#and need to write them down. unfortunately

[moonstruckme]

hello, sweetie!! i've been reading your doctor!remus content for a while now, and i literally can't get enough of it. you write him so well, and i just can't help it when i binge through every fic you have of him. <33

is it okay if i send in a request? please ignore this if you're not taking any right now or if you don't want to write it. totally fair!!

could you do one where reader (female or gender neutral is fine with me) sort of breaks an ankle or an arm, and it hurts like hell? aside from pain meds, reader craves a hug or two from remus, but he's very busy and he almost doesn't have the time to visit reader?

again, don't feel like you have to write my request. i completely understand.

have a nice day or night. and remember to stay hydrated and take care of yourself. :) <3

Thank you angel, hope you're taking care of yourself too <3

cw: hospital setting, Remus is slightly negligent of his patients but don't worry they're all fine because I make the rules

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 759 words

Remus thinks that he handles stress well. He’s good at prioritizing, and he can juggle more patients than most when the hospital is at its busiest. Remus is often the one his colleagues call for when there’s a child in need of calming, frantic families who won’t let them work, or when they can’t think straight because they’re so overwhelmed. He prides himself on having his shit decently together at least while he’s at work. 

But, unfortunately, knowing you’re in one of the curtained rooms lined up in front of him and not being able to spend his shift sitting with you has Remus’ carefully wound concentration coming apart at the seams. 

He finds himself cocking his ear for your voice when he knows he’s only two rooms over from yours. The patient he’s meant to be paying attention to has to repeat the name of the medicine she takes twice before he gets it. One room over, and hearing your gasp makes him stop mid-sentence, standing up straighter. His patient asks if he’s okay. 

Remus does feel close to the appropriate amount of guilt when he rushes that last patient’s final checks before discharge. He resolves to steep in penitence later. 

You’re chewing your lip when he pushes your curtain open, your eyes flitting up to his with something like relief. 

“I only have a minute,” he breathes, pulling the curtain closed behind him before kissing you. “Hi, lovely. How is it?” He looks down at where you’re still holding your fractured wrist in your lap. “Have you not been seen to yet?” 

“They said a doctor would come soon.” You lean forward to kiss him again, hitting the corner of his lips. “And look, here you are.” 

Remus frowns. “Bailey should have been in here by now.” 

“I don’t mind waiting.” 

“You’ve been here over half an hour. Your arm should at least be stabilized while you wait.” He glances out the crack in between your curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of his negligent colleague. “How’s your pain?” 

“Rem, I’m fine,” you say. “Can we just—” 

“I’m going to go get him in here.” He touches your unhurt shoulder, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze before he turns to go. More focussed than he has been since you arrived. “Just sit tight, it won’t be much longer.” 

“Remus.” The splinter in your voice halts him as his hand closes over the curtain. Remus turns back around. 

Your eyes are glossy. It shakes him in a way nothing else can, like none of the horrors of his work ever do. It’s not pain, he doesn’t think. There’s a raw quality to your expression. 

“I don’t want him to come in here yet,” you whisper. 

Remus finds his voice dropping to match your quiet. “Why?” 

“I just want you.” 

His heart shudders. “Sweetheart,” he says, compassion heaving his tone, “I want to stay here with you, too, but you know why I can’t be the one to treat you. It’s against the rules.” 

“I know, but I just—can we—” You blink harshly, trying not to cry. Remus feels sick. For someone who deals with other people’s pain all day long, it’s sort of pathetic what the sight of yours does to him. “Can I just have a hug before you go?” 

“Oh,” he murmurs. An ache in the back of his throat. “Yeah, of course.” 

Remus has moved closer to you without realizing, drawn by the need to fix your upset, so it only takes a half step to be able to get his arms around you. You put your head on his shoulder like you’ve been wishing for it for hours. 

“Is this alright?” he asks, careful not to press anywhere near your injured arm. “Don’t let me hurt you.” 

“This is good.” Your voice is a watery consistency. Relief seeps from your every pore. 

Remus feels it seep into him, too. He rubs between your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to brush you off.” 

Your sniffle breaks his heart. “You didn’t brush me off. I know you’re busy.” 

“I always have time for a hug.” He presses a kiss into your hair. “It’s, like, half my job, you know.” 

“Are you hugging other girls?” 

“Only the very, very sad ones.” 

You make a sound he suspects might be a muffled laugh. “Guess I should count myself lucky I got some of your time, then. In between all these sad girls.” 

Remus hums. “I may have a bit of a soft spot for one in particular.” 

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

Somethin’ Stupid

A/N: Ahhhh this one hit me like a sack of bricks and I just had to put it in words! It wasn’t thoroughly proof read but I do not care! I was too excited to post it! I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!

Love, Mal <3

Summary: While making up with Aaron after a fight, you almost say something you can’t take back. He’s determine to coax it out of you, his tactics are… interesting.

Warnings: This is probably the fluffiest fluff I’ve ever written. If you don’t like tickling this is probably not for you. Swearing, an argument, sexual tension. Unspecified age gap

Tags: Fluffy af, emotional hurt/comfort, established(ish) relationship

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word count: 3,565

Masterlist

AO3 link here

The chaos in the conference room of the local station had risen to near deafening decibels and it was only devolving. No one seemed to be capable of coming to a compromise, everyone had their own opinion of how the coming raid should be planned out, and none of the locals were listening to the team. Even amongst yourselves, you were divided.

You and Aaron were divided.

That almost never happened. Unfortunately, today it was happening. He was wrong, you were sure of it. He, Spencer, and JJ thought the best way would be to go in peacefully and talk the unsubs down. That didn’t match the profile. The profile that you all made and agreed on together. That profile says that the unsubs would not allow themselves to be taken alive, that they would go out in a blaze of glory, suicide by cop if they’re caught. You didn’t know how Aaron wasn't seeing that. You, Morgan and Prentiss had all been trying to make the case that you needed to go in hot and heavy, full tactical gear and at least a full S.W.A.T. squad as back up. Catch them off guard, by total surprise and make sure they did not have time to react.

Rossi, the poor guy, was playing the peacemaker.

“Let’s all just settle down…” You could hear his soft voice just barely through the racket. It wasn’t going well for him. No one else was paying him any mind.

You could feel Aaron’s gaze on the side of your face, even as he continued to argue his point to Morgan and the chief of police. You ignored him. In fact you’d started retreating from the room entirely.

He raised his voice at you, spoke to you as though you were a child. Not his… well… you didn’t really know what you were, but even when you were just his subordinate he had never spoken to you like he had a moment ago.

In front of everyone. You’d been humiliated.

Tensions had been high, to be fair, and he had immediately realized he’d hurt you. You could see the regret and repentance on his face, but that was just not good enough right now. You hadn’t meant to undermine him, you really hadn’t and you knew he knew that.

��Would you just give it a second thought Aaron?!” You had asked frustratedly, then pled your case. “If we give them half a second to react they’re gonna open fire and then everyone will be in danger! Especially the victim they still have!”

Looking back on it… You had called him Aaron, which to the police department probably seemed like disrespect. Not to mention that you had been standing toe to toe with him, and your voice had been slightly elevated as well. In your defense you hadn’t been shouting at him, more like speaking loudly in his direction, but it was only so he could hear you over the cacophony of voices that were also all raised well above indoor voices.

But Aaron had practically barked your name. You had been stunned into silence, and the rest of the room had fallen into a brief and awkward silence as he said, “Stand down, now. I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job, I’ve been doing it just fine for longer than you’ve been an agent.”

It felt like he’d sucker punched you, right in the gut. You’d seen the regret—the apology—flooding his eyes, he hadn’t meant it. But your pride was already injured. You hadn’t said another word since, making yourself as small as possible and fading into the background.

You were good at that, being a wallflower, being unseen and unheard.

It was just part of life for you. Until you met Aaron. He had never made you feel small, or insignificant. Not until just now. So you needed a minute to recover and cope, you had drifted slowly to the back of the room and decided to slip out as soon as you could without being noticed. As soon as he freaking looked away from you anyway.

He knew it too. Which was why he was keeping his eyes firmly on you, practically begging you to look at him. But you were going to cry if you did that, so you kept your eyes firmly on the wall opposite you. You’d know if he looked away, his gaze was burning into your skull with an intensity that was making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Someone whistled, LOUDLY.

“Alright! Knock it off! You’re all acting like a bunch of children, not highly trained professionals.” The Police Chief scolded the entire room, crossing his arms and scowling so grimly it almost gave Aaron’s signature scowl a run for its money.

Aaron’s shoulder dropped briefly as he took a deep breath and addressed the room.

