#being young is great but feeling young is a plague

[lady-grace-pens]

Is it a bad omen that I don’t know what genre I write?

FOAD is a dark romance I can see that much. ETNB is a fantasy. Htkag began as fantasy but turned into more lit fic than anything else. I hesitate calling my work even that because my work isn’t pretentious. I don’t know, it just seems like there should be more genre overlap than this right? The only connections I can spot between them are how all plots have a dramatic tone and are focused on character relationships and otherwise internal plots. Maybe I’m overthinking it, but is this a bad sign? Maybe I’m too young and I just haven’t written enough yet, I don’t know

[pa-pa-plasma]

the thing people rarely talk about is being unable to tell if you're sick or not because you already have these symptoms chronically. like yes i still have a cough, but all the other symptoms of long covid are basically normal for me

[randomgurl2326]

the love of a bracken is meant only for a blackwood

benjicot blackwood x fem!bracken!reader

warnings: tiny bit of angst, overprotectiveness, family issues, weapons, blood, teensy weensy bit of smut at the beginning, piv

summary: being in love with your house’s enemy dating back centuries is not exactly… ideal. especially with a brother who only cares about you when it involves his (father’s) ideals.

a/n: part 2??? or too cringe???

“fuck! fuck! ben!” the sounds of moaning and bed creaking fills the west wing of raventree hall.

you grasp your lover’s raven black hair as he thrusts and moans into your neck. he grabs the back of your neck to look at him “go on. go on my love—fuck! cum for me!”

the black wood boy rests his forehead onto yours as his thrusts quicken as he chases your high. your moans bounce off the walls as you reach the precipice of pleasure. “I’m-I’m gonna cum! fuck! please, please, please…” your lover breaks your pleas with a searing kiss. with one final thrust you cum with a guttural moan.

as you cum benjicot pulls out and cums on your smooth stomach and full breast; pearlescent release dripping down your smooth body as he drops to your side and pulls you into him. as the panting subsides you curl into your lover and kiss his chest.

“I love you” your blackwood confesses into the h/c confines of your hair. the confession leaves you warm yet chilled. fluttering yet scared. and the worst of all: loved yet heartbroken at the thought of loving the one thing you cannot have.

you look at benji with a sadness in your eyes trying not to let the tears stinging behind your eyes cross the painful threshold of your lids. the ferocious voice usually used by the ferocious warrior now strained, “I-i love you, too.”

tears sting benji’s eyes as the same dreading thoughts that plague his lover’s mind plague his. the dreading thoughts of a centuries long feud between the two lover’s houses. the dreading thoughts of their families’ bringing a reign of bloodshed and terror if they find out of the boundless love between the blackwood heir and the bracken spare. the dreading thoughts that one day his love might not be his to have.

the borderwood of bracken and blackwood were comforting that day. the usuallly sweltering heat now a comforting warmth as you walked through the wood of your homeland. the slight breeze nipping through the air bringing comfort to your skin.

the comfort is slowly dragged away as thoughts of your brother run through your mind. your brother, the very protective entity that follows you around to make sure you don’t get into trouble. the trouble of course being the blackwoods.

you couldn’t count the amount of altercations that had transpired between the young blackwood lord and aeron, your brother. oddly enough that’s how you and your lover met. merely the age of eight and ten while you and your brother played duel by the wall one evening when a raven haired boy came over to pull at the “little bracken girl’s” hair.

only at the age of ten and four did anything romantic transpire between the bracken girl and blackwood boy. the tale one day would be heard by their great-great-great-great grandchild of the name Samwell Blackwood of the Nights Watch. the story of how they became one would be told another time, another day.

your steps quicken as your thoughts run around of what had transpired earlier that day. the way benjicot made you feel; the only one who could make you feel that way. the words shared after. the first time the two of you had said it in so many words. the afterlying thoughts of family, how they would—

crack!

the sound of the stick cracking reaches your ear before you realize you fall. the sting of the scratch on your leg like a spider, though only a flesh wound. as you assess your injury you hear voices. the baritone of your brother aeron’s voice talking to your cousins reaches your ears before you see him not before he sees you.

“sister! what are you doing out here? so close to the craven’s wall?” his queries were brash and quick. the only thing that could make him so harsh towards you were the mentions of the balckwoods.

his questions make your heart race as you try to think of an excuse as to why you were so close to the wall. you finally compose yourself to make a simple enough explanation as to why “relax, brother. crasses wandered too far off while I was tending to her in the pasture. stellane can attest to that; she was with me up until I told her I would bring crasses back. no need to worry.”

aeron’s once tense shoulders relaxed as he lead you and your cousins back to the pasture. “you know I worry. especially when it comes to those craven cunts who think-“

“who that they can take over bracken land. yes, brother, I’ve heard it all before from you and father. I need not hear more.” the lecture your family given to you over and over since birth burns your ears as you roll your eyes. “do not roll your eyes at the sins the blackwoods have committed against our house, sister.”

you huff and return your gaze to aeron, “I get to roll my eyes when I’ve heard the story a million times before…” you kick a rock out of your way as you continue, “…the blackwoods have forsaken our house, y/n. the Blackwoods only bring the seven hells, y/n.” you laugh bitterly as you continue, “stay away from the bloody blackwoods, y/n. I’ve heard it all before!”

aeron’s gaze turns to you stern as ever and harshly places his hands on your shoulders causing you to stumble. “that’s because you need to learn! a girl like you could never understand-!”

“I understand that our house doesn’t even know what we’re fighting for anymore! I understand that you, brother, don’t fucking understand-!” a slap sounds through the pasture, echoing off the wall you, he, and your cousins didn’t know you were traipsing across. the slap rings through your ears as you bring a hand up to your cheek.

tears begin to sting behind your waterline and they fall as your brother begins speaking, “you are little girl who doesn’t-“ a voice booms across the small confines of the wall, loud and deadly.

“bracken! you strike a lady this close to blackwood this close to blackwood land?”

your eyes soften and your eyes sting more as you see your lover standing there with your brother.

aeron saunters over to the blackwood boy and draws his sword, as he does one of your cousins tries to hold him back but your brother pushes him away. “what’s it to you, craven? this is bracken land, no place for traitors of your kind.”

benjicot’s eyes trail from the bracken’s sword to his eyes and smiles cruelly. “I believe seeing a lady in distress makes it a matter to any passerby, does it not?” your brother brings his sword up to your brothers neck and you gulp down another round of tears, “aeron, stop. he hasn’t done anything-“

“shut up, stupid girl!” his harsh words are cut off as benji pushes his sword away and takes him by the collar. “you speak to her like that again, I’ll gut your throat.” his words cut the air like a knife. aeron smirks and pushes your lover off of him, “what do you care, craven? my sister isn’t of any concern to a fucking blackwood.”

“this isn’t the time or place—“ your yells are fruitless as they fall on deaf ears. benjicot looks up as he smiles gravely and turns to your brother. for a moment everything is silent. then your only horror comes out of your lover’s mouth. “it’s a concern to me when fucking your little sister every night”

“you fucking blackwood! I’ll fucking kill you!” your brother goes feral as he hears those words and charges. as aeron goes after benji your heart stops at his words and your tears fall. your brother lands a swift right hook but his victory doesn’t last for long.

benjicot tackles your brother to the floor. he lands a swift punch to aeron’s leg and twist him over to land on top. grunts and sounds of pain fly through the air as your lover and brother brawl in the grass. for a swift moment your eyes meet ben’s and a look of sorrow in his eyes, no remorse for what he did but an apology for what he said.

it takes nearly five minutes for your cousins to pull the boys off each other. your brother clearly taking the brunt of the damage. a limp and bruises on his face as he tries to fight off the other bracken boys. “y/n, is what the craven says true?”

the question burns through your mind as you return your eyes to your lover’s. his eyes dark and hard before he catches your sorrowful, soft e/c one’s. for aeron the moment seems to take too long, “answer me!”

“brother… I’m sorry-“ the dam finally breaks as tears rush from your eyes. your voice breaks as you speak. “I can explain! aeron!” aeron stalks up to you and strikes you again. “there is not explanation! a whore of the blackwoods is no sister of mine.” he lands a final blow and you crash to floor as he walks away with your cousins.

your cries deafening to anyone who can hear. “aeron! brother!” you get up and try to run to your blood “let me explain! please! I love him!”

he turns to you one last time, “listen here, sister” his words bite as he says them “you dishonor our father! me! our house! you sully the bracken name for whoring yourself out to a blackwood cunt. if I ever see you walk the bracken grasses again, I’ll personally make sure you never come back” with his last words he walks away, your sobs heartbreaking. the only sound heard in the pastures of bracken and blackwood are the soul-crushing sound of your sobs.

as you cry you turn to the saddened eyes of your lover. “y/n, I didn’t-“ “shut up! shut the fuck up!” you walk up to the bracken boy, a broken look in your eye. “don’t you see what you’ve done? this is your fault! if you would’ve just kept your mouth shut—“

“he would’ve found out anyway!” he interrupts you “him, the rest your family, my family. they would’ve all found out one way or another.” his voice usually soft and gentle with you now harsh and cold.

“you don’t know that, ben!”

he looks away from your heartbroken eyes, “fine. if they wouldn’t have found out, what then? you or I would be sold to the next highest bidder? you a broodmare, me married off to some cunt from some lowly house in need of title? is that what you wanted?”

“of course not!”

“then what? what do you think would have happened?” his harsh words slash you like a dagger. his eyes finally meet yours again, “truly, what do you imagine would have happened?”

words fail you in that moment. scenarios run through your head, none good, none how you wanted. as you think you can only come up with one thing as tears trail down your supple cheeks. “I-i don’t know! are you happy? is that the answer that you wanted to hear? the little bracken girl wanting to be happy in her little dreamland! everything turning out in the end! is that what you want to hear? little daydreams running though her head as she wishes to be with the one she loves? the one she cannot have? is that it?”

benjicot’s lips start to wobble and his tears finally fall. his loves words hitting him all at once. the guilt, the pain, the torture of seeing his girl cry heartbroken because of something that he did. “y/n, I didn’t mean-“

“that’s just it! you never mean it that way! you never mean for it to happen…” you look to the cloud-clad sky and breathe, you look back to your lover’s pain-stricken eyes and sob “I want you to leave. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear from you again. and I don’t want you near me again!”

you pick up your skirts to leave. as you do, benjicot takes your small wrist into your his big hand. “y/n, please.” his voice small “i love you” he cups your cheek and places a tender kiss on your lips. the kiss soft and gentle as he fights for your love. once the two of you part he rest his forehead on yours as he whispers “i love you, y/n. ‘a bracken’s love meant only for a blackwood’ that’s what you always tell me. please, my love” his voice cracks “please”

you taste the mix of your salty tears on your lips as you kiss him again. this time the Blackwood’s heart breaks as he knows this is your goodbye. your last goodbye to him. to your love. once you part you brush the hair from his eyes away as you mirror his whisper “I’m sorry.”

as you walk away it’s his turn to sob “y/n! please! don’t go!” this time he says it in a low whisper against the droplets that have started to fall from the sky “I love you…”

as you walk away you hear his sobs. more tears fall from the long broken dam of your heart. you don’t turn back to see the boy’s heartbroken voice. as you reach sight of the bracken fortress you come across a heartbreaking realization: you never said ‘I love you’ back. the only boy you had ever loved ripped away because of a centuries old rivalry that no one cares to remember what it was built on. your one and only love slipping through your fingers because of your torn fealty of your blood and your love.

