It's unfortunate, but completely understandable. Still, I felt bad leaving this one languishing in drafts for forever, so here it is. We'll see if anything else ever manages to leave the drafts... heh)

[satoruhour]

SPARE CHANGE?

a/n: 0.9k words of me making fun of toji. a terrible crack fic i dont even know whether this is funny or not but ofc this is gifted to @kazushawty after making fun of her for changing her themes sm. briefly based off this fking ask from anon, i added that same charity box LMFAO / badly written p -> v sex, no foreplay, man idek whether you guys want warnings 😭😭

“baby, did you manage to get the—” karma turns at the creak of the door, but stops abruptly upon seeing toji enter through the door, which wasn’t exactly a proper door, more made of cardboard because he had punched through it once. the writer would’ve replaced it, but toji was always out killing sorcerers, and that made it difficult to go shopping for a door where they could be seen and identified everywhere. plus, karma was susceptible to complaints by toji at times for picking a door too expensive.

“why do you look like that…” toji’s hair was all over the place, shirt crumpled and chest heaving from probably running over.

“got us some change.” he grinned, showing karma the charity box he forcibly yanked from the counter. it was hilarious in retrospect, seeing such a big burly man attempt to order some mcdonald’s for him and his girl, but got distracted by the spare change in the charity box that’s installed to the counter. it was no problem for him, since he had already scared everyone with that big ass worm on his shoulders, and with one clean sweep of his sword he was able to dislodge it. his stupid face was sure to get plastered in posters all over the store now.

“are you serious, toji?” karma crossed her arms, clearly displeased, and yet the dishevelled state toji was in reminded her of the many nights he had her under him, panting and out of breath as both him and the worm stared down at her—

“what? a little theft doesn’t hurt anyone, doll.”

“that’s charity money, baby!” she says one thing and yet something else is tugging at her, the tight shirt on her boyfriend to the clench of his muscles and the thighs through the occasional shorts that toji wore; everything about toji was attractive that it send her pussy fluttering, prompting her to walk up to her. the other almost thinks he’s going to get another lecture but all he can feel is her hand throwing the box to the side, a hand tangled in his sweaty hair and she yanks him down to plant a sloppy kiss on her man’s lips.

it wasn’t difficult, then, for toji to take over, one hand on her waist, walking her backwards into their bedroom. the mattress was nearing its end, peeling at the sides while the springs start to show, but karma didn’t care, letting the other take over easily as he removes her shirt along with her underwear, the desires getting too much. the bedframe below them creaked just a little, sending panic through her, but toji waves it off with a hand.

“i’ll fuck you until this shitty bed breaks.” he laughs, spreading karma’s legs easily, with her already wet, it’s easy to slip in. 

“YOU were the one who chose this, you broke bitch!” karma licks her lips despite her outburst, at the way toji fishes out his member, and while crude names were the norm, toji knew they held no malice.

“yeah, this broke bitch—” the other strokes his dick, already prepared to slam into karma, but there’s a faint echo of police sirens in the background, “is forever and ever, karma’s.”

“yeah, but not for long if you get arrested! hurry and fuck me already—”

“bet.” as with the many times they’ve fucked, she hardly needs any prep, feeling toji’s large horse cock enter her and soon toji sets a pace, getting his girl moaning while he rocks into her with the pace of an old man. all that running has got his hip feeling a little wonky.

“oh yeah!! right there tojiiiiii!”

“yeah, take it like the bitch you are—”

“hello? how dare you call a woman a bitch?” karma gives him the finger, but knows it’s a slip of his tongue, either way she knows toji tries his best. she flips the both of them over and taking the lead cause he was just too goddamn slow, like a fucking snail, he is.

“heh, apologies, baby. old habits die hard, just like stealing.”

karma speaks in between moans, “yeah, after this i’m returning that charity box.” she reaches her high fast, toji’s shaft reaching deep easily before she climaxes, hips still rocking atop him but she stills when she hears that the sirens are closer with each breath she takes and doesn’t let toji cum, pulling him by his dick to pester him to change quickly.

“let’s get out of here, toji, c’mon.”

“thought you said you were gonna return it?” toji grins, slapping karma on the ass before getting changed. he almost falls over trying to get the other foot into his underwear. “also i didn’t even cum yet!”

“shut up, i’ll suck you off in the car. but either way, whatever my boyfriend does i’ll support him,” karma reaches forward to plant a kiss on him, but not before they both hear the wood cave in behind them, the once bedframe left in a heap on the floor as dust flew everywhere.

toji and karma simply exchanged laughs, running out to their cardboard toji built by hand to evade the police easily, although they had to create a new one because toji had came too much and also his worm vomited all over the cardboard and melted through it unfortunately. ah, well.

(they both forgot to take the charity box of change)