#Mock Trials End

[fillejondrette]

there's finally a love has won docuseries out. i have been waiting for this.

[somehow-i-got-an-account]

Gosh I love boys

[civissleepy]

comp day 1 mood board (pls end my suffering)

[lcrk]

.

[aparticularbandit]

ultimate despair mikan really channeling junko here, huh

[doubleddenden]

Apparently the Nijisanji situation is so bad, it's being used in REAL TIME as part of law school lessons and mock trials. Actual lawyers are pointing out that this violated several Canadian, Japanese, and possibly more countries's privacy and disclosure laws as well.

Like holy fuck. They have fucked up big time.

There's entire threads on Twitter and 4chan where lawyers are going over the specific violations Doki's lawyers could have a field day with, using Niji/Elira/Vox/Ike's "our side" video as very easy evidence to site some violation or another.

And for the third time, I'm not really into Niji and keep getting into talents right before or after they announce graduation or are reborn elsewhere, strange habit, but 1. I hate companies mistreating their employees, 2. I hate bullying, 3. This is now, honestly and truthfully, one of those literal garbage fires you can't ignore once you gaze at it. Every day so far the hole Niji keeps digging gets dug deeper and deeper-

We're watching a corporation collapse in real time and pay severely for the mistreatment of its employees. Honestly I'm invested and need to see how this shit ends. This has ramifications for the vtubing sphere and even sets precedents for how similar cases like this will be handled in the future.

Doki, I hope you can live a happy life, because I respect the shit out of you, and I hope you get a lot of money out of this that you can do wonderful things with. Thank you for surviving and being alive

[bunicate]

i neeeeedddd more wrio <///3 i don’t wanna wait so so long for him to come out <///3 and i wanna read more filthy filthy smuts and suuuper long angsty smutty fics :((( i need him in a way that would get me lobotomized in the 1900’s </3

dnt u hate how genshin is just stringing us along and taking 4ever to give us more wrio stuff ! ! I want him in a very gross way nd I dunno if this little fic is at all filthy, but i wrote smthn while I was having my breakfast earlier ^_^ I also probably misspelled his name so many times bc my grammar check wasn’t working nd i got lazy ! but just know nonnie, ur icky thoughts are welcomed here !

pairing ꒱ྀི wriothesley x fem reader — warnings ꒱ he calls you little girl once ! ! + slight exhibitionism + finger sucking + size kink + blowjob mention / wc ꒱ 1.3k / 18+

you’d like to say that you were good at being discreet. it’s not that you’re intentionally trying to be, but when faced with several trials and tribulations, you believed the gods themselves were testing you.

after all this time, you thought you were inured to wriothesley’s effortless charm. it bothers you that he doesn’t even try— that your boyfriend with broad shoulders, a big chest, and big hands could stand there, and you were already thinking of all the sloppy, messy ways you could end your night.

you spend far too much time staring at veiny thick fingers that dwarf your tinier ones. especially when he holds your pink phone, hello kitty, and heart-shaped charms and all, and his big thumbs end up pressing a button he never meant to. how such a simple and mindless mistake makes you wonder about putting his big fingers somewhere else.

It was a newfound desperation you didn’t know you had in you and it just didn’t stop there. it’s the casual dominance in his behavior that makes butterflies erupt, fluttering their delicate wings in your belly.

when the brown sugar you needed to make a fresh batch of cookies rested on the tippiest top of the shelf you were irked to say the least.

it sat there mocking you because it knows you can’t reach it, and it’s none other than wrio himself who barely extends his hand above his head that brings it down with ease.

and then you see it.

it’s only a slither of skin, only a thick patch of untamed hair leading to his groin.

that’s all it is and that’s all you saw and yet you feel . . . bothered

“i didn’t need your help,” you mutter while pouring the contents into a pink porcelain bowl, careful not to make a mess.

you got snappy because of all things, it’s his height and taut stomach that make you flustered. you cut your eyes and upturn your nose busying yourself with the mixing and measuring, but wriothesley is no fool. your attempt to appear unfazed — not aroused was meaningless. he didn’t bother to question the veracity of you words when the soft cotton flush of embarrassment coats your cheeks like a paintbrush and he was the painter.

he excites you.

you know it and he knows it.

“sure you don’t.”

he’s smug and you don’t like it. you hate it, even. why is he always quick and sharp-tongued, and so astute?

it was one of your earlier dates together. things were still new and you wanted to make a bit more effort and maybe you went slightly overboard. you cursed yourself for wearing heels that day. they were a tad bit too high— but they were pink, and glittery, and a butterfly charm dangled by the strap of your ankle.

you couldn’t not wear them, your outfit depended on them. they just had the unfortunate luck of succumbing to the little pebble that laid in the middle of the sidewalk.

before you could even register your heart-dropping, warm, big, bulging arms enclose your waist, keeping you from colliding with the ground. when you instinctively reach out to grip them you felt the muscle beneath your fingers. you were sure your silk panties were ruined .

and to your dismay, the twitch of your legs trying to smother that burning heat between your thighs didn’t go unnoticed.

so observant wriothesley is, and you hate how easily he could read you, but the desire was mutual.

he constantly had to fight every signal in his body that yearned for you — that yearned to separate those plump thighs and perfectly ruin, and stretch that seeping little hole with his fingers. the thought plagues his mind the entire time.

you both go out for another outing and it was just meant to be an innocent dinner, but god — would you stop looking at him like that?

just stop pouting, stop doing that little furrow with your eyebrows, and stop putting on that sparkly lipgloss.

it’s moments like this where he’s thankful for his status. he’s quiet, and big enough to deter people from peering over his shoulder. a booth far away enough in a corner, makes it easier for the duke to get away with acting out in public— stuffing your mouth with his fingers.

even when sitting he towers over you. the dip of your clavicle kisses by the ends of your hair. so put together even in the process of ruin.

two of his wriothesley’s daft and ring-clad fingers stroke your tongue, spit coating the appendages. he could’ve busied them separating your puffy lower lips, but why would he when he can make you gag instead?

soft moans escape in the form of gurgled cries, you suck his fingers like a lollipop that was just too big for your tiny mouth. he’s rubs the insides of the orifice as if it were your pussy, with expert strokes that send your eyes reeling backward.

you pucker around them, lips tight, and you just croon like a good puppy.

“you like it when I stretch your little mouth? yeah, you do.” as if the arch in your back and the clench of your legs weren’t enough it would be your eyes blinking up at him submissively.

“you can open up a little wider— just like that, baby.”

and he’s knuckle deep by now and maybe he should stop, and not encourage you to be so obscene but he wasn’t thinking straight. it’s been a long enough week, [its tuesday ] but wriothesley works hard and some trouble once in a while can’t be that bad. neuvillette shouldn’t mind. he’s sure if he could see you now he’d be at your mercy. drooling around his rings, tits pushed up and makeup smeared— could anyone actually resist you?

“that’s my good girl, perfect little throat.” and he can’t wait to fuck it. If your mouth looked so delicate stretched around his burly fingers, what would it look like around his much bigger cock. that excites him — to think about the tip of his length poking the side of your cheek and thickening in the expanse of your throat. to be gifted with your drunken expression because he’s just too big and your brain can’t compute.

“you can pretend it doesn’t bother you, but I know you like when it when I get rough with little girls like you,” he drawls, in a deep and husky tone, low enough to fall on your ears alone.

there’s a fire that it ignites within and he controls the flame. you want to tell him no, to defy him, but it would be so unconvincing. you’re nearly falling apart, bursting at the seams with wanton hunger and thirst and it’s written all over your face.

it gives wriothesley a rush the more he fixates on your mouth. he talks big, knowing you're teetering on the edge of a mind break. he whispers how filthy you are for letting him fuck your mouth with his fingers. he teases you breathlessly that spit looks better on your lips then the lipgloss and that you can’t seem to stop re-applying.

things were fairly new, only soft gropes, intense kisses, and humping between leather and lacy frills were exchanged . this was the most erotic he’s seen you as of yet and its the closest you both have ever been. it made him eager for so much more.

