#Risk-Free Trading Practice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wife-of-all-dilfs · 2 years ago

Note

Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

5K notes · View notes

afeelgoodblog · 4 months ago

Text

The Best News of Last Year - 2024 Edition

Welcome to our special edition newsletter recapping the best news from the past year. I've picked one highlight from each month to give you a snapshot of 2024. No frills, just straightforward news that mattered. Let's relive the good stuff that made our year shine.

1. January - South Korea passes law banning dog meat trade

The slaughter and sale of dogs for their meat is to become illegal in South Korea after MPs backed a new law. The legislation, set to come into force by 2027, aims to end the centuries-old practice of humans eating dog meat.

2. February - Greece legalises same-sex marriage

Greece has become the first Christian Orthodox-majority country to legalise same-sex marriage. Same-sex couples will now also be legally allowed to adopt children after Thursday's 176-76 vote in parliament. Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis said the new law would "boldly abolish a serious inequality".

3. March - Global child deaths reach historic low in 2022 – UN report

The number of children who died before their fifth birthday has reached a historic low, dropping to 4.9 million in 2022. The report reveals that more children are surviving today than ever before, with the global under-5 mortality rate declining by 51 per cent since 2000.

4. April - Restoring sight is possible now with optogenetics

Max Hodak's startup, Science, is developing gene therapy solutions to restore vision for individuals with macular degeneration and similar conditions. The Science Eye utilizes optogenetics, injecting opsins into the eye to enhance light sensitivity in retinal cells. Clinical trials and advancements in optogenetics are showing promising results, with the potential to significantly improve vision for those affected by retinal diseases.

5. May - Vaccine breakthrough means no more chasing strains

Scientists at UC Riverside have demonstrated a new, RNA-based vaccine strategy that is effective against any strain of a virus and can be used safely even by babies or the immunocompromised.

6. June - Bill Gates-backed startup creates Lego-like brick that can store air pollution for centuries

The Washington Post detailed a "deceptively simple" procedure by Graphyte to store a ton of CO2 for around $100 a ton, a number long considered a milestone for affordably removing carbon dioxide from the air. Direct air capture technologies used in the United States and Iceland cost $600 to $1,200 per ton, per the Post.

7. July - Stem cell therapy cures man with type 2 diabetes

A 59-year-old man had been suffering from diabetes for 25 years, needing more and more insulin every day to avoid slipping into a diabetic coma and was at risk of death. But then Chinese researchers cured his disease for the first time in the world. The patient received a cell transplant in 2021 and has not taken any medication since 2022.

8. August - Chinese drones will fly trash out of Everest slopes

Come autumn, Nepal will deploy heavy lifter drones to transport garbage from the 6,812-metre tall Ama Dablam, south of Everest. This will be the first commercial work an unmanned aerial vehicle does in Nepal’s high-altitude zone.

9. November - Tokyo to make day care free to boost birth rate

Tokyo plans to make day care free for all preschool children starting in September, the city governor has announced as part of efforts to boost Japan's low birth rate.

10. October - FTC Rule Banning Fake Product Reviews Takes Effect With Stiff Penalties

Federal Trade Commission (FTC) Chair Lina Khan announced on Oct. 21 that the agency’s prohibition on fake online reviews was taking effect, imposing fines as high as $50,000 for violations. Khan encouraged followers to report the proscribed practices at reportfraud.ftc.gov.

11. November - Bumblebee population increases 116 times over in 'remarkable' Scotland rewilding project

The bumblebee population has made an impressive comeback in a developed area by increasing to 116 times what it was two years ago thanks to a nature restoration group.

12. December - Spain to enshrine gay marriage and abortion rights into its constitution so 'they cannot be undone in the future'

The left-wing PSOE leader made the announcement at an event marking the 46th anniversary of the Spanish Magna Carta.

“We believe that these are rights that we must protect in the Constitution so that no one can touch them in the future,” Sanchez said in a statement in parliament on Friday.

----------

That's it for last year :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to share this post with your friends.

#best news of last week #best news of last year

465 notes · View notes

novaursa · 10 months ago

Text

The Dragon's Right (4)

-Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all the parts and more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 9 000+

- Previous part: 3

- Next part: 5

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

As you and Rhaenyra entered the chambers of the small council, the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon your shoulders. The grandeur of the room, with its high ceilings and long table, was a sharp reminder of the power that was wielded within these walls—a power that you were now expected to share in. The members of the council, deep in discussion, turned their heads in unison to acknowledge your arrival, their eyes lingering on the empty seat that had been yours before you left for the Dornish borders.

King Viserys, seated at the head of the table, looked up with a mixture of relief and warmth as he saw you and Rhaenyra. "Come, my son," he urged, his voice filled with paternal pride. "Take your seat. It has been empty for far too long."

You nodded respectfully and moved to the vacant chair, the council members shifting slightly to make space for you at the table. Rhaenyra, meanwhile, stepped aside with a small, playful smile, taking over the duties of the cupbearer from the young boy who had been serving in her stead. The boy handed over the jug of wine with a shy bow, and Rhaenyra took it with practiced grace, moving around the table to refill the goblets of the council members.

As you settled into your seat, the familiarity of the room began to return to you—the polished wood of the table, the maps and documents spread out before you, the faces of the men who had advised your father for years. It felt both comforting and burdensome, this return to the heart of Targaryen power.

Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Master of Ships, wasted no time in redirecting the conversation back to the pressing matters at hand. "Your Grace," he began, his deep voice commanding attention, "we must return to the issue of the Stepstones. The Triarchy grows bolder by the day, and their control over the shipping lanes threatens our trade and the security of our allies. We cannot afford to sit idle."

Viserys sighed heavily, clearly weary of this particular topic. "I understand the gravity of the situation, Corlys," he replied, his tone patient but firm. "But entering into a war with the Free Cities is not a decision to be taken lightly. The consequences could be disastrous for the realm. I will not risk open conflict without exhausting every other option first."

You listened carefully, understanding your father's concerns, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something needed to be done. The reports from the Stepstones had been troubling, and you knew that inaction could be just as dangerous as a full-scale war.

"Father," you interjected gently, your tone respectful but earnest, "I understand your hesitation, but we cannot ignore the threat the Triarchy poses. If we allow them to solidify their hold on the Stepstones, it could embolden them further. We must act, even if it’s not to declare war outright."

Rhaenyra, who had been quietly filling goblets, paused in her duties and spoke up, her voice confident. "Perhaps we don’t need to send the entire fleet, Father. What if we sent dragonriders? Syrax and Silverwing could turn the tide, send a message that we will not tolerate this incursion."

Corlys nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The princess makes a valid point, Your Grace. The sight of dragons in the skies over the Stepstones could be enough to dissuade the Triarchy without the need for a full-scale engagement. It would show our strength without committing us to a costly war."

But Viserys shook his head, his expression tightening with concern. "No. I will not send my children into danger—not again. You have just returned, Y/N, and I will not see you thrown into another conflict. And Rhaenyra… I won’t risk you either. The dragons are our greatest asset, but they are not tools to be used lightly."

You opened your mouth to protest, the words on the tip of your tongue, but Viserys cut you off with a wave of his hand. "I appreciate your counsel, but my decision is final. The matter of the Stepstones requires further consideration, and I will not commit to a course of action that could lead us into a wider war."

A tense silence settled over the room, the frustration palpable among the council members. Rhaenyra’s face had fallen slightly, her enthusiasm for the idea dampened by your father’s refusal. You could see the disappointment in her eyes, a reflection of your own feelings. The suggestion had been sound, and it was clear that both of you felt a strong desire to contribute to the defense of the realm, but Viserys’s protective instincts were overriding all other considerations.

Sensing the growing tension, Otto Hightower, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat and spoke up. "Your Grace, perhaps there is another matter that the princess could attend to, one that does not involve the dangers of war. Several knights have arrived in the capital not just for the tourney, but to present themselves as candidates for the Kingsguard. A new member must be selected to replace the late Ser Ryam Redwyne. Perhaps the princess could oversee the selection process."

Viserys seemed to grasp at this suggestion as a way to defuse the situation. "Yes," he agreed, his tone firm. "That is a more fitting task for you, Rhaenyra. The Kingsguard is a vital institution, and your judgment will be invaluable in choosing the right man for the position."

Rhaenyra glanced at you, her expression a mix of disappointment and resignation. You met her gaze with a sympathetic look, understanding how much she had wanted to be involved in the more pressing matters of the realm. But you both knew that this was how things often went in the small council—difficult decisions were made, and sometimes, the right course of action wasn’t always the one taken.

With a small nod, Rhaenyra accepted the task given to her. "Of course, Father," she said, her voice steady despite the slight tension in it. "I will see to it."

Otto and Lord Lyonel Strong stood, ready to accompany Rhaenyra to the courtyard where the knights were likely gathering. As she turned to leave, you caught her eye once more, offering her a small, reassuring smile. She returned it, though there was a flicker of frustration in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment that the lords had effectively maneuvered her out of the more important discussions.

Once the three of them had exited the chamber, the door closing softly behind them, Viserys turned back to you, his expression softening. "I know you want to help, Y/N," he said quietly, his tone more paternal than kingly now. "And I know you’ve proven yourself in battle, but you’ve just returned. I have no intention of sending you off to fight in another skirmish so soon."

You looked at your father, the concern in his eyes evident. He was speaking not just as a king but as a father who had already lost too much. "Father," you began carefully, "I understand your concern, but the realm faces real threats. We cannot afford to hesitate, not when our enemies are moving against us."

Viserys sighed, running a hand through his hair, his expression weary. "I know. But the weight of the crown is heavy, and I must balance the needs of the realm with the safety of my family. You are my heir, Y/N, and I will not risk losing you—not when there are other options we can explore first."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the tension of the earlier discussion still lingering in the air. You wanted to push further, to convince him that decisive action was necessary, but the look in his eyes stopped you. Viserys was a man who had already faced too many losses, and the thought of losing you—or Rhaenyra—was something he simply couldn’t bear.

"I will continue to weigh our options," Viserys said finally, his voice resolute. "But for now, we will not rush into a conflict. Let us see how the situation develops, and we will respond as needed."

You nodded, though your mind was still restless. The council’s discussions had left much unresolved, and you knew that the challenges facing the realm would only grow in the days to come. But for now, you would respect your father’s wishes, even as you kept your own thoughts and strategies close to your chest.

Grand Maester Mellos cleared his throat, signaling that he had something to say. The council members turned their attention to him, the discussions of strategy and diplomacy momentarily paused. Mellos’s expression was serious, his tone measured as he spoke.

"Your Grace," Mellos began, addressing King Viserys, "while the matters of the Stepstones and the Free Cities are indeed pressing, there is another issue that demands our attention—one that is much closer to home. I am speaking, of course, about Prince Daemon and his continued… activities within the city."

Viserys’s face tightened at the mention of his brother. The strained relationship between the two was well known, and Daemon’s methods of enforcing his own brand of justice had been a source of tension for some time now. The King had hoped that his brother’s appointment as Commander of the City Watch would temper his more reckless tendencies, but it seemed that hope had been in vain.

"What has he done now?" Viserys asked, his voice tinged with both weariness and frustration.

Mellos exchanged a glance with Tyland Lannister before continuing. "The Gold Cloaks, under Prince Daemon’s command, have become a force unto themselves. While there is no denying that they have brought a certain level of order to the city, their methods are… extreme. Reports have reached us of public executions, floggings, and other harsh punishments meted out with little regard for the law."

Tyland leaned forward, his expression stern. "Your Grace, Daemon’s actions are causing unrest among the smallfolk. His form of justice is seen by many as tyrannical, and there are whispers that he is using the Gold Cloaks to consolidate power in the city. If this continues, it could lead to greater instability, not just in King’s Landing, but throughout the realm."

You listened in silence, your mind working through the implications of this news. Daemon had always been a wildcard—brilliant in battle, fiercely loyal to his family, but also unpredictable and dangerously ambitious. His actions as Commander of the City Watch were just another example of his tendency to push boundaries, to challenge the status quo.

Viserys rubbed his temples, clearly troubled. "I had hoped that giving Daemon responsibility would curb his more… destructive impulses. But it seems he’s taken it as a license to do as he pleases."

"Your Grace," you interjected gently, "perhaps a direct conversation with Daemon is needed. He respects you more than anyone, and he may listen if you make it clear that his actions are causing harm."

Viserys sighed, nodding slightly. "Yes, you’re right, Y/N. I’ll speak with him. But I fear that even I may not be able to fully control him. Daemon has always marched to the beat of his own drum."

The discussion continued, with the council debating how best to handle Daemon’s increasingly volatile presence in the city. Some, like Tyland, advocated for more direct intervention, possibly even removing Daemon from his position, while others, like Lord Lyman Beesbury, suggested a more diplomatic approach, hoping to rein in Daemon’s excesses without causing a rift within the royal family.

As the council deliberated, the scene shifted to the courtyard of the Red Keep, where Rhaenyra stood with Ser Harrold Westerling, Otto Hightower, and Lord Lyonel Strong. Before her, a line of knights stood at attention, each hoping to be chosen as the newest member of the Kingsguard. Rhaenyra’s expression was one of quiet determination, though there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes as she listened to the introductions.

One by one, the knights were presented to her. Ser Harrold described their accomplishments—victories in tourneys, noble lineage, and years of service to their respective lords. But as Rhaenyra listened, her disappointment grew. These men, for all their noble backgrounds and polished armor, had little in the way of real combat experience. Their greatest achievements seemed to be catching poachers and excelling in jousts. None of them had faced true battle, the kind that forged a knight’s mettle.

She turned to Otto, her frustration clear. "These men have titles and tourney victories, but none of them have faced real danger. How can I trust them to protect my father and our family when they’ve never been tested?"

Otto, ever the pragmatist, offered a placating smile. "Your Grace, the Kingsguard is as much about the alliances it brings as it is about the skill of the knights. A knight with noble blood and strong connections to other houses could strengthen the crown’s position. Battle experience is valuable, but so are the ties that bind our allies to us."

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed slightly, her dissatisfaction evident. She understood the politics behind the selection of the Kingsguard, but she was not willing to compromise on something as important as the safety of her family. "What good are alliances if the men sworn to protect us fall at the first sign of real danger?"

Before Otto could respond, Ser Harrold spoke up, his voice respectful but firm. "Your Grace, there is one more knight to present—Ser Criston Cole of House Cole."

Rhaenyra’s interest piqued at the mention of a new name. She turned her attention to the last knight in the line, a man who, unlike the others, bore no signs of wealth or nobility in his appearance. Ser Criston Cole stepped forward, his armor simple but well-maintained, his face weathered and serious. There was a quiet confidence about him, a sense of purpose that set him apart from the others.

"And what experience do you have, Ser Criston?" Rhaenyra asked, her tone curious but guarded.

Criston bowed slightly before speaking. "Your Grace, I have served in battle, fighting under the command of Prince Y/N against the Dornish incursions. I’ve faced enemies in the field, not just in tourneys. I’ve held the line in the heat of battle and know what it means to protect those under my care."

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of your name. This was the first knight she had heard of who had actual combat experience, and under your command, no less. It gave him a legitimacy that the other knights lacked.

"You fought under my brother’s banner?" Rhaenyra asked, her interest clearly piqued.

Criston nodded, his expression respectful. "Yes, Your Grace. Prince Y/N led us with honor and strength. He was an inspiration on the battlefield, and I did my best to serve him and the realm to the best of my ability."

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Ser Harrold, who nodded approvingly. This was the kind of knight she had been hoping to find—someone with real experience, someone who had proven himself in the crucible of battle.

"I choose Ser Criston Cole," Rhaenyra declared, her voice firm. "He is the only one among them who has faced true combat and proven his worth."

Otto’s expression tightened, his displeasure evident. "Your Grace, while Ser Criston’s experience is commendable, it’s important to consider the broader implications. A knight with noble blood could bring valuable alliances to the crown. Ser Criston, while skilled, lacks the connections that could strengthen our position."