“Okay, let's take a five minute break, cool our heads and come back.” He instructed, and you took that as the perfect opportunity to escape as the crowd began to move. But he was one step ahead of you and called out your name loudly enough that every eye was on you again. “Stay behind for a minute, I need a word.”

You cringed, bringing your shoulders up nearly to your ears as you stopped in your tracks. You had already made it to the door, so you had to turn around and face everyone as you stepped aside and let them all out. Your team gave you sympathetic glances as they exited, thinking you were either in trouble or there was about to be a fight of epic proportions.

They knew there was something between you and Aaron, there was no such thing as a secret in the BAU. You were profilers, you spent nearly every waking moment together for weeks at a time, there was no hiding anything and everything always came to light. So you had never tried to hide it, neither of you had come right out and announced it either but you hadn’t needed to. They often witnessed soft spoken words, gentle touches, sweet smiles and flirtatious banter between the two of you. They were surprised at first, but they really didn’t question it. Now though, you were wishing they didn’t know. Because they’re sympathetic glances held a little more concern than this warranted.

You could hear them, just outside the door, as you waited for the rest of the officers to exit so you could close the aforementioned door. (No need to air your grievances in front of the entire station. You’d had enough embarrassment for one day, thank you.)

“Uh oh, I think Mom and Dad are about to fight.” Morgan joked.

JJ and Rossi groaned, while Reid and Prentiss snickered quietly.

“It doesn’t feel correct to refer to her as ‘Mom’ in this family dynamic.” Reid said matter of factly. “We’re all older than her.”

“Well what should I have said, Pretty Boy?” Morgan asks, and you can feel the joke coming. “Referring to her as the ‘baby sister' makes things really weird, really fast if we consider Hotch the group Dad. ‘Controversially Young Stepmom’ is closer to the truth, but that makes her sound like his midlife crisis, and we know that’s not true. He loves her.”

Woah…

They think he loves you?

Neither of you have ever said the L-word. You didn’t even really know what you were to him. He’d never called you his girlfriend, he never said that you weren’t either. So you just went with ‘partner’ if asked and let people decipher the meaning of the word for themselves.

Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes snapped to his realizing you’d been staring into space as you listened in on your teammates discuss the nature of your relationship with their leader. He smiled softly, apologetically, but you didn’t return it. Not yet.

Your cheeks were burning as you turned to close the door, keeping your back to him a second longer than necessary. Regaining a little composure now that there weren’t any prying eyes on you but his, you took a deep breath before turning to meet his gaze.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” You said, with a little more attitude than you ever would have used in front of other people. To be completely honest, the ‘sir’ was petty, but you were unapologetically mad right now. The blow landed as intended, making him wince and take a barely perceptible step back.

“I deserved that…” He murmured, his eyes so full of regret and remorse it was becoming difficult to stay mad. He knew he had made a mistake and he was truly sorry. You weren’t done nursing the grudge yet though… it may have been a maturity issue, but you didn’t care at that moment. He rounded the table and came toward you, you took a step back, turning away from him slightly. The thing about you both being profilers, is that you could often communicate your emotions with body language alone. Which is why he knew that you weren’t as angry at him as you made out.

Your back was slightly to him, yes, but your chin was tilted in a way that exposed your throat and also allowed you to hear him approaching. You were willing to be vulnerable, to hear him out and make amends. Your arms were crossed, but they weren’t tightly clutched to your body, they were loose. Your shoulders relaxed and your stance relatively open and comfortable. You were playing hard to get, and Aaron was well aware.

His hands squeezed your upper arms gently and you didn’t flinch away, you leaned into his hands. He didn’t further the touch, not yet, he wanted your uncoerced forgiveness first. He just felt the need to be connected.

“Sweetheart, I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said it, and it isn’t true. Your opinions are always welcome and I value each one. I’m very sorry.” He said, his tone clear and even, completely sincere.

“Are you sure?” You asked, not ready to forgive just yet, he had embarrassed you. “You seemed pretty serious when you ordered me to ‘stand down’ and pointed out how young and inexperienced I am compared to you… in front of everyone.”

You felt him flinch slightly and then felt slightly guilty, but only slightly.

“I don’t have any excuses, I am so sorry that I embarrassed you–”

“Humiliated me.” You cut in.

“Humiliated you.” He admitted softly, and his voice cracked quietly. Was he? No…

You turned in his arms and faced him, shocked to find his eyes brimmed with tears.

“Aaron?” You whispered quietly.

“I- I didn’t mean to make you feel…” He takes a deep shuddering breath, glancing away for a moment and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to make you feel small or young or inconsequential. I know that I did, I saw it all over your face when I said it, and that kills me. I know how hard you had to fight and what you had to overcome to get here, and I never intended to treat you that way, I said it in frustration. I wasn’t even frustrated at you, I just happened to be speaking to you when it boiled over. I’m sorry baby, I was wrong and I need you to know that I think the world of you! You amaze me.”

Now you were nearly crying.

You reached up and wiped his tears away with your thumbs and kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of forgiveness you could muster into him with your lips. You felt his body relax into yours, the tension fleeing like a rebuked demon. You let your body meld with his and his arms came around your waist as he kissed you back.

“I forgive you.” You murmured against his lips, just in case that wasn’t clear.

“Thank you…” He murmured back, deepening the kiss a little further and then pulling away to look at you. “I don’t deserve it, but I’ll accept it anyway because I don’t think I could bear to go into that raid without it. Without knowing that you and I are okay.”

“We’re okay.” You reassured him, then felt a little guilty yourself. “I– I didn’t mean to be disrespectful or to undermine you. Your name slipped out, I’m too used to saying it and I was frustrated as well. But I’m sorry, I should have been more tactful. It won’t happen again, if I have a concern about your decisions I’ll address it privately.”

He smiled at you, his eyes kind and full of… something similar to what was going on in your heart right now.

“Sweetheart, you can address your concerns whenever and wherever you please. My ego is not too fragile to handle that. In fact, I welcome it. I want to know if an order I’m giving makes you or the others feel like you’re not safe. It’s my job to protect you, especially you.” He caressed your cheek with his thumb as he cupped your head in his hands. “Truthfully, I didn’t even process what you said to me, I was too on edge. Could you tell me what has you concerned? I want to hear you out.”

You were absolutely sure that your pupils had shifted into big red hearts.

“God, Aaron. I lo–” You caught yourself, just barely, and bit your lip to stop the words from spilling out.

You couldn’t say that. No matter how true it was. Not when this whole thing was so… confusing? The lines were all blurred and you didn’t even know what this was.

Unfortunately, the pause and the panic in your eyes was telling enough. He was having a very hard time keeping a straight face. His lips twitching in open rebellion.

“You what?” He asked softly, but you could tell he knew exactly what you had almost blurted out with so much breathy adoration that you wished the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

You shook your head and retreated a few steps.

“Nothing.” You said, too quickly, looking away from him to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not important.”

You hear him take a step toward.

“I beg to differ.” He murmured, pure elation in his voice. “I’m gonna need you to finish that sentence, Honey.”

You retreated another step, scrambling for anything to save you from having to admit what you almost said.

“I was only going to say that I love how… emotionally mature you are???” You cringed, and he was not at all convinced, chuckling softly at your fib.

“Well, first of all, I ought to be, I’m entirely too old for you. Second of all, that is not what you were going to say. It was close, but I think it was gonna be a little shorter than that.” He said smugly as he kept coming closer to you and you kept backing away.

“Umm, no you aren’t.” You scowled at him, sticking your arm out behind you to make sure you didn’t run into anything. Slowly making your way around the table. “And yes it was, you’re not a mind reader, just a profiler and even that can’t tell you exactly what I was thinking.”

He chuckles again, his eyes practically sparkling with amusement.

“Then why did you stop yourself from saying it? That was nothing I didn’t already know you thought, you’ve told that before. That you appreciate how I have more emotional maturity than guys you’ve been with in the past. So why not just say it?” He pushes, continuing his slow advance toward you.

“I- I- I just realized that I had said it before and it was a silly thing to say in this situation. That’s all.” You stuttered, then tripped over someone's bag that had gotten left behind.

He reached out to steady you but you recovered too quickly and darted back, knowing if he got his hands on you, he would coax the truth out of you. One way or another.

“You’re a terrible liar Sweetheart, don’t ever play poker. Especially not with Rossi.” He’s grinning ear to ear now and it almost makes you want to just blurt it out, but you’ve made too big of a show of lying to give in now. “Just tell me what you were going to say. I already know, I just want to hear it.”

You shrugged, shaking your head as you made it to the middle of the other side of the long conference table. All fifteen feet of it between you and the door that you were so desperate to escape through. “I don’t know what you want to hear, Aaron. I already told you what I was going to say.”

He shakes his head and sighs, but the grin is still there.