“ you like how big I am thats why you’re letting me stuff your mouth."

and he dreams bout filling it some more— to the brink with his milky white, breeding your throat like it was your cunt until rivulets spill from the sides. Its right then and there that he wishes for no one else to be in the room so he can finally have you . he’s broken you down, and all you can do is listen.

"when i take you home, you'll be a sweet girl for me, right? no back talk and no more attitude ?”

you nod and even with a mouthful, you obediently open to speak.

“y-yes sir.”

such dangerous words.

[cocoacat323]

Scum Villian Fic Recs

So, I've been reading fanfiction for a long ass time, longer than I've been on Tumblr and have always loved fic recs, and now I realize I can make my own(yay!), so here it is. None of these are explicit or anything, but they are super good.

A Transmigrator and a Time Traveler Walk Into The Bamboo House Summary:

Over a year after Shen Qingqiu's death, Luo Binghe consults his servant's servant, concurrently his disgraced martial uncle, for a way to bring the love of his life back. Shang Qinghua sends him in the direction of a certain time-traveling artifact, which supposedly brings one to the day they first met their soulmate. Odd, though, that the artifact ends up missing the destination by just a few years…

A story in which post-Abyss Luo Binghe relives his disciple days, while juggling his secrets, traumas, and some unexpected revelations about the man he loves on top of that.

Unveiling The Imposter Summary:

While tracking a suspicious fortune-teller, Shen Qingqiu falls unconscious. The fortune-teller extracts a glowing orb from his body, telling Luo Binghe and Liu Qingge that this Shen Qingqiu is an imposter, and they can see for themselves if they don't believe it.

Alternatively, the Demon Lord and Peak Lords watch Scum-Villain's Self-Saving System.

Characters Watch the Series fanfic. Post-Canon.

High Mountain, How I Long Summary: Shen Qingqiu, after enduring his trial, is placed into Luo Binghe’s custody at Huan Hua Palace.

meta madness Summary: Looking at SVSSS through the eyes of the universe left behind when Airplane and Cucumber died. (Note: Not a fic, but a series, but every fic in it is so good so definitely check it out.)

it's only shameless if you had any shame to loose in the first place Summary: They have not told anyone about their marriage, and at Shen Qingqiu's request, they will only do so once the wedding preparations are done. No one will have time to nag!

But in the meantime, Luo Binghe, demonic lord or not, is only an alpha. He must do something to show off his claim or he'll go insane, he really will. He'll qi deviate terribly, see if he won't.

Fortunately, as thin-faced as he is, his Shizun does not care much for proper dynamic etiquette...

love's worth running to Summary: “Shizun,” he purred, darkly calm despite the anger oozing out of his mock-respectful smile. Luo Binghe's grip on Xiu Ya's blade tightened, and he realised with belated horror that his blood was running down the sword and dripping by Shen Qingqiu's feet. His sword had to be held at an upwards angle now, to reach the place where he pierced him back then.

Shen Qingqiu felt sick. There was something wrong in this dream.

“I ask you again. Do you regret it, Shizun?”

//

Shen Qingqiu can't answer whether he regrets betraying him. Luo Binghe wants his Shizun to understand how he suffered, and drags Shen Qingqiu into his dreamscape of the Endless Abyss that night.

The only problem: Shen Qingqiu isn't waking up.

We Are Not Wise Summary:

When Shen Qingqiu drew Shen Yuan’s soul sword, it felt like being burned from the inside out. The fire wasn’t cruel, but it was still fire—hot and destructive, searing the softest pieces of him.

When Binghe’s fingers touch the hilt, he is ready for pain.

Transmigrated into a version of Proud Immortal Demon Way where cultivators manifest their own souls into spiritual weapons, Shen Yuan finds himself sort of kind of…accidentally blackmailing Shen Qingqiu into taking him on as a disciple before Luo Binghe joins the sect.

That should give Shen Yuan plenty of opportunities to make sure nothing goes wrong for his favorite protagonist, right? RIGHT!?

A story of twists, turns, hope, despair, and soul swords. Written for the Bingqiu Reverse Minibang 2023, illustrated and conceptualized by the incredible Suzu!

The Cultivating Force Summary: In which a Master and a Padawan run into a Shizun and a... Sith?

and judgement is just like a cup that we share Summary: The blob finished rotating into place in a way that wasn’t quite compatible with geometry as Shen Qingqiu understood it, and cleared a throat it didn’t seem to have.

“Greetings,” it said, somehow clearly addressing him in particular more than the room as a whole despite its total lack of features other than blueness and translucency. “I’m here on behalf of the Hyper-Celestial Peace and Order Enforcement Bureau. Crime scene secure, proceeding to interviews. Beginning with Subject One: You are Shen Qingqiu, formerly Shen Yuan, also known as Peerless Cucumber?”

"Proud Immortal Demon... Protection Squad?" Summary:

[ REWRITTEN 2023 ]

in which shen qingqiu, the nation's scum villain, doesn't perish from a qi deviation and instead, after dying tragically in his pathetic, sickly, 20 year-old body because he ate some definitely rotten yogurt he mistook for cream cheese like the absolute knob that he is, shen yuan wakes up to find himself in the body of a child, in the middle of a forest, and with absolutely no clue what world this shitty system had dropped him into. he decides to just go with the flow, one step at a time.

what could possibly go wrong?

(the answer is: everything)

(Shen Yuan Might Die Often but His) Old Habits Die Hard Summary: When Luo Binghe asks about his spiritual veins in the Holy Mausoleum, Shen Yuan's chest feels so funny that a lifetime of being chronically ill and reassuring his loved ones that, actually, he's fine kicks in. It is fine, really, because every problem in Airplane-bro's world can be solved by something that's penciled regularly into Shen Yuan's schedule at least eight times a week now.

Except the cure for Without a Cure doesn't work, and Shen Yuan's unlucky enough that Airplane-bro's plot device for winning over a tsundere via 'walking a mile in each others' bodies' hits him before he can figure out an alternative to telling Binghe that actually his five years of rebuilding Shen Qingqiu's spiritual veins diligently failed to cure him.

Luo Binghe is, of course, less than impressed to discover through personal experience what Shen Yuan, with his pain scale so skewed by years of chronic pain, never did during all his time poisoned: that, actually, having spiritual energy forming blockages and blood stagnating in your body hurts like hell.

Anyway, that's all that I've got for now. I hope that if you do take my recs you enjoy them, and remember to read all of the tags. Have fun reading!

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Three-headed dragon (Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader)

Summary: Three times Rhaenyra marked you, and one time you did too. Or snippets of the love story I so wanted to tell but didn’t feel confident enough to write.

Warnings: Implied smut. Dance of the dragons. Canon character death (Not Rhaenyra)

Rquested: Yes!

A/N: I have not read the books, and I have only gotten one hickey in my life. I hope my ability to describe it's alright. Ignore the bra and the hegemonic body in the first picture, it's for the vibes.

“How many years have you spent by my side?” Rhaenyra asks, as you fix her hair in the mirror. It’s an important day, even if none of you know it at the time. It’s early. Her husband is off somewhere, no longer sleeping in the same bed as her. She is too pregnant, she jokes. You doubt it. You have long wondered what her relationship with Prince Daemon is. Are they star crossed lovers, who finally get their happy ending? Are they Uncle and Niece, married out of political convenience? You can’t tell.

You know which one you prefer, though. It must be kept secret, this deep-seated, long-lasting admiration for your Princess. You have been through it all, together. Youth, marriages, motherhood, widowhood. Ruining it now, with your feelings, would be foolish.

“Since we were sixteen.” You place different ribbons over her hair, testing, draping. It’s not your job, technically. You are a noblewoman in your own right, not supposed to be here on Dragonstone, but back in the North, where your long deceased husband’s bones rest.

Not meant for marriage, and ready to start your career as a Septa, you had found yourself as a companion to a much younger Rhaenyra. She had secured, in an admirable move, a marriage by proxy with some old lord. You had not even managed to reach the North when he had passed, leaving you as the sole heir to a small castle close to the Boltons.