Rhaenyra met Otto’s gaze with determination. "What value are connections if they cannot protect us? Ser Criston has fought under my brother’s banner, and I trust my brother’s judgment. I stand by my decision."

Otto opened his mouth to argue further, but Rhaenyra’s tone left no room for debate. Lord Lyonel Strong, sensing the tension, subtly placed a hand on Otto’s arm, urging him to let the matter rest.

"Very well, Your Grace," Otto conceded, though it was clear he was not pleased. "Ser Criston will be appointed to the Kingsguard."

Rhaenyra nodded, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she turned back to Ser Criston. "You have my trust, Ser Criston. Serve my father and this realm well."

Criston bowed deeply, his expression one of solemn gratitude. "I swear to protect the king and his family with my life, Your Grace."

As the selection was finalized, Rhaenyra felt a sense of accomplishment. She had asserted her judgment and chosen a knight she believed could truly protect her family. But as she turned to leave, escorted by Ser Harrold, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment—knowing that this task, though important, had been a way for the lords to remove her from the more pressing discussions of the realm.

The days following your return to King’s Landing had begun to take on a semblance of routine. The excitement and pageantry of your homecoming had started to fade, replaced by the day-to-day responsibilities that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. While the court’s initial frenzy of attention had diminished, you still felt the weight of expectation pressing on your shoulders—a burden you had come to know all too well during your time away.

This particular afternoon found you in your father’s chambers, a place that had become a refuge for King Viserys in recent years. The room was dominated by the massive model of Old Valyria that your father had been painstakingly working on for what seemed like forever. The sprawling, intricate creation covered most of the table space, with towers, bridges, and spires crafted with a meticulous eye for detail.

Viserys was seated on a stool, carefully adjusting a small tower with a steady hand. You stood nearby, observing the model with a mixture of admiration and quiet concern. Your father’s obsession with this model had grown in tandem with the challenges of ruling the realm, and you wondered if he found solace in building something that, unlike the realm, he could control completely.

The conversation had started out light, filled with the usual topics—news from the Reach, the latest reports on trade, and the progress of the model. But as the minutes passed, you noticed a subtle change in your father’s demeanor. His hands, usually steady and sure when working on the model, seemed more deliberate, almost hesitant. There was a tension in his shoulders, a tightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You frowned slightly, studying him more closely. It wasn’t uncommon for Viserys to lose himself in his thoughts while working, but today there was something different, something unresolved hovering between you.

"Father," you began, your tone careful, "I can see something’s troubling you. What’s on your mind?"

Viserys paused, his hand hovering over the model, and for a moment, you thought he might not answer. But then he let out a long, weary sigh and set the piece down carefully before turning to face you. His expression was conflicted, a mixture of frustration and worry, as if he had been wrestling with something that he hadn’t yet found the courage to voice.

"It’s the council," Viserys finally admitted, his voice low, almost resigned. "They’ve been pressing me on a matter that I’ve been… reluctant to address."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing the gravity of what he was about to say. "And what matter is that?"

Viserys hesitated again, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you recognized as a sign of his discomfort. "They’ve been urging me to remarry. They believe it would strengthen the realm, secure new alliances, and ensure that our house remains strong." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "But it’s not just that. They’ve also been pressing me to find matches for you and Rhaenyra."

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. The idea of your father remarrying wasn’t entirely unexpected—politically, it made sense, and you knew the council was always looking for ways to solidify the crown’s position. But hearing him admit it aloud, and then to include you and Rhaenyra in the same breath, caught you off guard.

Viserys continued, clearly trying to gauge your reaction. "They may be right," he said quietly, though his tone was far from certain. "You’ve been away for years, often in skirmishes and battles. If something were to happen to you…"

He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. You could see the unspoken fear in his eyes—the fear of losing you, just as he had lost Aemma, just as he had lost others. It was a fear that had haunted him for years, and now, with you finally home, it seemed to have taken on a new urgency.

Viserys placed his face in his hands, his fingers pressing against his temples as if trying to push the thoughts away. "You should marry, Y/N. You should have children. It’s what’s expected of you, and it’s what will secure our house’s position."

You felt a surge of frustration, the words stinging more than you cared to admit. "I’ve only just returned, Father," you replied, trying to keep your tone measured. "I’ve spent years away, doing my duty to the realm. And now that I’m finally home, you want to talk about marriage and heirs?"

Viserys looked up at you, his expression one of weary resolve. "I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s something you must consider. You’re the heir to the Iron Throne, Y/N. Your duty doesn’t end with battle. It extends to the future of our house, to the legacy you will leave behind."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you tried to process what he was saying. You understood the importance of your position, of course—you had been raised to understand it from the moment you could walk. But the thought of being thrust into marriage and fatherhood so soon after returning home felt overwhelming, as if the expectations of the realm were suffocating you before you’d even had a chance to breathe.

"And what of Rhaenyra?" you asked, shifting the conversation slightly. "She will hate this when she hears it."

Viserys’s face softened, a look of genuine concern crossing his features. "I know," he admitted, his voice heavy with the weight of his own doubts. "And I’m even more terrified to bring this subject up with her. Rhaenyra has always been strong-willed, and she’s never been one to accept her fate without a fight."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the tension in the room. "That’s an understatement," you said, the image of Rhaenyra’s fiery spirit flashing through your mind. "She’ll have more than a few things to say about this."

Viserys allowed himself a small, weary smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "She’s my daughter, and I love her dearly, but this is something she must face, just as you must. The future of our House depends on it."

You leaned against the edge of the table, folding your arms across your chest as you considered his words. The future of the house—those were heavy words, words that carried the weight of centuries, of dragons, of kings and queens who had fought and bled to keep the Targaryen name alive. But they were also words that had driven you away, into battlefields and borderlands where you could escape the suffocating pressure of the throne, if only for a little while.

"I understand, Father," you said finally, your voice quiet but steady. "But I need time. I’ve just come back, and I need time to find my footing again, to figure out what my place here is."

Viserys nodded, his expression softening as he saw the conflict in your eyes. "Take the time you need, Y/N. But don’t forget that time is a luxury we don’t always have. The realm will not wait forever."

You nodded in return, knowing that he was right. The realm, the throne, the legacy of House Targaryen—they were all forces that moved with or without your consent, and sooner or later, you would have to face them head-on.

But for now, at least, you would take the time you needed to adjust to being home, to reconnect with Rhaenyra and your father, and to figure out what the future might hold—not just for you, but for the entire Targaryen legacy.

As you left your father’s chambers, the weight of his words still heavy on your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder how Rhaenyra would react when she heard about the council’s pressure to find matches for the both of you. Knowing your sister, it would be a conversation filled with fire and defiance, and you would have to navigate it carefully.

But that was a problem for another day. For now, you would focus on the present, on the here and now, and on the family you had fought so hard to return to. The future could wait—at least for a little while.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a haven of tranquility amidst the bustle of King’s Landing, a place where the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze offered a brief respite from the weight of courtly duties. Rhaenyra and Alicent often found solace here, escaping to the quiet paths and shaded alcoves where they could be themselves, free from the expectations that came with their titles.

This afternoon, the two friends strolled along a cobblestone path lined with vibrant roses, their conversation light and filled with laughter. The sunlight filtered through the leaves above, casting dappled patterns on the ground as they moved deeper into the gardens. It was a rare moment of peace, one that both young women cherished in the midst of the growing pressures that surrounded them.

Alicent, ever the gentle and thoughtful companion, was telling Rhaenyra a story she had overheard from one of the maids about a particularly clumsy lord who had nearly tripped over his own feet during a dance at court. The tale had them both giggling, their spirits lightened by the absurdity of it all.

As the laughter began to fade, Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra with a playful glint in her eye, her voice taking on a teasing tone. "So, Rhaenyra, do you think your brother will ever find himself a lady as graceful as Silverwing to keep him company?"

Rhaenyra, who had been reaching out to touch a delicate flower, paused mid-motion, the question catching her off guard. She turned to Alicent, her brow furrowing slightly. "Why would you joke about that, Alicent? Y/N isn’t even considering taking a wife right now. As far as I know, Silverwing is the only lady in his life."

Alicent noticed the slight edge in her friend’s voice and hesitated, her own smile faltering. She hadn’t meant to strike a nerve, but Rhaenyra’s reaction had been stronger than expected. "I didn’t mean to upset you, Rhaenyra," Alicent said softly, her tone apologetic. "I was only teasing. But… would it be so terrible for your brother to find himself a match?"

Rhaenyra’s initial irritation bubbled over into a snort, her gaze flicking away from Alicent as she tried to deflect the question. "What does it matter if he finds a match or not? He has more important things to think about than marriage, and so do I."

But even as she spoke, Rhaenyra felt the sting of the memory from six days ago, after she and her brother had raced their dragons. The moment when they had tumbled together on the ground, laughing until the laughter had died away and something far more intense had filled the space between them. The almost kiss that had haunted her every night since, replaying in her mind, tormenting her more than she was willing to admit even to herself.

The fact that her brother had never brought it up again—had acted as though nothing had happened—only added to her frustration. Did it mean nothing to him? Or was he just as conflicted as she was, choosing to bury the memory rather than confront it? The thought made her chest tighten with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, one that made her both angry and confused.

Alicent, watching Rhaenyra closely, could sense the turmoil beneath her friend’s words, even if she didn’t fully understand its source. "Rhaenyra," she began gently, trying to ease the tension she felt growing between them, "I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I worry about you, and about him. You’re both under so much pressure, and I only want to see you happy."

Rhaenyra forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "We’re fine, Alicent. Truly. There’s no need to worry about us."

But Alicent wasn’t easily dissuaded. She hesitated for a moment, then asked tentatively, "Has your brother ever talked to you about… about whether he’s interested in anyone? About what he might want in a companion?"

Rhaenyra’s smile faded entirely, replaced by a flicker of irritation. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her brother’s potential romantic interests, especially when her own feelings were so conflicted. "I don’t want to talk about Y/N anymore," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argument.

Alicent blinked in surprise, taken aback by the sudden shift in Rhaenyra’s demeanor. "Of course," she said quickly, her voice soft and conciliatory. "I’m sorry, Rhaenyra. I didn’t mean to pry."

Rhaenyra sighed, her irritation beginning to ebb away as she saw the look of concern on Alicent’s face. She knew her friend meant well, but the topic was too fraught, too complicated for her to discuss, even with someone as close as Alicent. "It’s not your fault," she admitted, her tone softer now. "There are just… things I don’t want to think about right now."

Alicent nodded, understanding that some topics were better left alone. She reached out and gently squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "Then we won’t talk about it anymore. Let’s just enjoy the gardens and forget about everything else, even if it’s just for a little while."

Rhaenyra returned the smile, grateful for the change of subject. "Yes, let’s."

The two friends continued their walk through the gardens, the earlier tension slowly dissipating as they moved on to lighter topics—memories of their childhood, amusing stories from the court, and plans for the upcoming festivals. But even as Rhaenyra laughed and talked, her mind kept drifting back to her brother, to the unspoken tension that had been simmering between them since that day in the Dragonpit.

She couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Was he as troubled by what had happened as she was? Or had he simply chosen to bury it, to pretend it never happened, as he seemed to be doing? The thought of him being so unaffected by it made her chest ache, though she wasn’t sure if it was from hurt or anger.

As the afternoon wore on, Rhaenyra found herself growing more and more restless, her thoughts in turmoil. She knew she would have to confront these feelings eventually, but for now, she pushed them down, determined to enjoy the time with Alicent, to hold on to the simplicity of their friendship, even as the complexities of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

And though she didn’t voice it, the thought of her brother finding a match, of him being with someone else, brought a twist of something dark and unwelcome in her heart—something she wasn’t ready to name or confront just yet.

For now, she would let it lie, unresolved and unspoken, just as he seemed to be doing. But deep down, she knew it wouldn’t stay buried forever.

The evening was quiet in your chambers, the only sound the soft scrape of cloth against steel as you carefully cleaned your ancestral sword, Blackfyre. The blade gleamed in the flickering candlelight, its edge sharp and true, a testament to the craftsmanship that had forged it and to the many battles it had seen. The sword had been by your side through countless skirmishes, a symbol of the legacy you carried and the duty that weighed heavily upon your shoulders.

As you moved the cloth over the blade, your thoughts drifted, as they so often did, to the burdens that came with being the heir to the Iron Throne. The expectations, the responsibilities, the constant need to prove yourself—it was a weight you had carried for as long as you could remember. And now, with the council’s pressure to find a match and secure the future of House Targaryen, that weight felt heavier than ever.

But there was something else, something that lingered at the edges of your mind, refusing to be pushed aside. It was the memory of that day with Rhaenyra in the Dragonpit, the moment when laughter had turned to something else entirely, something that neither of you had spoken of since. You tried to push it away, to bury it deep within yourself, but it kept resurfacing at the strangest times, like now, as you sat alone in your chambers.

With a frustrated sigh, you set the sword down on the table, running a hand through your hair as you tried to clear your mind. But the memory persisted, and with it came a flood of emotions that you struggled to contain. You knew you couldn’t afford to dwell on it, not with everything else that demanded your attention, but it was easier said than done.

In an effort to distract yourself, your thoughts drifted back to a different time, to a memory that had been both terrifying and transformative—one that had shaped you in ways you were only now beginning to understand.

You were seven years old, and your family had traveled to Dragonstone for a short stay. It was a place of ancient power and beauty, a fortress carved from the volcanic rock of the island, with the ever-present sea crashing against its shores. You had always been drawn to the wildness of the place, to the sense of freedom that came with being so close to the elements.

On that particular day, you had managed to slip away from your mother and your three-year-old sister, Rhaenyra. It wasn’t the first time you had wandered off on your own, and it wouldn’t be the last. Even at that young age, you had a restless spirit, always eager to explore, to push the boundaries of what was expected of you.

You had made your way down to the shores, where the black rocks jutted out into the sea like the teeth of some great beast. The waves were fierce that day, the wind whipping at your hair as you scrambled over the rocks, feeling invincible in the way that only a child can. The sea was both a challenge and a companion, its roar filling your ears as you ventured further along the rocky shore.

But then, in an instant, everything changed. Your foot slipped on a slick patch of rock, and before you knew it, you were tumbling down, down into the cold, unforgiving embrace of the sea. The waves, so beautiful and exhilarating from the safety of the shore, now became your enemy, pulling you deeper into the current, dragging you away from the land.

You struggled, panic flooding your young mind as the water closed over your head. You kicked and flailed, but the sea was stronger, relentless in its pull. Salt water filled your mouth and lungs as you gasped for air that wasn’t there. The world above, the sky, the cliffs, everything began to fade as the dark, cold water claimed you.

In that moment, you thought you were going to die. The terror of it was overwhelming, the realization that you were utterly powerless against the force of the sea. You could feel yourself sinking, your small body growing weaker as the blackness closed in around you.

But then, just as the last of your strength was ebbing away, a shadow passed over you. You didn’t see it at first, your vision blurred by the water and the darkness, but you felt it—the rush of water displaced by something massive moving through the sea.

And then, with a suddenness that took your breath away (what little breath you had left), you were lifted from the water, the force of it almost knocking you unconscious. But instead of the crushing weight of the sea, you felt the cool, leathery skin of something far larger than you could comprehend.

It was Silverwing.

She had come for you, your bond with her stronger even than the pull of the sea. You felt her claws wrap around you, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull you free of the water’s grasp. She soared upward, her great wings beating against the air as she lifted you out of the depths and into the open sky.

The cold air hit your face, shocking your senses back to life as Silverwing flew over the beach and deposited you onto the shore. You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring your lungs and sending a rush of salt water spewing from your mouth. Silverwing nudged you with her massive head, her breath hot and insistent as she pushed you, rolled you over and over on the beach until you vomited up the seawater that had clogged your lungs.