“Fine.” He tuts. “I guess I’ll just have to get it out of you the hard way.”

You saw his body stiffen just before he lunged for you, and you had just a split second to launch yourself off a pulled out chair and onto the table. You took two steps and used the back of a chair to vault yourself off of the table and toward the door.

You almost made it too.

Almost.

Somehow, somehow, Aaron’s arm caught you around the waist just as your fingertips skimmed the doorknob. He used your own momentum to press your chest against the door and pin you to it with his hips and shoulders.

“Goddamn! You are ridiculously fucking fast for a man your age!” You cursed, breathlessly panting from the sudden burst of exertion.

He laughed, his fingers skimming your waist lightly. Oh fuck, not this…

“You are terribly slow for a woman your age.” He teased, his voice rough as he murmured in your ear. “Now, tell me what you were actually going to say, Darling, or I’ll have to get creative.”

You squirmed a little, trying to get free. It was hopeless, he was much much stronger than you and he wasn’t even holding you tightly enough to cause any discomfort.

“I already told you!” You whined.

He clicked his tongue.

“Alright, you had your chance.” He warned cryptically, and then his hands were everywhere, squeezing and pinching and lightly brushing over you until he found exactly what he was looking for.

You let out a squeal of laughter when he found your tickle spot. There were several, but this one, this one was the WORST. You couldn’t stop laughing and he just doubled down.

“Aaron, please!” You squealed. “We can talk about this, like adults!”

He only tickled you more fervently.

“I tried to talk, you left me no choice.” He disagreed. “Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll stop.”

You knew Aaron well enough to know that if you said you were uncomfortable, he would stop immediately. But you weren’t uncomfortable and you wanted to see how this would play out.

“No.” You gasped, another peal of giggles ringing out as he tickled faster. “Aaron!”

“It’s just three little words, honey. That’s all it takes…” He taunted as you wriggled and squirmed like a worm on a hook.

“Aaron please! I cannot breathe!” You panted through your laughter, tears running down your face.

“I dunno, you sure are making a lot of noise for someone who can’t breathe…” He joked, his amusement blatantly clear in his voice.

You gasped, your stomach was tight, your lungs were burning deliciously, you were wildly turned on and that honestly did concern you a little bit.

“I’m literally gonna pee my pants!” You pleaded, laughing so hard that you actually feared that to be true.

“Uh oh, better say those words fast then…” He said, determined not to relent until you gave it up.

You had began to squeak now, you were gasping for breath so hard and you were terrified that you were going to snort if he didn’t stop.

“Aaron!”

“Yes?”

Smug son of a bitch.

“I love you…” You mumbled.

He stumbled briefly, but then redoubled his efforts.

“What was that?” He teased. “I couldn’t hear you. Someone is laughing too loudly. I wonder who that could be?”

“Aaron…” You groaned, and he chuckled, not stopping for a second making you cackle and you were certain the entire station could hear you. “Fine, I said: I love you.”

“A little louder, Honey? You know I’m hard of hearing…” You could feel the smile on his lips against your neck and you knew damn well that he heard you the first two times.

“You insufferable, stubborn, fucking gorgeous old man, I said: I LOVE YOU!!!!” You shouted as loud as your oxygen deprived lungs would allow.

“Finally!” He murmured, as he flipped you around, pressing your back to the door as he crushed his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

Five very familiar voices began cheering just outside the door and you knew they’d been listening the entire time.

But you did not care.

Not as Aaron pulled away from you, just enough that he could look into your eyes.

“I love you too, Sweetheart.” He declared and the fire in his eyes let you know that he meant it.

[lokileaf]

Hi! Do you write requests? If so, I just need like a lokixreader fic where they’re having an arranged marriage but they don’t know that they’re soulmates. For context, soulmates in this universe have half a quote written somewhere on them that is important to their relationship. Bonus points if it’s enemies to lovers, with the reader also being witty and having the ability to keep Loki on his toes.

Yes, I love requests! Thank you for submitting! 💚

Tradition

Loki x f!Reader

It was a silly tradition. Nonsensical, honestly. The idea that the Norns could shape his destiny was ridiculous. Fate was a thing for mortals to find comfort in or blame for their bad fortune.

Not determine who he was permitted to marry.

Even prior to the script making its appearance on his skin, he had come to a decision. He would not share it with anyone. His mother and father would never know. After all, it was not unheard of for the tattoos to fail to appear for certain individuals. Surely no one would question his particular lack of writing.

Unfortunately, no amount of planning or plotting could prevent his heart from sinking as the sentence looped its way across the pale skin of his collarbone on that fateful day.

…but it was love eventually.

Loki did his best to prevent himself from attempting to derive any meaning from the unfinished quote. After all, he had already decided it was meaningless. What use was speculation when he had already made up his mind?

A celebration was customary upon the appearance of one’s soul mark. Your parents were elated when yours materialized, inking itself across your ribcage.

It wasn’t love at first sight…

Your heart soared at the potential the incomplete sentence held.

As high-ranking members of the Allfather’s court, it was thrilling news. Lords and ladies made their appearances at the ball put on in your honor, taking the opportunity to consult your parents accordingly. The event buzzed with nobles hoping their son or daughter would be the fortunate individual to complete your soul mark, thus securing an advantageous betrothal.

However, no such arrangement presented itself. As time went on, you began to resent the script. Your continued lack of apparent soulmate became the talk of the court, a stain upon your marriage prospects.

And oh how Loki loved to remind you of this particular shortcoming.

It began with snide comments at your soul mark celebration. Having been raised with one another, you were quite used to his sharp tongue and merciless teasing. You brushed him off at first, sure that your soul mate would would make themselves known before the evening’s end.

By the time your guests had begun to filter their way out of your family’s manor, tears were pricking your eyes with their sharp sting. Loki’s words were needling their way under your skin, taking up residence in the back of your mind.

You sat with your back against the wall of an abandoned hallway, the light dimming as tears forced their way through your closed lids. Your legs were folded up against your chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, head bowed to prevent any potential passersby from seeing your now puffy face.

You had finally run out of tears when you heard footsteps making their way down the hall. You jumped, hastily wiping your face as you stumbled up to your feet, your mind scrambling to find an adequate excuse for your distraught state. You had barely situated yourself upright before realizing the footsteps belonged to the younger prince.

“Ah, it’s only you,” you huffed, straightening the rumpled fabric of your formal attire.

“You would do well to address your prince appropriately,” Loki replied pompously, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked you up and down.

“My prince would do well to not stick his royal nose where it does not belong,” you shot back, clearly not in the mood for his attitude.

You caught a glimpse of a smirk making its way across his lips as you self-consciously attempted to smooth your hair back down.

“A bit sensitive this evening, are we? Disappointed with that frivolous little tradition, perhaps?”

You ignored the barb and began to make your way back to the great hall, your solitude thoroughly ruined by the God of Mischief. Your agitation only grew as he followed closely behind, clearly having chosen you as his evening entertainment.

“Surely you can’t be shocked,” he stated plainly, as if it were obvious.

You paused mid stride, turning to face him. Your emotions had already been chaffed raw, leaving you with little patience for mincing words.

“And what exactly do you mean by that, Your Highness,” you snapped. You hated to give in to his ruse but you were in no mood for his backhanded comments at the moment.

“Well, my lady,” he started, “one should not be so surprised that an individual as foolhardy as yourself would not be granted a soulmate of noble standing.”

Your face began to heat with indignation, a flourish of nasty insults rising to your tongue. You glared at him, forcing yourself to retain a semblance of self control.

Despite his endless capacity to annoy you, he really was unfairly handsome. His sharp cheekbones, angular jawline, his pale skin contrasting with his raven hair. And not to mention his substantial height and devastatingly blue eyes.

It was truly unfortunate that he maintained an insatiable need to ruin it all with his loud mouth.

“I supposed one should also not be surprised to learn that an individual as ill-mannered as yourself would have no soulmate at all”, you finally shot back before storming off to your chambers.

He watched you go, rooted to the spot by your quick jab. He would have been impressed had the retort not stung him so unexpectedly. He felt his brow furrow as your fleeing form rounded a corner, disappearing from view.

Is that how his people viewed his alleged lack of a soul mark? As a direct result of his prickly personality? A personal failing?

He supposed he should not have been as offended by this notion as he was. After all, had he not just insinuated the same toward you?

Best not to think about it, he determined.

This mutual irritation continued on throughout your… relationship. If one could even call it that. The years continued to pass and your soulmate had failed to manifest themselves. Additionally, Loki’s soul mark had continued in its failure to appear.

Or so he had you believe.

With Thor earning himself a full fledged banishment from Asgard, the throne found itself with one heir remaining.