‘the love of a bracken only meant for a blackwood’ what a joke you’ve come see. the love of a bracken is meant to tear apart, not to bring together you realize.

a heartbroken girl and a heartbroken boy on two sides of the same coin. always close but never to touch. one right, one wrong.

though, a rare melding of a coin unties the two sides, touching once more. heads and tails, bracken and blackwood, united. none yet to see. the rage of one house and the merriment of another. yet to be seen as the fates had foretold it. ‘all in good time’ as they say.

for now, our raven and stallion broken on the two sides of their fealty. of their blood. of their blood.

a/n: holy shit! I am sorry you guys. that is A LOT more angsty than I thought it was going to be. also, I’m really sorry if this is cringe or weird. I don’t know if this is my best work, but I hope you like it. this is my firsts time writing for bloody ben so I hope it turned out all right.

any and all comments and feedback are appreciated and I am in desperate need of a beta reader. so, if you’d like to help me with that DM me and we’ll get that all worked out. again, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and I hope it wasn’t too cringe

[yandere-writer-momo]

Shoutout to Monster Anon for another amazing idea

Yandere Short Stories:

Right Where I Want You

Yandere Private Investigator x Fem Reader

TW: Yandere themes, delusional behavior, unhealthy behavior, racism (ex mil makes a comment), savior complex, murder, stalking, etc.

Inhale. Exhale. Nicalli blew cigarette smoke from his lips while his body sunk into his plush couch in his pent house. Another failure of a day in an attempt to find dirt on his target.

The stench from his lit cigarette did little to soothe the loneliness in Necalli’s heart. No, this small vice merely burned the back of his throat and made his clothes reek of bad decisions. This small action did little to satiate the growing lust that consumed his very being.

Nicalli ran an umber hand through his long, black hair. A few strands stuck to his sweaty palms while his heart raced in his chest.

Nicalli had been plagued with alien feelings ever since he’s taken on this new case. The case that involved the Goldberg family and their son’s fiancée, (your full name).

He has been a private investigator for over a decade and he’s never had someone be so innocent. How could (your name) not have a single speck of dirt on her?! Good people didn’t exist in this world! There was no way someone so pure could be involved with the Goldberg family…

Nicalli sighed in frustration and put his cigarette out on the jaguar shaped ashtray on his coffee table. His russet eyes scanned the various documents before him in frustration.

All he had were pictures of her helping at the local soup kitchen and her indulging in her small hobbies. She was so mundane… he didn’t have anything to give his employer to ‘protect her precious son.’

Nicalli had been on this case for eight months now and he still had nothing but pictures of this absurdly beautiful woman. Henry Goldberg was lucky to have such a faithful woman… Nicalli would die for one.

Nicalli didn’t believe in love after the betrayal of his lover when he was in the military. It was that betrayal that made him become a private investigator in the first place so no one else had to find out like he did… yet this life was lonely. Nicalli was so lonely and now he was enchanted by his target. How pathetic was that?

Nicalli continued to admire to various pictures he had of (your name). She was really beautiful… how could someone smile so joyously? There was nothing in this world to be happy about… or was there?

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Nicalli recalled the memory of when he first received this job. He sat in the Goldberg mansion’s study. His large body squished into a small leather chair while the mother and son gave him fake smiles.

“We need you to investigate (your full name).” Mrs. Goldberg pushed a file towards Nicalli, the Mexican man accepted the file with a solemn look. “I feel like she’s cheating on my son… or even involved in some sort of illegal activity.”

Nicalli was shocked to open the file to see the smiling face of a beautiful young woman. This woman was involved in some sort of illegal activity? She looked like she couldn’t harm a fly!

“I will be able to sleep better at night knowing my son is in good hands.” Mrs. Goldberg she d a few crocodile tears before Henry Goldberg handed Nicalli a check that would make anyone gasp at the amount.

“I heard you’re the best in the business so please, don’t disappoint us.”

Nicalli took the money and nodded his head. He could do this… this job would be like all the others…

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Nicalli felt his breath hitch the first day he saw (your name). He’s never seen someone so pretty before… she had to be some sort of forest fairy rather than a human.

Nicalli studied her from his car, his russet eyes studied her in great interest. He has followed her around for weeks now and there was still not a speck of dirt on her…

Nicalli was in disbelief. (Your name) seemed to be a good person… but he was determined to find something on her. Anything would do.

So he continued to stalk her which brought him to present day…

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“Have a good day!” (Your name) smiled at the various homeless people that inhabited the soup kitchen. She served each one with a cheery smile, even if they seemed displeased with her.

Nicalli sat in the corner at a bench. His russet eyes studied her in distaste. Didn’t she tire of this? These people didn’t appreciate her company… no one seemed to despite her constant efforts. Nicalli didn’t understand the point of her unnecessary kindness.

(Your name) was so sweet, she could make teeth rot. A woman like her didn’t belong in a place like this, it was dangerous-

Nicalli jumped when (your name) stood before him, a bowl of soup in her hands.

“Hello?” (Your name) tilted off her head to the side as she studied Nicalli in interest. “I always spot you here, but you never come up to the stand so I thought I’d come to you.”

Shit. He had grown careless since she’s so docile… now she knew his face. Should he just call the mission a done deal?

Nicalli was shocked when she gently placed the bowl in front of him with a soft smile. “Here. Enjoy some soup, okay? You always look so sad…”

Nicalli bit his tongue. No matter how badly he wanted to refuse her, he couldn’t bring himself to. If he rejected her kindness, it would be as if he kicked a puppy. And people do not kick puppies.

Nicalli was surprised that the soup was delicious but then he saw her smile even wider.

“I made the soup, so please enjoy to your heart’s content. If you need anything, I’m (your name)! I’ll see you around, mister!” She then went back to the kitchen while Nicalli sat dumbfounded.

The Hispanic man sat there for a few minutes longer before he felt a blush envelope his cheeks. His heart wildly leapt in his chest and his palms began to sweat buckets. What just happened to him?

There was no way… no way he had a crush on (your name)? Yet he couldn’t help the way his eyes shyly glanced towards her bubbly form while she served the rest of the costumers.

She was a good person… (your name) was a genuinely good person. Nicalli was sure of it. And now he needed to report his findings to the Goldbergs.

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It took everything in Nicalli not to choke slam Henry Goldberg into the velvet carpet in his study. This man was a bastard… he didn’t deserve (your name).

“God, I thought you were the best of the best!” Henry sighed while his parents chuckled.

“Now son, I’m sure he’ll find something on that commoner.” Mrs. Goldberg pointed out to her son who scoffed.

“Mommy, at the rate he’s going. He’ll need to make something up!” Henry hummed, the man reached for his check book. “How much money do you need to fabricate a lie on her? I truly cannot marry a commoner, but it looks good for the citizens-“

Nicalli furrowed his brow. What on earth were they on about? “Aren’t you happy she’s a good person?”

Henry and his mother paused before the two of them erupted into laughter. “Happy she’s a good person? No one told us you were a comedian!!”

“How about you plant one of my necklaces or jewels in her home so we have the grounds to annul this engagement? I really cannot have my son end up with a woman so poor like that.” Mrs. Goldberg took off her diamond necklace and tried to hand it to Nicalli but the private investigator pushed it back toward her. “Oh come on. People like you are familiar with stealing, right?”

Nicalli’s head spun in horror and confusion. They were going to frame her to make themselves look better for the people… they were going to frame an innocent woman for a crime. The Goldbergs were horrible people… horrible villains.

“Mother, not all Mexicans are thieves.” Henry rolled his eyes before he gave Nicalli a knowing smile. “But I do need you to pin a crime of some sort on her. I can’t have her have the Goldberg family name.”

Even though Nicalli wanted to scream at the two of them, he must feel himself in. He needed to have evidence to show (your name) to save her. Nicalli wanted to save her… she didn’t deserve to have her name tarnished over corrupt people like these ones.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Nicalli gave the Goldbergs a stiff smile. Yes… he’d contact his sources to dig dirt up on the Goldbergs.

Nicalli didn’t become a private investigator to harm innocent people. Nicalli did this to protect the innocent from heart break.

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Nicalli threw his coffe table across the room after his source had called him and faxed him over pictures of Henry Goldberg with escorts. Bastard… that fucking bastard!

Henry had this perfect woman and he cheated on her with escorts?! He was involved in drug and sex slave trafficking?! This was a rabbit hole Nicalli never thought he’d find himself in… and he had to get (your name) out.

A man like that didn’t deserve her… not like he did. Nicalli would treasure a woman like her. He’s pamper her and make sure she was properly pleasured- what the hell was that?!

Nicalli shook his head to clear his thoughts. How dare he think of her in such a way… Nicalli wasn’t worthy of her.

Nicalli’s cheeks flushed in anger. Henry had to suffer. He had to pay for his crimes. The Goldbergs had to pay for their crimes.

Nicalli snatched one of the pictures up before he was able to locate Henry’s location. It would be easy to track him down… Nicalli was all too familiar with the Red Light District.

All he needed to do was figure out which vehicle was his, but that couldn’t be too hard. Henry was a classic spoiled narcissist. His car would be colorful and loud, just like him.

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The death of Henry Goldberg was on every news channel and in every article. His shiny red sports car was totaled and the bodies of two escorts were found with him. The cause of death was drunk driving and brake failure.

There was not a doubt in Nicalli’s mind that (your name) would be distraught… but he had to take care of Mrs. Goldberg first.

Nicalli adjusted his black leather gloves on his hands as he slowly approached the Goldberg’s office to discuss further business. The pistol with a silencer attached was buried deep within his coat.

This was all for (your name)‘s future… for their future together. It only made sense to him that he got the girl after saving her! Nicalli could make her happy!

Nicalli would have (your name) right where he wanted her…

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(Your name) sniffled in her bed, her body trembled in sorrow. She couldn’t believe Henry died and his mother had committed suicide… she knew Mrs. Goldberg adored her son, but she had no idea it was to such an extent…

Yet she wasn’t surprised about Henry being a deviant. It was why she avoided being physical with him. There was a small voice in the back of her head that told her he was bad news… yet was it wrong for her to want the money to live a good life? She’d never have to worry about bills again if she married him… but then he sent the private investigator her way.

God, it irritated her… but she wasn’t a horrible person. She just wanted a better life was all… was that a crime?

And she always felt unsettled under that man’s gaze. He had such sharp features and such a piercing stare. There was no way people didn’t know he was there when his presence felt like a predator’s.

The man had such a bewitching appearance. Hell, his hair was prettier than hers and his hooked nose was gorgeous… that private investigator was more attractive than her dead white fiancé.

So when she had a package full of photos of Henry with escorts, she knew it was her ‘stalker.’ It was nice to know he had a good moral compass, but these photos were too late. They weren’t anything she wasn’t aware of.

Despite her bubbly attitude, (your name) was not naive. She knew the Goldbergs weren’t good people. No old money family were.

(Your name) sighed as she rose up from her bed and wiped her eyes. There went her plan to be with a man with a trust fund…

(Your name) was surprised to see a bouquet of red roses and carnations on her doorstep. It seemed that private investigator may have a crush.

(Your name) smiled in thought. He was a private investigator for rich people, right? Then maybe he had the money to ensure she had a good life?

She turned her head and spotted the shy man on his car. That classic 1964 Chevrolet impala always stuck out like a sore thumb.

(Your name) wiped her eyes a bit before she gave him a smile. She could spot his red cheeks from her place by her door. It seemed she wouldn’t have to work too hard for this one… because she had him right where she wanted him.