You were coughing, sputtering, but alive, the blackness retreating as you drew in deep, desperate breaths of air. Your body was trembling, soaked to the bone, but the warmth of Silverwing’s presence beside you, her protective nudges, kept you grounded.

And then, through the fog of your disoriented mind, you heard voices—frantic, terrified voices, calling your name.

Your father, Viserys, was the first to reach you, his face pale with fear as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he checked you over. "Gods, Y/N," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "What were you thinking? What were you doing?"

Before you could answer, your mother, Aemma, rushed forward, tears streaming down her face as she dropped to her knees beside you. She pulled you into her arms, holding you so tightly that it almost hurt, her sobs shaking her entire body.

"Y/N… my baby," she cried, her voice breaking with relief and anguish. "You’re alive… you’re alive…"

You were too shocked, too overwhelmed to say anything, your small body trembling as you clung to your mother. The terror of what had just happened still lingered in your mind, the memory of the cold, dark water threatening to pull you back under. But the warmth of your mother’s embrace, the sound of her voice, and the presence of your family around you began to soothe the fear.

Ser Harrold Westerling and the rest of the Kingsguard arrived moments later, their armor clanking as they surrounded you, their faces a mixture of relief and concern. But all you could focus on was the way your mother held you, her hands gently stroking your hair, her voice murmuring reassurances as if to convince herself that you were really there, really safe.

Viserys, his own hands still trembling, placed a hand on Silverwing’s massive head, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thank the gods for you, Silverwing," he said softly. "You saved my son… you saved him."

Silverwing, for her part, let out a low, rumbling purr, her eyes fixed on you as if she understood exactly what had just happened. She had always been more than just a dragon to you—she was your protector, your companion, your bondmate in ways that went beyond simple words. In that moment, you knew that you would be connected to her for life, that the bond between you was forged in something far deeper than mere loyalty.

Aemma pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face hovering inches from yours as she searched your eyes, her own filled with a mixture of relief and lingering fear. "Don’t you ever… ever do that again," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can’t lose you, Y/N. I can’t…"

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to speak, but you understood. The fear in her voice, the desperation in her eyes—it was the same fear that had gripped you when you were under the water, the same fear that had almost consumed you. But now, held close in your mother’s arms, surrounded by your family and the warmth of Silverwing’s presence, you knew that you were safe.

The memory of that day had stayed with you, a reminder of both the fragility of life and the strength of the bonds that held you to those you loved. It was a day that had shaped you in ways you hadn’t fully understood at the time, but now, as you sat in your chambers, polishing your sword and reflecting on the past, you began to see it more clearly.

The fear you had felt that day, the desperation, the longing for safety—it was something you carried with you still. But it was also balanced by the strength of your connection with Silverwing, with your family, with the responsibilities that had been placed on your shoulders. You had faced death and survived, and you had done so with the help of those who loved you.

As you set the sword aside, the memory of that day lingered in your mind, a reminder of how far you had come since then. You were no longer that frightened child, lost in the waves, but a man who had faced many battles and had come through them stronger.

But even so, there were still battles to be fought, both on the field and within your own heart.

The memory of that fateful day on Dragonstone still lingered in your mind, a haunting echo of a time when life had been simpler, when the weight of the world hadn’t yet settled on your shoulders. You let out a slow breath, your thoughts tangled between the past and the present, when suddenly the door to your chambers swung open with a force that startled you out of your reverie.

Without so much as a knock or a word from the guards outside, your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, strode into the room with his characteristic swagger. He moved with the confidence of a man who had little regard for protocol or propriety, his presence filling the chamber with an almost palpable energy. Daemon had always been like that—a force of nature, impossible to ignore and equally impossible to fully understand.

You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his entrance, as you watched him cross the room without hesitation. Daemon didn’t bother with pleasantries or explanations; he simply took the seat opposite you, stretching out with a casual ease as if this were his own chambers and not yours. His sharp eyes flicked over you, taking in your posture and the expression on your face, and you could tell he was sizing you up, as he often did.

"Brooding again, are we?" Daemon’s voice was laced with that familiar mix of sarcasm and genuine curiosity, his words half a jest and half a challenge.

You shook your head, still smiling as you met his gaze. "Just feeling contemplative this evening, Uncle."

Daemon snorted, a sound that was half-amused, half-derisive. "Contemplative? Sounds like any other evening for you, then."

You chuckled softly, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Perhaps. But it’s harder than I thought, just sitting here, doing nothing. I’m not used to it."

Daemon nodded, a knowing glint in his eye. "Aye, I know the feeling well. The silence can be deafening when you’re accustomed to action." He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning conspiratorial. "Tell you what, nephew—why don’t we take a little trip into the city? Just the two of us, Targaryen princes lost to anonymity in the Streets of Silk. Could do you some good, get your mind off whatever’s plaguing you."

You looked up at Daemon, considering the offer. There was a certain appeal to the idea—escaping the confines of the Red Keep, losing yourself in the bustling, chaotic streets of King’s Landing where no one knew your name or cared about your title. It was a temptation you had indulged in before, though not as often as Daemon.

But tonight… tonight, something held you back. Perhaps it was the weight of the thoughts that had been troubling you, or perhaps it was the sense that this evening needed to be one of reflection rather than distraction.

You sighed and shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "I think I’ll have to decline this time, Uncle."

Daemon rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curled into a wry smile. "Ah, as usual then. You’re acting like a prude, Y/N." There was no real malice in his words, just the familiar teasing that had defined much of your relationship with him.

You couldn’t help but jest in return. "And you’re acting like a scoundrel, as usual."

Daemon laughed, a short, sharp bark of sound that filled the room. "That’s the spirit!" He leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with mischief, but there was something else there too—something more serious, lurking beneath the surface.

The laughter faded, and a more comfortable silence settled between you. It was a silence born of years of shared experiences, of battles fought side by side, and of the unspoken understanding that came with being part of the same powerful, often tumultuous family.

After a moment, you decided to steer the conversation away from the city and toward something that had been on your mind. "Shouldn’t you be with your wife in the Vale, Uncle? I’d imagine the Lady Rhea might be missing you."

Daemon’s expression darkened at the mention of his wife, and he scoffed dismissively. "My place is here, Y/N. By my brother’s side, and yours, for that matter. My ‘Bronze Bitch’ can wait. The Vale has no need of me, and I have no desire to return to that dreary place."

You knew better than to press him further on the matter of his marriage. Daemon’s disdain for Lady Rhea Royce was no secret, and it was a topic that never failed to put him in a foul mood. So you let it drop, focusing instead on the bond you shared as members of House Targaryen.

The silence stretched on for a while longer, the flickering light of the candles casting long shadows across the room. Daemon’s demeanor shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words carefully, something that was rare for him.

When he finally spoke, his tone was serious, devoid of the usual sarcasm and bravado. "Listen to me, nephew," he said quietly, leaning forward once more. "If you don’t take matters into your own hands, they’ll do to you what they’ve done to me. They’ll marry you off to some woman of their choosing, bind you to a fate not of your making. The lords and the council—they’re vultures, all of them. They’ll pick at your bones if you let them."

You met his gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. Daemon’s warning was not without merit. You had seen how the council operated, how they maneuvered and manipulated to achieve their ends. And while you had always tried to walk the line between duty and personal freedom, there was no denying that your position as the heir to the Iron Throne made you a target for their schemes.

You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his warning. "I know, Uncle. I know."

Daemon studied you for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge whether his words had truly sunk in. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair, his usual nonchalance returning as he headed toward the door. "If you change your mind about the city, you know where to find me," he said over his shoulder, his tone lighter now.

You watched him go, a mixture of gratitude and resignation settling in your chest. Daemon had always been a paradox—fiercely loyal to his family, yet constantly challenging the boundaries set by that same family. His advice, though often wrapped in cynicism and rebellion, came from a place of experience and hard-earned wisdom.

As the door closed behind him, the silence of your chambers returned, more profound now after Daemon’s departure. You sat there for a long moment, the weight of his words echoing in your mind, along with the memories and thoughts that had been troubling you all evening.

You knew that decisions would have to be made, that the future of House Targaryen rested on your shoulders in more ways than one. But for now, you let yourself sit in the quiet, contemplating the path that lay ahead, knowing that whatever choices you made, they would have to be yours and yours alone.

And as the candlelight flickered and the shadows danced across the walls, you couldn’t help but feel the pull of destiny, the ever-present weight of the dragon’s legacy, urging you forward into a future that was as uncertain as it was inevitable.

The corridors of the Red Keep were quiet as the night deepened, the usual bustle of the court replaced by the stillness that only came with the late hour. The tower of the Hand, where Lord Otto Hightower resided, was dimly lit by flickering torches, their light casting long, wavering shadows along the stone walls. Alicent Hightower moved through the halls with a sense of trepidation, her steps hesitant as she approached her father’s chambers.

She knew this conversation was inevitable. Her father had been pressuring her for weeks now, urging her to secure the attention of Prince Y/N, to make herself indispensable in the eyes of the Targaryen heir. But despite her efforts, the prince remained distant, polite but uninterested in anything more than the friendship she shared with his sister, Rhaenyra.

As Alicent reached the door to her father’s study, she paused, taking a deep breath before knocking softly. A moment later, Otto’s voice called from within, stern and unmistakable.

“Enter.”

Alicent pushed the door open and stepped inside, the warmth of the room hitting her as she crossed the threshold. The study was lined with shelves of books and scrolls, the accumulated knowledge of a lifetime spent in service to the crown. Otto Hightower stood by the window, his back to her as he looked out over the darkened city. The atmosphere in the room was tense, and Alicent could feel her father’s displeasure even before he turned to face her.

“Alicent,” Otto began, his voice cold and sharp. “I’m disappointed in you.”

The words cut deeper than any blade, and Alicent’s heart sank. She had always sought to please her father, to earn his approval, but tonight, it seemed she had failed once again. She clasped her hands in front of her, her fingers twisting nervously as she tried to find the right words.

“Father,” she said softly, “I’ve tried. I’ve done everything you asked of me. But the prince… he doesn’t seem to be interested in me.”

Otto turned away from the window, his expression hard and unforgiving. “And why is that, Alicent? Why does he remain indifferent to you when you’ve had every opportunity to make an impression?”

Alicent bit her lip, her eyes dropping to the floor. She didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know what more she could do to capture the prince’s attention. She had tried to be charming, to be kind, to show herself as a worthy companion. But Y/N was always distant, always polite but never more than that.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t know what else I can do. He seems… distracted, preoccupied with other things.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his displeasure growing. “Other things? Other things? Alicent, you are not some ordinary lady of the court. You are the daughter of the Hand of the King, and it is your duty to secure the future of our house. If the prince is distracted, then it is your job to make him see that you are what he needs, what he cannot live without.”

Alicent felt a lump forming in her throat, the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her. She had always known that her position in court came with responsibilities, but the reality of it—the cold, calculated nature of her father’s plans—was something she struggled to accept.

“But Father,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “how can I force him to feel something he doesn’t? I’ve tried to be everything you’ve asked, but… he doesn’t see me that way.”

Otto’s expression hardened further, his patience wearing thin. He crossed the room to stand before her, his gaze piercing. “Then you must try harder, Alicent. You must be more than just a friend to his sister, more than just a kind face at court. You must make him see that you are the answer to the pressures he faces, the companion he needs to navigate the treacherous waters of this court.”

Alicent’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back, determined not to show weakness in front of her father. She wanted to protest, to say that it wasn’t fair, that she shouldn’t have to manipulate someone’s feelings in this way. But she knew it would be pointless. Otto Hightower was a man who valued results, not excuses, and his ambitions for their family left no room for sentimentality.

“I understand, Father,” she said quietly, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’ll do better. I’ll find a way to make him see me.”

Otto’s expression softened, but only slightly. He placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture that was more commanding than comforting. “Good. Remember, Alicent, the future of our house depends on you. Do not let anything stand in the way of that.”

Alicent nodded, though her heart ached with the weight of his words. She knew what was expected of her, knew the stakes involved. But as she turned to leave, the coldness of the task ahead filled her with a sense of dread. How could she make the prince see her, when all she wanted was to be seen for who she truly was, not for the role her father had assigned her?

As she left the tower and made her way back to her chambers, Alicent couldn’t shake the feeling that she was losing herself in her father’s ambitions, that each step she took toward securing Y/N’s favor was a step away from the person she wanted to be.

But what choice did she have? In the world of the court, where every move was scrutinized and every action had consequences, she knew that failure was not an option. She would have to find a way to win the prince’s attention, to secure her place in his life, no matter the cost.

And as she lay down that night, staring up at the ceiling, the weight of her father’s words pressed down on her like a suffocating blanket, leaving her with a sense of foreboding that she couldn’t quite shake.

#house of the dragon #hotd x male reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen

273 notes · View notes

moonydustx · 1 year ago

Text

Can I be your favorite?

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

Summary: In search of information, Law meets an archaeologist who brings all his insecurities and jealousies to the surface. Warnings: porn with practically no plot, explicit content, smut, jealousy, possessiveness, almost declarations of love. Law and F!Reader already have a "relationship" (depending on your point of view, it could even be part of A not so funny story). Despite bringing some canonical details, it diverges a little from the story. A/N: a few days ago an edit with this song appeared on my fy and it just stuck in my head and this idea came to me. Minors do not interact | +18 only

Requests open | one piece masterlist

Law seemed increasingly interested in the search for the Poneglyphs. It was the third island you visited that he knew where to find certain information. This time, only you and him disembarked from Polar Tang, the justification was that it would be something quick, just finding an informant.

You just didn't expect such information to be with an archaeologist. A beautiful, blonde and hot archaeologist. Law had already told you about her and how fame preceded her, how she liked to use men to her advantage and pleasure. That immediately set off an alert in your mind.

"What is she doing here?" was the first thing the woman said when she saw you entering the bar, which was the meeting point. "From what I remember, I said I would exchange the information in exchange for you coming alone, Mr. Surgeon of Death."

"You'd trade the information for money, Arine." he corrected her. "She's the strategist of my crew, I need her in these types of meetings."

The woman turned her nose in your direction and took Law by one of her arms, leading him into the bar. Just by the atmosphere of the place you knew that the woman had a certain influence there. Glances – both drawn and protective – danced around Arine. In a way, it made you feel out of place, it was as if you had the wrong clothes, the wrong hair, everything wrong, just a mere figure following the two of them.

At one of the tables further back, the woman sat down, almost merging her body with Law's, forcing you to sit on the opposite side. You even tried to avoid it, but her meek tone of voice and the hands that made a point of touching Law in every gap made a gray cloud of jealousy appear in you. As much as you ended your nights in the captain's room and were woken up by his kisses, you knew that nothing had been established. He was free to even be with the disgusting blonde in front of you.

Law, on the other hand, noticed the ignorance of the woman in your direction. The unwanted touches on him, Arine's provocative voice, but the information she brought matched what he was looking for, besides the fact that if he disagreed with the woman and ended up getting into an argument he would be putting both of you at risk.

"So..." the blonde's voice sounded more irritating than usual. "I don't believe you came just looking for information. The island is huge, I believe there is a favorite thing for you to do." even from across the table, you could see her throw her legs over Law's. "Or someone's favorite."

"My favorite thing here is you and the information you can give." he spoke harshly, immediately noticing the unfortunate choice of words.

That was the limit for you. Okay, there was no way she could know the history between the two of you, but you weren't obligated to watch Law make the slightest effort to get out of that situation. Your hands slammed harder than you expected against the table as soon as you stood up, attracting both of their attention.

"I'm going to get a drink." your eyes remained fixed on Law's and soon you turned your back to both of them.

Law could read the jealousy in your eyes as soon as you walked away, he knew he would need to invest his time in correcting it. He watched Arine get up and call you. He could have sworn you would kill the woman right then and there.