One heir with no marriage prospects.

Amidst swirling rumors, the Allfather had summoned your family to the palace to discuss “a matter of utmost importance”, though your father had neglected to inform you of exactly what this meeting entailed.

You waited silently just outside of the throne room, wishing you could be anywhere else. You truly adored the king and queen, but Loki had taken to roaming the palace more freely in his brother’s absence, leaving you subject to his comings and goings.

You jumped as his green and gold clad figure appeared next to you, seemingly out of nowhere, a smirk on his lips.

“Do you ever tire of your juvenile magic tricks?” you snapped at him, your irritation evident. He placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt.

“As I recall, my lady, you quite enjoyed my magic tricks in our youth.”

You ignored his comment, instead focusing on your attempt to eavesdrop on your parents and the Allfather and -mother. Loki watched in silence as you pressed your ear to the throne room door, your face screwed up in concentration.

He threaded a hand behind your head, cupping it with his palm before you flinched away from the contact, a bewildered expression on your face.

“Relax, my lady, I am only trying to assist you,” he muttered.

He reached his hand out once more, waiting for you grant him permission to touch you. You nodded slowly, allowing him to lace his fingers through the back of your hair, cupping your jaw. He pressed his other hand to the door, using his seiðir to amplify the conversation and direct it straight into your mind. The two of you waited in concentrated silence, anxious to hear what was being discussed.

“-believe this arrangement would be advantageous to both our families. Our children are of marrying age, after all, and the throne requires an heir be betrothed.”

“We quite agree, Your Majesty. I speak for our entire family when I say that we would be delighted to have our daughter betrothed to Prince Loki.

You could no longer hear the exchange over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You stumbled away from the door in shock. Loki released you from his grasp, his eyes wide and staring at the door in front of him. You took a moment to compose yourself before turning on your heel to face him, rage boiling in your blood.

“If this is one of your tricks, Odinson, it is not amusing,” you snapped at him accusingly.

“I assure you, my lady, this development is completely free of my influence.”

Hearing footsteps approaching, Loki darted toward you, swiftly taking you in his arms and spinning you around so your back was pressed against his chest. You thrashed against his hold, your agitation having reached its peak.

“Be still. Someone is coming,” he whispered hurriedly, his lips brushing ever so slightly against the shell of your ear as he pressed himself back against the palace wall. His arms held you firmly in place against him and you looked down to see that your bodies had completely disappeared.

“What is this?” you asked accusingly, voice just above a whisper. An invisible hand shot up to clamp over your mouth, irritating you further. You felt Loki duck his head down to whisper in your ear once more.

“I am preventing us from being discovered in a rather compromising position. And you’re quite loud,” he replied.

Despite your annoyance with the prince, a warmth settled low in your abdomen as his breath caressed the skin behind your ear. Before you could give much thought to your body’s reaction, the throne room door opened, revealing each of your parents.

You felt Loki’s arms tighten around you, pressing you further into him as the Allfather came dangerously close to brushing against your hidden form.

“I supposed we should inform our children of the arrangement?” Frigga proposed to the group, placing a hand on her husband’s arm.

“Indeed… over a feast, perhaps?” Odin suggested, leading the group down the palace hall and away from your current position.

You didn’t bother listening for your parents’ reply, ripping yourself from Loki’s grasp before storming off toward the guest chambers.

“My lady, wait…” Loki started, following closely behind.

You burst through your chamber doors rather unceremoniously, throwing yourself onto the settee at the foot of your temporary bed. You covered your face with your hands, frustrated tears forcing their way out.

“You know, you could have procured a significantly worse betrothal,” Loki stated, breaking the tension.

“Not now, Loki…” you sighed, sounded defeated.

He let the silence continue for a few moments, unsure of how to balance his desire to comfort you and his own shock at the impending betrothal. He quietly lowered himself next to you on the settee, placing a slightly awkward hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him, slightly confused by the uncharacteristic gesture.

“Surely being my bride-to-be is not as devastating as you believe,” he teased gently, his eyes softening as they met yours. You couldn’t help the slight smile that broke across your lips.

“As aggravating as you are, my prince, it’s not that. I simply feel… like a failure, I suppose,”

“Do tell.”

You hesitated ever so slightly, unsure if bearing your soul to the trickster would end well for you.

“My soul mark was supposed to determine who I am to marry. And I cannot find them. I suppose I did not realize how right you were that night when you said I shouldn’t be surprised someone like me would not find their soulmate.”

His chest ached at the sentiment, regret stinging like a blow. He hadn’t thought about your little exchange since that night, didn’t think you would have remembered. Despite the enjoyment he derived from teasing and baiting you, he had never intended to cause you any actual harm.

“I suppose I should consider myself lucky, then,” he said quietly.

There was not much in the Nine Realms that could make his heart race, but this rare moment of vulnerability was enough to send his pulse pounding in his ears.

You looked up at him, clearly confused by the earnest tone in his voice.

“If I am to inherit the throne, I will require a wife. And I suppose you will do,” he deadpanned. You couldn’t help the laugh that burst from your chest, your previous distress completely forgotten.

To his utter confusion, Loki couldn't help but feel his heart soar at the sound of your laughter echoing through the guest chambers.

“I suppose I could do a lot worse for myself than a prince,” you conceded, looking down at your hands folded in your lap. “I just can’t help but feel like I’ve disappointed my parents.”

He nearly laughed aloud at the statement. From his perspective, there was no bigger disappointment than himself.

I could tell her, he thought to himself.

Surely there was no use hiding his soul mark any longer. If you were to be wed, you would discover the truth eventually.

“If that were true, my lady, you would be in good company,” he said quietly, heart beginning to race at the prospect of revealing his long kept secret. Your brow furrowed as you looked up at him in confusion.

“How do you figure?”

A moment of hesitation before his fingers made their way to the collar of his tunic, tentatively pulling the deep green fabric away from his collarbone to expose the thin lettering looping across his pale skin.

The deafening silence rang in his ears as he waited for you to react in some capacity, unsure of what you would say. After a few heartbeats had passed, you cautiously raised your hand to run your fingers over his skin.

…but it was love eventually.

“I thought you didn’t receive a soul mark,” you mumbled, transfixed by the ink.

He sighed softly, unsure if you would understand his quandary with the idea of fated mates.

“I merely… kept the occurrence private. Too many fawning suitors… you understand,” he replied sheepishly, fighting the blush that was making its way across his cheeks. An exasperated laugh escaped your lips, Loki’s revelation easing your prior distress.

“I see… I supposed we are more alike than I thought, my prince,” you sighed, looking down at your hands clasped in your lap.

A moment of silence passed before he gently took your hands in his, your eyes snapping up to meet his blue ones. You felt your heart begin to race at the contact, surprising yourself with the reaction.

"My lady..." he trailed off, letting hesitation get the better of him for a moment. His gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second.

"Yes, Loki?"

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper as he began to close the gap between your lips.

"And if I don't want you to?" you muttered breathlessly.

A mischievous smirk flashes across his face before his lips claimed yours, your eyes closing as you surrendered control over to him. His hands slid up your body to cup your face, pulling you closer as he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently. You gasped slightly into his mouth, your stomach erupting with butterflies.

What are we doing? you thought silently to yourself. Can a lifetime of annoyance and irritation be erased by a single intimate moment?

You trailed a hand up his chest and around the back of his neck, sliding your fingers into his hair. You tighten your grip on his raven curls, eliciting a slight groan from the god. Liquid heat began to pool at your center.

Yes it can, you decided.

Loki's tongue trailed the length of your bottom lip in a silent question, his hands dropping to your hips. You granted him access, fighting back a moan as he effortlessly shifted your body onto his lap. Straddling his hips, you pressed your chest against his as his lips made their way across your jaw and down your neck.

His hands found the laces of your corset and he pulled away slightly, looking up at you for permission. You nodded eagerly, catching his lips in another kiss as he skillfully unlaced the constricting garment before pulling it over your head along with your gown.

You became acutely aware of Loki's state of overdress, his tunic remaining in place while you were left in only your thin cotton shift. Without saying a word, you began working on the buttons on the emerald green fabric, exposing his pale chest.

His hands slowly slid up your thighs, pushing the fabric of your shift up dangerously high before settling on your hips. You pushed his tunic back over his shoulders, leaving him shirtless before you. You paused, taking a moment to appreciate his bare upper body. Your eyes made their way down from his collarbones to his stomach, admiring the lean muscle and V-lines leading lower and lower.

He broke you out of your reverie by grabbing the bottom of your shift, pulling it over your head. You let him do so, too lost in the feeling of his body under yours to care about being exposed to him.