[gtgbabie0]

-Aegon Targaryen x Wife!reader

{The upcoming war has brought a great stress upon you which causes you to go into an early labour}

!CW!//blood, premature childbirth// Enjoy lovelies💕

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

The days following Aegon’s coronation were nothing short of exhausting, the mornings dragged and the nights were sleepless. The new king found himself in over his head with the only solace being you, someone who has stubbornly been there for him since childhood.

There was a familiarity to your warmth and kind words of encouragement, you were his only constant in a world of ever-changing conditions and he latched onto that never willing to let go. Always checking up on you and the babe inside your womb with worried eyes.

In turn, you had done the same, constantly seeking him out when horrible thoughts of the brewing war were all that plagued your mind, leaving you paranoid and constantly on edge.

You were each other’s anchors in ways that you both never thought possible.

The afternoon sun drips through the clouds, casting warm orangey rays through Kings Landing and across the Red Keep, bathing your shared bedchambers in a comforting light.

It is supposedly meant to be peaceful, or that is what Aegon thought when he practically demanded for you to stay in bed. Yet it has proven to be much more stressful, the books and cross-stitching doing nothing to distract your mind from what lingers over the horizon.

You have taken to pacing the length of the room, much to the dismay of your maids who watch on with panic in their eyes. A few of them had prompted you to sit down, trying to sway you with tea and sweet cakes but you waved them all off with a frown, desperately trying to ignore the dull pain that was beginning to grow in the small of your back.

You refuse to believe that your baby is arriving, it is far too early, yet you can hear the Maesters voice in the back of your mind telling you how ‘stress is not good for the babe’.

“Your grace, please take a seat.” The youngest of your maids try once more, daring to step forward to you with careful footing as if you were some sort of scared deer.

At her words you shake your head, turning your back to her with a small sigh, your fingers pressing against your lower spine and your other hand resting against the swell of your belly.

“Where is my husband?” You demand, turning back to face the women whose eyes never leave you.

“The King is attending a small council meeting, he shan’t be long, your grace.” Her words do nothing to calm the way your hands tremble nor the thoughts that race through your mind, despite how soft her tone is.

You purse your lips together tightly with a sharp inhale as shooting pain rips through your lower abdomen, causing you to hunch over slightly, grasping onto a chair for support.

You can hear the women behind gasp, saying something about blood but it all seems like distant noise almost as if you were underwater. There is little you can do but groan in pain, finally allowing your maids to guide you over to your bed.

You know something is deeply wrong, having already been through this once before. But that was extremely different, your mother was there even Aegon who stood speechless in the corner of the room with wide eyes… Gods you were both so young then, it seemed like a memory that wasn’t yours.

Now you are alone, save for the Maesters and Maids who are frantically trying to keep your temperature down with damp cloths, water dribbling down the side of your temples as you lay in fear.

You push yourself up onto your elbow, resting up on the mountain of pillows, letting out a strained cry at the feeling of an agonising pain that cramps up your abdomen causing you to fist the bedsheets beneath you.

The sound of your bedchamber doors slamming open catches your attention, but only for a brief moment before collapsing back down against the bed with a stomach-churning cry.

The staff around you don’t dear to try and turn Aegon away, especially when his eyes darken at the sight of the blood stains on your chemise and bedspread, a heavy look of terror masked behind an anger that sends a chill through the hot room.

“She is bleeding— why is she bleeding?!” He shouts, demanding an answer from the Maester who is trying to coax you to breathe deeply and then push.

His demands are met with silence before Orwyle steps away from the bed where you lay, squirming in pain. The maids and nurses all rush together, trying to guide your breathing through your clenched teeth.

“The babe is breeched your grace, coming feet first.” Maester Orwyle says, casting his eyes down to the floor with a troubled expression.

The sound of your agony echos within Aegon’s mind sending his thoughts spiralling far out of his control, the helplessness of it all eats away at him making his hands tremble with frustration that he can’t do anything to help you, to take you away from this damned situation. His eyes dart around the room in a panic, looking anywhere but at you as if he was trying to find a hidden answer to save you from this nightmare.

“Well, then why are you still standing here? Do something, help her!” He shouts, slamming his closed fists down upon the wooden table as he watches the Maester scurry back to the bed.

He stands there frozen, his breathing ragged suffocating on his own emotions. He wants the throw things, and curse the gods, the mother and the warrior because where is mercy and strength as you lay there in this torment?

“Aegon…” the sound of his name leaving you so weakly, the hushed word that is strained in desperation tumbling past your chapped lips hits him square in his chest, almost flooring him in shock.

His body moves on its own, practically collapsing onto the edge of the bed with his brows pinched together and his glossed-over eyes looking down at you. He wants to help you so bad but the only thing he can do is stroke your hair away from your sweaty forehead.

“Do not leave, stay here please,” you plead through gritted teeth, looking up at him through your bleary sight.

“I am staying… I’m right here.” He tells you firmly, the back of his fingers caressing your warm cheek gently. The cool metal of his rings keeps your eyes from falling close, fighting the fatigue.

He watches you intently, every twitch of your face only sends him further down into this maddening spiral of despair and frustration. “You’re doing so well… keep going.” He whispers, brushing his thumb over your hot cheek.

Aegon doesn’t move from his spot beside you, allowing your hands to tighten harshly around his own each time your body is wrecked by a contraction. He takes one of the damp rags from the maids, dabbing it against your chest and face in hopes of soothing you, even if it is only for a mere second because he cannot… he will not sit there doing nothing.

“We must sit her up,” Orwyle says through the sounds of your screams, resorting to the last possible option.

“What will that do if not cause her more pain?… I will not have her suffer more than she already is.” Aegon retorts with a deep frown, his words stern and laced with worry.

He was extremely stubborn and firm, even more so when the matter was about you. Never letting you leave from his side let alone out of his sight any longer than needed and even then he made sure at least one Kingsguard was standing behind you at all times.

“It is noted that movement helps set the babe correctly, your grace.” His words do very little to calm the maelstrom of dread that wraps around his heart and chokes him up. “Unless you wish to leave her in the hands of the gods…”

Aegon’s eyes meet your own for a very brief moment, the gods have already failed her, he thinks.

“No… no sit her up.” He agrees, looping his arm around your shoulders and pushing you upwards as you demand and scream for him to stop, fingers digging into his arms as you call his name weakly.

The hours that you were in labour for the Red Keep was still, silently waiting on bated breath for news of you and your babes' wellbeing. The echoes of your screams and pleas were the only thing that could be heard even from all the way down in the kitchens.

It was the hour of the owl when you finally made the final push, sinking back down against the pile of soft pillows. “Congratulations your grace… a boy,” Orwyle announces as your son wails making his presence well known. The maids swaddle your son up in a clean blanket before placing him gently upon your chest.

You take deep laboured breaths, your eyes heavy with exhaustion as you look down at your son. He was tinier than the twins when they were born, so much more delicate, his breathing weaker.

Aegon was completely stunned, he doesn't know what to say or do, instead, he simply watches you and the way cradle the baby’s head ever so gently, greeting him with a soft kiss on his forehead.

He had seen this before but yet he still feels as if his heart might just leap out of his chest. An overwhelming feeling of pride bursts through him leaving him all teary-eyed and soft smiles.

“He’s beautiful.” Aegon finally breaks his silence, his voice thick with indescribable emotions. The words don’t do your son justice, the little ball of pureness that is cuddled up against your chest. He can’t believe that something so precious… so innocent could be half him but the shape of his nose could attest that, he was Aegon’s.

You nod softly, brushing the back of your finger across his cheek as you admire him. The rest of the world seems to disappear, the maids cleaning up around you turn into white noise, and all you can focus on is your boy.

“Would you like to hold him?” You ask, voice a little hoarse from all the crying and screaming that was so worth it for the price of this feeling of contentment that has washed over you.

He holds back a sharp response that his hands were too rough, too clumsy. The last thing he wanted to was hurt him, he was already so tiny. You can see the look of trepidation that passes through his amethyst eyes, he was hesitant.

Your fingers slip between his own, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You won’t hurt him Aegon, I promise.” You tell him, melting away all of his persistent worries that had rooted themselves into his heart.

With a small, almost nervous, nod of his head, he pulls the sleeves of his tunic up to his elbows before you place the newborn babe in his arms, his heart stops for a small second, the breath in his lungs completely gone and all he can do is marvel down at his son.

“You’re amazing…” he whispers, voice steeped in reverence as he casts his gaze down to you as if you were some sort of deity to worship. You had nurtured a life and now here he is holding that very same life, it completely astonishes him.

You chuckle at his words, lifting your hand to rest against his cheek ever so gently. He leans into the warmth of your palm, pressing a soft kiss against your wrist. “He’s ours Aegon, yours and mine.” You remind him with a weak smile.

It’s a simple word, ours. But the way you say it with such emotion, with no hesitation, leaving no room for doubt to plague his heart made him happy. So happy.

“Ours,” Aegon repeats, brushing the back of his fingers across his son’s cheek ever so gently. “Maelor…” He smiles, testing the name softly before looking back down at you as you nod in agreement, repeating the name lovingly.

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

The following days were slow, quite a nice change of pace especially with everything that had been happening. You sit, leaning back against the velvet cushions of the chair, with Maelor in your arms as you wait for Aegon and the twins.

“Remember, you have to be gentle and quiet,” Aegon says, walking into the bedchambers with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera at either side of him.

They both let go of his hand before rushing over to you with wide curious eyes, looking down at their new sibling with excitement.

“Can he play with us in the garden?” Jaehaera smiles, looking up at you.

“Not just yet my sweet, he’s got a little growing to do before then.” You tell her softly, brushing her curls behind her ear.

“Am I allowed to read to him?” Jaehaerys asks next, his hand grasping the armchair as he leans over to look down at Maelor.

“Soon, let’s give him time to settle first.” He nods at your words and soon enough they’re both asking question after question.

Aegon stands behind you, his hands massaging your shoulders as you answer the twins with a patience he admires. The sight fills him with a sweet warmth that bleeds through him, his heart full of love. Perhaps the weight of the crown isn’t so bad if it’s for you four.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺

Dad Aegon as he deserves.

[metanoiahh]

Get off my back - Daryl Dixon

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Summary: A great fascination for the youngest Dixon took over you ever since the Quarry. Daryl notices and in fear of reciprocating your feelings, he continuously pushes you away. After Andrea shoots him, you don’t leave his side with the excuse of keeping an eye on him.

Warnings: Implied age gap (reader early 20s, Daryl late 30s) Fem!reader, Usual TWD gore, mentions of injuries, angst, yelling, mean!Daryl, failed-ish attempts of comfort, slightly medically skilled!reader, cigarettes, Daryl being a little too abrasive.

Era(s): Quarry, Greene farm.

Word count: 1.7k

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Your eyes were trained on him the second you got to the group. As days went by, he seemed to have cast a spell on you, hypnotised you with something only he had. You saw beyond his mean persona, his rugged ways only making his vulnerability shine through. How you treated him didn't go unnoticed, not by him, certainly not by the rest. Always ensuring he had everything he could use before leaving for a hunt, sparing him extra food because 'He needed the extra energy', even small insignificant details like leaving his folded clothes at his tent door were starting to get to him. He felt like you could read him better than he could himself, which made him want to hate you.

Daryl kept everyone at a distance, but you were kept even farther. It bothered you and occupied your thoughts like a plague, you were practically living with the sole purpose of showing him he was worth everything you'd ever do and more. He had pulled something within you, although it was beyond your comprehension, you let your instincts and desire take you over. You were anything but pushy, you didn't try to force yourself onto his life, content with giving and not receiving even a glance your way in return. The archer hated that he couldn't bring himself to hate you.