With such undesirable neighbors, and the news that your Lord Husband was dead, you had decided to come back into Rhaenyra’s service. Her companion through childhood, now by her side during the trials of adulthood.

“Sixteen. Such a long time.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Served loyally and never asking for anything in return.”

“Only your friendship.” Your love, you wanted to scream. Your love, for you to see me, since I am still here and I want you. Don’t you see how much it has hurt me, when I am yours, yours, and you were Criston’s, then- -

But you say nothing of the sort. Not wanting to ever risk what you had. Love is selfless, you remind yourself. You can’t have her, nor can you own her. Rhaenyra is the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon’s Crown. You cannot hope to own her or rule her. The Iron Throne, as everyone knows, was not made for a woman.

“You are not my friend,” Rhaenyra says, and the shock must show on your face because she laughs. Silver bells filling the room, the laughter of a golden Princess. “You are family, by this point. Haven’t you cared for the boys as if they were yours?”

And it’s true. You have loved those children because they are half her. You have been the preferred aunt, the accomplice, and the one to teach them things as important as the proper way to hold a quill. As the saying goes, it takes a village. The children are your combined efforts, alongside hers, Daemon’s and Harwin’s.

“You are as much a mother to them as I am.” Yours. Rhaenyra is saying the boys are as much hers as they are yours. “I have been thinking.”

You are so grateful for it, you could cry. But that’s not why Rhaenyra likes you.

“Oh? You are capable of it? We must inform the Maesters.”

Rhaenyra laughs.

“More respect for your future Queen.” She tries putting on a scolding expression, but is unable to keep her face straight.

“Oh, your majesty! I never meant to offend?” You give her a mock curtsy, and she giggles a bit more. You love her like this, you have come to realize. Rhaenyra is a woman of many flaws, even as a mother. She has grown into something larger than life, a presence that commands rooms yet manages to remain full of love to give.

“Stop it, you,” Rhaenyra complains. “I’m trying to do something here. Have a gesture.”

You sober up, a smile still tugging at your lips.

“I was thinking perhaps you should start wearing my house colors. And before you say anything, I mean it as an order. I already had you made three new gowns.”

You open and close your mouth a few times.

“Dragon got your tongue?” She teases, cradling her belly.

“Rhaenyra… I… Too much?” Because you are not sure what she is saying, but definitely she is not calling you sister. She would say it plainly, your Rhaenyra. That she is telling you to wear her house colors… That’s what men do. To their wives.

“It’s what you deserve.”

She is informed of her father’s death that day. The only person she allows in the room with her, as she loses baby Visenya, is you. From woman to woman. No one else gets to glimpse the fragile human who lives inside the dragon, not even Daemon.

You declare war dressed in black and red.

The Black Council is filled with fools, despite the support they show to Rhaenyra. You know it. She knows it. That’s why it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when you go to step inside the war room, and a guard bars the entrance with his lance. You have been expecting this moment. Dreading it, even. It was bound to happen.

“I am sorry, my Lady, but you are not allowed inside. Orders of the Prince consort.” Of course. Of course it's Daemon. Despite expecting it, you can’t help but be surprised at his boldness.

You don’t wish to make a scene. You truly don’t. But it scares you more than you thought it would. First, you will be banned from rooms. Then, dismissed, if not outright executed. This day had to come, you knew. Everyone had family on the other side of the war, with all the noble houses having intermarried at least once.

In the years to come, the conflict will be known as one that teared brother from brother. You don’t know this, you will not live to see it. Yet, it rattles in your bones.

“What? Prince Daemon?” You ask a little too loud. It attracts the attention of some other people in the hallway, including Rhaenyra who is just arriving. She looks more regal than ever in a black gown that compliments her pale skin.

Whispers start to break out among the gathered, surely reminding your heritage. Everyone is waiting to enter the war room, and the lance the guard has extended across the doorway is certainly drawing attention.

“What’s going on here?” Rhaenyra asks, placing a hand on your lower back and eyeing the guard with suspicion. The man lowers his head.

“My Queen, Prince Daemon has said…” He starts to explain, but Rhaenyra silences him with a dismissive wave of the hand. Ashamed, you lower your eyes.

“I do not care what he has said.”

“He has prohibited the Lady from entering…” The guard argues. Next to you, Rhaenyra tenses. You know he has already angered her, daring to speak above her like that.

“Is Prince Daemon King? Does he wear the crown?” She asks him, fiercely. The guard, wisely, keeps quiet. “She is my right hand. I will not suffer to see her disrespected.”

And with that, Rhaenyra moves the lance aside with a brush of her hand, leading you inside by the small of your back.

At the table, Daemon stands, moving some pieces along the map of Westeros. His back is to you, but he turns as he hears the commotion that precedes your arrival. A smug little smirk is on his lips, as he sees your discomfort.

“What are you…?” Daemon says, when he processes that you are, in fact, inside the room he had banned you from. Then, he notices Rhaenyra. “Ah.”

He squares his shoulders, getting ready for a fight. You try to pull away from Rhaenyra, but the hand on your back turns into claws, grasping at your dress to keep you right where you are.

“Why did you order the guards to not let her inside?” Rhaenyra speaks in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Daemon has to answer her or else. It’s a tone you had heard frequently when she tries to reign her sons in.

“Because I thought she didn’t belong in the war room, my Queen.” Daemon saunters towards you, no doubt trying to intimidate you. You lift your chin defiantly. Usually, you two avoid each other’s path. He resents your position in Rhaenyra's life, as her most trusted council. You resent that he gets to share her bed.

“You gave a ridiculous order.” Rhaenyra argues, rubbing your lower back in soothing circles, as if you were a spooked horse.

“Not so ridiculous. We have known for a long time there is a spy. Why should it not be your pet?”

“I am not! You truly think I would do something as vile?” Desperate and feeling powerless, you turn towards Rhaenyra. For a second, you truly think she might believe him. It’s the scariest second of your life. Losing her in a trap set up by Daemon? You hope she can see how genuine the next words you speak are. “I would never endanger the children, never endanger you!”

“I know.” Rhaenyra says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I know.”

“Come on. Her family is as green as they come.” Daemon raises his hands in the air, as if asking for patience to the Seven Heavens.

“My family is here.” You say, firmly. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, Viserys, Aegon…”

“So you say. But they are not your family, are they?” It feels as if Daemon has burned you. Nothing has hurt you more. Not even the accusations about you being a spy, or the time you thought you would have to leave Rhaenyra to marry some Lord in the North.

You have spent all your life next to her. All your best years. Now, you are an old spinster, despite being barely thirty. You have always wanted children, like any noble lady in Westeros. It was too late for it now. No lord would want a widow past her prime.

Yet, you have always thought that the void the lack of children of your own had left could be filled by Rhaenyra’s boys. Secretly, you thought yourself a mother already. What else could you be, when your name had been Jace’s first word? When you were the one holding Luke’s hands as he learned to walk?

Daemon wasn’t saying it openly, but it was clear that was what he meant. Rhaenyra’s children were not yours. As they had not been Harwin’s.

“They are!” Rhaenyra insists, but you are barely hearing it. The thought of it has left you too distraught to care about whatever you are discussing. It feels as if your heart is being carved out of your chest. Were Daemon about to suggest executing you for treason, you doubt you would worry. How could you, when it feels as if he has gutted you already? “We are. She is family. And I will hear no more of this matter.”

Her hand curves possessively around your waist. A claim, for everyone to see. You lean into her, shell shocked by it all.

But Daemon isn’t about to let this go. He pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket, one you recognize too well. You slump in defeat, despite Rhaenyra’s hands urging you to stay upright.

Daemon clears his throat, dramatically.

“And I fear your time with the Princess.” He stresses the last word, making a long pause. You close your eyes, and keep them closed tight. “Has come to an end. I urge you to come back to the Stormlands, where no harm shall befall you. For King Aegon is the most merciful when the misguided sheep comes back to the herd.” Daemon crumples the paper, and throws it to the floor. You wince. “Nothing to say?”

You shake your head.