You made to lean back down to kiss him when you noticed that his gaze was glued to the spot on your ribcage where you knew your soul mark was located. A shiver raced down your spine as Loki gently traced over it with his fingertips.

"It wasn't love at first sight..." he read aloud, his dark brow furrowed.

"...but it was love eventually," you finished for him, eyes wide in realization. He stared up at you silently, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

"Does the god of mischief have nothing to say?" you asked quietly, attempting to break the tension and settle your nerves.

"Well, my lady, it's not every day that a god finds his soulmate," he replied before pulling your face down to kiss him. He hooked his hands under your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips and he stands and walks you over to the guest bed.

You smiled into his mouth as he gently lowered you onto the plush duvet. You slid your hands down his torso to his belt, clumsily undoing the buckle before starting on the button of his pants. He chuckled in your kiss and slid out of the remainder of his clothing, pressing himself against your body.

A moan escaped you at the feeling of his hot erection pressing against your inner thigh. You arched your back, pressing your bare chest into his and relishing in the friction of his skin against yours.

Loki trailed his lips down your chest, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth. You involuntarily ground yourself against him as his tongue made slow circles around the sensitive skin, soft sighs leaving your lips.

"Loki," you whined desperately, rubbing your wet heat against his thigh.

"I'm here, darling," he mumbled against your skin, "tell me what you need."

"I need you."

"Where do you need me?"

He smiled up at you as he lowered himself between your thighs, his breath on your heat making you clench around nothing. You slipped a hand to the back of his head, trying to push his mouth down to grant you the relief you needed.

"Ah ah, darling. Say it for me."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, slightly irritated with the prince.

"I need you to make me cum, Loki," you admitted, lifting your hips slightly off the mattress in an attempt to make contact. He firmly pressed you back down, a smug look on his gorgeous face.

"Patience, my love," he mumbled, pressing hot, openmouthed kisses to your thighs. He continued his ministrations until he reached your soaked center. Your jaw fell open as his tongue licked a fat stripe over your clit, spreading your wetness across the sensitive apex.

"Oh fuck..." you gasped, your hands shooting down to the back of his head and threading your fingers through his hair. His wrapped around your thighs, pulling you closer as his tongue teased your entrance. Letting go of your left thigh, he trailed his hand down to where his mouth met your body, sliding two fingers through your folds.

His tongue made tight circles over your clit as he slipped his digits inside, giving you a few seconds to adjust before slowly pumping them in and out. You gripped the sheets, clenching your thighs around his head as the pressure in your abdomen began to build.

"Loki!" you keened, back arching once again.

He groaned into your cunt, too lost in the pleasure he was giving you to provide a real reply. The vibrations of his voice on your core sent you over the edge, undulating your hips into his face. He continued to make quick, punishing circles on your clit, helping you ride it out as your core clenched around his fingers.

You panted, letting your thighs fall limp to either side of Loki's head. He stood, taking his place on top of you. He gently brushed your hair from your eyes before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, the taste of your own slick invading your mouth.

Before the kiss could develop into anything more, a knock at the door startled both of you.

"Darling?" your mother's muffled voice came through the locked door.

Your heart lurched, panic quickly setting in. Loki jumped up from the bed, scrambling to dress himself.

"Yes?" you shouted back, scooping your discarded shift off the floor and hastily throwing it on. You grabbed your dressing robe from a hook near the vanity and swiftly wrapped it around you, tying the knot as glanced over your shoulder to tell Loki to hide in your bathroom but was nowhere in sight.

He had completely vanished.

Your mother knocked on your door, pulling you from your thoughts. Undoing the lock, you opened it to see both of your parents standing excitedly in the hallway.

"Yes, what is it?" you asked, trying to smooth your sex-mussed hair down.

"We have a family matter to discuss and we wanted to- dear, are you alright? You look flushed," your mother interrupted herself, pressing the back of a hand to your forehead. You gently brushed her off, fighting the blush rising to your cheeks.

"Yes, I'm fine!" you replied a tad too eagerly. "What is it, what's the matter?"

Your parents shared a suspicious look before your father spoke.

"We have something to discuss. Family meeting in our chambers in fifteen minutes?" he asked plainly.

“Yes, just give me a moment to ah… freshen myself up,” you stuttered. Your mother smiled at you before turning to leave, your father following suit. You closed your door quietly, letting yourself fall back against it and pressing a hand to your face in embarrassment.

You gathered your composer and began making your way to the vanity to assess the state of your hair. As you turned, Loki’s towering figure appeared directly in front of you, causing you to yelp in fear. You lightly slapped his chest as he placed his hands on your hips

“Don’t do that!” you scolded him before allowing him to draw you into a kiss.

“You know you always enjoyed my little tricks, darling,” he replied, leading you back to the bed.

[yoiisa]

NOTHING'S AS IT SEEMS ⋆˙⟡ SAE ITOSHI

"So we went on our way, Too in love to think straight, All alone or so it seemed, But there were strangers watching, And whispers turned to talking, And talking turned to screams!" - "Wonderland" by Taylor Swift Tags: TW for mentions of racism! This fic plays into discrimination theory of what happened to Sae in Spain so be cautious, angst, hurt no comfort, breakups sorta??

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I’m writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums.

I bounced back and forth between Rin and Sae for this song a lot, because of the green eye line. I then saw a tiktok edit of Rin to "Dear Reader" off Midnights, so that settled that! Both are pretty pretty sad. Anywho, enjoy! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

When Sae left for Spain, you hadn't stopped him. You'd encouraged him in fact, ready to see how far he'd soar after spreading his wings.

You hadn't gone with him to the airport, but he'd made a pit stop at your house before he went. His arms were tight around you, squeezing your sides and crushing you against his chest. You kissed his cheek and smiled.

"You'll do amazing," you whisper as he rests his forehead against yours. "Just remember, I'm here for you in case it becomes too much."

"I know," he gives you a small smile. He sighs, "I'm gonna miss you so much."

"I'll miss you too," you whisper, pecking his lips, "but it's for the best."

Your voice cracks, but you power through the emotions still. Sae needs you to be strong. The world is crazy. He was going to go through so much on an entirely different continent. He needed you to be stable for him.

Sae shakes his head and nuzzles his nose against yours. "I'll come back to visit, promise."

"I'll be fine with the messages and calls, but I can't wait for you to come back," you say, fisting his jacket in your hands.

"I haven't even left yet," he chuckles.

"You should probably get on that," you sigh, "I think your parents are getting antsy."

Sae sighs and nods. He gives you one last firm kiss, his lips imprinting on you. You didn't know it then, but that sensation would haunt you for years to come.

Oh, Sae. It was never supposed to turn out like this.

You became pavlovian-style conditioned to your phone pings for the first few months that your boyfriend was gone. Even if the notification sound wasn't even for the messaging app, you'd still jump onto the device, anxious to see if Sae wrote to you, if he missed you.

At first, it was regular messages. He would type like he spoke to you and send you photos of everything in Spain. Oddly, it made you feel overwhelmed all the way on the other side of the world. It put into perspective just how big the world is, and how small you were in comparison. How cramped would Sae felt when he would come back? Could he stay here with you again and not feel restless for the need to be everywhere or anywhere else?

Perhaps it was your fault too, that things ended the way that they did. You're man enough to acknowledge it, how your insecurities slowly poisoned your relationship with Sae. Your responses to his photos and videos and summaries of his days, which now had started to become few and far between since he was getting "busier" with soccer, were also becoming curt and dry. You told yourself that you were also getting busier, but deep down you knew it was a lie. You were still boring ol' you, and he was starting to make international headlines as a prodigy of soccer!

You don't know when, but eventually, you stopped talking altogether. Unfortunately, this meant you grew distant from Rin too, despite the young boy not understanding why you seemed to be running from him at every turn. It did hurt, seeing the confusion in those sweet round eyes of Rin's, but it hurt more looking into them and seeing Sae stare back at you.

You'd taken up a sport in high school yourself, desperate for something to add to your college resume. It started as something kill time, but as your third year approached, you found genuine passion in the activity. The bonds between your teammates and coaches, the exhilaration of winning games, it was intoxicating. Suddenly, you could perfectly understand why people, why Sae, had completely given everything up in pursuit of this.

You started doing more research into famous sports equipment brands, such as Nike and Adidas. Eventually, you stumbled upon the Nike anti-racism campaign. The white and black wristbands meant to bring awareness Europe-wide to the blatant prejudice and discrimination rampant in fanbases over there.

Despite everything, you couldn't help but recall Sae. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest, and you briefly hoped that things had improved for his safety and happiness. Even though you two had technically broken up, what with the long and heavy silence you shared, you wished him no ill will. Besides, this website said the campaign was launched in 2005, that was forever ago.

You didn't even know that Sae had come home years later.