"You there." Arine poked your shoulder. "Get a drink..." she started, speaking louder so everyone would think everything was okay. "And get out of here. I believe that my Law is not very comfortable in the presence of his employees. You are hindering my efforts to taste him."

"What?" your voice came from your lips in disbelief. It wasn't possible that you were listening to that, as much as you wanted to finish her off, your priority was to help Law with the Poneglyphs. "Yes ma'am."

You turned your back on her and went to the bar, ordering a dose of whatever strong shit they could offer you. You wanted to disappear, just erase your mere and insignificant existence at that moment. A hand touched your waist and you looked hopeless. Just another asshole in that place.

Law watched Arine return, with a malicious smile on her lips and throw her body on top of him again. His body tensed with hatred at each touch from the woman. You wouldn't touch him like that in public, why would she have any right?

"Where do we stop?" she asked and before Law could respond, he watched a man approach you and touch your waist.

"I need to go." Law started to get up, but was stopped by the woman.

"Don't worry about your pet, my man will take good care of her. Even simple little things like her deserve a good night." Arine said close to his ear. "I have a hotel a few meters away, we can have our good night there."

Law only lasted a few seconds of the woman speaking, while the scene unfolded in front of him. The man remained glued to you, his hand remained on your waist but the disgust was clear in your eyes. Law was tired of it. He turned towards Arine and, pretending to fall for her charms, he ran his hand down the woman's leg.

"Is he your trusted man?"

"The best I have." she replied, proud of finally making Law give in. "Your little pet will like it." His hands went down to Arine's calves and as soon as he reached the small dagger he had seen hidden in her boot, he pulled it out and stuck it on the table. Soon after, Law allowed his powers to create a blue beam on his hand and the sharp object.

"Get him away from her now." Law snapped. Anyone watching from afar would never have imagined that he was about to kill a man. "I'd hate to have this show up instead of his necklace."

The woman whistled and snapped her finger twice and the man released you immediately, to Law's relief. Maybe you weren't the only person who let yourself be consumed by jealousy.

"You value your pet too much."

Law took the knife from the table and brought it to the girl's throat, noticing that the bar immediately stopped to watch them.

"Keep her out of your damn mouth." Law threw the dagger on the table and took out a small bag of berris from his pocket. "Our treaty ends here."

"It is a shame." the woman handed him a small card. By damn irony, it was the same hotel you two were at. "Come see me if you change your mind."

Law left the woman talking to herself and looked around the bar. You were gone. He considered returning the dagger to the woman's throat and asking if she had anything to do with it, but something told him no. The only answer he had was that you had gone to your base point, the hotel.

After flirting, asking you to go somewhere else and even threatening you because the man had a "job to do", just like that the man let you go. Trying not to understand the situation and moving away from that madhouse that was the bar, Arine and all the idiots involved, you returned to the hotel.

The first thing you did was take off your shoes. Why get ready for a damn meeting? Just Arine's presence made it clear that you were no match. You couldn't stop thinking about where Law could be, what the two of them could be doing. "My only favorite thing here is you" Law's words were still echoing in your mind when you heard a few knocks on the door.

Without bothering to think, you opened it, finding Law apparently without much patience.

"Are you ok?" he asked, entering the room.

The hurt consumed you and seemed to suffocate the angry words that surfaced and died in your lack of courage. But despite everything, he was still there and not with her.

"May I ask why you're pouting?" Law closed the door behind him, watching you cross the room and sit on the bed.

The sight of you with your arms crossed and a pout - just like a tantruming child - was cute but it was clear that something was bothering you and Law knew exactly what it was. He just wanted to press your buttons and see how far your hatred for Arine would go or if something had actually happened and he would need to start a hunt.

"I'm not pouting." As much as you wanted to go on a silence strike, you knew it would be immature - and maybe even wrong.

"Now you're doing even more." a barely audible laugh left his lips. The man placed Kikoku against the door and started to watch you. "I think I have a hunch what this is about."

"Of course, dear Arine must have told you." the venom in your voice gave away everything Law needed to know.

"Why did you disappear? Did that idiot do something?"

"I hated that place." you just responded, finding Law looking at you in a worried way.

"Not what I asked."

"Long story short, he wanted to fuck me, but I'm not that good."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Captain, I don't want to talk about it." You stood up, heading towards the door but a hand stopped you from continuing. "Besides, you should be wasting time with Arine."

"Are you really going to fall for her conversation?"

"I heard you." you just said. "Your favorite girl, in fact, she's the one who asked me to leave. You wouldn't feel comfortable with her "tasting" you in front of your employees." you imitated her tone of voice.

The cynicism in your voice as well as the bright line in the waterline of your eyes created an alert in the doctor's mind. Perhaps Arine's manipulation had gone too far, Law was beginning to consider it a bad idea to have given in - or at least pretended - that the woman's charms didn't even come close to what you did to him. His hand let go of yours, only to let you reach the door. Before your hand touched the doorknob, it was covered by Law's, which locked the door. He needed to make it up to you and he didn't want to be interrupted by it.

"Please don't do that. I hated her as much as you did." he turned you around, coming face to face with you. "There's no need to be jealous. What can I do to make it up to you?"

"I don't know." you let your face fall to the side his hand touched you, appreciating the small gesture. Law could manipulate you however he wanted, you would gladly accept it. "I just wanted to be pretty like her. You know, be your favorite."

Law could have replied that you were the most beautiful woman there - and for him, in all the seas, but he preferred other methods to convince you. Not allowing much time for you to continue mumbling, his body pressed against yours, his hand cupped your face and his lips collided with yours. His tongue passed under your lips, causing you to open them and give Law space to take you. It was like a fight for air and to ward off all those bad feelings that night had brought you. Impetuously Law invaded your mouth, purred against your lips, finally after that horrible night he could take you.

Your hands reached his shirt and unbuttoned it button by button, throwing it to some deserted corner of the small room. Wetness accumulated in your intimacy as you allowed your hands to pass over Law's abdomen, going down until you found a hard volume. Your fingers began to press against him, drawing small patterns on the tip of his dick.

"Do you want to taste it? You know, only you can." he whispered, hearing a please escape your lips. "Get on your knees."

You promptly followed his orders. Feeling your hands itch, you placed them on his thighs and allowed your lips to run along the coarse fabric of his jeans. In your field of vision you can see two tattooed hands unbuttoning the piece without any rush. Law watched your lips change the fabric of your jeans for the black underwear that covered them.

"Are you that eager?" again, the same low tone, the same teasing behind his voice.

His cock appeared in your field of vision and in a slow counterpoint to your anxiety, your tongue just slowly slid along its entire length, from base to tip. One of your hands reached the base, giving you space to cup his balls in your lips. Law's hand that was holding him against the door went down to his cock, taking it from your lips.

"Don't be mean." He pointed the tip at you, sliding it over your lips. "Do you remember how to ask it to stop?" He took one of your hands and placed it on his leg again. Two beats: a pause for breath, three beats: stop immediately.

You just nodded, opening your mouth and batting your eyelashes in Law's direction. The innocent look, the anxiety that was clear in you, the invasion was sudden, Law had already put up with too much of your provocation. His hand joined your hair, pushing you against the wall as he thrust deep into your throat, starting slowly and quickly increasing the speed.

"Is that what you want?" the tattooed fingers got even more tangled in your hair "It's only yours, take it all in"

The air seemed increasingly rarefied and your eyes stung with some involuntary tears at the same time you could feel your panties getting even wetter and your voice producing involuntary moans, your body reacted to the grunts coming from the man above you. Your eyes met Law's and you found one of the most beautiful scenes you had ever seen. A little sweat accumulated on his face, his chest rose and fell euphorically and his eyes focused on you. As if it were still possible, Law, noticing your gaze lost in theirs, stuck his dick even deeper into your throat.

"Fucking beautiful." he murmured, taking his dick out of you and watching you catch your lost breath. With his hands still stuck in your hair, he pulled you to your feet again. "The most beautiful woman, all mine."

One of the few remaining tears ran down your face and you felt it burn even more when Law slid his tongue over your cheek, licking it and erasing it from existence. All mine his voice whispered again. Leaving his clothes - and consequently you - behind, Law walked to the bed, sitting down and looking at you from afar. Even with the distance you could still see Law lost after you sucked him. His eyes danced over your body.

"Come here, take off your clothes for me, please." damn it. Hearing Law ask you for something silly, eyes still shining from watching you suck him was a little too much for you. You walked over to him, stopping between the man's legs. The first thing you took off was your blouse, followed shortly by the skirt and panties you were wearing.

"And you still ask if you're my favorite." Law murmured something that you suspected was just his thought, still trapped in a trance.

"Am I?" you used the same teasing tone he usually used, as he had just a few minutes ago. Your legs passed through Law's body, wrapping around his waist. Using equal strength for both of you, Law pulled you and lay down on the bed. “Law…” your warning tone appeared as you saw him pull you away from his dick, towards his face.

"My favorite, my only, the most beautiful..." he listed unpretentiously "What do you need to understand?" He started kissing your thighs, which were already around his cheeks. "Let me prove it to you."

Law pulled your hips down, your pussy falling over his lips. You had to suppress a scream when you felt his tongue travel all over your vulva, stopping at your clit. His hands settled on your thighs as you tried to roll against him, looking for more friction. The suppressed screams soon began to escape your lips in low moans every time you felt him slide his tongue inside you.

Law was usually methodical, he took as long as he needed to make you cum but now it was different. You could feel your even wetter pussy while Law grunting beneath you as squeezed you even tighter and sucked your clit without worrying about the mess made on his face. The precipice seemed just seconds away when he stopped, taking you off of him and placing you back on his hips. His lips were dripping with your honey as was his chin and your legs were still shaking from the orgasm that was behind you. Law's hand went up to his hair and took off the last piece of clothing on his body: the hat, placing it on your head.

"You know you are mine, just mine, just as I am yours." his hands slid over your breasts, going down and pulling your hips, fitting your entrance to his cock. "Ride me, take what's yours."

"Fuck Law." you moaned softly, feeling every inch of him fill you.

You could feel wet, but it was never enough when Law entered you. When you reach the base of his dick, you can feel him grunting along with you, his hands tightening the skin of your ass even more as his hips press into you.

You started slowly, your hands resting on Law's chest while your hips rose and fell millimeters, not wanting to move away from the feeling of being filled by him, of having every inch of your pussy filled. As the speed increased, your moans began to echo throughout the room and one of your hands involuntarily went up to your mouth, covering it.

"No, babe." Law pulled your hand and, with the other, held your two arms behind your back. "We're not in Polar Tang, I want to be able to hear you scream, at least today."

His feet planted themselves on the bed and Law began to move his hips against yours. He thrust hard, the noise of bodies coming together was as loud as your moans and you could also hear the words coming out louder and louder from his lips.

"Your little pussy is squeezing me so much, so good." He used one of his hands to find your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers and hearing you scream.

"Harder, please love." the word that escaped your lips worked as fuel for Law.

The hand holding your hands let go and your body fell against his chest. One of Law's tattooed hands got tangled in your hair while the other circled your back and attached itself to your waist. Sweet whispered nothings and screams of pure pleasure echoed throughout the room, leaving your lips and falling into Law's ears like pure delight.

"Fuck, cum for me babe" Law's lips found the sensitive spot below your ear. "I want to see my girl soak me."

The words were enough for you to feel your vision turn white and your body soften in Law's arms, while you used his name as a mantra. Without waiting for you to recover, Law held you on his lap, still inside you and took you to the nearest wall, starting to thrust into you mercilessly again.

"It's too much, please."

"Just a little more." Law murmured, his face stuck in the back of your neck, biting every piece of exposed skin. "Just give me one more."

"Damn, right there." Your voice was thin and broken, almost inaudible. Law hit the right spot inside you and in your limited field of vision, you could see the red tone on Law's skin just below your nails. "L-Law! I'm feeling something... Damn Law!"

Law could feel his dick getting wet as he watched you having a squirt that from your reaction he believed was the first time. His name sounded like the hottest thing he had ever heard and when he saw your pussy gushing he couldn't control himself and came, filling you with his seed, that would be a worry for later.

"I-I..." you started to speak to even that seemed too much for you, and you just let your head fall on his shoulder.

Feeling your body weak, Law guided you back to the bed, allowing you to lie against his body. The tattooed hands drew something invisible on your skin and your breathing was labored. "The wall... the neighbors..." you tried to list, still feeling weak. When you looked up to see if Law was listening to you, you found him smiling mischievously. "What are you thinking?"

"I heard we have an interesting neighbor here at the hotel." the pieces fell into place, making your face burn in embarrassment.

"She's going to hate me, even more."

"If it helps you, she already hated you." Law explained, caressing your cheek. "In the bar, she was the one who told that guy to talk to you."

"Ah, that doesn't make me feel any better. You mean a guy only hit on me because she asked?"

"What does that mean?" He seemed indignant and you quickly tried to correct yourself.

"I was already feeling ugly, that didn't make it much better."

"Do you need one more to understand how beautiful you are?" you knew exactly what Law was telling you about and you felt your face burn with shyness. "She's just a frustrated person, don't worry about anything she told you."

"Sour, damn blonde." you mumbled, earning a laugh from Law, who whispered your name softly, catching your attention.

"You know you're the only one, right?" he asked and you nodded. "And that you are amazing and beautiful."

"You're also the only one." his eyes followed your smile, as you snuggled into him. "And incredible, beautiful, strong. If I keep listing them, I'll end up putting you to sleep." you laughed, seeing Law acquire a more serious expression. "A coin for your thought"

"I-I... I lo..." he could remember what you had called him, he knew very well the feelings he had for you, but it seemed so difficult to bring them to the surface.

He still remembered when he allowed himself to actually feel that way for someone and watch those people leave him. Law knew he couldn't bear to see you go through the same thing. Taking him out of his daydreams and the speech stuck on his lips, you reached out to reach Law's forehead and place a small kiss, before then cuddling up to him again.

"I know. And so do I." you had your own fears, your own traumas and fears, you understood his fear.

For now it would be better this way, if your love remained between the two of you.

#fiction #reader insert #one piece #no use of y/n #requests open #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #law x you #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgardwaterlaw #mdni #smut #trafalgar one piece

681 notes · View notes

literaryvein-reblogs · 1 month ago

Note

Hello, I was curious if you have any information on writing a character that is an executioner. Specifically in the medieval times and if they were the royal/town executioner. Their role, anonymity vs. Being known, their livelihood, etc.

Writing Notes: Medieval Executioner

The duties expected of and performed by executioners, as well as what life was like for specific executioners, has varied wildly across time and regions.

How One Became an Executioner

Often, they were more a race of outcasts than a profession.

Many European Medieval executioners were former criminals.

The role of executioner was so unpopular that finding someone to do the job often required either forcing someone into the profession or

offering the gig to someone who was slated to be executed themselves.

In Germany, while “standing executioners on salary were the norm” throughout Germany during the 1600s, for many centuries prior to this it was commonplace to thrust the role of executioner upon a victim’s oldest male relative.

Scandinavian countries were known to make extensive use of this novel hiring practice, with a little twist thrown in - they’d maim executioners by cutting off one or both of their ears so that they could be easily identified by the public. It also wasn’t uncommon for people made executioners in this way to be branded somewhere on their head.

Negatives

Suffered profound prejudice and

ostracism, and consequently married largely within the executioner community. Due to the infamy attached to the profession, some families of executioners were essentially forced into interbreeding and sometimes even inbreeding (such as in France).

Being damned in the afterlife was the general consensus. This was despite the fact that in some regions, such as France, executioners were by official church decree absolved of the sins committed while performing their duties.

This still didn’t stop the general public from considering executioners unclean.

Often denied citizenship to the towns and cities they served (and thus had few rights in the town).

Largely barred from holding office or even entering churches, pubs, bathhouses, etc - basically most public establishments were off limits to the executioner.