In a fucked up world where the dead roamed, injuring oneself with the simple task of carrying firewood seemed flat-out stupid. Angry mumbles escaped the man as the log fell with a thud. "Goddamnit." Your eyes lifted from your task of shaping branches as stakes, at the sound of Daryl's grumbles. Blood dripped down to the ground as the blue-eyed man fixated on his newly obtained cut.

"Sit." You pointed to the nearest makeshift seat, marching your way inside your tent to look for your precarious medical supplies. "Wha' " He growled, squinted eyes now settled in your back, as he obeyed your command.

"You heard me." You replied in a quiet mumble, carrying alcohol, iodine, and bandages in one hand. You accommodated yourself on the ground at his feet, hands grasping his injured one in one swift but gentle motion. "Won't need stitches." You assured. Worried demeanor showed through your actions and on this occasion, he couldn't look away.

His stare changed from your face to your working consistently, as you finished wrapping the bandage expertly he looked at you through his eyebrows. "Ya' a doctor 'fore all this?"

A nostalgic smile crept up your face, usually content eyes now clouding with sadness. At your change of aura, he wished he could take back the question, even if he didn't understand what was wrong in his doing. "Sorry." He spoke barely above a whisper, raspy voice making him nearly unintelligible

"Third year of med-school. 'bout to start my fourth." He nodded, now wrapping his mind around your medical knowledge, you did look too young to be a doctor.

After that evening he stayed even further from you, which you didn't think possible. Still, you abstained from offering to look after his wound, knowing he was capable of doing that himself, and knew it would bother him to have the obligation of holding a conversation with you every day. The archer hated that you knew all that, proving his point of you being able to read him like your favourite goddamn romantic novel. If his mind stayed too much upon it, he would drive himself insane.

The next few weeks were hectic, in a matter of days you were already starting to get settled in a new location, a family farm that was lending you the place till the shot kid, Carl, healed and the lost kid, Sophia, whom Daryl frantically looked for, resurfaced from god knows where.

You paced around camp, Daryl had left earlier that morning and while that wasn't odd, the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach was. "He's fine." Carol smiled at you, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder. Your brows furrowed, answering your own silent question as to how she knew what was on your mind. Being sly was never your strength.

"I know." You smiled, rubbing her back up and down in a reciprocation of her action. You admired how she stood strongly, after the death of her asshole husband and the disappearance of her daughter, she had survivor written all over her face. The calm atmosphere faded at the series of unfortunate events that continued to unfold before you. A shot, screaming and a bloody, limp archer being carried inside the house.

As Hershel worked on the wound at his torso, which you were relieved to know was not a walker bite, you got your hands on the bullet graze at the side of his head. The youngest Dixon would be fine, back on his feet in a few days time, that didn't wash away your anger at the blonde now standing behind you. "Oh my god, he's going to be fine, right?" Andrea questioned for the billionth time.

Your eyes travelled back to her. "You won't be if you don't shut your mouth." Attention back on your stitching, you mumbled an unintelligible cuss, anger practically bubbling out of you.

That night you slept curled up in a chair next to his sleeping form. He had woken up multiple times, only having the strength to look around the room and then doze off once again. You kept constantly waking up to check for a fever, maybe a broken stitch, anything putting his life at stake, your mind could not rest easy. Andrea had apologised to him and even to you, but you brushed her off, too angry to hold a conversation on the topic still.

The idea of not having the archer around made your heart sink. His rough hands that you ached to hold, blue eyes that got smaller the brighter his surroundings got, the unsympathetic yet very empathic personality that made him so fucking special, and his fear of being loved which pulled you close to him. Losing Daryl Dixon would've made you wish you stayed at the CDC. That would've been the day when you wouldn't be grateful at Doctor Jenner for giving you a shot at life.

"You need to stay in bed!" Exasperated, you grabbed both of the brunette's shoulders, pushing him down on the bed. The morning of the second day after his accident, Daryl wanted to get back on his normal doings. He glared at you sideways, the corner of his mouth lifting up before he spat out the words.

"Get off my back, bitch. Don’ need ya’ pesterin’ me like you’re ma’ goddamn babysitter.” He pushed you off him with a strength he couldn't seem to control under his rage spell.  The volume of his voice grew louder by the second. “Always ´round ‘ere. Big brown eyes starin’ like I’m bein’ exhibited. I ain’t your pet. Sure as hell ain't your boyfriend.” Now on his feet, he held the bedsheets to his torso as he looked over the room for his clothes.

You stared at him, not a sign of emotion on your features, though you wished you could yell back, maybe even shed a tear or two, but you knew it would be uncalled for. Same way everything you had been doing was.

You extended your hand holding a pile of folded clothes, his folded clothes. The brunette snatched them from your grip without care, launching them onto the mattress behind him.

His body caged yours, one of his hands gripped your forearm as you were backed up into a wall. Your free hand went to rest against his bare chest, no pressure inflicted nonetheless. “Dar..” You whispered, chin pointing towards the ceiling to look into his eyes. 

“Don’ call me that like I’m your friend. Ya’ could be gone tomorrow ‘n I wouldn’t give a goddamn shit.” His grip tightened as his face inched closer to your own, so much his breath fanned over the tip of your nose. "Yer so desperate t'be loved it shows how ya never have been before, but I don't do charity, so go bother somebody else and leave me the hell alone!."

He stood like that for half a minute, keeping you in place with his hand clutching your skin tight, though his grip fell the second he noticed a hint of pain in your eyes, though you weren't sure if it was for his grip or his words, implying you weren't worthy of anything. Making you feel small. He pushed himself off you, taking a good few steps back. "Get the hell outta 'ere." He yelled, pointing with his uninjured side to the, hopefully empty, hall behind the bedroom door.

You had vanished. Completely erased yourself from existence for the rest of the day. You grabbed the pack of cigarettes you had kept after your last run, a lighter, and climbed up the tree furthest away from everyone. You sat on the wide branch with your knees to your chest, the stilled bike belonging to the man you had pestered all this time staring right back at you, yelling the same words he had hours ago. He was right, couldn´t argue against anything he said, as much as it hurt, it was the truth.

You were down to the last two tobacco sticks, an unlit one being hugged by your reddened lips from all the nervous biting. "Hard as shit lookin' for ya in this state." His grumble woke you up from your daydreaming, eyes landing right on his as you brought the fire to your cigarette. "Wha's doctor doin' with a smoke? Don' tha' kill you?" He tried to joke around after being met with radio silence on your part. Attempting to rip something out of you.

A small smile formed on your lips, shrugging. "Gonna die sooner or later." You weren´t big on it, but ever since you were sixteen cigarettes were a habit of you that was embarrassingly hard to let go of. His head was at level with your legs, you weren´t too far up and he didn't lack height. Hence why he easily reached for the last cigarette and the red lighter beside you, lighting it up swiftly.

" 'm sorry." He whispered. The view you had was one you wanted carved onto your skin. The sun setting behind the archer, his dirty blond hair being lit up by the orange beaming from the large figure. Cigarette between his lips, as well as your own, and a shy hand, going to rest on your calf in an awkward comfort-inducing mannerism he wasn´t too experienced with.

" 's fine." You smiled, hand enveloping his. "i'll get off your back."

"Don'. I like ya' pesterin' me."

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚꩜ ➴

i kinda hate it but i got it done lol

Anyway, my requests are open! please leave me anything you'd want to read and with no promised deadline I'll get it done :)

[astrolovecosmos]

*Pluto Natal Aspect Snippets*

Sun Trine Pluto: May be charismatic, influential, magnetic, and highly perceptive. They can easily read and intimidate, persuade, or manipulate others. They can handle pressure and change well, believing what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. While the trine aspect is generally harmonious, the connection between the Sun and Pluto can sometimes lead to a tendency towards being overly intense, obsessive, overbearing, or controlling.

Sun Opposite Pluto: May struggle with their darker side often, especially obsessive and compulsive behaviors. They may deal with a lot of power struggles in life, feeling like they always have to defend and fight for themselves. But they can develop sharp intuition, self-awareness, and inner power.

Sun Square Pluto: May deal with a lot of tension and conflicts with others in life. Others may find them to be too intense, intimidating, mysterious/private, or others may be jealous of their authenticity, passion, or depth. They may feel like others are always out to one up them, control them, or put them down. HOWEVER they must also mind a possible paranoid side. The tension between the need for self-expression (Sun) and the deep, transformative energy of Pluto can lead to obsessive thoughts and behaviors. A positive to this aspect is these individuals do not fear their shadows or the skeletons in their closet. They may be brave, strong-willed, and always willing to grow.

Moon Trine Pluto: This can be a highly deep and intuitive individual. At a young age they learn how to sooth and heal themselves and can act as a great healer or guide for others. But their emotions are intense and they can be highly controlling towards their closest loved ones.

Moon Opposite Pluto: May easily overreact, is hypersensitive, volatile, and can easily drain themselves or others emotionally. Can fall into relationships that have a lot of hidden tension, leading to feelings of resentment, manipulation, or emotional blackmail. Over time they can have a great understanding of their emotional landscape and the ability to transform their vulnerabilities into sources of strength and wisdom.

Moon Square Pluto: Could be a highly manipulative individual. Can find themselves caught in a cycle of emotional highs and lows, frequently feeling consumed by their own intensity and drowning. This can lead to a sense of inner turmoil and difficulty in maintaining emotional balance, often resulting in stress and anxiety. Can grow to be emotionally strong and very self-aware.

Mercury Trine Pluto: Likely a deep, insightful, perceptive, and investigative person. They have a love for researching and analyzing subjects in depth. Could become a master of a subject. Can be a passionate teacher/professor. But this aspect is famous for becoming too obsessed with a subject or obtaining knowledge to their detriment.

Mercury Opposite Pluto: May be combative or competitive in their communication style. Could try to "dominate" conversations. Can easily misunderstand others or become misunderstood. May be plagued by paranoia at times. Can easily mistrust others. They likely learned to trust their intuition at a young age and may heavily rely on it. They may have a talent for always getting to the heart of an issue.

Mercury Square Pluto: Can be stubborn in their opinions and have an all-or-nothing mentality. Can overlook what is important by jumping to conclusions or being preoccupied with finding hidden meanings or uncovering perceived deceptions. But they mentally approach the world with a lot of depth and sensitivity. They notice what others don't and some can be a good judge of character.

Venus Trine Pluto: Intense and passionate in their relationships but in a way that is magnetic, sexy, and maybe commanding. It's a great aspect for deepening intimacy and fostering meaningful growth in relationships. But those with this placement can become unchanging or controlling in their relationships too. Their attachments may usually be harmonious or loving but they can also be extremely strong.

Venus Opposite Pluto: There can be intense emotional power struggles in relationships. There can also be profound transformations or challenges in many of your relationships that lead to empowerment and self-mastery.

Venus Square Pluto: Associated with control, power dynamics, jealousy, and possessiveness in relationships. Needs to learn to manage their own intensity when it gets out of control or unhealthy. Or may need to learn how to listen to themselves more in relationships, follow their intuition/heart.

Mars Trine Pluto: Is a focused, passionate, magnetic, and inspiring or leading individual. They have a lot of confidence with heat, power, and determination to back up their confidence. But they can have an overpowering side to themselves that causes friction with others or gets them wrapped up in competition or conflict.

Mars Opposite Pluto: May be a ruthless individual who is out for conflict, finding it to be stimulating, to feed their ego, or to feed their hungry drive. Can be self-destructive and reckless. May be manipulative or controlling and really struggle with collaboration and cooperation. They can have a lot of willpower and endurance.