You had been walking home when suddenly a giant TV caught your attention. There he was in all his glory, bangs pushed away from his face, his expression bored, his mouth pulled into a frown that looked like it'd been etched into his face. Sae was doing an interview with a representative of the JFU and your eyes caught on his wrist. He'd changed so much, and the years since he was 13 suddenly weighed heavily on your chest.

Sae was all grown up, and so were you, but you'd grown in two completely different directions. You felt like a flower that had sprouted toward the sun, climbing and yearning, but he . . . he was like a root, burrowing deeper into the ground, cementing himself in an environment that made him grow an exhausted look in his teal eyes. You felt bad, and then felt worse as your eyes snagged on his wrist.

Two bracelets, white and black, dangling loosely from his arm. The camera couldn't focus in on them close enough, but you swore you could vaguely make out the shape of a Nike checkmark.

Your heart almost stops.

Your head is reeling the entire walk home, and after dinner you sit in the dark in your bedroom, staring at the floorboards. You'd gotten it all wrong. Sae had also sprouted from the ground like you, but someone had taken gardening clippers and killed his sprout before it could even bud.

Sighing, you take your phone out and hunt down Sae's phone number. It's buried somewhere deep in your contacts, but you finally find it. Your finger hovers over the Call button, and you shake your head. Instead, you decide that a message would suffice.

you: hey! i saw ur back in Japan wanna meet up?

You chuck your phone onto your pillow and spend the next hour pacing your room desperate to avoid looking at it. Eventually, you bite the bullet and flip it over, seeing a few messages from Sae. You need to unlock the chat to see what they say, and within the five seconds it takes, your heart jumps with hope of rekindling something five years gone now.

Where will you guys go on the date? What will you do? Will he be like how he was before, or will you need to get used to his new persona? You could manage with this quieter version of him, you're sure-

Your eyes widen as you read his messages. The first words he's spoken to you in four years.

sae: no, and u should delete this number im sorry its better for both of us if you accept that im gone now i have to go back home to spain in a little anyways

Home. He has to go home, to Spain.

Your phone falls from your hands and clunks against the wooden floor of your bedroom. How could that place be his home? Somewhere where he needs to fight against the cruel and crazed fanatics who hate people like him, people like you-

You shouldn't have rushed into your hope of rekindling something with you. You should've protected yourself more. Whatever, there was nothing to do now but delete his number like he asked.

As you clear it from your phone's memory, your vision blurs and your heart desperately points out that he kept your number saved all this time still. But what does that matter anyways?

a/n: will sofie ever right a happy sae fic? who knows? not me!

[practicalsuccubus]

Incorrect Quotes part 11

Nox, talking with Silver when Chase rescues him: So....there was a piece of chocolate cake with a note that said 'Don't eat me'. Now, there's an empty plate, and I wrote a reply note that said 'Don't tell me what to do'. - Deacon: Buddy won’t come out of his room! Chase: Just tell them I said something. Deacon: Like what? Chase: Anything factually incorrect. Deacon, shrugging: If you say so. Nox, arriving moments later: Did you just say the sun is a PLANET? - Deacon, rolling his eyes: What are you two arguing about this time? Nox: He's always using common phrases incorrectly! Chase: Cry me a table, Buddy. - Nox, snarkily: How do you know how to kiss? Like who teaches you? Chase: Well it’s actually a class, but unfortunately it’s full right now. Chase: Would you like me to tutor you? Nox: -blushing heavily- - Deacon: I know you love him. (referring to Alistair) Chase, immediately: I am not in love with Buddy! Deacon, staring at Chase: I never said who... Chase: *realizes* Chase: Shit. Well, anyways- - Deacon, waiting with Chase in a book: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room. -snort- Chase: Screw that, I’m not kissing anyone in a book. *Nox walks in* Chase, blushing: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know. - Chase: I lost Prunella. Deacon: How did you LOSE PRUNELLA?! Chase: To be fair, she is very small. - Prunella: What are you writing? Chase: Ex-Libris wants to know what kind of Keys we have in the house. I'm letting them know it's private information. Deacon, looking over Chase's shoulder: This just says 'fuck around and find out' in calligraphy. - Chase: We need to open this locked door. Deacon, give me your credit card. Deacon: Here. Chase, pocketing it: Thanks. Prunella, break down the door. - Deacon: Silver. I love you. Why did you eat the wax on the Babybel? Silver, happily: Chase told me it was edible~ - Deacon: Hell. We need a distraction. Nox: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises? Chase, whispering: My time has come. - Nox: The clock is ticking! We don't have time for this asinine tomfoolery! Deacon, getting a small smile: This unmitigated poppycock? Chase, smiling: Extravagant hogwash! Nox, trying to hide his smile: Okay, stop.

[atreeinthemoonlight]

Robert was a terrible king by nearly every metric, and his death directly preceded one of the most destructive conflicts in history. Given that, it’s not surprising that some people start looking backward for alternative outcomes, especially ones that never had the chance to fail.

If Rhaegar had won at the Trident and suppressed the rebellion, we’d likely see the opposite narrative emerge. Every time he made a questionable decision or when any crisis happened, related or not, people would invoke the memory of Robert: the bold rebel who fought for love, the wronged lord who might’ve changed everything. His legend would grow precisely because he never got far enough to disappoint anyone...though Rhaegar died early enough to avoid public failure, he still managed to let down the only people he was actually responsible for...

Rhaegar is considered a potentially good king not because of anything he actually governed,it’s all about who he’s being compared to. While he was alive, they compared him to Aerys.After he died, they compared him to Robert.Two of the worst kings in Westeros history,and against them, Rhaegar will always come out as “the good king who could have been.”

He liked reading, playing the harp, and quiet contemplation—unlike his mad king father, who was violent and cruel. Naturally, people idealize him as a “cultured and enlightened ruler.” This contrast makes it easy to overrate Rhaegar without actually examining his actions or judgment. He didn’t need to actually do much of anything—just not being Aerys was enough to make him a god in the eyes of many. Many readers don’t evaluate him by the standards of a statesman, but rather through the lens of a romance novel protagonist—Tragic, melancholic, always seeming to carry some secret burden,he gives off that aura that makes you want to get close, to ease his sorrow for him. Readers mistake that emotional pull—the desire to comfort him, to believe in him—for proof that Rhaegar must have had a grand plan, that he knew exactly what he was doing and would’ve succeeded if only he’d had the chance. Some readers even treat his extramarital affair with Lyanna as a qualification for being a good king—as if a male character who isn’t toxically masculine or boring must naturally be fit to rule.

But did the books even mention a single concrete example of him making sound political decisions or showing leadership in state affairs? Winning a tourney and enjoying books can qualify someone to govern a kingdom? Of course not.A tourney proves skill in combat, not military strategy.A love of reading might suggest a poetic soul, but it doesn’t mean he had a coherent political philosophy,vision or statecraft. Ruling a realm takes strategic thinking, political savvy, organizational competence, and a deep sense of responsibility—not a good harp solo or a brooding stare.

Unfortunately, many people mistake “prince-like charm” for actual kingly ability. Even if Rhaegar had lived, I still wouldn’t see him as a good king. The fact that “dying early” is considered both his greatest political achievement and most devastating kind of defeat says it all.

You don’t even need to bother wondering what would’ve happened if Rhaegar had won at the Trident—because he was never going to win.The idea of him winning is so far-fetched, I’d write my name backwards if it actually happened lol.

[sosuigeneris]

The biggest truth bomb that no one will tell you is that even in the right circles, 99% of men do not have their shit together. Yes, the men who are Ivy League educated, own family businesses worth billions… majority of them do not have their shit together. 

So the first man who comes along who seems decently ambitious will make you  realise a bunch of things. A genuinely ambitious / secure guy will not dote on you prioritise you the way fairytales told you he would - especially if he’s running the business himself. That doesn’t mean that he won’t care or look out for you, it just means that he will have his own style of doing it; often quite abrupt and to the point. You’re not going to be his first priority, especially if you’re at girlfriend level. He is going to take calls, answer emails and have work to attend to. That’s the reality of running your own business - it’s a 24/7 job. And if you want that level of security, you unfortunately need to deal with the realities. 

The most important thing always is to prioritise your emotional well being first. Remember that the first few months/ year is the most fertile time to get emotionally codependent. 

You need to keep one thing in mind. He has to EARN fulfilling your needs. And not just once but multiple times. And even when he has earned it, don’t forget that your well being cannot depend on him. 

There are certain rules you also have to keep in mind. 

Be willing to leave whenever. That just means that show face that will walk away when things aren’t working out. Inside, you may be hurting, you might be distraught but don’t show it. You can deal with your emotions privately but put a stoic face on. 