“Daemon…” Rhaenyra warns, arm around your waist turning into a vice-like grip. You do not understand it, then. It will be a long time before you do.

“Did or did not your father write that?” He whispers, dangerously.

“He did.” You answer, in a voice so small it’s nearly inaudible. Daemon slams his hand on the table, making you jump, and struts out of the room.

You start to sob, quietly. This is it. Rhaenyra is going to dismiss you from her service. It’s true that your father has been urging you to come back home, stating that you would be protected. Begging you, even. Promising all sorts of things, from freedom, to riches, to a husband, to becoming the wife of a Prince. That’s his level of desperation.

It’s unlike him, to worry so much. But you know part of it is not just fatherly affection and genuine concern for your well-being. No. Taking you from Rhaenyra’s side would be the greatest hit the Blacks could take. Lately, you are one of the few things keeping the Queen calm and tethered to reality. You love her, but ever since Luke passed, Rhaenyra has turned almost unrecognizable. She is paranoid and harsh in ways you had never seen before. Crueler. More Targaryen than usual.

And not only that. You hold an unusual amount of information inside your head. Battle plans, supply chains, locations. Everything that has been the key to the Black’s success so far, you know. The information is too valuable to pass on. If you were to turn to the Greens, you would have to share it, be it voluntarily or forcibly. You are not foolish enough to not know it.

“Breathe, darling.” Rhaenyra cradles your face between her hands. “It's alright. I know you would never betray me. Breathe.” She exaggerates her breathing, placing your hand on her chest. It’s only then you realize you have started to hyperventilate. She pulls you into her, hugging you. On the doorstep, Daemon watches.

You don’t know what has gotten into her. Never has she touched you like this. It’s not the first time you kissed. You had both been sixteen and curious, once. But it had not gone further than learning how to kiss another person without it being gross. Because that was what friends were for. Obviously.

She smells like soot and blood. It’s clear she has rushed to your side, not even taking time to change after the battle. You wonder who she killed, this time. What city has she burned, how many of the small folk she and Daemon have doomed?

“I thought… When they said there were revolts on the road….” And her mouth is yours, and you can’t think because you want her so bad you aren't concerned about the consequences. Half the Kingdom is against you, already. You are considered traitors on one side, she is the Queen on the other. What does it matter, really, that it’s called a sin? You will die anyway.

“You are mine. Please. Say it to me, love.” Rhaenyra pleads, kissing your jaw. She looks so gorgeous in armor, you feel like you might die any time you glance her way. And now, you get to have her. It’s intoxicating, having all that power at your fingertips. A goddess come to life, set on claiming you, you and only you.

“I am yours.” You say, kissing her brow. You won’t question it. Not when you are so close to getting your darkest fantasies come true. “I have always been.”

“Mine.” Rhaenyra kisses the hollow of your throat. “You are mine.”

She grabs your hand, pulling you towards a chair. The room you are in is not yours, nor hers. Neither of you care, too desperate for each other. Rhaenyra doesn’t care that her blood soaked armor is staining someone’s chair. You don’t care that your dress is getting thrown around someone's room. Just in your chemise, she pulls you into her lap.

It will have to be burned, after this. There is no way you will be able to salvage the white cotton shift after straddling her lap. The blood sticks the two of you together, but you are too joyous to care.

“I love you.” You say to her, as she bites down on the column of your throat, harshly. Still a little bloodthirsty.

A beat of silence. Have you ruined things before they truly began?

“I love you too.” Rhaenyra says, as she kisses your collarbones. “I love you, and you are mine.”

“All yours.” You answer, breathlessly. Purple flowers blooming across your collarbones, a red angry rose right by your ear. Her bloodstained hands leaving marks upon your arms.

“Yours, yours, yours.” You moan as someone clinging to a lifeline.

“All mine, all mine, all mine.” She answers back.

A bite where your shoulder meets your neck. It’s painful, stinging, your vision blurring into soft flashes of orange and red.

“Just take it for me, please. Please, sweet girl.” Rhaenyra sucks another bruise on your skin. Deep lilac that will bloom into soft green. “I need this. I need them to know you are mine, even if we can’t tell them.”

You pant. There is a certain pleasure to it, being kissed with the barest hint of teeth. But it’s more than just the kisses, what has you panting in arousal. It’s the way she treats your body as her own personal canvas. As if you were a precious artwork Rhaenyra is bringing to life with her kisses.

A maroon chrysanthemum, just over your collarbones. Front and center, the bruise blooms. Her hand, holding your jaw still for the softest torture.

You are uncertain if she is doing it out of fear, trying to make sure you are still there. If she is a bit sadistic, in the way Targaryens are. Or if this is simple, raw reassurance that you are willing to do anything she asks. You save the wondering for later, though. At the moment, you are too busy breaking down under the talented mouth of your Princess.

You don’t want to be separated from her. You know, you know, that something bad is about to happen. Some nights, you wake up, choked up in a bad feeling. You barely recognize her anymore.

Luke’s death had devastated everyone. You thought, after that, never again would you know such pain. You were mistaken. In the months to come, it was as if the children were falling as flies. Everywhere you looked. Jace, Joffrey, Viserys. And through it all, you had been by her side.

Rhaenyra has transformed into something that’s equally beautiful and terrifying. Far more determined and possessive, love harsher and unwilling to let go. Desperation does funny things to women.

As children, your love had been more pure. Untainted but also untested. Your innocence had been lost long ago. But a love that was not pure didn’t mean a love that meant less. it just meant it had grown and changed, as things often did.

Rhaenyra’s heart was not what it used to be when you two were younger. No longer filled with dreams of cake and laughter. But you weren’t the same girl, either.

Before, you had felt the urge to mark her and settled for being marked instead. You had told yourself you were not allowed to have her, that she was Laenor’s, Harwin’s, Daemon’s. And each and each time, you pulled back, curling into yourself. No more. It was not enough, to be hers. No. It was not enough to be owned. You had so little now, you wanted everyone to know she was yours as you were hers.

“Rhaenyra.” You ask her, as she pushes you down to your knees, tossing and turning in the sheets. “Rhaenyra.” As your teeth bruise her thighs, as you bring her over the edge over and over again.

“Darling. Love. Come here.” And you want to sob because it’s not enough. You want her to be yours. You want her to be yours, so you can drag her and the kids away from this madness, far away to a land where the war won’t touch you. Where there is no Iron Throne to destroy the family you have built little by little.

She will never go. Not even after all the boys die. Not even after Daemon is dead, in an incident that’s half an attempt to escape her, half a suicide mission. You have no other choice but to remain by her side, too far in to do otherwise.

Leaving is giving up. Leaving is losing. Leaving is renouncing the Iron Throne, her birthright. She will never go. Rhaenyra would rather tear the realm apart than save herself, and it terrifies you.

What terrifies you more is the fact that despite all the grief, all the pain, you do not regret loving her. You just regret not loving her in the way she deserves, in the way she has been asking for. The clothes, the hands, the bruises. Only now do you realize Rhaenyra has been trying to mark you, claim you. And it’s like you two are finally speaking the same language.

“Promise me.” You whisper against her hair, as you lay in bed together. “Promise you will never take this off.” And you are slipping her a silly thing, a medal of the Mother you always carry with you for protection. It’s not exactly your house’s jewelry, or your cloak, as a man would give to a wife.

Rhaenyra laughs. She finds your devotion to the Faith of the Seven silly. But she gets it, anyway. She puts the medal on, close to her heart.

You loved her differently now. No longer your silver Princess, your childhood companion. In your chest, curling around your heart, a dark possessive thread rests, tying you to her. Finally, you meet her in the middle.

Rhaenyra has always loved you like certain things are meant to be loved. In secrecy. In the dark. Not of her own will, but yours. Rhaenyra didn’t care what others thought. She had been so bold before, trying to get you to step in the light for once. You had not realized it at the time, you had not been ready. You had worried too much.

And now, with no time to worry left, with death threatening your doorstep, you realize exactly what you were missing out on. Every time she walks away, chain glistening between her breasts, you get a secret thrill. She is yours. You know it. It’s your mark Rhaenyra wears close to her heart.