Mars Square Pluto: May be aggressive, forceful, could frequently and quickly escalate situations. May push others away from being close to them. But may be a survivor in life, someone who has to empower themselves often. They might be a very strong individual on many levels. Must learn to open up and find peace in their own way.

Jupiter Trine Pluto: A whole lot of inner strength. This aspect fosters a deep sense of purpose and the ability to influence and inspire others, making it easier to effect positive change on a larger scale. However their intense drive for success and transformation can sometimes lead to an obsession with power or control, potentially causing strain in personal or professional relationships.

Jupiter Opposite Pluto: Can indicate someone who deals with a lot of explosive power struggles in life. May be manipulative or power hungry themselves. Can give into obsession and extreme behavior of all types. Has a great ability to empower themselves by facing their inner demons head on.

Jupiter Square Pluto: May be a dogmatic, closed-minded, judgmental, and overly harsh person, especially in their beliefs. A desire for control may manifest through philosophies or religion somehow. But this person can have a lot of determination and depending on their ethics may be a great force to change the world around them for the better.

Saturn Trine Pluto: Makes individuals perceptive, hardworking, diligent, strong, and determined. We have two powerful planets working together. Pluto brings depth, destruction, healing, transformation, empowerment. Saturn brings wisdom, maturity, strategy, lessons, and realism. They can be blessed with self-mastery and a strong, effective willpower. But they may be overly serious, negative, or controlling, and easily stressed.

Saturn Opposite Pluto: May struggle with inner power struggles. They may swing from intense confidence to crippling anxiety or self-doubt. Can easily feel overwhelmed or restricted by responsibilities and limitations, resulting in periods of frustration and potential burnout. These individuals will likely experience many profound transformations in their life. Introspection and honing their intuition will be helpful to them.

Saturn Square Pluto: May feel like they never have enough control or power over their life. Leaving their comfort zone, sticking to discipline or a routine, inner authority, independence, and ultimately empowerment may seem extra hard for them. But they can learn to be resourceful, perceptive, and enduring over time. They may find empowerment in unexpected ways.

Uranus Trine Pluto: May be highly unconventional, radical, or revolutionary in their mindset and goals. They can navigate big changes in society or historical events a little easier than others. They are open-minded to the future and can be adaptable and enduring. However they can get obsessive with some of their ideas and opinions. May also not see the value in older structures or traditions. May not learn from past mistakes of others.

Uranus Opposite Pluto: A tornado within and chaos outside - these people are likely very familiar with instability in life. They can also struggle to deal with sudden changes whether they are burnt out from many upheavals in their life or have experienced events that cause them to fear change. Internally they may have a tug-of-war between the desire for freedom and the need for control, leading to feelings of being torn between competing priorities. However this placement can learn to embrace authenticity in themselves and others, they may be passionately honest, and can find hope in the future.

Uranus Square Pluto: May be use to power struggles throughout life, especially in terms of them trying to be more individualistic, independent, or moving forward with change and adaptability. Can encourage others to be rebellious, despite this square's challenges they can have a rebel heart themselves.

Neptune Trine Pluto: This aspect fosters profound spiritual growth and transformation, allowing individuals to deeply connect with their inner selves and pursue meaningful, soul-enriching experiences. They are likely highly intuitive, may be prone to intense dreams, and has a knack for digging up the truth or is a natural healer. However they can be highly unpractical and may neglect the more day-to-day needs and demands of life.

Neptune Opposite Pluto: This aspect can lead to intense inner turmoil and confusion, as individuals may struggle to reconcile their deepest fears and desires with their idealistic visions, resulting in periods of uncertainty and emotional instability. They may be very familiar with deception and betrayal. They can have a great capacity for self-awareness, healing deep wounds, and finding empowerment in soft or spiritual ways.

Neptune Square Pluto (2050s - 2070s): May face a lot of disillusionment in life, both in belief systems and people. "Don't meet your heroes" is an important message for this placement. Has susceptibility to deception or escapism, as individuals may struggle to see situations clearly and might resort to avoidance or denial when faced with harsh realities. They can grow to have a lot of psychological depth and insight.

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

tintin is incredible at timing

(possibly) the final snippet I'll post from my story The Gypsum Maw, the previous part which follows directly before is here - I've been seeing comments asking about where to read the full thing, I'm afraid what I post is basically it - I have more pages in my sketchbook but I suspect they are only legible to me!

this post is already long so more notes and credits under the cut!

I asked for some help for coming up with friends for Chang! The gentle giant Masek was created by InkyTrink on Twitter and the super excitable Libby was created by dreamyopal, a discord mutual:

They came up with some great character notes and were super helpful providing feedback on my designs!

Writing this felt pretty odd in ways. I graduated in 2020 during the Plague Year so my class didnt get a public art showcase. I attended one last year and it was a bittersweet experience.

Reunions feel a bit like time travel, you see people after a few years and things change quite a lot. I wanted to explore this in my post canon series, Chang has grown up, found himself and has been able to live a fairly normal life with family and friends. Tintin in a way reflects that young adult insecurity about being stagnant, like you haven't been able to fully reach adulthood properly. His fame and status as a Young Boy Reporter is holding him captive, he longs for connection but is held back by expectations from both himself and the outside world.

I've also been inspired by the concept of 'queer time,' the concept that the lives of queer people progress differently to the lives of non queer people. It takes time to come to terms with yourself and to come out. Queer people are often excluded from milestones like marriage or having children. Tintin being confronted with his peers at a university highlights his insecurity about being left behind, but he's slowly making the journey to self acceptance by talking to others, and recognising common ground he has with others.

Chang's university isn't a one to one reference to a specific institution but in Belgium there was a secular movement in reaction to the dominance of the Catholic church, in which universities played a key role. There's references to art movements that were deemed "degenerate" by the Nazis here, such as Fauvism and Surrealism.

[vivwritesfics]

Fire Is The Devil's Only Friend

Chapter Three

There was no such thing as making it on your own with a high profile boyfriend. That was why she kept her relationship a secret. But then after a PR fuck up, her boyfriend is forced into PR relationship and she's left on the side lines, missing him

1.2K

Series Masterlist

The story broke on the day her first book was published. Carlos couldn't help but feel rather sick every time she looked at her phone.

But she remained blissfully unaware for the entire day. By the end of the day, after the story had been out for a number of hours, it felt too late. Carlos went to bed that night with guilt plaguing him. His touch was hesitant as she shuffled across the bed, towards him.

She would have liked to find out from Carlos. Not during her first book signing. It was the weekend after her book came out and, as much as Carlos wanted to be there, he was at a race.

He texted her before the race began, just before the start of the signing. The lights went green at the race track as the doors to the book store opened, and people holding copies of her book walked in.

Person after person walked up to her table. She signed the inside of the book with a polite smile and sent them on their way.

That was until a girl in a Ferrari shirt came walking up to her table. She took notice of it right away. "I can't believe you're here instead of watching the race," she said through a laugh as she took the book from the young ferrari fan.

"Oh em gee!" The ferrari fan cried. "You watch Formula One? What team do you support?"

She let out a small laugh as she signed the inside of the book. To A wonderful Tifosi. "Ferrari, of course," she said as she placed her signature on the page.

"Who is your favourite driver? If you don't mind me asking, that."

She shook her head. "That's more than fine. I'm actually a Carlos Sainz fan," she said and slid the book back across the table.

"Oh! I can't believe he's finally taken, though. It feels like he was single forever."

The world stilled around her. Her heartbeat sped up and she gripped her pen so tight it almost shattered in her hand. The Ferrari fan thanked her and took her book as she walked away from the table. Before anybody else could approach she called one of the bookstore employees Iver. "I need five minutes," she said as she stood up from her seat.

The employee placed a sign on the table and directed her towards the back of the bookstore. Through the doors and out into the alleyway was the employee smoking area.

As soon as she was outside, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She couldn't text Carlos, not while he was driving. Instead she took to her personal instagram, the one with thirty followers. Her feed was full of F1 posts. Ever since she met Carlos she began following the sport, filling her private social media with anything she could find.

One of the first posts was a picture of Carlos leaving a night club. She'd been there that night, but she hadn't danced with him, hadn't left with him. It was enough being close to him.

The woman beside him was a stranger, though, photoshopped into the picture. She knew for a fact that she hadn't been in the club that night, hadn't left with Carlos, who drove straight to their apartment, to meet her there and fuck her.

Rebecca Donaldson. It was a name she didn't recognise. A quick goggle search turned up very little information about the woman. The most she could find was articles wondering who 'Carlos Sainz's new flame' was.

But she wasn't Carlos's new flame. Carlos didn't have a new flame. He had her. He'd had her for an entire year now.

Wearing a brave face, she returned to the signing.

Normally, after the race she'd immediately be on her phone, texting Carlos. He couldn't remember the last time he checked his phone after a race and she hadn't texted him.

This time, she couldn't wait to text him after her signing. Congratulate him on a great race and tell him all about it. This was before the signing actually happened.

Carlos checked his phone after the race, ready to read texts from her. But there were gone. He had texts from friends, from family, but not from her.

Carlito 💕💕

Are you awake, cariño?

Read

Huh, that was odd. She looked at the message the moment he sent it, but she didn't reply. A horrible, awful feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

But Carlos wore a brave face. He pushed on with things, got on with it until he could get home to her.

He was quiet on the plane ride back. Those he was sharing the private jet with noticed, but they didn't say anything. Every time he checked his phone, they assumed he was messaging his new girlfriend. He really wasn't.

Carlos made his way straight home. He pushed his key into the door and twisted, pushing it open.

The house was quiet, eerily so. "Cariño? Are you there?" Carlos called.

Nothing.

Grabbing his bags, he started towards the bedroom. "Y/N?" Carlos called as he walked inside. But still, she wasn't there. Dropping his bags, Carlos started searching.

He found her in her office,tapping away at her computer. "Ah, there you are," he said as he walked towards her.

Carlos went to wrap his arms around her where she sat, but she stood. She stood up and walked away from him. "Cariño, is everything all right?"

Her jaw was set, hands crossed over her chest as she stared at him. "Carlos, I'm going to ask you this once. Are you cheating on me?"

Carlos felt the colour drain from his face. "Mi amor, no!" He cried as he rushed towards her. He went to cup her face between his hands, but she moved away.

"Who the fuck is Rebecca Donaldson?"

"Shit," he hissed. He'd fucked up, big time. "Cariño, please, you've got to listen to me," he said. "They threatened me with my seat! I haven't met her, I don't know her and I don't love her."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she sank down the wall. "What the fuck is going on, Carlos? I thought you loved me. I thought you were gonna..." she sniffed and wiped at her nose. "Do you not want to be with me? Is that it?"

This time, when Carlos approached her, she didn’t push him away. He took her hand and kissed her palm. "Ferrari fucked up," he whispered, still holding her hand. "They needed a PR distraction and they chose me. I don't know Rebecca Donaldson, I've never met her," he said. "I love you so much. I want nothing more than to show you off to the world."

She held his face and pulled him close, kissing him. But, when she pulled away, she stood. "Im going to stay with my mother for a bit," she said and walked out of the room to pack a bag.

Carlos couldn't move. His legs shook as he went to follow her. He felt sick to his stomach.

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[bloodycassian]

Reborn - Reader x Azriel. AN - thank you anon for this great prompt!

Requested - I don't know if your requests are open but I wanted to throw something in just in case.

An Azriel x reader, where AZ and reader have never met before, reader has been tortured and experimented on by the court of nightmares ( Keir ) she could be a shadowsinger, and they're mates, when the reader is in the verge of death for refusing to work with Keir, AZ feels it and begins to grow hectic without knowing the reason,  everyone in the inner court is confused until elain comes out of nowhere and tells everyone that his mate is in danger. ( Vision )

I have this on the back of my mind since reading some of your amazing work and couldn't stop thinking about it.