You need to look 10/10 at all times. Remember - man seeing you in your “natural” state is a privilege for him. 

Meet your own emotional needs first. If you want to experience something that your man isn’t interested in, go experience it yourself. Don’t get codependent if there’s no hard evidence that shows he’s there for the long term. 

Actions over words. Keep a note or a diary or whatever but track his actions. If he tells you he’s old school but on the 3rd date spilts the bill, that’s words and actions not lining up. Write things down so that your mind won’t play tricks on you and do it real time. 

If you’re in the early stages of dating, mute him on WhatsApp. That way you’re not urged to respond back to him immediately and you’ll do it at your own time. 

Don’t let go of your social circle in exchange for his time. 

Understand that each relationship has its own pace. What you see online / from the past relationships may not set the pace for the current one. Take it intentionally slow, don’t commit before 3-4 months, don’t get all housewife for him early. 

Make a list of his privileges with you as a “dating partner” and “committed girlfriend.” For instance, while you’re early in the dating phase, you may keep sex off limits but keep sex available during commitment. Or while dating you may introduce him to your friends but when committed, to your parents. Or as a dating partner you may hang out with him till midnight but not stay over till you’re committed. Make a list of his privileges and stick to it. 

Don’t let go of your financial independence. Whatever you do. 

Do not fantasise about him and marriage early on. You can’t be seeing him for two weeks and then daydreaming about having kids with him. Do not romanticise future potential; romanticise completed ACTIONS. So instead of saying “oh I can’t wait to name our baby girl Lily” or whatever, you can allow yourself to think, “oh it was very sweet of him to get me flowers on our last date.” 

[black-salt-cage]

so remember when I made a post not too long ago stating that no requests pertaining to AI related content will be fulfilled? I'm gonna get much more specific with my feelings on this because a friend went down the rabbithole that is the pro-ai side of tumblr and I noticed people within it are following us. And YES, I know I said that I'm not super strict about my dni. but I find this to be a morally reprehensible stance to take so I'm gonna make my opinions on ai abundantly clear before I go and block these people. Unfortunately some of you have been longtime supporters of this blog, but them's the breaks ain't it?

AI is not, can not, and will never be a means to create true and genuine art. Art can only come from true and authentic humanity and that can come from ANY human, regardless of their perceived skill level

Defending AI as a tool for "disabled people" is in of itself ableist. Disabled individuals create art all the time through their own means and to act as if they cannot create true and genuine art BECAUSE of their disability is nothing more than ableism

I do not support ANY form of generative AI. Do not come at me with the "I bet you use chatgpt or character.ai" shit because I don't. I've been drawing and writing since I was a child and I do not need a machine to horribly emulate humanity for me

Comparing being anti-ai to ACTUAL FACISM is uhm. beyond tone deaf. which is about as nicely as I can put it. And to put it rudely and quite correctly: you're one stupid motherfucker and you're lucky I can't chuck a brick at your head to factory reset your sense of logic.

Generative AI is killing our planet. YES we should focus on the billionaires contributing to the pollution of the planet but that does not give you a free pass. You do not get to stab your neighbor because jason voorhees got to stab a whole bunch of people for several movies. You hiding behind this pathetic excuse is indicative of the fact that not only are you an asshole, but you're also a coward too

Your oc being made purely through ai looks bad and you should feel bad. pick up the damn pencil and stop whining

YOU ARE NOT ENTITLED TO EVERY SINGLE THING YOU WANT. AI steals from artists, steals from our planet, and is being used to rob artists of jobs in order to sustain their own livelihoods. If you refuse to learn how to develop the skill it takes to get the kind of art you want or refuse to pay an artist in order to get that art then you. do. not. deserve. it.

Saying that AI makes art accessible to poor people is WRONG and poor people are not entitled just because of their monetary situations. I am ALSO a poor artist and I learned to draw with dollar store markers, school pencils, and the ol' "stick and dirt on ground" method.

If you rely on AI you will never be an artist and you will never be a writer. If that makes you feel bad then good, you should feel bad for it

I will not budge on any of these opinions and this post is not an invitation for discussion. This is me stating my mind and telling you that if you have a problem with me after this then maybe you should reconsider following this blog.

AI bros can eat shit and cry about having tiny genitals

Apologies for this being a very unusual post for this blog but I couldn't let that slide after realizing that some of these people followed this acc. I'm not intending for this to be reblogged but go crazy if you want. Just know I ain't gonna fight with yappers on this, I'll just block.

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? . . . MY BETTER CR REALITY

academic pretention and punk rock ideology meet in one edmund crowley, creative writing student and part time chaos machine. this is revealed in his bag, in which we're getting a glimpse into the man behind the novels . . . perhaps we should make this quick. (credits where credits are due!!! inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape and, this one by @macknshift)

my ancient bag that has been passed down in my family for literal generations. belonged to my professor grandma before she passed it down to me due to our mutual love of literature (along with a few other of her belongings). I've patched up the lining several times to keep using it. also attached is an eyeball keychain crocheted for me by my best friend, a plushie dreadfuls autism bunny keychain, and my bluetooth headphones that are just a necessity.

the front pockets — where I keep things I want easily accessible

LEFT POCKET

— my spare earbuds just in case anything happens to my over the ear ones or any of my friends need a pair

— my swiss army knife that is literally everything. I do threaten my friends with it. this is the least of their worries with me

— a small victorian style pillbox that holds the food of the gods (acetaminophen and ibuprofen)

— my vivienne westwood lighter and cigarette case that also used to belong to my grandmother (she's literally an icon). I keep a poem I got out of a quarter machine at the bookshop folded up in there. it's written in italian, I don't speak italian.

RIGHT POCKET

— my tiny notebook for spur of the moment story concepts, poetry lines, profound shower thoughts, or a cute barista's number

— my portable altar for spellwork on the go. I'm rarely home, so this is good to keep with me.

the back pocket — where I keep things I need to pull

— my leather journal I keep for more formal poetic ramblings, for proper academic pretention

— my phone, which I unfortunately must carry with me despite my desire to become the campus' ghost story and become unreachable. it does have a cute mushroom case, so perks.

— my vivienne westwood wallet!! also my grandmothers that she passed down.

— my flask full of absinthe . . . once again, academic pretention.

— two tarot cards that have found me on their own accord. neither of them belong to any of my decks. neither of them are from the same deck. I keep them anyway.

the main pocket — where literally everything is

— my notebooks for class

— a cabin notebook for world-building craft — flying squirrel decomposition notebook for visiting expert talks — brain journal for character psychology — fairy composition notebook for story concepts — skeletal notebook for the stages of story — bone turners tale notebook for office hours with my writing mentor

— my omen gaming laptop that I use for both gaming and writing my novels (both on deadline and for procrastination)

— my tarot deck that comes with me everywhere so I can ask it how to solve a plot hole or what to have for lunch

— my bone water bottle because I may be an academic, but water is actually pretty important (in case you didn't know)

— a celestial zip-up pouch for things that would get lost in the bottom of my bag

— hair ties that have gotten lost in the bottom of my bag

the itty pouch — where things keep from getting lost

— pisa lipstick from grandmother (ily)

— black lipstick that's my staple in every reality

— red lip gloss . . . to go over the black base

— tinted chapstick because I am prone to dry ass lips

— an intricate lipstick that belongs to my bestie, technically, but I stole it. she doesn't mind.

— dead writer's perfume that smells like a haunted library and spiked earl grey tea

— eyedrops for my contacts because I do forget to blink

— my loop earplugs that are literally a lifesaver when being out in public

— extra hairties, as this is where the ones that have escaped into the bottom of my bag should be

the internal pocket — the slot where the bigger important things go

— my sketchbook!!! literally my soul on a page at any given moment. every emotion I feel, every interest bewitches me, any novel I'm working on . . . it can all be found somewhere in these pages.

— sticky notes and tabs for annotating books because I'm a felon like that

— a copy of scottish fairy tales that has been with me since childhood. heavily annotated, and half of them aren't even about the stories themselves

— my favorite book of all time: the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde. also heavily annotated. each re-read is a different color. you can see the brown is the first time I ever read this book, not knowing how it would bewitch me body and soul

— snacks from heaven. sour patch watermelons by beloved, and a pack of ruffles crisps that are probably crushed into crumbs by now. oh well, they're still heavenly.