Risk of being killed either by vengeful relatives or the crowd witnessing an execution. In regards to the latter, if an executioner was especially cruel in their meting out of punishment, simply incompetent to the point that they caused undue suffering, or just otherwise acted in an unprofessional manner in performing their duties, it wasn’t unheard of for a crowd to retaliate by killing the executioner on the spot, generally with no consequence to anyone in the mob.

Positives

They nevertheless possessed extraordinary privileges such as havage, a kind of tax that gave them the right to take a portion of food and drink from market vendors for free. This entitled them to seize a percentage of goods from every vendor in the marketplace with a tin spoon (so as not to subject the remaining produce to contamination).

They also collected tribute from their fellow pariahs, lepers and prostitutes.

They led lives of significant material comfort and privilege though reviled in every aspect of their daily life, particularly those from France's largest cities.

Customary for whatever property was worn at the time of death to be granted to the executioner throughout much of Medieval Europe.

Living Conditions

Throughout Medieval Europe, executioners were often forced to live in houses outside of the city or town they plied their trade in. In cases where this wasn’t possible, they tended to live near things like public latrines, lepertoriums, or brothels.

Paradoxically generally forced to live apart from that civilised society despite executioners being deemed critical for a society to remain civilised.

Common Types of Medieval Execution Methods

Beheading - One of the most honourable and least painful way to be executed in the Middle Ages. If a sharp enough axe was used, a person could be decapitated with one swift blow, allowing for an instantaneous death. Because of this, beheadings were often reserved for nobles, knights even royalty.

Boiling to Death - Usually reserved for poisoners, coin forgers and counterfeiters. It involved being flung into a cauldron of boiling water or oil and the accused would slowly scald to death.

Burning - To be "burned at the stake" was a common type of execution and was often given to people believed to be heretics or witches. Strapped onto a wooden stake and surrounded by branches, these were then lit and would slowly burn alive.

Crucifixion - Harking back to biblical times, crucifixion was also carried out throughout Medieval Europe. Crucifixion is to nail a person to a cross with their hands and feet and leave them there until they die. A very prolonged and of course painful way to die, it can take days and even up to a week for death to occur.

Crushing - Used both as torture and for execution, Medieval crushing involved placing the accused's head in a device that slowly crushed the top and sides of the head together. Eventually the eyes would pop out, skull would crack and the neck would break.

Hanging - One of the most well known forms of execution, traditional hanging was still very commonplace in the Middle Ages. Someone could be hung for various reasons, from the petty thief to an esteemed Nobleman. When hung with a trap door the neck would break allowing for a quick death but simply being hung could take minutes (sometimes longer) to die.

Hung, Strung and Quartered - Perhaps the most brutal of all execution methods. This was traditionally given to anyone found guilty of high treason. The culprit would be hung and just seconds before death released then disemboweled and their organs were then thrown into a fire - all while still alive. Once dead, they would then be cut into four pieces and traditionally have their body parts sent to four different parts of a city as a public warning to others.

Impalement - To be impaled (or stuck through) a large sharp object, such as a metal spear or pole and left to die. This corporal punishment was regarded as one of the most shocking public form of executions and was often given to suspected witches, women found guilty of infanticide and child molesters.

Sawing - The victim would be hung upside down and slowly sawn in half. If sawn all the way, they would die, but often the victim was only sawn up to the stomach and left to die, which could potentially take several days.

The Wheel - Or Catherine Wheel, involved the victim’s limbs being gradually broken while strapped onto a wheel and then left to die. Agonising, this form of execution could take days for the victim to die.

Other Jobs

For most, there simply weren’t enough executions to make ends meet. Alternate work was limited to jobs nobody else wanted. This included:

disposal of corpses (animal and human),

emptying cesspools,

collecting taxes from the diseased and prostitutes, etc.

Another common profession for a well trained executioner was that of a doctor and surgeon.

Beyond executing people, another thing executioners were often called to do was torture people for various reasons.

These two things, combined with the close-knit community of executioners sharing their knowledge amongst themselves, resulted in lifelong executioners generally having exceptional knowledge of human anatomy, and thus they were commonly called on to treat various medical maladies.

They earned extra money in the form of bribes from the condemned or their families.

It was invariably given in the hopes that the executioner would ensure death was as swift and painless as possible, or otherwise allow the condemned extra comforts leading up to the execution.

This might include, for example, slipping them extra alcohol or the like to make the execution a little easier to handle.

Executioners in Germany were frequently tasked with things like arbitrating disputes between prostitutes and driving lepers out of town, among other such jobs, all of which they could charge a premium for because nobody else was willing to do the job.

As a Character Trope

The portrayal of The Executioner in literature and other media

Someone tasked with killing prisoners or criminals sentenced to death by an official authority.

In some cases this person could also execute other corporal sentences such as whipping or chopping off limbs.

Subtypes

Alienated: Given their rapport with death, especially with death violently and voluntarily given, and even though they were nominally agents of justice, they were often shunned by the public. For this reason, they often appear masked.

Dynastic: The above factor oftentimes led to dynasties of executioners, since no one would give them relatives to marry and their children were often banned from doing other work, or training.

Tormented: They might be depicted as suffering anxiety due to them causing the death of other human beings or because of a particular convict they befriended, fell in love with or were convinced of their innocence.

Psychopath: Contrarily to the above factor, some might be depicted as bloodthirsty who enjoy the opportunity to kill people legally.

Professional: In a more moderate version of the above factor, others might be proud of their work, which they see as essential for a society.

Apathetic: Became stone-hearted because of their work.

Incompetent: Really bad at their jobs by being clueless, clumsy, and would likely botch the job even when successful.

Several subtypes could fit for each example.

Examples

In the year 1470, a poor thief stood at the foot of the gallows in the Swedish town Arboga and was waiting to be hanged. The public attending the spectacle had pity on the sinner and when he, to save his neck, offered to become executioner in the town, it was agreed. He was pardoned and the red-hot iron was used to brand his body with both thief and executioner mark.

The representation of executioners wearing hoods supposedly comes from the execution of Charles I of Britain, as no one wanted to be identified as the regicide.

The grand spectacle of capital punishment birthed an entirely new class in medieval France, bound by duty and blood. The executioner patrolled society’s margins and held court in the town square, where he “coaxed the meaning from the flesh of the condemned.” Executioners were both feared and reviled by the public, who they came into contact with only when carrying out their duties. From the early 13th century through the reformation of the penal code in 1791, the executioners of France lived a life apart, their clothing marked and their families ostracized.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, here are some information I found for you. There were many interesting details and examples I wasn't able to include, so you can find more in the sources above. Hope this helps with your writing!

#anonymous #medieval #character development #executioner #writeblr #writing reference #literature #dark academia #tropes #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writing prompt #history #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing ideas #writing resources

64 notes · View notes

whencyclopedia · 2 months ago

Photo

Underground Railroad: Pathways to Freedom

The Underground Railroad was a decentralized network of White abolitionists, free Blacks, former slaves, Mexicans, Native Americans, and others opposing slavery in the United States who established secret routes and havens to help slaves escape bondage. The system operated between circa 1780 and 1865, when slavery was abolished by the 13th Amendment.

The Underground Railroad was neither underground nor a railroad, and the origin of the name is debated. It is generally understood to have first appeared in a newspaper article in 1839. The term was defined and explained by the African American abolitionist William M. Mitchell (circa 1826 to circa 1879) in his work, The Underground Railroad from Slavery to Freedom (1860):

A slave, in the State of Kentucky, came to the conclusion that he was not a mere thing, as the law termed him, but a man with immortal destinies in common with other men…He accordingly eloped, and his master followed in hot pursuit to the Ohio River, which divides the slave from the free States; here he lost track of his escaped chattel…Being disappointed, and the loser of a thousand dollars, and having no object on which to vent his dirty spleen, he turned upon the poor Abolitionists, and said, "The d-d Abolitionists must have a railroad under the ground by which they run off niggers." The significant term "underground" emanated from this circumstance…And the means by which the slaves still disappear, like the one just alluded to, beyond the probability of recovery, so suddenly, and with such rapid progress, we very appropriately call a railroad! This is the derivation of the term "Underground Railroad."

(12-13)

Although the Underground Railroad is commonly understood as running from the slave states in the south to the free states in the north and Canada, it also ran south to Spanish Florida and Mexico and west into so-called Indian Territory. Slaves also fled by sea to islands in the Caribbean. The routes north are the best known, owing primarily to the work of the railroad's most famous conductor, Harriet Tubman (circa 1822-1913), the "Father of the Underground Railroad", William Still (1819-1902), and the great abolitionist Frederick Douglass (1818-1895) who operated a 'station' on the railroad.

The number of slaves who used the 'railroad' to escape bondage is unknown, but estimates - based on arrivals documented in Canada, abolitionist records, William Still's The Underground Railroad Records (1872), and similar documents – place the number at around 500,000 by 1865. This number is all the more impressive when one considers the risks taken by all those who participated in refusing to obey unjust laws – such as the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 – in placing themselves and their families in danger for the sake of others they did not know and, in most cases, would never see again.

Slavery in Colonial America & the USA

Although slavery in colonial America is usually dated to 1619 – when around 20 enslaved Africans arrived at the Jamestown colony of Virginia – these people, though en route to being sold as slaves, were traded to Governor Yeardley (1587-1627) for provisions and were regarded as indentured servants, working for 4-7 years before they were granted their freedom and land. One of these, Anthony Johnson, later had a slave of his own.

The first slaves in colonial America were Native Americans following the Pequot War (1636-1638) when Pequots were sold into slavery in Bermuda, the West Indies, or to farmers in the colony of Massachusetts. Institutionalized chattel slavery of Africans did not begin until 1640 at the Jamestown Colony and was fully institutionalized by the 1660s. By 1700, all of the 13 colonies held slaves, mainly Africans, and the only objection to this practice on record comes from the Quakers of Pennsylvania in 1688, who condemned slavery as immoral and anti-Christian. Quakers would later make up the majority of those who served on the Underground Railroad's northern routes.

Following the American Revolution, the slave trade continued and, in fact, increased as more land was taken from the Native peoples of North America and more free labor was required to work it. There had been slave rebellions prior to the birth of the United States – notably the Stono Rebellion of 1739 – and others afterwards including Gabriel's Rebellion (1800), the 1811 German Coast Uprising, Denmark Vesey's Conspiracy (1822), and Nat Turner's Rebellion (1831), but, usually, slaves chose to escape bondage on their own or in small groups and, in this, they were sometimes – though not always – assisted by the Underground Railroad.

⇒ Underground Railroad: Pathways to Freedom

#History #Abolitionism #Slavery #USHistory #WHE

69 notes · View notes

cheapshrimpysheep · 2 years ago

Text

Teaching You How to Swim

SUMMARY: You end up revealing that you can't swim/not swim very well, and the OctaTrio offer to teach you how to swim. You choose Azul to teach you. On the day of the lesson he found a secluded small cave to teach you.

CHARACTERS: Azul Ashengrotto x Reader 🐙🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kissing

WORD COUNT: 2.910 words

COMMENTS: This is for the @briarvalleyarchives “Summer Shoreline” event.

To be honest, the initial idea was to write about how each of the three (Azul, Jade and Floyd) would teach you to swim. But I ended up being so inspired and carried away just by Azul's part that I ended up deciding to stick just with him.

BTW: I was born and raised on the coast, so the beach, the ocean, and even rivers, are very close to me. I love swimming and especially diving. I'm just saying this to let you know that I wrote most of this from personal experience.

I hope you enjoy 😉

One day, you were in the Mostro Lounge talking to the trio and the Tweels comment that they would love to swim with you one day. And you end up revealing that you can't swim/not swim very well. Of course, they saw a deal opportunity.

They offered to teach you how to swim. After all, who better than a merfolk to teach you such a thing? They let you choose which one you would like to be your teacher and then you'll make a deal with him.

THE DEAL

“You want me to teach you?” Azul says “Of course! It will be a pleasure, an honor even.”

Despite all Azul’s confidence, you already know him, and something in his voice, a quick little tremor, made you realize that there was some kind of insecurity behind that answer.

The deal you two ended up making came as no surprise from Azul. You would work at Mostro Lounge for a month. And why a whole month?

“I pledge to teach you everything a landfolk would ever need to learn. After all, I will teach you things that could save your life. Don't you think a month is reasonable for such a thing?”

He had a point. But you wanted one more little thing from him. And you said you'd have a deal if he taught you to swim in his merman form. The Tweels started laughing derisively.

“Two months.” Azul trades back, slightly embarrassed.

“One month and one week.” you trade back

“A month and a half.”

“Deal.” You extend your hand for him to shake. He had that charismatic smile on his face. But when he's about to shake your hand, you take it away. “And what guarantees do I have that what you are going to teach me is really enough?”

The Tweels laugh derisively again. Azul himself cannot hide a small smile from the corner of his mouth. He puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers in front of his lips. The way he's looking at you. Damn, he really knows what he's doing.

“Maybe we shouldn't spend so much time together. You are starting to learn too much from us.” Azul has an amused smile on his face. “We'll do it like this: If someday, something happens that proves that what I taught you wasn't enough, I'll provide you with underwater breath potions whenever you need them, for free.”

“With no limite? You really are confident in your teaching skills.” you comment.

“Of course I am. Are you, perhaps, the one not confident in my teaching skills? You hurt me.”

His little theatrics make you giggle, but you end up making the deal.

THE DAY OF THE LESSON

Azul found a perfect spot in the north of Sage's Island. Right underneath and behind Night Raven Collage. That beach to the west of the island was too close to the Royal Sword Academy. And a public place where you would risk being seen. Or rather, where he would risk being seen.

He chose a day when the sea was calm, obviously. And the place he found was a small cave.

You had brought your swimsuit under your uniform. You took off your uniform and when you looked back at Azul, he looked... indifferent. The truth is, he came from a place where everyone is practically naked and mermaids only wear a kind of bra. So, nothing much different from having only seen people in a swimsuit all his life.

“I must say that you choose a swimsuit that flatters you.” Azul comments.

“Thank you. How about you?”

“Me?”

“Our deal. You're going to teach me to swim in your merman form, as I recall.”

You see him getting embarrassed. He sighs. “Fine... Go into the water and turn around while I take off my clothes. If you please.”

You start to enter the water, which, surprisingly, is not very cold. The time it took for you to get into the water and get used to the temperature was enough for Azul to take off his clothes and get in the water. You are in an area where you can walk and you only hear someone entering the water. In a deep part to the point where you can't see him. You can see Azul’s clothes neatly folded on a rock.

You start looking around looking for him. You lean against the edge so he doesn't surprise you. You see a huge, dark spot in the water approaching you. And he slowly lifts his head out of the water to look at you.

“Satisfied?” He looks a little sulky.

“Quite.” You smile at him, which makes his embarrassment increase.

“Good... Now... the first thing to learn to swim is to trust the water.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what I've heard, the problem with most landfolks who can't swim is because they're afraid of drowning. They don't trust the water to make them float for example. You need to know how water works in your body to know how to use it.”

“And how do you train your confidence with water?”

“Floating.” He smiles, that smile to make you comfortable. He rises higher in the water, getting the water up to his stomach. “You will lie on the surface, like when you lie on your bed, and I will put my arms behind your back to support you. Merfolk kids love to do this when they go to play on the water surface. And we usually do it to rest.”

You seem not very trustful about it. “This is like how children on earth learn to ride a bicycle then?”

“Bicycles? That two-wheel vehicle? Really, I've always wondered how a person balances on that thing.”

“It also starts with a trust exercise.” you explain “There are bicycles for children to learn to ride that have two small wheels attached to the back wheel, so that the child can get used to the bicycle itself. When the parents think they are ready to remove these two little wheels, the parents hold the seat so that the child isn't afraid of falling. The trick then is to let go when the child is not looking. So when the child sees that they can ride without the help of their parents, they lose their fear and starts to ride alone.”