[brucewaynehater101]

The first planet that Tim and his life partners conquered, the planet that became the seed of the empire, was an accident.

The planet was ruled by a terrible tyrant, they were petty and cruel just for the sake of being cruel. They also liked to hold mock battles and gladiator fights that frequently ended with the winners getting eaten by half starved predator creatures. And the tyrant liked to also fight in the arena themselves. They would even hold their crown as the ultimate prize. They always cheated though and so they always won.

When the C4 came to the planet, it was an accident and they ended up as gladiators in the arena. Tim, as one of the smaller ones in the group, got picked to fight the tyrant.

Unfortunately for the tyrant, Tim is also a cheating cheater who cheats. And Tim was a better cheater than the tyrant.

The tyrant lost. They survived but their crown was now placed upon the head of the little bird who beat him and there were more than enough who were sick of his rule and willing to take advantage of his weakness that they would support this little baby ruler, at least long enough to figure out a real ruler.

But then it turned out that the baby was good at the job? And the baby's companions? consorts? were really freakin' strong.

Another tyrant on a different planet found out about the first tyrant's failure and laughed and decided to take down this little baby on this planet that they thought was weakened and that they would take the planet under their control and begin an empire.

Things...did not play out that way. Tim goaded the second tyrant into another trial by combat with the respective planets up as collateral. Tim won. Tim now had two shiny hats and two planets who needed serious overhaul to support its inhabitants rather than be centralized on now imprisoned tyrants. (Tim absolutely cheated but only his team could catch how he did it)

The third planet that came under Tim's control did so because they were being bullied by a different planet and their own ruling class had been wiped out and could they pretty please join for their own safety? And Tim said yes.

The bully was neutralized with some blackmail. And then there was a rebellion and the formerly bully planet joined the empire.

Then two planets caught up in a genocidal war ended up essentially being put in time out by C4 who were trying to set up some trade routes and the war was getting in the way of things.

And so on and so forth until Emperor Obi Wan Kenobi now had an empire of over a dozen different planets, an empire that is still growing.

I like that there's now background lore for how Tim acquires his first few planets! This does sound like the chaos and unfortunate situations that Tim ends up in as well as the ridiculous (but somehow works out) solutions he comes across.

I'm also vibing with C4 acquiring the two planets by putting them in timeout. I'm just imagining Emperor Tim going up the planets, saying "quit it," and then the leadership of these two planets is just thrusted onto him. He did not ask, but he'll make do.

I'm also curious if he has an informational packet, announcement, powerpoint, or otherwise for new planets that join.

[daddy-deathslinger]

Oooh, I really liked that killers with a S/O who has a particular perk! May I ask for a reader whose perk is to be able to hide very well/slip away easely? As in, they are quite small and so they can crouch and slip through spaces other survivors can't to go unnotinced! Maybe the killer in question struggles to hook them because they keep slipping from his grasp, but reader never mocks him or anything and just runs away until the end of the trial where they leave an item behind as an apology (Hillbilly, Cannibal, Oni and Deathslinger, if it's not too much trouble! If they are too many, feel free to choose whichever!) Thank youuu 🩷

Hi there! What a lovely request, I hope yer happy with what I came up with! <3

The Hillbilly/Max Thompson Jr with a slippery survivor

Max is good at hunting his prey, and he usually finds them quite easily.

But there’s always one person he struggles to catch. You.

Just when he thinks he’s gotten you cornered, you slip away somewhere. It’s really frustrating! How can you find that many cracks and nooks to sneak off into? 

And his chainsaw can’t do shit once you’re out of sight again. Sure, he can saw through the wooden walls and search for you, but you’re never there.

It’s as if you disappear from the face of the earth.

One time, after a trial had ended and you, as the last survivor left, had probably escaped through the hatch, he had found something. He was going back into his house when he saw something in the mud of the cornfield. 

A necklace. Shiny, must have been made of real gold.

Max had picked it up and examined it, a smile slowly growing on his lips. He knew you wore this kind of necklace, you must have either dropped it or left it here for him to find.

And his heart pointed towards the latter.

The Cannibal/Bubba Sawyer with a slippery survivor

Bubba isn’t the best tracker (it must be hard to see anything through that mask of his), but once he finds someone they won’t get away.

Except you, you always manage to get away somehow.

Be it a dark nook you can slip into, a hole that is perfectly shaped for you, or you simply just wiggle out of his grasp just as he’s about to put you on a hook.

You’re usually gone in seconds, he never has a chance to find you again.

This pains him greatly, you know that. He shrieks and yells in annoyance and anger, waving his chainsaw around in the air when he can’t find you anymore.

It almost makes you feel a bit bad.

A bit, only a bit. Enough to make you want to make it up to him somehow.

Not through sacrificing yourself though, gods no! But sometimes you leave behind small gifts for him to find.

It can be anything, really. A nice can you found in the cornfields, a bracelet that was buried in the mud. One time, you left a doll inside the house in the cornfields, knowing he would find it there after the trial.

You can only hope your little gestures are appreciated.

The Oni/Kazan Yamaoka with a slippery survivor

Kazan is a great tracker. Always has been.

He can smell blood a mile away, and see it as clear as red, shimmering pearls on the ground.

Naturally, prey have a hard time hiding from him once he has injured them.

And yet, there’s one he just can’t seem to ever catch.

This prey just vanishes from his sight the second he has injured them. It’s like they don’t even bleed! Sure, he can find trails of blood here and there, but it never leads him anywhere.

It drives him mad! If you’re in a trial these days, he’s almost certain he’s gonna leave with only three kills. You always seem to find the hatch as well, so.

Sometimes, Kazan finds things.

Things in places it’s never occurred to him to look before, but when he does he always finds a surprise.

It can be a hair tie, or even something of great worth, like a ring or earring. 

Once he found a little crocheted doll, with black buttons for eyes.

He doesn’t know where these things appear from, but something tells him they appear from the same source that so easily disappears. And that thought is a bit amusing to him, it almost brings a smile to his lips at times.

The Deathslinger/Caleb Quinn with a slippery survivor

Caleb is a proud man, that much you know.

He hates losing, and losing is exactly what he does these days whenever you’re in a trial.

His swearing can be almost amusing at times, when you peek out from a hiding place and see him frantically search for you. He never finds you, and eventually gives up.

You’ve lost count of all the times you’ve gotten the hatch.

All that being said, you make sure to never taunt him. 

You don’t want to rub it in his face, he’s only doing his job here. And so are you. It’s nothing personal.

During the last trial, you had decided to try something a bit different. You had been tinkering on things at the campfire for a while, your latest project was carving a butter knife out of a piece of wood.

It wasn’t particularly pretty, but you liked it.

You had decided to leave it behind for Caleb to find, as a little gift for all his troubles catching you. 

So, you had left it inside the Dead Dawg Saloon, at the bar. Then, you had hid.

When the rest of the gang had escaped, and Caleb eventually got back to the saloon with heavy steps, he had found it.

You had watched as he had taken the butter knife in his hand, weighed it (why would you weigh a butter knife??) and examined it. 

You will never forget the smile on his lips, as he had whispered: “What in the goddamn…” and put the knife in his jacket pocket before leaving.

[apollodarling-writes]

yan! dbd ghostface (danny johnson) headcanons

cws: yandere themes, danny is a perv, non-consensual picture taking, stalking obv, slight nsfw themes but danny is just a freak, danny is a sadist, gore, danny makes out with your wounds, obsessive! danny, possessive! danny,

— yan! ghostface whose eye you catch in your first trial. you who are wide eyed, disoriented, and hyper-aware of your surroundings make easy prey.

— yan! ghostface who stalks you for awhile before approaching you, using your disbelief and naivety against you.

— yan! ghostface who explains your situation, portraying himself as a fellow survivor and guides you through the motions of the match before pressing his blade to your throat.

— yan! ghostface who smirks beneath his mask, watching as your eyes widen with fear and betrayal. he feels himself become aroused as your pretty optics glisten with tears, groaning as you beg for him to let you go.