No amount of masturbation, drinking, or sparring helps the agitation under Azriel’s skin. It’s a constant, burning, itching thing that’s like a fucking disease upon his being. 

Sleep is his only relief, but even then he’s plagued with pain and darkness. It reminds him too much of the dank basement he’d been forced into when he was young, so he stays up. He’s exhausted and brooding and quick to snap at anyone who questions him. He knows he’s being a dick but according to the five healers he’d seen, there was nothing wrong. 

Nothing wrong, just like how his shadows weren’t some kind of magic, according to them. 

He’d refused to believe in healers all that much since the explanation Madja had given him about his diseased pets. The writhing, tentacles of night were a ‘bodily mutation of the highest level, tainted with fae magic’. Tainted. The word felt right for what they were, but that didn’t mean it stung any less. 

“We’ll invade here, and be able to plant our…” There was a beat of silence in Amren’s quick words, then her voice cut through his busybodied task like a knife “Azriel, are you even listening?” 

Truthfully, he hadn’t been. He’d been consumed by the ache again, the broiling sickness beneath his skin that had every muscle flexed in tension. His mind had other battles to fight. 

“What does it matter? You’ll carry out your plan with or without me. Keep talking, make yourself feel important, Amren.” His ill-tempered response came quick and laced with venom. One glance towards the small not-quite-fae female and his mind gave a twinge of regret. 

A lick of her power radiated, filling the room with something vibrant and undeniable. Cassian sucked in a breath, and a word from Rhys had her firey gaze snapping to him instead. “Take your dog from the important business then, High Lord.” Her words were precise, hissed. 

Azriel straightened. The insult didn’t land as well as Amren had wanted, in part because he couldn’t care less, another because the fire under his skin was reaching a peak that he had no idea how he survived every time it came around. He glanced to Rhys, who gave him a nod. Good. Let him free of this cage. 

He flung open the balcony doors with his cursed gift and sprinted off the ledge, launching himself into the summer air. 

+

Rats nibbled at your toes when you slept, scurrying away before you could catch them. Your senses weren’t even close to what they had been months ago. Before, you’d been able to catch at least two a week for extra sustenance. 

You told yourself that they’d learned, that they’d gotten quicker at their biting and fleeing. Truthfully, you could feel your strength waning every day. 

Living was no longer hope, and more of an inconvenience. 

But it was an inconvenience to Kier as well. And that meant you’d keep on living out of spite. 

The next female would appreciate it. 

“Arms up, legs together.” The order came with unnatural casualness that you’d grown used to. If you didn’t follow the orders, you were beaten until you either complied or were unconscious, so complying was really the only option. Especially when you were attempting to stay alive for as long as you could. 

It’s for the next girl. You chanted to yourself when the keeper made the injection. It stung like hundreds of bees attacking the same place, but the pain was familiar. A friend you welcomed before everything went sideways and the nausea rolled in. 

The drug Kier’s men gave was like none you’d experienced outside this cell. An incredible high, with a disastrous low. 

You convulsed on the floor moments later, your body still barely able to take the amount they dosed you with. You’d seen the liquid inside the damn thing grow each week, they were marking your progress with every one of them. So, with each dosing you made sure to put on some dramatics for them. 

The clawing at the throat was false, the sound of your screams only half-forced. The real, unforced reaction though, was always the shade of pallor your skin turned after every injection. The darkness that radiated from you like a bubble, the pain made physical. 

It hovered over your skin like an aura, tendrils of it washing over your forehead when the sweating started. It always started like this, for the first few hours - or possibly minutes, you weren’t sure once you were lost to the pain - they’d observe, and sometimes Kier himself would join, looking like a disappointed mother. Then, once the shaking subsided, and you were able to breathe normally, they’d release a rabbit into your cell. 

The same rabbit almost every damn time. After the first two weeks, you’d grabbed the first one and snapped it’s neck, hoping that Kier would be happy with the accomplishment and you’d earn something. You’d felt awful as it died in your hands, but the pain… if it stopped the pain, you’d kill anything. 

But time after time, they’d send in another rabbit, and though you begged for some kind of explanation of what they wished with the damn thing, they’d only observe. After a few hours of investigating, it’d eventually be removed and you’d wake up alone again.

Kier did not make an appearance today, and after your shaking stopped, neither did a rabbit.

“Where’s dinner?” You croaked, the tears stinging small cuts on your cheeks. Your friend never laughed or spoke, hardly even moved when he was in the vicinity of your cell. It was odd, even for a freak who enjoyed drugging and torturing others.

The male only stared, writing in his little notebook. He could at least humor you and tell you what he was so keenly logging. Some friend.

He opened the door, but instead of the rabbit jumping inside, he stepped forward, past the barrier and wards keeping you from breaking through. Your breathing halted. 

“Your reluctance to learn your gifts has given us no other option.”

+

“Did you lose a fight?” 

Nesta’s words normally bounced and slid right off Azriel, but with how volatile he was feeling, it took all his restraint not to snarl at her.

“Come on Az, where’s that quick wit?” She chided, crossing her legs at the knee beside her sister. 

His eyes drifted to Elain, the warm blush of her cheeks. Her lavender nightshirt made her seem so much more vulnerable than she was. He knew just how lethal the female could be, and admired her for it. His eyes drifted to the soft hair and round features that he’d once dreamt of. How foolish he’d been, how full of hope and bitterness. Now here he was, merely a ghost. A shell for pain to be housed in and nothing more. 

And here he stared at a garden of hope and light. The female who’d haunted his dreams for years. The opposite of the steel bitch that sat beside her. 

A pang of guilt pinched at him. “You’re ridiculous.” Was all he could muster at her. Nesta was trying to help, in her own way, he supposed. She was testing his limits and temper, even while balancing comforting words and attempting to heal her little sister’s mental wounds. Not to mention navigating the strange, untrained gift of Elain’s.

It wasn’t often that Azriel came to the house of wind proper. When he did, he usually confined himself to the dining area and the war room, where the formal dinners and meetings were held. He hadn’t walked the halls into the large internal library in a long, long while. No wonder they both had turned their chairs to face him when he’d cracked the door to find them both here. 

The large windows seemed crowded with the amount of books that surrounded them. The only source of light, aside from the twinkling magic fueled ones above. The room had always made Azriel feel claustrophobic, and now it set him on edge in a way different than it had before. 

Especially when Elain’s eyes bored into his own. His skin felt like it was shifting, pulling and pushing from just beneath. He was beginning to wonder if the healers had somehow missed a parasite of some kind. Something new perhaps, something they’d never seen before.

Elain’s eyes widened, her cheeks going from the pink blush to sickly pale in an instant. Her expression was unfocused, hazy - as if she were drunk. Azriel suddenly felt like he was intruding, like seeing her so vulnerable was something reserved for only those close to her. 

Nesta placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed her sister’s back comfortingly. It was about as tender as Azriel had ever seen her, even with Cassian. He watched the hands that rubbed the Seer, recalling the intense desire he’d once felt for her. Embarrassment coated his cheeks, distracting him from the physical pain for a moment.

He’d wanted to be that support for her, once. Nesta’s hand seemed to grow in his vision, the embroidered collar of Elain’s nightshirt with it. He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus. The blackness around his eyes did not recede though. His bones ached, and his headache stabbed at him like a branding iron. He rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“She needs help.” Elain gasped, coughing on a breath. Azriel wavered on his heels, something hard hitting his back, crushing his wings. 

He could barely hear the high strung sound of Elain’s voice. “She needs help, Azriel!”

+

He tore though the court, dragging Kier kicking and frothing with him. He’d received a few severe wounds from the cruel male, but nothing that a few patches of his siphons couldn’t hold together. 

The gushing stab wounds could wait. He had something far more important to tend to.

“You’re a bastard, a low-born inconsequential bastard, Shadowsinger.” Kier coughed as Azriel dragged his broken body with him. The crowd pushed and writhed around them, but his outstretched dagger kept any of the patrons from advancing. Several dark looks, hisses of death closed in around him, but he plowed through them all, working his way to the catacombs behind the stone chair that served as Rhys’s dark throne. 

“I may be a bastard-” Azriel grunted through his pain, now more fevored and intense than before. It was a wonder he’d even been able to make it here, but it did explain his sloppy handling of Kier once he’d found the male. 

“But at least I didn’t sell a daughter off as stock.” He tossed the would-be-king to the locked door of the catacombs, a part of him enjoyed the thunk his head made against the stone floor, even through the intense agony that ripped through him. 

This was not the place to show weakness. If he let his shadows drop, let the air of anything but a cold hearted killer go for even a moment he’d be trampled by the crowd. 

Kier rose slowly, muttering curses while he pulled out a key and slid the door to the side. He sketched a bow, waving Azriel in. Spit landed at Azriels feet as he crossed the threshold, and he hesitated in his step. A hiss rang out behind him, shuffling feet a song as the crowd quickly scooted back. He held his stance there for a moment, collecting the wrath that built in him. It writhed and twisted in his mind, his guts, his teeth throbbing with the urge to tare out Kier’s throat. 

The blistering heat flared again, this time in his jaw and he moved down the hall, towards the cells that an unfortunate assistant to Kier had described. 

He’d made their death quick, painless. 

+

You couldn’t scream, could hardly breathe with the weight that seemed to be growing in your chest. 

Not weight exactly, more like pressure. Internal pressure, like there was lava built up inside you with nowhere to go. And every rattling breath seemed to give it more life. You wheezed, weak with the exhaustion of fighting it. 

Your friend had given you three more of the injections, and promptly left when you began struggling against the binds at your hands and feet. One of them had ripped, you only knew because that was the hand that you’d used to claw at your chest with. 

The blood made going any further too slippery and exhausting.

There were far away sounds, but it all seemed too strange, so disjointed to be real. Screams and sharp clangs of metal, breaking glass and thudding. 

Your eyes slipped closed, and relief washed over you. The pressure eased, and the squeaky hinges of the door opened. Had death finally come? Was this the end of your cycle, and now they were bringing in a new victim to Kier’s experiments? 

There wasn’t much of a goodbye to the world, though. As sad as it was to not be able to see your family again, you were just grateful that the pain was receding. That finally there’d be no injections, no innocent rabbit and certainly no Kier around. 

The sounds were strange, a choking, strangled sound like the first time you’d killed the rabbit. Your eyes cracked open almost involuntarily to see what had happened. 

Outside your cell in a glow of blue light was a winged male, his hand wrist deep inside your friend’s chest. 

+

Blood is hotter than most people think it is. Azriel takes joy in it though, when it’s the blood of the truly vile ones. The male with the syringes and log book reeked of something spiced and foreign, something Azriel’d never encountered before. He would have asked, would have talked to the male if he’d not pulled a knife and threatened to ‘kill her’ as he backed away. 

There were no thoughts after that. And as he fell to the floor, Azriel reveled in the male’s labored breathing. Relief and heat flooded him, prickling him with a soaring joy he’d thought abandoned him long ago. He could laugh, if it weren’t for the absurdity of how it sounded to laugh at this moment.

 He plucked the book from his hands and shoved it into his belt behind him, his chest thrumming with joy.

He’d never been so filled with glee before, so overwhelmed with it after killing… Had he become broken in a sick way? Was he no better than the male he’d just killed? He looked to his hand, twisting it in the low light of his siphons. 

A wet, weak cough echoed off the walls and he spun, knife ready. 

Then the blade was on the floor as he rushed to the bars of the cell door, ripping it free of the rusted hinges. 