Azul laughs in amusement. “Interesting. And besides, I'm glad you have the notion that I'm going to let go of you at any moment.” he laughs “But don’t fret. I will only do it when I see that you already feel comfortable in the water. Shall we start?”

You first dive in to get completely wet and get used to the water temperature better. Then Azul places his hands on your back to support you as you lie down. The scary part is getting your feet off the ground. But you feel Azul's hands holding you. You see him above you, partially illuminated by the light from outside the cave.

After a while, you feel more comfortable with your feet on the surface. But you feel like you're still leaning too much on his hands.

“When you float, your ears always end up under the water.” he explains to you. “You must let your head relax. It may seem worrisome when water runs past your ears, but you need to trust that it won't get to your face. Oh, and another thing, try closing your eyes and relaxing. The more rested you are the more easily you will float.”

“It's a bit like quicksand then.”

“I've heard about those. But here you can always get on your feet. So don't be afraid. Water is not your enemy.” He's speaking so gently. So caring.

It's not that friendly tone he uses when talking to customers. Is different. Like he genuinely wants you to learn to swim. That you liked the water. That you liked his world. As if he wants you to, one day, be a part of his world.

You relax your neck, the water rushes past your ears and you no longer hear the outside, just muffled underwater sounds. It's worrying at first, but he was right, the water doesn't reach your face.

You closed your eyes mainly because, although the water doesn't cover your nose or mouth, it reaches a little bit from the tip of your eyes. So it's more comfortable to have them closed.

The sound of underwater is more calming than anyone could imagine. Which helps you to relax. You feel Azul’s hands stop pressing up your back slowly. But the reflex of you raising your head in fear of sinking in the water is inevitable.

“Trust that the water will not let you sink.” he reassures you “If you don't fight it, it won't fight back.”

Take some time until you feel completely confident in the water. But eventually it happens. And when that happens, you don't realize that Azul has let go of you for some time. You only realize when you feel him floating beside you.

You feel his hand holding yours. “Looks like the ocean is starting to fancy you too much.” You hear his voice underwater. You realize that the sea was pulling you a little bit and he’s just holding you for safety.

Or at least that was the case in the beginning. You begin to feel his hand caress yours with his thumb. And when you caress his back, he intertwines his fingers with yours.

You get tired of floating after a while and get back on your feet. The water only reaches your stomach and the same happens with Azul. But when you look down something is strange. You can't see his tentacles. And then you remember a little fun-fact about octopuses.

“Are you camouflaging yourself?”

He gets embarrassed again. “Uh? What? How do you-?... You haven't been researching octopuses, have you?”

Your face says it all. You may or may not have been looking for trivia and facts about octopuses because of him. And additionally about eels because of the twins.

“Wait a second! Does that mean you CAN do that instant camouflage thing?” Your eyes shine with curiosity and wonder, what makes him blush. “That's so cool!”

Despite the blush, he seems slightly upset about it. “Listen, it's just something we're born with. It's nothing special. You shouldn't praise someone for something like that.”

You apologize to him. Were you rude? Did you say something you shouldn't? And he realizes that you felt bad about it.

“I'm sorry. You didn't say anything offensive. It's understandable for a person who has never coexist with merfolks before. Well, to be honest, when I met Jade and Floyd they were a lot more callous about it. And they had no excuse, they are mermen too. But, I understand it can be something cool for those who have never seen it.” he smiles at you so you don't have to worry about it anymore.

“But... why are you doing it now? Are you uncomfortable?”

“*sighs* You know I don't like to show off my merman form. I'm only doing this because it's part of the deal.”

“Sorry.”

“Hmm? For what?”

“For making you do something you're uncomfortable with. It wasn’t my intention. You don't have to do it if you don't want to.”

“And have you working in Mostro Lounge for only one month?” he smiles amused

“Azul, you-”

“If I really was that uncomfortable, do you think I wouldn't have tried harder to modify the deal?” He speaks calmly and smiling. Then he takes a moment, sigh, close his eyes, relax his shoulders and you see something big and dark slowly appear under the water.

“I'm not uncomfortable around you. Don't think that. I just know that most landfolks don't think this is very...” you see a big black and purple tentacle come out of the water next to you. He looks a little sad at that part of him. “...pretty.” but then he looks at you puzzled. “But you already knew. So why ask me this? Why did you want to see me... like this?”

“This is your true form, isn't it? I love to know you. The real you. And to be honest I think you're quite handsome in any form, especially this one.” You make him blush again.

He looks to the side and seems to have seen something underwater. “Would you like to dive in a bit? Don't worry, I know you can't hold your breath for long. I will bring you to the surface as soon as you need to. I just think you'll enjoy to see something.”

He extends his hand to you, you take it. He pulls you in slightly and places his other arm around your waist. he pulls you into a part so deep you can't touch the ground anymore. But Azul is holding you.

“It's down here. Right below us. Don't worry, it's not too deep.” He speaks to you in a soft, affectionate voice. “Take a deep breath and relax, I got you.”

You take a deep breath and the two of you dive in. He holds your hand tightly and guides you just a little deeper. It's dark. Extremely dark. So much so that you would have started to get scared if he hadn't used his magic pen to completely light up that place. And a bunch of beautiful coloured corals appeared. With the surprise you ended up releasing a little more air and you were starting to need to get back to the surface. So you shake Azul's hand and point up. He immediately but gently pulls you to the surface.

“It's beautiful!” you say after catching your breath, hugged him since you were still in the deep water part of the cave. “I just wish I could hold out longer down there.”

“You wish~?” He grabs you around the waist and leads you back to the shallow end of the water. He is smiling charmingly at you. “Well, you know what the rumors say.” He gestures with the magic pen and a potion floats out of one of his coat pockets onto one of his tentacles. “I can grant any wish.”

You recognize the potion, it's the same vial he gave you to breathe underwater when you went to the Atlantica Memorial Museum. You reach up to take the potion, but he takes it out of your reach.

“Too bad this wasn't part of the deal.” he says with a theatrical sadness in his voice.

“Well, technically it was part of the deal.”

“You would not try to drown yourself on purpose. First because I know you're smarter than that, and second if it's done on purpose it's not valid.”

“I know.” you chuckle “Don't worry, I will never do that on purpose. Thought, you planned this didn't you?”

“You say that as if I were some kind of evil mastermind. *sniff* You hurt me.”

“Hu-hum. And you're going to tell me that you haven't already thought about a deal for that potion there?”

“Oh, don't be so mean. I promise it will be a fair deal.”

“If you want me to work one more week at Mostro Lounge, I'll turn down your offer right away.”

“*chuckle* I must admit that in a way it's more fun when your client sees right through you. Fortunately, I also thought you were going to say something along those lines.” He gets closer you, smiling... kinda... seductively. “You know, it may or may not have reached my ears that you have a crush on someone~ Would that be true?”

You don't even know what to answer. Does he know it's him?

“If it is... It may be mutual, you know...” then he gets slightly more serious “The truth. I think that's a more than a fair price for the potion.”

The truth. In fact, he's quite convincing. So you admit that you have a crush and that that crush is him. He gets closer and puts his arms around your waist, breaking the gap between you two. His nose almost touching yours and his eyes looking passionately into yours.

“So maybe you can fulfill a wish of mine. A wish of ours perhaps?”

He lets you kiss his lips and you feel the hug tightening. You feel his kiss needy, as if he can't get enough of you. But he knows when to part from the kiss.

“Maybe I need to start working on an exclusivity deal after this.” he comments, and brings the tentacle that holds the potion closer to you so you can take it.

He breaks the hug for you to drink the potion. And when you're ready, the two of you go back to diving, hand in hand. Now, you even have time to take a good look at Azul's merman form. You don't want to think he's... big. But compared to the two legs of his human form, those eight tentacles took up a lot of space.

You feel your lower body start to rise, and waving your legs to keep yourself upright is starting to wear you out. Azul is grabbing a rock with his tentacles. You pull yourself close to him and thank him to keep you upright.

Seeing you like this, hugging him, in the midst of those beautiful corals and the calming silence of the water, he can't resist kissing you again.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst imagines #twst wonderland #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Azul Ashengrotto #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Azul x Reader #briarvalleyarchives #Summer Shoreline

904 notes · View notes

darlinluxx · 5 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff, tiny bit of angst

warnings : tiny bit of angst, pickpocketing

summary : you’re so in love with her, including her reckless behavior.

a/n : inspired by candy necklace by lana del rey

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he weight of her hand in yours is a grounding force, a constant amidst the chaos that seems to follow Saebyeok like a stray dog. you love it, the weight, the warmth, the callouses on her fingers that you trace with your thumb when you think she isn’t looking. you love her. everything about her. even the parts that make your stomach clench with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

like right now.

the Seoul subway platform is a hive of bodies, a symphony of hurried footsteps and muttered conversations. you’re pressed close to Saebyeok, the familiar scent of her cologne a comforting smell. your eyes are fixed on her hand, the one that isn’t holding yours. it’s dancing, a silent predator moving with a practiced grace you both admire and dread.

you watch her fingers, long and elegant, slip into the pocket of a distracted businessman. a wallet, plump with bills, is extracted with the skill of a surgeon, disappearing into the folds of her jacket before the man even blinks. a thrill courses through you, a dangerous current that tugs at your heart. this is Saebyeok. this is the woman you love.

you know it’s wrong. you know you should say something, pull her away. but you don’t. you can’t. you’re mesmerized. it’s not just the skill, but the audacity, the utter disregard for the rules that she carries like a second skin. it’s a reckless flame that has somehow drawn you into his orbit.

“did you get it?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible above the rumble of an approaching train.

her lips curve into a secret, almost predatory smirk. she doesn’t need to say a word. the slight bulge in her jacket pocket is all the confirmation you need. she squeezes your hand, the warmth of her touch a promise of excitement and perhaps something a little more dangerous.

you know the stories. the whispers of Saebyeok’s past, the things she did to survive, to get her brother out of the orphanage, to protect them both. you understand the desperation that fuels her, the hunger that drives her to find her way in a world that has never been kind to her. and while your soul may ache with concern, your heart swells with something akin to fierce pride. she’s a fighter, a survivor. and right now, she’s yours.

you’ve tried to talk to her about it before, about the risk, about the potential consequences. but her eyes would harden, her smile would vanish, and you’d find yourself silenced by the quiet, smoldering rage that burns beneath the surface. you know it’s not just about the money; it’s also about the power, the thrill, the feeling of taking control in a world that feels so impossibly out of her grasp.

it’s a complicated love. it’s a love that keeps you awake at night with worry, a love that’s often fueled by adrenaline and stolen glances. you know that one day her recklessness might catch up to her. you’ve seen the glint of steel in her eyes, the unspoken knowledge that this path can only lead to one of two outcomes: freedom or destruction. and you’re terrified of both.

but as the subway pulls into the station, doors hissing open like a hungry beast, she looks at you, her eyes softening, the hard edges of her face smoothed by a genuine affection you’re lucky enough to receive. she pulls you onto the train, navigating the crowd with a feline grace that makes your heart skip a beat. her hand, still warm, is back in yours, and in that moment, amongst the chaos of the city, you wouldn’t trade her chaos for anything.

you love her. you love the reckless, the dangerous, the unpredictable Saebyeok. and you just pray that one day, she’ll learn to love herself just as fiercely, and perhaps, just perhaps, she’ll learn to carry that fight in a less dangerous way. until then, you’ll be there, holding her hand, bracing yourself for whatever comes next. because that’s what you do for the person you love. you follow them, even into the fire.

#kang sae byeok #kang saebyeok #sae byeok #saebyeok #kang sae byeok x reader #kang saebyeok x reader #sae byeok x reader #saebyeok x reader #squid game x reader #squid game

116 notes · View notes

scary-grace · 8 months ago

Text

Off-Script (Act 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura's been Dabi's stunt double for almost a decade, and he's not easily impressed, but when he squares up with you for a fight scene, he finds himself caught off-guard in more ways than one. As the shoot progresses and sparks fly between the two of you, Tomura has to decide if you're worth the risk -- or if the best sparring partner he's ever had is all you'll ever be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Act 1 Act 2 Act 3 Act 4

Act 2

Tomura’s done stunts on at least four big-budget superhero movies by now, and the one thing he’s learned is that there’s always a lot to do – and at the same time, basically none of it is his job. He’s got a lot of downtime. Tomura counts the time he spends observing Dabi’s scenes as downtime, too, since Dabi’s a perfectionist who will do as many takes as a director will put up with. It takes Tomura a maximum of two takes to memorize what Dabi’s supposed to do, and after that, he’s free to do what he wants.

Nap, usually. Play a game on his phone if there’s WiFi, don’t burn through his data if there isn’t. Watch everything else that’s happening on-set, and since today was set aside from the beginning of the shoot to rehearse the second of the film’s three major battle scenes, there’s a lot for Tomura to look at.

He thought he was going to have to double Dabi for the fight scene, but because Quicksilver’s fighting Archangel rather than Psylocke, there’s no swordfighting involved. Dabi and Hawks got their fight choreography set early on, and it’s boring. Trade hits, banter, trade a few more hits, banter some more, drop a snippy one-liner, and flee the scene. Easy. More complex stuff is happening in the other battle groupings – Storm, played by Miruko, is fighting Cyclops, played by Bakugou, while Nightcrawler, played by a guy named Shirakumo who’s been around forever, zips around in the background. In Tomura’s opinion, having Quicksilver and Nightcrawler in the same movie is kind of pointless, but no one’s asking him.

Beast and Colossus are fighting. Tomura’s never bothered to learn their actual names, and he’s not planning on it today. The most interesting fight is the one that’s happening off to his right – a three and soon to be four-way brawl between Mystique, Jubilee, Phoenix, and Psylocke. It’s the most interesting, but also the most complicated. Aizawa hasn’t left you and the other three alone for more than five seconds since rehearsal started.

Tomura’s read the script, but the scene’s gone through some rewrites since then. The choreography hasn’t changed, though – there’s still an extended hand-to-hand exchange between Mystique and Psylocke, and it still ends with Psylocke getting thrown across the battlefield by Phoenix. Aizawa’s made you practice everything but the throw so far, probably in preparation for Midoriya’s sure-to-be-stupid plan to film everything in one take. According to Spinner, it’s getting to be sort of an obsession.

Not that Tomura can really blame him. He got a copy of the single-take fight scene he did with you and he’s watched it at least a few times a day ever since. It looks incredible, even though Tomura’s in it and Tomura knows he can’t act worth a damn. Even with half your face covered up for most of the scene, you’re acting enough to make up for him, and Tomura can’t get over how fluid and natural the exchanges look – like somebody choreographed them and the two of you practiced until it was flawless. No wonder Midoriya wants every fight to look like that.

But most fights never look like that, even with choreography, so everybody’s getting choregraphed within an inch of their lives. Tomura’s just glad he’s not involved.

“Hey, Shigaraki!” The voice belongs to Aizawa’s assistant or apprentice or whatever, who’s hurrying towards Tomura. “Aizawa wants you to come over. We’re going to practice the throw and we need someone to run the new girl through the basics.”

Tomura’s been avoiding you as much as possible. “Did she say she’s got it? If she said she’s got it, you don’t need me. You go over it with her.”

“This is a stunt. If it was Dabi’s scene, you’d be doing it,” Shinsou says. ‘We can’t afford a double for her. Just run her through the basics, and then you can go right back to doing fuck all.”

Tomura was already annoyed. Now it spills over. “Yeah, sure. Why not? I can do my job and yours and still spend the day doing fuck all while you run around in that stupid hat.”

Shinsou yanks the brim of his sunhat down, scowling, a second before he pitches a bottle of sunscreen at Tomura. “Put that shit on. FX will kill me if they have to edit out a sunburn.”