— yan! ghostface who is stunned by a flashlight, feeling you wriggle free from his grip and sprint off like a frightened bunny.

— yan! ghostface who you are wary of in each match. he singles you out and taunts you, describing each horrific thing he’ll do to you once he gets his hands on you, finding that this little obsession of his is growing by the day.

— yan! ghostface who begins thinking about you even outside of trials. it started as wondering what he would do to you next, turning into lustful daydreams and palming himself at the thought of you.

— yan! ghostface who snaps polaroids of you while you do mundane things. assembling a medkit or toolbox, finding materials for offerings, talking to your fellow survivors…

— yan! ghostface who loathes the sight of you smiling at the others in the survivor camp. you belong to him. that smile of yours is reserved for him. your laugh is reserved for him.

— yan! ghostface who slowly feels those lustful feelings of his grow into something deeper. he finds himself thinking less and less about ways to kill you, and more about ways he could make you smile.

— yan! ghostface who, in your next trial with him, brings you the body of each survivor, dropping it in front of you much like a cat would gift its owner a dead mouse.

— yan! ghostface who corners you, sitting on your stomach and wrapping his fingers around your throat. he swiftly snaps a polaroid of this beautiful sight, crazed ramblings about how you’ve caught his attention leaving his lips.

— yan! ghostface who is amused at how quickly you’ve gained his interest, his favorite pastimes stalking you and leaving just enough of a trace for you to know he was there.

— yan! ghostface who finds it incredibly romantic to hold your hand while you bleed out beneath him, his mask lifted to show off the frenzied look in his eyes, blood dripping from his chin and onto your paling features.

— yan! ghostface who looooves to makeout with your stab wounds. he’s always sure to leave you for last, finding motivation in the fact that if he rids the trial of all other survivors, he can spend as much time with you as he pleases.

— yan! ghostface who coos at you as you beg for him to let you go… or to just end it already. a frown tugging at his lips as he feels his heart pang with the slightest of remorse. he quickly covers it up with a mocking sneer, telling you that you should be proud to bear his love in such a way. no one’s ever had it but you.

— yan! ghostface who singles out each person you talk to in their next trial with him, mercilessly slaughtering them as he tells them to stay the fuck away from you.

— yan! ghostface who somehow convinces the entity to let you spend some time with him on a random day, designating it as your new birthday. he’ll watch with interest as your shaky fingers grip the rusted fork, shoving the mediocre cake down your throat. he’s never seen a better sight.

— yan! ghostface who loooves everything about you <33

[bonefall]

What are your thoughts on Crowfeather's Trial? I already know how you feel about my other least favorite super editions so I'm curious about your opinions on this one lol

I think at best it's just okay. Like...it feels like they're going "see!! We're holding him accountable!!" But then they just kinda...dont?? Like I didn't feel any differently about Crowfeather by the end than I did when I started. There's parts I like about it but overall it just fell flat for me

Like how am I supposed to like this guy when he's just constantly a dick?? he can't stand Harespring for some reason, there's a moment where he's like "I wish my son was dead" and when Nightcloud goes missing he barely gives a damn and doesn't bother to even try and look for her

Anyways I'll forever be mad that they gave this guy a whole super edition and he'll probably have the most dramatic death ever while Leafpool suffered her entire life (and afterlife) and got killed off screen. Hoping he gets jumped by rats and dies from infection

I'm not a big fan of it. It's one of the better written SEs and has a clear goal in mind, but every time I have to encounter it, it feels like it's sidelining the characters who actually deserve to be explored in favor of Crowfeather Sadboy Whinging.

Breezepelt has 12 books detailing how being mistreated by Crowfeather is making him worse, and showing that social alienation is pushing him towards the Dark Forest. Nightcloud was demonized by the old team even though they wrote Crowfeather deflecting all the blame of Breeze's behavior onto her, giving the new team a great opportunity to correct the mistakes of the old writers... and they decided to focus on Crowfeather instead.

And, mind you, they conveniently leave out massive details about how BADLY Crowfeather was abusing his child.

There's this one part of the book where he learns that Breezepelt broke his leg as a kid and he feels like shit for not remembering it, and it's supposed to be a big moment where Crowfeather realizes he was apathetic and careless. But he WASN'T just apathetic and careless. We see him TEACHING his child xenophobia in order to mock and offend Leafpool, smacking Breezepaw around for being 'rude' (the way Crowf always is), and screeching at him for having basic needs like hunger or rest.

Crowfeather WASN'T just a sad, sad boy who didn't pay attention to his kid because he was too busy pining over Dead Wife. What he did to Breezepelt wasn't just neglect; it was physical and emotional abuse.

The book DOES ultimately hold him responsible for how Breezepelt turned out, yes. But it doesn't properly focus on WHAT made Breeze come out the way he did. It wasn't genes, it wasn't Daddy Not Smile At Me. I can only assume the reason why they didn't address how ghoulish Crowfeather actually was is because they knew that being honest and direct about him abusing his child would make him unsympathetic.

Which is a problem, because, y'know, you can just make it Breezepelt's Trial and NOT have to thread that needle??

And furthermore... the book is trying to show Crowfeather addressing that he's kind of an asshole and moving on from it, earning deputyship as a reward for his growth, but what the book really demonstrates to me is that Crowfeather is a dickhead who actually shouldn't have ANY power at all. I don't understand why people would trust him or want him as their leader. I don't see any reason to think that he would be responsible with the lives of an entire Clan of people.

Before I hear clown shoes; if you think that means I "just don't like" that he would be an ""interesting leader,"" pile yourself back into the car with your 30 other jesters and drive away. I mean that it feels completely wrong that any character in-universe would look at the person who exists in Crowfeather's Trial, and say, "this is a person who would help me effectively rule."

What he does, all-book-long, is show that he's an emotionally unstable loose canon borderline incapable of self-reflection. Other characters have to directly tell him "you should try being less of an asshole" and "maybe be nice to your family sometimes?" while he comes up with bullshit reasons to seethe at every character who wanders into his line of sight.

I massively resent the fact that even Leafpool has to mommy his baby ass towards the end of the book. After he spends a good part of Po3 and OotS finding roundabout ways to snipe at her for not giving him exactly what he wanted. It falls on HER to be the one he can ask for advice on how to fix the family he treated like shit his whole life.

no that's not hyperbole she literally. textually. is compared to his mother.

and he can't even be gracious about it, he's instantly all huffy and offended, completely proving her point. Why the hell would anyone make this guy a deputy? The man needs TWO motherly figures giving him the exact same basic advice and a dedicated super edition before he adjusts his behavior even slightly.

(watch him get Boring Leader Syndrome the minute he inevitably becomes Crowstar, too)

Sooo, in a nutshell;

It's one of the better SEs. unfortunately.

Crowfeather is held accountable for being the problem in his own relationships, thank god

but it doesn't fully hold the actions we SAW in the main series books accountable, seemingly purposefully leaving out the worst things he did.

Another WC book where a male character gets an insane amount of sympathy and rewarding that female characters are NEVER deigned deserving of.

Should have been Breezepelt's story. I strongly dislike how Breeze's "redemption" was based on his shitty dad saying sorry. He deserved an actual character arc struggling with ever trusting WindClan again after they took his dad's judgement about him at face value.

Absolutely awful that Leafpool is killed between books and given a trial where they consider sending her to hell when they finally DO get around to showing how she died, while Crowfeather gets an SE about the whole world holding his hand so he can fix the family he broke in 5 easy steps.

Its biggest problem is that it is about a character whose actions you can go and read about. It doesn't deliver on the setup of 12 books of Crowfeather being an absolute git; it's a good story for the version of Crowfeather the new team seems to have created in their heads.

Doesn't stop me from manifesting him getting an infection and having a Sandstorm-tier disrespectful death in the upcoming series, lmao.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Do you think that, at the beginning of the episode, Armand kept Louis asleep so he could spin his little yarn about Lestat without the latter there with the express hope of selling Daniel on the telenovela? As well as maybe making peace/having some quiet time with the Daniel (read: his boy from SF) he kind of tried to protect from Louis' cruel Alice-rant last episode? Daniel has been continuously mocking Louis with the notion of Loumand being "a story that is being sold to him" so maybe this way, Lestat appears to be the bad guy yet again and further Lestat discussions are tabled except explaining how Louis got his groove back (and learned to forget about the 'ever-thinking-about-himself' Lestat)?