The female was gaunt, and frail. Yet his chest sang and though she looked moments from death, he couldn’t imagine more beauty. 

She clutched her chest, the blood there crusted and dry. “Thanks.” She croaked, voice barely a whisper. Shadows mounted around him, enclosing them in complete black. He would have thought he was winnowing if it weren't for the sorry excuse for a bed that stayed beneath her.

Azriel’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t tell what he was saying, even to his own ears. His mind, his body was a rushing river of every emotion at once, all cascading through his mind, to his chest and thrumming in his blood. Her eyes went wide and wild, searching his for a moment. His heart thundered in his ears.

What had his life been until now? Why was this moment such a climax to him so suddenly? All of it, the pain the agony, the stark moments of joy against it all - the brief moments of shared happiness that made it all worth it tore through his body like a flash floor. 

Tears pricked his eyes, and it was a curious thing to see them fall onto her neck and wash away the blood there. 

Then, a wet sigh from her lips, and her eyes stopped searching his. The rush of joy and sense of sanctuary ceased. His blood went quiet in his ears, and the room felt suddenly cold. The room silent around him, not even his shadows dared whisper.

His fingers hesitated over her cheek. When her next breath did not come, he shook her gently. Her eyes remained, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

This was truly a tomb now. 

“No…” He heard his own words that time. The word clattered through the cell like a bell tolling, echoing.

“Take her back.” A shadow hissed over his ear, caressing. 

He shook her again, the tears boiling over now, panic gripping him. 

“We know how.” another said. This voice was different, the same whispered tone and suggestion, but this was not one of his pets. He sent his own shadows skittering away, and a group of them stayed, unbound to him and unmoving from the cell. His heart skipped, fear upon fear pulling him into the icy abyss of despair. 

His own shadows returned, a broken syringe floating to him on their behest. They mingled with the others, reveling and dancing together though Azriel felt that he was slowly sinking.

“What am I supposed to do with this?!” He shouted at them, at nothing. He had truly lost his mind, hadn’t he?

“Save her.” The strange shadows told him. Just like Elain had said, overtaken by her visions.

 A tendril of the foreign shadow wrapped around his hand, locking the glass pieces there and slicing into his palm. The needle aimed directly to her chest, between the ribs, only a few inches from the heart. 

And what did he have to lose? The silence that surrounded him now was almost worse than the pain had been. Wouldn't pain at least be better than complete nothingness? To feel completely blank and unwritten as a being?

With a breath, and a part of his siphon’s power to support the broken syringe, he pushed into her skin. His own blood dribbled down the sides, mixing with hers. Through and through - until he knew that he’d met the same depth of a killing blow to an opponent’s heart. 

+

“Side, block, strike.” Cassian’s orders came out in demanding, practiced tones. Each step, each swipe of your blade met with one of Azriel’s shadows as a shield. 

His were still much, much stronger than yours, even after months of practice with them. Even with him showing you very intimately just how much they were capable of. Your cheeks blushed at the reminder of that. 

“No distractions, keep that shadow talk in the bedroom, Az.” Cassian scolded.

A smirk played at your mate’s face, and he hit you with a surprise swipe at your feet, left unprotected by your own shadows. 

You fell on your ass, cursing. 

Azriel offered a hand, panting at the exertion the sparring had taken. You were proud of that, at least. 

The first six months of training had been dedicated to building stamina, gaining back weight and muscle while balancing training your shadows to obey you. Six months ago, being able to spar with your mate had seemed like a far off dream that you’d never be capable of doing. 

But with his training, and Cassian’s encouragement, you were almost able to take him on stride for stride. Almost. 

So, you took his hand and pulled him towards you for a kiss. Then knocked his knees out from behind with a wave of your own shadows.

You smirked, and offered him a hand while Cassian boomed with laughter.

He allowed you to help him up, but cleaned in close, pecking a kiss on your cheek. 

“You’ll pay for that later.” He said in an intimate tone. A lick of his shadow wrapped around your thigh, snaking upwards. 

“Promise?” Your eyes sparkled at him, and the pain all those months ago had been worth it for this. 

[sanrolii]

megumi is no stranger to sleepless nights. ever since he was a child he had been plagued by them. he would get nightmares, ones that woke him up in a panic, and kept him up for hours on end. now a high schooler, he still gets the occasional nightmare, but now most sleepless nights are simply because his own mind just won’t shut up.

so that’s how he finds himself, at 1:37 in the morning, standing at your dorm entrance, knocking on the door and praying to any god listening that you’ll let him in.

just come in, i’m too tired to get up 🙃

he smiles softly at your text, and slowly opens the door, avoiding causing any loud noises. last thing he needs right now is to be scolded by a teacher, or even worse, teased by gojo for sneaking into his girlfriend’s dorm in the middle of the night.

“sorry for waking you up like this.” he mutters softly as he crawls into your bed with you, making himself at home in your sheets. you sit up slowly, just barely making out the soft features of your boyfriends face in the little moonlight draining in through the window.

“don’t worry about it.” you shake your head and put a hand on his face, cupping his jaw. “you’re more important to me than sleep anyways.” your heartfelt words make the black haired boy flush softly under your touch. “what’s keeping you up?”

megumi just shrugs, leaning into your warm touch. “just can’t seem to stop overthinking.”

you hum softly. “restless thoughts, huh?” he nods, eyes closed. how is it he could already feel so relaxed by just being in your presence?

“how about we just lay down and go from there? if you want to talk about it you can, otherwise we can just try getting back to sleep, okay?”

“yeah, okay.” and so he lays, head against your chest and legs intertwined, as you run your hands through his hair, nails running softly down his scalp to his neck and over the thin t-shirt on his back.

“so, is it something in particular that’s occupying your mind?” you whisper in megumi’s ear, trying to relax him further with your voice.

“not really. just stressed i guess, between classes, training, and going on missions, there’s not a lot of time to just sit and relax, and it just got to me:” you sigh softly, kissing his head as it lays on your collarbone.

“well good thing tomorrow is the weekend, so we can stay in here and relax for as long as you want.” you can feel megumi nod against you.

“yeah…that sounds great.” he tilts his head up, meeting his lips with yours, pulling away after a few seconds, already feeling his eyes grow heavy.

“tired already?” you chuckle at the young man who just ten minutes ago had probably been tossing and turning in his own bed, unable to sleep. he only nods, leaving a small kiss to your collarbone.

megumi is no stranger to sleepless nights, but now he has you, the love of his life, who can calm the raging storm within his mind, lulling him to sleep without even trying.

[voidcat]

assigned knight!mithrun x royalty gn!reader – hcs and blurbs

a/n: this was supposed to be just some hcs but ended up as a 2.7k beast... nsfw content by the last third/half so minors do not interact ! and to clarify mc is one of the youngest of their family but age wise they're close to mithrun.

renowed hero mithrun, one of the big talents who fought bravely during the war. mithrun who is left broken afterwards, losing all his purposes, all his senses, the deaths he witnessed, the news he received. at the frontlines, he receives news of his brother and his beloved marrying– no longer his beloved now, is she? he feels something inside him break but has to ignore it all away. he was never meant for the throne, not when his brother is in such a state, unable to wield a sword, when there is war raging at all sides, when people need to be led and to be supported at the frontlines.

mithrun who resembles an empty shell now, unsure how to carry on from then on, until one of the kings he fought side by side invites him among their ranks, their kin. "let us be your new home, and you can spend the rest of your days at ease, come now, honorary knight mithrun of house karansil, the leading hero, finishing slash of this war." no reason to refuse, he simply accepts, he agrees to becoming one of king's younger kids' assigned knight. maybe another task like this, this need to watch and protect will give him a sense of purpose, an excuse to keep on living.

and here enters you, the young royal, so oblivious, so unknowing to all those happening around you, not a single care and isolated from the world, you spend your days at the castle, strolling gardens, sketching and reading whenever you can, make a face at the slightest topic of future and marriages. aware of the unstoppable future that awaits you, the fate no royal can escape– save for those who are unelligable, those who fall ill and die or those like mithrun, no longer a part of their own kingdom. the young royal and their knight joint at the hip soon enough, days and weeks pass, years come by and you two never seperate.

loyal knight mithrun who always walks by your side, tailing behind like a shadow and the young royal, they still call you, that walks without a care in the world; who helps him to stop and smell the flowers again, talk over red poppies and shed tears together in seclusion, sneak desserts from the kitchens and taste the sun on berries while taking shelter in the shadow of great oaks, whom he chases after literally and figuratively– he agreed to become a knight, because by default they live by a single purpose, but mithrun notices himself finding his purpose again in the shape of your smile. how your chest moves up and down at night, how you tense and whisper to yourself when plagued by night horrors.

loyal knight mithrun always found next to you, holding your hand when you climb down the stairs, wrapping an arm around and pulling you closer to him when you cannot sleep at night. your breathing a lullaby to his ears, and you a source of comfort to him, as much as he is to you. as goal oriented as he is, and with the war dulling his senses and entire being, he was in a way, the perfect knight, just a man crafted of his duty and nothing else. And with abilities like his, he could come to your aid in no time, carve out the eyes that look at you the wrong way.

Yet as you nurse him back to reality, intentionally or not, he finds anxiety and guilt eating at him with each passing day. The same acts you once performed, he feels himself unable to respond with the same nonchalance now. When you bring another berry to his lips for him to eat, he does his best to take it from your hands without his lips making contact with your fingertips. He does his best to look away when you lick off the excess nectar dripping from the peach you’ve just eaten, even just standing outside your door grows harder and harder, his keen sense of smell betraying him and his body.

You should be guilty too, for not noticing how you’re tormenting him.

Preparing for bath, you take off your clothes, let your private garments drop to the floor like it’s nothing. Stepping into the bathtub, taking your sweet time as you do so, leaning your head backwards and letting out a content sigh— “Mithrun!” You call up to him in a sudden, eyes wide open, “can I ask you something?”

In fear of words betraying him, he settles for a nod. Making a gesture with your hand reachimg out, you signal for him to come closer. Hand diving into his hair like always, stroking his face, his cheeks and over his eyes, “when was the last time you have taken a bath?” You ask, giving him a curious gaze.

As he tries battling for an answer to give you, because if he knows you, he knows what will come after this and he is unsure his poor heart can survive it. “Ah, usually at night when you’re—“ “stop lying, I know you wait by my side every night too.” You cut him off.

Bringing a finger to your lips, you pretend to think. “Oh, I know! There is plenty of space here, why don’t you take a bath with me? Maintaining appearances is important, it keeps you refreshed and ready for everything, no?”

When you stare at him with big, begging eyes, words laced with concern adn worry, and all of it just for him, he finds himself unable to move, until he catches sight of you trying to take his armor off and drag him into the water with you.

There is plenty of space for more than one person, but you stand glued to his side, your warm body pressed up against his, fingers in his hair massaging his scalp, your fingertips tracing over his old scars. Mithrun finds himself vulnerable to your touch, soft and laced with love, colder than the water, sending electric down his spine every time.

Your father, the king, dotes on you and always brags about his trusted knight Mithrun at banquets. Raising a glass in honor of the man who saved his life and protects the life of one of his treasures— not knowing the same man is guilty of growing an attachment to the said treasure. every time the king or an elder praises him for not just past accomplishments but for his current post, he feels guilt beginning to bloom and grow– the knight supposedly in charge of you, protecting and shielding you from bad eyes strrugles to stand by your side at night.

should you really be wearing a nightgown see-through and light, he wants to ask, with just a little breeze you'd catch a cold in no time, he tries to rationalize his thoughts; trying to wipe off the images, how the moon shines down on you, how the thin material sticks to your skin, presenting you before him. he feels the guilt toward you most of all, after everything he has lived through he has gained a bit of instincts and senses and yet he is still the same despicable man of the past; how he repays your kindness, your love and care– why, he remembers it like yesterday when you stroke his cheek and prosthetic eye, placed a kiss there and looked at him like he is still whole. as his affection for you grows, he wishes more and more to return to just the end of the war, when he was still hollow and indifferent toward you.