Tomura hates sunscreen, and he doesn’t give a shit if FX is mad at him. But he’s too experienced to make a mistake like that. Only newbies end up with sunburns on set. You’ve probably got one already. Tomura smears the sunscreen on as they walk, and Shinsou updates him on the proposed stunt. “It’s gonna be a launchpad, but it’s angled, so it’ll throw her backwards, not up in the air. Phoenix doesn’t have to be anywhere nearby, since she’s using tele-whatever –”

“Telekinesis.”

“Yeah, that. So it’s literally just going to be the fight, and then she steps back on the pad and gets launched. Easy.”

Tomura can do a stunt like that in his sleep, but you’re new. “How far is she supposed to get launched?”

“They’ll decide once they start filming. This is just to test it out.” Shinsou fumbles the slimy bottle of sunscreen when Tomura throws it back at him. “Come on. Dabi can play this shit off as eccentric, but you just look like an asshole.”

“I am an asshole,” Tomura says, only to realize that Shinsou’s stopped walking, and Tomura’s continued right into the middle of the scene. “Uh –”

“Thank you for sharing,” Aizawa says blandly. “Shigaraki, you’ve met –”

He says your name, and Tomura looks at you. You’re in the same set of practice clothes as everybody else, and your face is smudged with dirt and dust. And you’re not happy. “I can do it myself. You don’t need to bother Shigaraki.”

“You’re not bothering him. He was doing fuck all when I came over there,” Shinsou says. Him and his stupid hat. Fuck him. “Better safe than sorry.”

“The sooner we do this, the sooner we can go hang out somewhere with shade and air conditioning,” Ashido says. She’s wearing a few pieces of her Jubilee costume. Some actors like to. “Come on.”

Shade and air conditioning sounds nice. Tomura’s been out in the sun for three minutes and it’s already too hot. “Let’s get this over with,” he says to you. You nod. “Before you do any stunt, you need to check the equipment. Since you don’t know anything, I’ll do it for you.”

The crash pad you’re supposed to hit is lined up wrong. Tomura drags it into place, then crouches down to examine the launchpad itself. He knows who made this thing. “This had better not be a prototype, Hatsume.”

“It’s not! We already used it today for Kirishima’s student.” Hatsume has even more dirt on her face than you do, and she’s about ten times as hyped. “My precious baby works just fine.”

Even if the equipment’s been used before, Tomura’s not ready to sign off. He turns to you and finds you studying the launchpad yourself. “Hey, pay attention. I know you know how to fake hits. Have you ever done this before?”

“On wires,” you say. When? “Same principle, right?”

“No. Once they launch you off of this, your trajectory’s out of your control.” Tomura studies the distance between the launchpad and the crash pad. “Stay tensed up. You need to be in control of your body the entire time or you’re going to break something.”

You’re listening now. You nod. “This is still a movie and you want it to look believable, even if it’s stylized. Think about what you’re going to do with your arms and legs so you aren’t just flailing around,” Tomura continues. It’s weird to have you looking at him like this. Your eye contact was really intense during the duel, too. “Even if the throw gets out of hand, protect your head and neck. You can absorb a hit anywhere else, but land on either of those and it’s game over. Got it?”

“Got it.”

You’re still looking at him. Tomura racks his brain for something else to say. “If you’re in trouble and you can rotate, try to hit on your side instead of your back. That’s it.”

You nod. “Can you show me?”

“Huh?”

“I want to see what it’s supposed to look like before I try it,” you say. That’s – smart. Irritating as hell, because Tomura wasn’t planning on getting launched today, but smart. “Do you mind?”

“Yes,” Aizawa says. “The temperature is climbing and we’re on a tight schedule.”

“This will take fifteen seconds.” Tomura repositions the crash pad one more time, glances at you to make sure you’re watching as he steps onto the launchpad. You’re watching. It’s weird. “Count off. Three – two –”

Hatsume launches Tomura on one, as usual, and Tomura spends a split second being surprised at the force before he remembers that he’s supposed to be demonstrating. He chooses his arm positioning at random, rolls slightly in the air so he won’t strike the crash pad spine-first, and hits hard enough to wind himself. “I told you it worked,” Hatsume crows.

It works. Like being launched out of a cannon, sure, but it works. Tomura’s not going to hop up looking out of breath. He stays sprawled out for another few seconds, long enough for you to come over and offer him a hand up. You look a little worried. “Are you okay?”

“That was nothing,” Tomura says. He’s been doing stunts like that since he was a kid. He ignores your hand and gets up on his own. “Any questions?”

“What happens if it throws you harder than you expected?”

You’re observant. Tomura doesn’t like that very much. That plus the staring makes him feel like he’s under a microscope, and he’s way too experienced to get caught being caught off-guard. “Make sure you exhale when you hit. You won’t get as winded if you knock the wind out of yourself first.”

You nod. Tomura takes a closer look at him, wondering if you’re actually worried about him or just worried about stepping on Hatsume’s rocket launcher for yourself. Probably the latter. “Thanks for showing me,” you say. You’re standing close enough that Tomura can smell your sunscreen, which smells a lot nicer than whatever Shinsou threw at Tomura. “It helped a lot. And thanks for checking the equipment.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Tomura turns away to head back to his spot. He’s got fuck-all to do, so maybe he’ll nap, and maybe when he wakes up he’ll watch the fight scene again. Fighting you is a lot less awkward than talking to you, even if the fight ended with you pinning him to the ground.

“Tomura-kun!” Toga draws up alongside him. Like Ashido, she’s wearing part of her costume – the wig and facepaint for Mystique. “That was a nice throw. But you need to be nicer to the new girl. She’ll never go out with you if you keep being mean!”

“Why can’t you and Spinner drop it? I don’t want to go out with her.” There aren’t words for how much Tomura doesn’t want to think about this right now. Or ever. “Why do you even think that?”

“Why do you keep watching that fight scene?” Toga challenges. Shit. Tomura’s face heats up. “It’s because you have chemistry. I know all about chemistry. You’re mean to her when you aren’t mean to anybody else because you don’t want to have chemistry with anybody. I’ve never met a guy who hates being horny as much as you do.”

“I don’t hate being horny.” Tomura doesn’t even know where Toga dug that one out of. Then again, he’s known her since they both started working on the X-Men films, so she’s got ten years of Tomura’s bullshit to back herself up with. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t want to like people because you think nobody will like you, but that isn’t true!” Toga pats Tomura’s arm. “But she’s not going to like you if you keep being mean to her. That’s not how you sweep a cute girl off her feet.”

Tomura’s got a lot of problems with that statement – mainly that he’s not being mean to you, that he doesn’t think you’re cute, and that he doesn’t want to sweep you anywhere, let alone off your feet. You don’t need him to do that when you’re doing your own stunts. And there’s something about the stunt that’s bothering Tomura, something that’s got nothing to do with the crush everyone’s pretending he has on you. The launchpad threw him hard. It must have thrown Kirishima pretty hard, too. Tomura’s not as tall as Kirishima, but both of them are taller and heavier than you. If Hatsume doesn’t recalibrate the launchpad, she’s going to throw you into the sun.

Tomura whips around and takes off back towards the practice site. Toga chases after him, but they’re both too late. Somebody’s already shouting, and Shinsou books it past Tomura in the opposite direction, already calling for a medic. Fuck. The others are crowded around you, and Tomura can’t see. He shoulders his way into the huddle and finds himself staring down at you.

You look sort of pale, and you’re smiling, but Tomura can tell it’s faked. Whoever taught you to smile through pain didn’t do a good job. Either that or you’re really hurt. You’re already trying to sit up. “Stay down,” Tomura snaps. He crouches down next to you, looks you over for obvious injuries, but you aren’t bleeding and nothing looks broken. “Where did you hit?”

“Just my shoulder. I’m fine.”

You don’t look fine. You look rattled as hell, and Tomura feels a sharp surge of guilt. He checked the equipment. He knew the throw was going to be hard, and if he hadn’t been so busy being pissed that you were looking at him while he talked to you, he’d have realized that what was a hard launch for him could actually throw you clear of the crash pad. In the bigger picture, this is Midoriya’s fault for not hiring a stuntwoman for you. Right here, right now, it’s on Tomura.

He hates feeling like this. “What happened?”

You don’t answer, but Uraraka, who plays Phoenix, fills in. What happened was exactly what Tomura could have predicted if he’d been paying attention instead of being stupid – you were thrown almost completely clear of the crash pad, and the only part of you that hit it was your shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt,” you insist, and you sit up, getting right in Tomura’s face. He can still smell your sunscreen. “It was just a shock. I’m good. Can we try it again?”

Ashido’s eyes widen. “Are you crazy? That thing almost threw you into orbit.”

“I’m calibrating it down,” Hatsume calls.

“She’s calibrating it down,” you say. “And now I know what it feels like, so I’ll do better.”

“Quit trying to be a hero,” Tomura says. “If you’re hurt –”

“I’m not hurt,” you say. Tomura realizes that short of pushing you back down in the dirt, he can’t stop you from getting up. He gets up first so he can offer his hand. Which you ignore. “I’m not bleeding, nothing’s broken, and I didn’t pass out. Let’s do it right this time.”

Aizawa’s phone buzzes, and he glances at it. “The medics are dealing with three cases of heatstroke. It’ll be a while.”

“Then I’ll go see them after we’re done here,” you say. “Come on. I thought we were on a schedule?”

Schedule is the magic word. It gets Aizawa’s attention, and everybody else still wants to get it over with and get out of the sun. Tomura sticks around to watch, or supervise – after what happened, he doesn’t trust anybody not to fuck things up. He sees Toga check in with you, and the others do the same. People like you. Sure, they like working with you, but based on the way they’re joking around with you, they like you for yourself, too. And they’re probably not the only ones.

Tomura’s stomach cramps at the thought, and his shit brain decides it’s a good time to think about the fight again. Thinking about it turns into watching it, as usual, only this time Tomura knows what your stupid sunscreen smells like. And just like every time he watches the fight, he’s caught off-guard by just how good the two of you are together. How easy you make an improvised fight scene look. Like you know each other’s moves by heart, even though you’d never met before, let alone watched each other fight. That’s chemistry. That’s why Tomura’s been waiting so impatiently for his next fight scene with you. He wants to feel like that again.

Toga was right. Unfortunately, Spinner was right, too, when he said Tomura looked into it. Tomura looks really into it. Tomura puts his phone away so he won’t have to look at his own stupid face any longer.

The second run-through of the four-way fight goes well, and nothing goes wrong with the launchpad, so Aizawa calls it good for the day. The actors scatter to their trailers or to the shuttle back into town with more urgency than usual. There’s some kind of producer party/press thing going on tonight, and all the big-name actors are supposed to go. Dabi included.

But Dabi’s back on his bullshit, of course. When Tomura goes to check on him, he’s lying facedown on the floor of his trailer with music playing in the background and a giant water bottle within easy reach. Water’s not the only clear liquid on the planet. Tomura pries open the water bottle and sniffs it. Just water. This time.

“You really think I’d chug water out of a Nalgene? Fuck off,” Dabi says from the floor. “Who did and made you my sponsor?”

“I’m not your sponsor. You asked me and Spinner to check in with you about this shit.” Tomura wasn’t crazy about being part of Dabi’s official sober support system, but he does spend more time with Dabi than almost anybody else who’s involved. “Are you going to that party tonight?”

“Sure, why not?” Dabi flops over to his back. He’s famous for looking bored whenever he’s not on camera, but this looks worse than usual. “Dress up in a stupid outfit and go watch my coworkers have fun drinking stuff I can’t drink and snorting stuff I’m not supposed to touch. It sounds like a great time.”

It sounds like shit, but that’s how Tomura feels about most parties. “I should make you go,” Dabi says. “If you got trashed you’d just puke in the bushes like a college girl instead of going batshit crazy in front of the paparazzi.”

He sits up to drink some water, then flops back down. “Too bad you don’t look more like me. I’d make you do all the stuff and I could go die in peace.”

The door to the trailer opens and Spinner comes in without asking first. “What are we talking about?”

“Me dying in peace.”

“Okay, are we seriously talking about that? Do I need to call somebody?” Spinner’s a lot better at this than Tomura is. “Or do you just not want to go to the party tonight?”

“Don’t call anybody,” Dabi growls. “If you were me, you wouldn’t want to go to a photo op, either.”

“Yeah, I guess this would be your first official one since the thing,” Spinner says. He sits down on the floor next to Dabi. Tomura leans back against the wall with his arms cross, idly tuning in to the music. “Want one of us to come with you?”

Tomura kicks him, glares when Spinner looks up, but Dabi’s already shooting the idea down. “No. My sister already gets DMed way too much RPF with you dipsticks in it.”

“Okay, then find somebody who’s going to be there who’s not a huge partier,” Spinner suggests. “Just glue yourself to them the whole night and do whatever they do.”

For a second Dabi looks like he might go for it. “They’re all partiers except the lame ones.”

Spinner punches Tomura in the leg. “What do you think, Shigaraki?”

“I don’t care about this,” Tomura says. Spinner punches him again, harder. “Just hang out with Hawks. He only gets wasted at the wrap parties.”

“No,” Dabi says at once. “Not him. I hate him.”

“So go hang out with him and you’ll hate him less,” Spinner says. Dabi groans. “Worst comes to worst, text us and we’ll come get you.”

“Like that’ll happen.” Dabi sits up for another swig of water, but doesn’t lay down again. “Get out. I have to find a ride.”

“Have fun,” Spinner says. Tomura’s out the door already, and Spinner catches up to him before he’s down the steps. “Was that water in there?”

“Yeah, I checked.”

“Good,” Spinner says. “Speaking of parties, though –”

He trails off like he’s expecting Tomura to fill in the blank. “What?” Tomura asks.

“Everybody who’s not at the producer thing is throwing one of our own. Tonight,” Spinner says. “And that means you should –”

“What?”

“Invite her to the party,” Spinner says. Tomura starts walking faster. “Seriously. She’s not a big enough star to get invited to the main one and she might not know ours is even happening. Go find her and ask.”

“No.”

“Do it.”

“No,” Tomura says. “Leave it alone.”

Spinner shakes his head. “Go ask her or I’m sending everybody that livestream where you played a dating sim and got shot down by all the characters.”

There was a while where Tomura wanted to be a streamer, but what little there is that’s engaging about him in person absolutely fails to translate live on camera. He had to resort to gimmicks to get views, and one of the gimmicks was playing easy games while getting drunk. Or at least Tomura thought they were easy games. Dating sims are harder than he thought they were, and once every single romanceable character had rejected him, he secured the achievement Turbo Virgin, won by the 0.06% of players who couldn’t pull even one fictional girl.

That would have been bad enough all on its own, but Tomura teared up during the last rejection cutscene, too. The fact that the stream still exists somewhere haunts Tomura daily. “You wouldn’t.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help make your dream a reality,” Spinner says. “Go ask her to the party. The worst thing she can say is no.”

In theory, that’s true. In practice there are a lot of ways to say no, and Tomura thinks of all of them as he heads off in search of you. Of course you’re nowhere to be found. You might have caught the bus back to town already, or maybe you got invited to the actor party after all. The only thing Tomura has to work off of is you telling the others that you’d go see the medics after shooting wrapped for the day. He sticks his head in the medic tent and steps back out again in a hurry, his face going up in flames. You’re in there, all right. You’re sitting on a cot with your back to the door and your shirt in a heap next to you.

You’re just sitting there with your clothes off when anyone could walk in. What is wrong with you? Sure, there are plenty of actresses whose costumes are revealing as hell, and sure, half the women Tomura knows dress for a trip to the convenience store like they’re headed to the club, but you? Tomura didn’t think you were that type, and if you are – this is an even worse idea than he originally thought.