I'm a Loustater who was ready to live with Loumand because we have to, and thought I was willing to give Armand some trust that he's trying to protect Louis from doing something terrible in Dubai, but it seems that, with that fiction about Lestat, he's been withholding more than Louis ever did. And whether that's to save Louis or himself and likely both, I can't tell. I can't even imagine how we're going to have a walk-down-memory-lane discussion about the trial if Armand can't be remotely honest, even now, about Lestat.

Lastly, all that talk in theatre about the coven wanting Louis dead if he's not joining etc. Is all that telepathic murder plotting being freely discussed in Dubai?

Need help! Want to understand!!!!!!!!

Oh, I think Louis being asleep when the interview continues is a massive red flag, indeed. He was up during the day before, so why will he rise at sundown now? And why does Armand launch into a little fanfic version of Lestat while Daniel asks him a very different question?

And why did the Mac not record that one sentence?

The thing is... I think Armand is doing precisely what he was doing with Louis at the end of the IWTV book, namely a) lie to him about a few specific things, b) keep a kind of veil over Louis and c) protect him (from others and himself).

It's Armand! He's the coven master. He does what he thinks is best.

And of course he loves Louis, too, but... you know. At this point it should be very clear that Louis did not love him back as much as he seemed to do (before). Louis invited Armand in (and into a relationship with him) to not get killed. And to keep Claudia safe, too. THAT is their actual relationship start and fuck how bitter is that?????

The Louis in Dubai... has lived decades with whatever happened after that event in San Francisco. And whatever happened with the Devil's Minion arc there. And Armand... is still lying to him.

I said it in another ask, but by now I'm leaning towards Louis going to NOLA at the end of the season - and either finding Lestat there ... or NOT. And if he does not find him I can see him go and do the Merrick ending in the Merrick ending place.

I think episode 7 and 8 will shift a LOT of things, and no matter how the trial is narrated we already know it likely won't be how it went. It will be interesting to see if they break the narrative once more - or let Daniel read them to filth.

Because I can see Daniel do that. Because allll the little things, all the Talamasca files, all that background information he has now will click into place for him. Because he is very good at his job.

[cloudseeker14]

Wistful Dreams (Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader)

Summary : A good friendship is something that is rare for even the strongest sorcerer in the world to come across. Surely, he'd do anything to keep it, right? Even if his heart was screaming otherwise.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

TW: Angst with sad ending

Gojo Satoru had never doubted himself of being strong. He could bring down entire hordes of curses with just a snap of his fingers, a mere mention of his name would have the enemies of the Jujitsu world trembling with terror.

Yet, when he saw you, with your wild laughter and the way it rang in his ears like the most melodious tune, he felt weakened.

"Toru, you have no idea how bad that date was!" You chuckle, plopping onto the couch "I don't know what Shoko was thinking setting me up with him, the poor dude was straight up trying to worship the very ground I walk on to get in my pants."

Toru, a nickname that only you had shared for him. The sound of it from your lips, how it seemed to bewitch every single sense of his, Satoru wanted to bottle it up just to keep hearing it again and again.

"Oh yeah?" Satoru grabbed a bowl of popcorn and say next to you, grinning "Well, do you know what can be better than some date you can have with any of those dudes?"

"Let me guess, that popcorn you generously have in your hands right now?" You asked, lips curling into smile.

A part of Satoru wanted to scream that it was him. He could be better than any of those idiots you went out to see. Afterall, how could he not be when he knew every single aspect of you as well as the back of his hand?

Would anyone else know all your favourite shows and books? Would they know exactly how you like your tea, the type of bands you enjoy or how to hug you tight while you weep into their shoulder?

"Yeah and this new thriller movie that's been released." Satoru' eyes gleamed with mischeif but the pang in his chest still remained.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead dramatically. "Toru, you know I hate horror!"

The blue eyed man chuckled at your plight. "You can keep whining all you want, but if I say we are watching The Shining, then that's the only damn thing that's going to be playing on the TV tonight."

You rolled your eyes with mock offense and playfully jabbed him in the shoulder, an ordinary routine for you which still succeeded in elciting a deep stirring of longing in Satoru heart.

How would it feel to hold you close, whisper all the frantic thoughts that have been running through his head for years in your ear?

Would your lips taste as sweet as how he imagined them in his dreams?

"You do know that you might be the Jujitsu world's biggest asshole, right?" You leaned over and grabbed some popcorn from Satoru as he grabbed the TV remote, shaking it annoyingly in front of your face.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Satoru smiled, but there was a strange softness in his expression that went unnoticed to your gaze.

It was for the best that you didn't notice because Satoru knew, deep down in the icy depths of his pride and arrogance that was bellowing at him to just tell you, that you deserved a man better than him.

You deserved someone who could give all their time to you. Someone who would usher you away from all the dangers of the world of curses, not someone like him whose very companionship would mean facing countless trials with curses determined to find the weakness of the greatest Jujitsu sorcerer.

By just being a sorcerer yourself, you came home beaten up every weekend from all the curses out for your blood. Being his would be equivalent to signing a death warrant, you'd never get a moment of peace for your whole life.

Satoru couldn't do that to you.

The movie went on for a few hours and with every scream that escaped your lips from all the blood and gore, each time your arm unknowingly brushed against his own, Satoru had to mentally restrain himself from just kissing you right then and there.

Once the movie was over, Satoru sat with you and listened to your remarks, resting his head on his hand.

"And that scene where blood just spurted from the sink was crazy!" You exclaimed animatedly "I'll admit it, this movie was better than what I expected!"

"Now this is why you should have some trust in me when it comes to movies." Satoru said smugly, adoration filling his soul itself as he drunk in your glee.

He couldn't allow himself to be too close to you, not if it meant endangering your life and health. Just being your friend and a part of your life would be enough if it meant just getting to be around you. Even if every thought in his body protested at the sight of you being set up on dates, though his own mind betrayed himself every night with indulgent fantasies of you, he'd make himself be satisfied with just being your friend.

Gojo Satoru could never have a weakness, especially not one as disadvantageous as a lover.

--

Satoru walked through the campus of Jujtisu High, aimlessly going through his phone after returning from one of his missions. It'd been quite simple and hadn't even succeeding in piquing the tiniest bit of his interest.

"God know why they needed me for something so simple." Gojo muttered to himself and put his phone in the pocket of his pants "I swaer to god, it's almost as if they're trying to keep me-"

All his words fell short, lodging in his throat as he saw a sight that he'd been dreading forever. There you were, stunning as always with your face perfectly framed by the setting sun as you kissed some man deeply, your fingers tangled in the locks of his black hair as you pressed your body against his chest.

Gojo Satoru could only continue watching in horror as the man placed his hands firmly on your hips with such familiarity and pulled you closer. At that moment, Satoru didn't even knew who the hell that man was but he could clearly witness that you both fit against each other like missing pieces of a puzzle.

He saw you pull away, your face flushed and lips pink from the ministrations of your lover as you giggled, not even noticing Satoru's presence in your gaze.

Gojo Satoru, for the first time in his life, walked away. He turned on his heel and continued walking in the opposite direction as the bottom of his lips trembled.

What else should he have expected? Of course you'd have someone in your life, someone who'd make you happy in all the ways he couldn't.

He knew that this had been inevitable, but goddamnit the tears that were unashamedly welling up in his eyes paid no heed to that fact.

--

There are certain moments in life where one must control the whirlwind of regrets in their heart.

Gojo Satoru could recall experiencing this when you introduced your boyfriend to him, all smiles and laughter. Your lover had firmly shook Satoru's hand, speaking bashfully of how amazing you are.

When you and your boyfriend looked at each other, as much as Satoru cursed the sight before him in his head, he couldn't deny the attraction between the two of you.

One you obviously didn't share for him.