— my frankenstein's monster pencil case that's overflowing with supplies. yes, all of the contents are important, fuck off.

the pencil case — where the art supplies reside (my favorites remain the same in every reality)

— micron fineliners. literally the best pens ever — my tombow fudenosuke brush pens. also the best, especially for ink drawings — pentel brush pen my other favorite brush pen — white posca paint pen for correcting mistakes and adding highlights — mechanical pencils because they're the only pencils I will sketch with (also led because duh) — my pastel highlighters because I am insane and like to color-code my notes — paint brushes and my winsor & newton watercolors with are just *chefs kiss* — my fountain pen that has a sculpture modeled into it, from an art museum gift shop

— white out tape because I'm also incapable of proper spelling. yes, i am an author. no, that doesn't help

— glue stick for putting trash into my sketchbook

— two faber castel erasers because they're amazing

— a pencil sharpener, just in case

— notes!!

— random scribblings of calculations. I could not tell you what for. — a torn corner of an interesting newspaper article. story inspiration. — newspaper clipping of the dover demon to bring to creepy crew cryptid club — "can we talk?" note from one of my friends before we snuck off to a quieter part of the campus — "told you so!" sticky note that was put into one of my books. probably from L. . . arsehole. — "kiss my ass!" note from R. . . we're such a mature group of academics and authors — and a line from one of my favorite poems by robert frost

(🎪 back to the circus itinerary. . .)

[allykatsart]

Hiiii, hope you're well ally ^-^, Purely curious and it's cool if not, will we get to see or learn more about pec's childhood at some point in the story?, ik it was mentioned as an idea he might of been kidnapped or adopted by a person in the cult at a young age, if i remember correctly (to be fair i have the memory of a goldfish), are there any stories from when he was a kid in it? (i won't lie part of this is I'm curious what little kid pec looked like)

Who is Peccantum?

Heya! Nice to see you again! Thanks for letting me yap about my boi for a bit X3 unfortunately, I don't have a lot of art to add, but I do have this.

I actually have solidified his background a bit more since then (mostly through RP's with friends). I don't think I'll make a whole comic on it, not yet. But I did end up writing some stuff that I want to expand on here.

(TW for violence, murder, child manipulation, death, rituals and sacrifice)

Peccantum's Memories

He is four. A child with fingers full of baby fat. There's a woman, with a gentle smile and golden freckles. She presses ribbons of magic into his palm and he giggles as they circle his hands. Sparks of magic travel across his skin. She hums an almost forgotten tune.

He is six. He is surrounded by people he would come to know too well. He is scared, though he does not remember why. He draws a circle in sidewalk chalk, adorning it with scribbles like the runes the adults keep showing him. They tell him he has a gift. They tell him he can be a part of their family. He is sure no one else will love him.

He is eight and he holds a dagger in his shaking hands. The adults whisper to him that they know it's scary, but it's needed to be a part of their family. It will be over quick. He just needs to prove himself. Just do this one thing for them. A stranger lays in front of him. He plunges the weapon down and is covered in something red, wet, and warm. A unholy baptism of blood.

He is nine. He starts his training. Unrefined power is woven into delicate silks of magic. The head of the family takes notice, swiftly taking him under his wing. Dolf's teaching methods are... harsh, but they work. He learns quicker than ever before, devouring the knowledge like he is starving.

He is ten. He is yelling at his teacher. He knows he shouldn't but he is just so angry and exhausted and Dolf just won't listen when he says it's too much. He sees Dolf's hands flex and that is the day he learns to fear his teacher.

He is twelve. The fight in him has not yet been quelled. Frustration bubbles under his skin. Two adults corner him, jealous of his position. They spit vile words at him, calling him things that make his anger reach boiling point. A snap of his fingers later, their tongues are cut off. They will never speak again. Somehow, his teacher does not punish him for this, but praises him. He feels better afterwards.

He is fourteen. He is well behaved, and Dolf is pleased with his progress. Dolf moved on from teaching him magic to teaching him how the cult runs. He assures the boy that they are special, they know the truth. They are to keep everyone else in line for their grand plan. His smile turns wicked. He enjoys their suffering now, because he thinks knows he is above it. Above them. Better than them.

He is sixteen and he is sent on his first solo hunt. His prey is a runaway, a traitor to the pack. An easy test, though there would be more difficult ones to come. He kills them, of course, he's been trained for this. But he does not escape unscathed, deep red welts where their fingernails dug into his skin. He bleeds for his success. Dolf praises him, and he greedily drinks it in, thirsty for his approval.

He would never betray his master.

He is eighteen, almost nineteen. He has earned the trust to explore the mountains to his heart's content. He has killed many people, by this point, some he had known all his life. Some were twice his skill and age. Not all of them are runaways. He leaves the bodies for the dogs to eat, the wildlife gets whatever is left over. There is a strange place, hidden in the mountains, that he finds. He finds a book there, one that has him endlessly curious. He sneaks off to read it often.

He is nineteen.

He's just nineteen...

Rough hands against his wrists as he screams his throat out. Forced to the ground by people he had known all his life did they know too?! A boot against the back of his head forcing his face into the dirt. A spell, and then he felt a part of himself being torn away did it hurt this much when he did this to others?

There is talk of sacrificing him to complete the ritual. But he is clever, and for the first time in his life, he chooses his fate.

He is running. He knows it is fruitless. He knows there's miles and miles between him and the next town. He runs anyways. He hears the sounds of dogs in the distance.

They have caught his scent.

He is found, back against an old tree, limbs shaking. He stares up at a face he had always known, and sees death in its stead. He begs for mercy. Pleads for it.

It never comes.

[chalkrub]

super fun trade with @charseraph !

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl found dead in a hidden room.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[doctorweebmd]

i'm going to say something so controversial and yet so brave

chuuya nakahara is one of the most incredibly interesting, engaging and well-written characters in bsd and the fandoms reduction of him as nothing more than dazai's love interest does him such a disservice

[bookshelf-in-progress]

To prove that I am trying to write a retelling, here's a failed opening paragraph to a "King Thrushbeard" retelling that I'm never going to write.

Our first year of marriage, my husband and I lived in a hovel. It was a tiny, damp, dim little room, with a dirt floor, a straw roof, and a chimney that always smoked. It sat a mile from the nearest village, abandoned by a farmer who had failed. It sat on the banks of a tiny creek, and at sunrise I would leave the dim confines of the house to wade in the shallows and watch the water ripple over stones, watch the sun flash on the water, watch the birds dive for bugs and sing their praises to the living God who'd given them another day. Sometimes I dream of returning there—the creek would be the same, I think, even so many years later. Of course, at the time, I was miserable.

[theokusgallery]

Since you have a lot of opinions about Sunflower fics, do you have any recommendations :p? I do generally agree with you about the derth of good works on them - kind of hoping for something I've maybe slept on.

Okay, I'll try,

First of all — I want everyone, and I mean everyone to read Coda for a Crestfallen Caitiff by MercuriallyApathetic, who also wrote The Strange Summer of Sunny Whatshisface (still one of my favorite longfics to this day but a lot more lighthearted). Coda is a masterpiece, it makes me insane, it is criminally underrated, I want to inhale its essence, and when I first read it it gave me a panic attack and a mental breakdown that lasted three straight days (/pos). Definitely read the tags and prepare yourself mentally but JESUS CHRIST I need everyone to read it. Please. You will regret it for a few hours but it is... an experience. To me at least. And to the two people I recommended it to who gave me feedback.

Then there's sunflower seeds in the rearview mirror by @andrewwtca which remains probably my favorite multichapter OMORI fic of all time (you might spot my essay-comments in the later chapters, I love this fic so much. I didn't end up writing one for the last chapter but man did it hit me hard). Very intriguing with a captivating style and an unreliable narrator mechanic that I am absolutely in love with. Everything by that author is excellent.

We have, of course, literally everything by BetweenDisorders. Arsenic is partly inspired by one of their fics ! (you know the one.) Their characterization of both Sunny and Basil (but especially Basil, because I'm gay) makes me froth at the mouth. Their style is very recognizable and honestly one of the best I've ever seen. But more generally, they have really original and intriguing ideas (like communication, in which Basil and Sunny are two computers... Did I mention how I'm a sucker for original/unique plots and premises enough yet) and everything they do is something you've never seen before. It's amazing.

Note to Self: Don't Be Gay in Faraway Town by witheredahlia is also very, very good. It's a lot lighter, but it still made my gay little heart ache, because I'm a sucker for misunderstandings done correctly (fight me).

Detective Sunny by Det_Sun is genuinely one of the most creative, fascinating OMORI fics I've seen, and also way too underrated. It's an excellent read, and there's a bunch of ideas in it that you know go deeper than what is shown, and it makes my brain go at the speed of light. Many many thoughts about this one. (Side note: I fucking love it when there's unexplored ideas in fics. Makes my brain go brrr. Not everything has to be shown and when I see hints of "behind the scene" thoughts and character background that isn't discussed much but still implied, my brain becomes a feral animal. I don't know if that makes sense...)

[ask-cloverfield]