Tomura needs to get his shit together. Of course your shirt’s off. You hit your shoulder and the medics need to look at it. He’s pretty sure you’re wearing a bra, and even if you aren’t, you’re facing away from the door. He’s not going to see anything, and if he keeps this bullshit up, he’s going to earn a real-life Turbo Virgin achievement half a decade after he lost his virginity. Tomura steels himself and ducks back inside.

The medic’s talking to you. “I put the rib back in place and it should stay there, but no more launching stunts for the next day or two, all right? And I’m giving you one of these so you’ll sleep tonight – but don’t take it until after the party. It doesn’t play well with alcohol or anything else.”

“I’m not going to the party,” you say, reaching for your shirt. Tomura gets a good look at the bruise darkening across your shoulder blade and back before your shirt conceals it. “I’ll take that and go to bed early.”

“I meant the other party,” the medic says.

“There’s another party?”

Fuck. “Of course,” the medic says, surprised. “Hasn’t anyone – what are you doing here, Shigaraki? You should know better than to just barge in.”

The medics don’t like Tomura very much. He ignores her. “There’s another party,” he says to you, and you turn slowly to face him. “Everybody who’s not A-list goes to that one. I came to invite you, in case you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” you say.”

“Well, now you know,” the medic says briskly. “Remember what I said. Don’t mix that medication with anything.”

“I won’t.” You get up from the cot and brush past Tomura, stepping back into the sun. The smell of your sunscreen drifts over his face as he follows you out. “So there’s a party?”

“Yeah. We throw one whenever the A-listers call some over-the-top press conference a party.” Tomura falls into step next to you. “You dislocated a rib?”

“Only a little bit.”

“You can’t dislocate something a little bit. It’s dislocated or it’s not.” Tomura glances at you. “You should have made them wait on the second stunt. Keeping going after you get hurt makes you stupid, not tough.”

“Really?” You look up at him. “Where I come from, anything that’s not performance-impairing is something you can push through.”

“Right, because there’s no difference between a Broadway show and a superhero movie.”

“No, there’s a difference,” you say. “Broadway’s a lot hard than this.”

Tomura scoffs. “Nice try.”

“It is,” you say. “Six to eight weeks of all-day rehearsals, plus physical conditioning on the side, and after that it’s seven shows a week – the same thing, over and over again, for however long the show runs or however long you can take it.”

Huh. “The leads have it the toughest,” you continue, “but the ensemble’s made up of understudies, and there are multiple backups for each of the leading roles. You know, because the show must go on. In practice that means being responsible for ensemble work plus one or two entire roles – which you only get to perform if something happens to the person above you. It’s a house of cards, and if enough people fold the whole thing comes tumbling down.”

You stop walking, and so does Tomura. “So yeah, I’d say theatre and this aren’t comparable. I don’t know where we’re going.”

“I was following you,” Tomura says. You give him a frustrated look. “So you’re saying you’d do a whole show with a rib out of place.”

“I did a whole show throwing up in the bathroom every time I went offstage,” you say. Tomura blinks. “Your job’s a lot rougher than mine, though. Catastrophic injuries are kind of rare in theatre. It’s hard to break your neck falling off the stage.”

“It’s a lot easier to break it falling off a building.”

“You – what?” Your eyes widen with surprise – and worry. “How?”

“That one space movie – Venus Rising or something.” Tomura always pretends he doesn’t remember the title. You must know it, though. He sees your mouth twitch. “The villain falls off a building at the end of Act One and comes back as a crazy cyborg. I didn’t double-check my equipment, and my harness snapped right when it was supposed to catch me.”

Your mouth turns down at the corners, in the same moment as Tomura remembers why you wound up in the medic tent in the first place. He grits his teeth against the guilt. “I should have learned from that and checked yours better.”

“I should have known how to do it myself,” you say. “It wasn’t on you.”

Maybe it wouldn’t have been, if Tomura had only checked the device instead of trying it out. “I knew the launch was too hard. If I’d been thinking instead of –” thinking about you “– I would have told Hatsume to recalibrate it before it was your turn. I’m sorry.”

“It happens,” you say. “Nobody died, and now I know to ask about that stuff. It’s okay.”

Tomura wants to tell you that you’re being naïve, but before he can do that, you change the subject. “So, this party. What are crew parties usually like?”

“Like any party. Drinks, food. Games, sometimes.” Tomura thinks about it. “Music. Yamada, the composer – he has this DJ person he puts on. There might be karaoke. It’s not the worst.”

“Are you going?”

“Yeah,” Tomura says. “You think I’d invite you to a party I’m not going to?”

“I didn’t think you’d invite me anywhere at all,” you say, and shrug. And wince. “I’ll see you there, okay?”

Is Tomura supposed to walk with you or something? Is that how this is supposed to work? “Just follow the music. I’ll see you there.”

Tomura watches you walk away, a disgusting knot of anticipation pulling tight in his stomach. He’s pretty sure he asked you out. He’s pretty sure you said yes. And he’s damn sure that whether you show up or not, whether he drinks too much or nothing at all, and whether he gets called to drag Dabi out of some easily-photographed situation he got himself into, he’s in for a really rough night.

<- Act 1 Act 3 ->

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #reader insert #x reader #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

60 notes · View notes

frustratedasatruar · 11 months ago

Text

I've seen a number of antizionists argue for the immediate destruction of Israel on Anarchist grounds.

Lets just pretend for a second that this is an argument that they are making in-good-faith.

I'm an Anarchist. I don't like states.

This said, Israel seems like it may very well be the worst state to start with trying to dissolve? Like, if a state's territory is reorganized into autonomously self-governing communes, there will be a transitional period between when the State's military was defending its boarders and when the communes are able to organize the same. There would be a hiccup, even in somewhere like Israel or Switzerland where everybody's been in the military, in the territory's ability to resist outside invasion.

And Israel is constantly under immediate threat of foreign invasion.

And its not as if Israel has any kind of strategic depth; its the size of New Jersey! You very much cannot trade land for time there!

And all of Israel's neighbors are, at best, hard right authoritarians who would not tolerate any kind of leftist movement any where near as much as the current Israeli state, and, more practically speaking, have actively genocidal ambitions against the Israeli people.

These are not good conditions for getting a Free Territory off the ground!

Like, it would be one thing if, I dunno, Italy and Spain were already reorganized into Anarchist systems and were potentially willing to intervene against anyone trying to crush a nascent Israeli Black Army. I would still be weary, as Israel is still very very small and her neighbors actively want to eradicate her populace, but I would feel space to talk about that because maybe, if everything went right, that could be managed. Theoretically. (In the real world, there is also the question of Antisemitism to contend with, and to what degree that would have a depressive effect on the willingness of christian communes to come to the aid of Jews. There are far more than enough Strasserites in the modern day for this to be a very real concern.)

But that is not the world we live in. Pragmatically speaking, it is absurd to want to build up a global Anarchist movement starting with overthrowing Israel.

Like, fuck, if the Southern Levant is where you want to start, I would advocate somewhere like, I don't know, Palestine, where anarchist militants would have a negotiating position with the Israelis; able to offer an end to Hamas or other terrorist-groups' ability to operate in territory the anarchists control, in exchange for IDF ambivalence or even material support.

You know, a type of deal that could never in a million years be struck between Israeli anarchists and Hamas.

Even if I imagine a scenario where Anarchy replaces the modern State-based global paradigm, I just can't think of any mechanism by which Israel wouldn't be in at least the latter half of territories to be reorganized thusly... at least, not without wildly unacceptable risk of mass ethnic cleansing.

I can only conclude that any anarcho-strasserites who actually think Israel is a remotely realistic nation to focus on dissolving are high on their own supply.

#anarchism #antisemitism

130 notes · View notes

sunshinesmebdy · 1 year ago

Text

Pluto in Aquarius: Brace for a Business Revolution (and How to Ride the Wave)

The Aquarian Revolution

Get ready, entrepreneurs and financiers, because a seismic shift is coming. Pluto, the planet of transformation and upheaval, has just entered the progressive sign of Aquarius, marking the beginning of a 20-year period that will reshape the very fabric of business and finance. Buckle up, for this is not just a ripple – it's a tsunami of change. Imagine a future where collaboration trumps competition, sustainability dictates success, and technology liberates rather than isolates. Aquarius, the sign of innovation and humanitarianism, envisions just that. Expect to see:

Rise of social impact businesses

Profits won't be the sole motive anymore. Companies driven by ethical practices, environmental consciousness, and social good will gain traction. Aquarius is intrinsically linked to collective well-being and social justice. Under its influence, individuals will value purpose-driven ventures that address crucial societal issues. Pluto urges us to connect with our deeper selves and find meaning beyond material gains. This motivates individuals to pursue ventures that resonate with their personal values and make a difference in the world.

Examples of Social Impact Businesses

Sustainable energy companies: Focused on creating renewable energy solutions while empowering local communities.

Fair-trade businesses: Ensuring ethical practices and fair wages for producers, often in developing countries.

Social impact ventures: Addressing issues like poverty, education, and healthcare through innovative, community-driven approaches.

B corporations: Certified businesses that meet rigorous social and environmental standards, balancing profit with purpose.

Navigating the Pluto in Aquarius Landscape

Align your business with social impact: Analyze your core values and find ways to integrate them into your business model.

Invest in sustainable practices: Prioritize environmental and social responsibility throughout your operations.

Empower your employees: Foster a collaborative environment where everyone feels valued and contributes to the social impact mission.

Build strong community partnerships: Collaborate with organizations and communities that share your goals for positive change.

Embrace innovation and technology: Utilize technology to scale your impact and reach a wider audience.

Pluto in Aquarius presents a thrilling opportunity to redefine the purpose of business, moving beyond shareholder value and towards societal well-being. By aligning with the Aquarian spirit of innovation and collective action, social impact businesses can thrive in this transformative era, leaving a lasting legacy of positive change in the world.

Tech-driven disruption

AI, automation, and blockchain will revolutionize industries, from finance to healthcare. Be ready to adapt or risk getting left behind. Expect a focus on developing Artificial Intelligence with ethical considerations and a humanitarian heart, tackling issues like healthcare, climate change, and poverty alleviation. Immersive technologies will blur the lines between the physical and digital realms, transforming education, communication, and entertainment. Automation will reshape the job market, but also create opportunities for new, human-centered roles focused on creativity, innovation, and social impact.

Examples of Tech-Driven Disruption:

Decentralized social media platforms: User-owned networks fueled by blockchain technology, prioritizing privacy and community over corporate profits.

AI-powered healthcare solutions: Personalized medicine, virtual assistants for diagnostics, and AI-driven drug discovery.

VR/AR for education and training: Immersive learning experiences that transport students to different corners of the world or historical periods.

Automation with a human touch: Collaborative robots assisting in tasks while freeing up human potential for creative and leadership roles.

Navigating the Technological Tsunami:

Stay informed and adaptable: Embrace lifelong learning and upskilling to stay relevant in the evolving tech landscape.

Support ethical and sustainable tech: Choose tech products and services aligned with your values and prioritize privacy and social responsibility.

Focus on your human advantage: Cultivate creativity, critical thinking, and emotional intelligence to thrive in a world increasingly reliant on technology.

Advocate for responsible AI development: Join the conversation about ethical AI guidelines and ensure technology serves humanity's best interests.

Connect with your community: Collaborate with others to harness technology for positive change and address the potential challenges that come with rapid technological advancements.

Pluto in Aquarius represents a critical juncture in our relationship with technology. By embracing its disruptive potential and focusing on ethical development and collective benefit, we can unlock a future where technology empowers humanity and creates a more equitable and sustainable world. Remember, the choice is ours – will we be swept away by the technological tsunami or ride its wave towards a brighter future?

Decentralization and democratization

Power structures will shift, with employees demanding more autonomy and consumers seeking ownership through blockchain-based solutions. Traditional institutions, corporations, and even governments will face challenges as power shifts towards distributed networks and grassroots movements. Individuals will demand active involvement in decision-making processes, leading to increased transparency and accountability in all spheres. Property and resources will be seen as shared assets, managed sustainably and equitably within communities. This transition won't be without its bumps. We'll need to adapt existing legal frameworks, address digital divides, and foster collaboration to ensure everyone benefits from decentralization.

Examples of Decentralization and Democratization

Decentralized autonomous organizations (DAOs): Self-governing online communities managing shared resources and projects through blockchain technology.

Community-owned renewable energy initiatives: Local cooperatives generating and distributing clean energy, empowering communities and reducing reliance on centralized grids.

Participatory budgeting platforms: Citizens directly allocate local government funds, ensuring public resources are used in line with community needs.

Decentralized finance (DeFi): Peer-to-peer lending and borrowing platforms, bypassing traditional banks and offering greater financial autonomy for individuals.

Harnessing the Power of the Tide:

Embrace collaborative models: Participate in co-ops, community projects, and initiatives that empower collective ownership and decision-making.

Support ethical technology: Advocate for blockchain platforms and applications that prioritize user privacy, security, and equitable access.

Develop your tech skills: Learn about blockchain, cryptocurrencies, and other decentralized technologies to navigate the future landscape.

Engage in your community: Participate in local decision-making processes, champion sustainable solutions, and build solidarity with others.

Stay informed and adaptable: Embrace lifelong learning and critical thinking to navigate the evolving social and economic landscape.

Pluto in Aquarius presents a unique opportunity to reimagine power structures, ownership models, and how we interact with each other. By embracing decentralization and democratization, we can create a future where individuals and communities thrive, fostering a more equitable and sustainable world for all. Remember, the power lies within our collective hands – let's use it wisely to shape a brighter future built on shared ownership, collaboration, and empowered communities.

Focus on collective prosperity

Universal basic income, resource sharing, and collaborative economic models may gain momentum. Aquarius prioritizes the good of the collective, advocating for equitable distribution of resources and opportunities. Expect a rise in social safety nets, universal basic income initiatives, and policies aimed at closing the wealth gap. Environmental health is intrinsically linked to collective prosperity. We'll see a focus on sustainable practices, green economies, and resource sharing to ensure a thriving planet for generations to come. Communities will come together to address social challenges like poverty, homelessness, and healthcare disparities, recognizing that individual success is interwoven with collective well-being. Collaborative consumption, resource sharing, and community-owned assets will gain traction, challenging traditional notions of ownership and fostering a sense of shared abundance.

Examples of Collective Prosperity in Action

Community-owned renewable energy projects: Sharing the benefits of clean energy production within communities, democratizing access and fostering environmental sustainability.

Cooperatives and worker-owned businesses: Sharing profits and decision-making within companies, leading to greater employee satisfaction and productivity.

Universal basic income initiatives: Providing individuals with a basic safety net, enabling them to pursue their passions and contribute to society in meaningful ways.

Resource sharing platforms: Platforms like carsharing or tool libraries minimizing individual ownership and maximizing resource utilization, fostering a sense of interconnectedness.

Navigating the Shift

Support social impact businesses: Choose businesses that prioritize ethical practices, environmental sustainability, and positive social impact.

Contribute to your community: Volunteer your time, skills, and resources to address local challenges and empower others.

Embrace collaboration: Seek opportunities to work together with others to create solutions for shared problems.

Redefine your own path to prosperity: Focus on activities that bring you personal fulfillment and contribute to the collective good.

Advocate for systemic change: Support policies and initiatives that promote social justice, environmental protection, and equitable distribution of resources.

Pluto in Aquarius offers a unique opportunity to reshape our definition of prosperity and build a future where everyone thrives. By embracing collective well-being, collaboration, and sustainable practices, we can create a world where abundance flows freely, enriching not just individuals, but the entire fabric of society. Remember, true prosperity lies not in what we hoard, but in what we share, and by working together, we can cultivate a future where everyone has the opportunity to flourish.

#pluto in aquarius #pluto enters aquarius #astrology updates #astrology community #astrology facts #astro notes #astrology #astro girlies #astro posts #astrology observations #astropost #astronomy #astro observations #astro community #business astrology #business horoscopes

122 notes · View notes