But the day his very strength, his arrogance and pride as a sorcerer died within him and burnt to ashes on a pyre was when he saw you walk down the aisle.

You'd given him the invitation, practically brimming with joy and blissfully unaware of the tumultuous mirage of emotions as his heart and mind engaged in a tense conflict with each other.

Gojo Satoru felt breathless as you walked down the aisle, absolutely radiant in your wedding dress.

Satoru knew you were beautiful, but at that moment with the way your hair was let down, how the dress clutched your curves and the wind which gently made your veil flutter in the wind, he couldn't deny that you were the most stunning woman that could ever grace his eyes.

As you continued walking ahead, a small part of Satoru wanted you to look at him for just an instant. To give him a sign, anything that you suddenly didn't want this. That he could whisk you away even if he could never fully give himself to you.

But your gaze was far ahead, eyes only for the man soon to be your husband and in all your awe, you didn't even spare a single second for Gojo Satoru.

Satoru's hands trembled as he forced himself to stare at the ground, unable to look any longer. If gods did exist in this world of vicious curses, Satoru was helplessly praying to ones he'd never believed in just for all this to turn out to be a figment of his imagination.

"Y/N, do you take this man as your husband and swear to stay by his side during sickness and health, during all the moments of happiness and sadness that life will have to offer the both of you?"

Satoru forced himself to look up and he could swear that he could feel his heart shatter like glass thrown forcefully against a pavement once he saw you nod your head, tears of joy running down your face. "Yes, of course I do." You clasped your hands, eyes brimming with excitement of the prospects that awaited you in the future.

Unbeknownst to you, there was someone else who was crying in the altar with you. It wasn't your husband, who instead chose to gently caress your face and wipe away your tears with his rough, calloused hand. It wasnt your mother or any of your family members, who were all rather elated at witnessing you during this moment.

It was Gojo Satoru, tears streaming down his face as he bit down the inside of his cheek to choke down the sobs that threatened to spill from his lips. Thankfully, no one noticed him. How could they, when you could simply steal everyone's breath away with a simple flick of your hand?

"Does anyone have any objections?" The priest asked and all the guests smiled cheekily, this was just a mere formality that no one ever adhered to.

But for Satoru, those words seemed to awaken a sense of courage he didn't even know existed to him. Proclamations of love and longing, of how he knew that he could make you happy made its way to the tip of his tongue, only to crumble away as he saw your expression of delight as you gazed into the eyes of the man you loved.

Gojo Satoru was a man of many spades, he was nonchalant, full of himself and always determined to get what he wants.

But he couldn't bring himself to be the villain of your love story, not if it meant seeing that smile disappear from your face on your special day.

"Then I pronounce you husband and wife!" The priest proclaimed, the chance for Satoru to open the dam of emotions that had been welling up within him for years vanishing with just those simple words.

Satoru's eyes never left your face as your husband wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. Even then, Satoru couldnt let go of the countless 'what ifs' in his head.

What if he'd been selfish and allowed himself to love you? Would he have been the one to be by your side as your husband instead? Would he have been given the honor of waking up to you each morning and falling asleep with you in his arms? Would the two of you have grown old together after having stepped away from the chaos of the Jujitsu world?

A part of him died inside as your gently cupped your husband's face and pressed your lips against his, hues of pink subtly dusting over your cheeks.

You and your husband pulled apart and you squealed as you were lifted into the sky by his strong arms.

At that instant, a cruel realisation dawned upon Satoru.

This was his price for being the strongest, as much as he devoted himself to the entire Jujtisu world, the few people who knew him beyond just the facade of the cocky sorcerer would keep being snatched away from him by fate.

A lonely life was all that awaited him and the words that he desperately wanted to scream would remain locked within the closure of his heart.

I love you.

Those words would never be heard, instead they would only be replaying in his head for nights to come as he'd toss and turn at the thought of you enjoying a sweet life with another man, even though all he wanted was to be the one for you.

There'd be nights where he'd curse the entirely of Jujitsu, detesting his destiny that had been set in stone from the instant he'd been born.

But all of that meant nothing when he saw how you smiled, exactly like the way which had enchanted him when the two of you had first met as you walked up to him, arm in arm with your husband.

And in that fleeting moment, Gojo Satoru smiled back wryly, the gesture a broken attempt at trying to brush aside the throbbing of his aching heart.

"Go on lovebirds, dont keep all the guests waiting!" Satoru chuckled weakly, motioning for you to go ahead, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding as you grinned and rushed over to your mother.

As he continued to watch you for the rest of the night, the alcohol his sole companion for the event, Satoru supposed the old stories he had read as a kid were right.

The human heart was a fickle thing, always longing for the things it simply cannot have the most.

And you, you would be his one weakness.

The only thing he'd still keep running back to, a curse and blessing all in one.

[xzhdjsj]

Mercy

Zaros x Reader

Zaros is influenced by his mother, you attempt to remove her.

Another old draft because writers block has me in a chokehold😭

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Serulla was never perfect, but what economy ever is? The royal family bears the weight of maintaining order and peace. It is the duty of the sovereign ruler to dictate upon their people means to preserve said peace, and it is their duty to construct strategies while overseeing their nation’s progress. And if required, to preserve peace, veils of partial truth and dishonesty are casted over the kingdom. After all, not everything is fit for public consumption.

"A little white lie never hurts."

And indeed, they usually don't, until the liar finds comfort in their bed of lies and the white bleeds to crimson.

-

You forced the door of his quarters open, shrugging the guard off your shoulder angrily.

"Zaros Kymen Atha'lin, I request an audience."

The guard followed closely behind, grabbing onto your shoulder to drag you away.

"Leave them be." Zaros orders, and he immediately withdrew. No one questions the words of the King.

"I never expected to see your pitiful face here again. What do you want?" Zaros sneered, his eyes scanning you from head to toe as he approached and shut the doors behind you.

"Tell me Zaros, what have you become?" Your narrow gaze bore into him, "Hiding away behind the polished walls of MY kingdom while MY people suffer in fear because you wish to please your mother?" You spat.

He rolled his eyes, "That is none of your business. Last I checked, you no longer hold any authority here, and nothing here belongs to YOU." He mocked, and his words do what they do best. They fuel your anger.

"You are no longer a child Zaros, and this kingdom is no child's play. If you’re still attached to your placenta by the navel, you are unfit to be Serulla’s King!"

"You're rather bold to insult me when you're no different! Was it not you blindly following your mother into the trial years ago? Did you even want to be responsible for Serulla?" He snapped at you, anger laced in his words.

"I could ask you the same thing, but I don't need to," you shook your head. "I can already see it in your actions. This was never about you, was it? This was about winning your mother's approval, and now you don't care if that harms our people."

"And what would you know about the way I rule MY Kingdom!" He shouted over your own voice.

"I know enough!" You reciprocate his volume.

He scoffs, "You know nothing of what transpires behind these walls."

"Remove you mother from your council Zaros." You declared.

Zaros was taken aback by your tone and seriousness in your eyes, but he remained steadfast. He took large steps towards, closing the space between your bodies until his face was inches from yours.

“I will do as I please with my council,” he said firmly.

He’s stubborn. It made you confident he hasn’t changed much.

“Very well.” You held his gaze, silently challenging his authority. “Then I request a duel.”

Zaros scoffs, standing tall and laughing into the air as he threw his head back. “A duel? On what grounds?”

“If I win, you do as I say and leave your mother out of Serulla’s decision-making processes. If you win, I leave and never meddle in palace affairs again.” You stated, then with a smirk, added, “Unless, of course, you’re scared of losing to me again.”

Zaros’ jaw clenched, memories of the day you beat him down in the Trials flooding back. Even if he emerged victorious in the end, the scar across his back was a reminder of your deep-seated animosity for him. A reminder of what his relationship with you has become, how soured it is. And a constant mocking of how his intentions to fight you without causing harm backfired when you showed him no mercy. Each time he looks into a mirror, he relived the moment he knew for sure you hated him.

“Consider your request approved.” He leans down to whisper in your ear, “And don’t expect me to be as merciful this time.”

-