Mithrun realizes in many ways he is your first witness. First to see you get stung by bees, at which you asked for him to kiss it better, usually the first to see you getting sick, immediately calling in a medic to prepare for you a brew; first to cuddle you to sleep at nights, your head buried into his chest and your legs wrapped around his; first to guide you, first to help you explore the castle grounds, the city, banquets to come and even your body, at your request.

right outside your bedchambers one night, mithrun muses whether should he make a quick trip to his chambers. with the change of weather his usual armor and undergarment feel too thick. before he can teleport himself, muffled sounds of someone reaches his ears– out of breath and erratic, coming from no other direction than your chambers, the voice belonging only to you. frozen in place, he teleports himself into your room without a thought and finds himself nailed to his spot. the sight of you under the pale moonlight, a hand between your tighs, eyes closed shut and your face an expression he can only describe as 'pleasure'. mithrun has no clue for how long he stands there, stuck, feet glued to the floor, until you turn your head toward the door, eyes finding his and before he can see how you'll react, he teleports himself out– for hours he feels his beating frantic, threatening to burst out of his chest.

for the following days, he tries putting a distance between the two of you, replying with few words at most, avoiding your gaze, your touch like the plague. he can stand his guard only so long until he gives in, defeated by the sadness that takes over you after his sudden change of behavior. as if reading his mind, you do anything but drop the matter, eventually what he walked into coming to the surface as well. battling on the fields is easier, he thinks, there is only instincts, sharp and calculated moves, kill or be killed, conquer before you can be defeated– such is not the case outside war, and certainly not by your side, you always find a way to make things twice as difficult for him somehow. the scent of your body still haunts his senses and you have the courage to ask him what was going on with your body exactly!

you complain about all those people you see on castle grounds, exchanging gazes, holding hands, in the narrow hallways or the gardens, stealing kisses and using terms of endearment when conversing. not jealousy but yearning is apparent in your voice and he notices that much. it is not easy spending your whole life confined to a castle– even harder when you are a long life species, the hidden hallways remain a mystery only so long, few decades in and they lose all interest. "i couldn't sleep" you pout, "i was just lying down, must've thought myself in those scenes i often witness, and my hands were wandering around." your voice begins to drop with each word, "it was just trailing my fingers around until it felt... funny, and... ah... some sort of wetness, or so to speak." you finish shyly, turning your head away.

at your confession mithrun doesn't know how to react. such topics aren't exactly welcomed to be discussed so openly among your kind. burrowing his brows, he decides to take a simpler approach, from general to specific. "you see... our bodies have certain reactions reserved for certain situations." he does his best not to stammer over his words, does his absolute hardest to not make contact with those big, bright eyes of yours. "when we enter puberty, certain systems of ours go through changes to accomodate for new things we might experience in the future." one thing you have said bothers him though. "that was one of them. take that sensation you have described for example. it occurs so the act itself might take place easier and without causing discomfort for both sides." you seem to find his explanation helpful, judging from the smile slowly forming on your face. he can see the gears turning in your head, he hopes you reserve those new questions for the books you read.

"your highness, may i ask you something?" he blurts out, now or never. his formal way of addressing seems to catch you by surprise, he continues when seeing you nod. "if i won't be crossing any lines..." "there is no such thing as tha–" you say almost instinctively. "you said you were thinking, who was it?" he asks bluntly. "I..." your mouth opens and closes, head turned to the side, you cast your eyes downwards; he can see a blush creeping up. his ears pick up on you mumbling a 'no one' but he knows you are just deflecting now. if you are uncomfortable, he won't pry further. seeing him walk, you qucikly rush to his side, taking the arm he has offered you. "come now, what was it you said you wanted to do today? the greenhou–"

"could you lend me a helping hand actually!" you claim loudly in a sudden, fists clenched in excitement. "you know i would never refuse you as long as logi–" "i mean it, literally." you cut him off, emphasising on the word, and take his hand in yours, moving it in the air while giving him a determined look. considering the topic of conversation the two of you just had and now that... it doesn't take him long to connect two and two together. "a- absolutely not! i-" you will be the death of him, that's for sure. coughing few times, he tries gathering himself and catching breath. "your highness, acts such as the one you accidentally tried, are private matters. done by one's self or with a special one. you cannot just ask anyone that."

you bring your face closer to his, "i am not asking anyone, mithrun" you speak word by word, "i am asking you." the pronoun rolls off your lips like honey, poisoned. "when i say 'special', i mean a significant other, your highness." he adds the title at the end, already sounding defeated. you know exactly what he meant, why must you make things so difficult for him? "or a spouse, in our cases." he adds on, his gaze cast down, "though i doubt the same still applies for me." his voice comes out in a whisper, the unevitable future of an awaiting marriage haunts you both, and he wonders were he to return home, would he regain his title, be elligable for your hand after all.

in the end, he gives up. knight mithrun finds himself more vulnerable than before. lying in your bed, your body pressed against his with the both of you awake. bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers and trails down your chest, your abdomen, down to your groin. feeling every crook, inch and curve of you, fingers moving smooth and slow, he drinks in your expressions, how your lips slightly part, pleasure taking over your entire body, how you grow wetter with each touch, each movement. he has to bring his other hand to your mouth at one point, it wouldn't be wise to have passerbys hear the sounds you make for him now. how you begin to whimper under his hand, small moans soon saying his name like a plea, 'more, more, more' you begin to chant– a symphony to his hears, he watches how your body begins to spasm in pleasure as you reach your high, coming all over his hand, making a mess.

bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers, savoring your taste. with hazy eyes, you barely catch sight of him, your hand trying to make way to him. Mithrun sees your exhausted attemps and brings his cheek to your palm, the all-too-familiar gesture you grace him with on a daily basis; though rather than stroking, you try to pull him towards yourself. "oh? curious as to how you taste?"

the question leaves his mouth without a second thought, though you don't seem to register his words, too focused on his lips. giving his hand another, long lick; mithrun leans into you and for the first time his lips meet yours– your saliva mixing with his, your soft lips eagerly biting into him with wanton need, how that hand tries desperately to pull him even closer, you taste just as sweet everywhere, his taste buds decide. his lips meet yours once and does not let go ever, even when the two of you gasp for breath, oxygen loses all its purpose and though the thought should horrify him, he realizes and accepts easily: mithrun meets his demise at the mercy of you, far exceeding the point of no return.

[ffsg0jo]

�� his golden spear ��

character: dreamer!gojo × fem!reader (reader is poc/south asian coded but barely any mentions of physical features except nipples)

warnings: jjk × asoiaf , self-harm , madness , reader is from house martell , does NOT follow asoif canon everything is very vague/only minor references/not in timeline order , mentions of eye-gouging , mentions of death , ooc gojo , mentions of whores , reader has brown nipples urm i can't think of anything else , lowkey insta-love ish , some parts are disjointed on purpose , they dont know that hes a dreamer btw they just think hes batshit crazy , NO SPOILERS !!

w/c: 3.4k ish

a/n: this was written while i was sleep deprived and delirious, so read it with a handful of salt. it's been plaguing my mind, though, and i had to write it. it's also a lot longer than initially anticipated, so i hope you all enjoy it <33 all credits go to @sweetmelodygraphics for the dividers !!

fics4gaza :: jjk masterlist

Satoru was losing his mind. He's been having visions for the entirety of his life, vivid visions about the past, present, and future. At first, he thought nothing of them, being young and playing them off as his wild imagination or whimsical dreams. But when some were proven to ring true, fear struck through his heart.

His own mother's passing an example of it. 

He could barely make sense of some, and others were so clear-cut they felt like memories. But regardless, the sense of impending doom never left his body. The visions, as of late, had only been getting worse, distorting his sight.

It was strange. Sometimes, he'd go weeks without dreaming only to be suffocated by an onslaught of nonsensical dreams, seeing them whilst he was awake too, rendered unable to distinguish reality from his debilitating hallucinations. His head constantly throbbed and ached, and he's wracked with crippling nausea more often than not. 

Overwhelmed and overstimulated, Satoru feels like plucking his hairs out one by one. He doesn't know what to do with himself, his body on autopilot, dissociating when it gets too much for him. 

In writing down his visions, Satoru thought he could begin to make sense of them, maybe try and figure out patterns, but they only served to confuse him more. Hurt his head more, and suddenly, he found himself subconsciously scribbling images into the air, without a quill or parchment in his hand. Others around him started to whisper of his condition. Targaryen madness, they’d say, sending him pitiful glances.

He so desperately wanted answers and respite, starting and ending his days in tears, but his madness overtook him.

His visions, dreams, whatever the hell they blurred into real life, and he felt like he was losing his grip on reality. He saw his hands dissolving before his very eyes. It's true what they say about Targaryens. When one is born, a coin is tossed, and the whole world holds its breath. Greatness or insanity. 

Insanity ran through his dragon blood. 

He sees the decapitated heads of the three-headed dragon, meticulously being sewed back on with a golden spear and red thread. He saw his dragon, Vermithor, grazing on sheep in fields, burning bright orange. A snake, wrapping around his arm and squeezing him tight. He will see a hand reaching towards him, a shiny ring adorning each finger, a soft laugh reverberating through his ears.  

The laughter echoed in his head ever since. He heard it almost all day and night now. A brief respite only when he clamped his head tight between his hands.

His ears are permanently scratched and raw. 

The world strangely seemed to take a golden hue, and he felt like all the colours blur into one, and he could no longer tell them apart. He became breathless when his usually white hair turned red, his brilliant cerulean eyes, gold. The red bleeding through the gold, into orange, dripping down his skin.

He was trying to gouge his eyes out. He brought the valyrian steel dagger up to his face, and just as he was about to cut the stupid things out, the Lord Commander sworn to his father, disarmed him, tackling him to the ground. Satoru kicked and screamed and sobbed. He wanted the visions to end, he wished to see no longer. 

The small scar on the apple of his left cheek serves as a sorry reminder.

In attempts to subdue the noise ringing in his head and the visions blurring his sight (as well as any further attempts of Satoru harming himself), the blackest of black materials was tied tight around his head. With his ears sufficiently muffled, and his eyes bathed in darkness, he felt like he could breathe. 

It helped. He felt somewhat calm for the first time in years. 

Despite the cloth tied around his eyes, Satoru could still strangely see. Whilst it wasn’t as clear as before, he could still make out figures and shapes, and if someone was standing close enough, their faces. His good friend Lord Suguru had tried the cloth and was completely blinded, so it was odd that Satoru could see through it. Still, with his vision limited, he felt safe from his own mind, and it wasn’t the strangest thing about Satoru at all. Not by a thousand miles.

On occasion, his visions would come back, pain shooting through his spine, and nothing in the world could stop them. Definitely not the flimsy cloth tied around his head. In those times, he had to be restrained and constantly watched by guards, lest he pour scalding molten lead into his eyes and ears.

The Mad Heir is what they called him. A laughable name you thought when you first heard of the proposal that was brought to you and your father. You felt insulted. 

Satoru of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Heir to The Iron Throne. 

The Mad Heir to The Iron Throne. 

How dare they offer you, a ruling Princess and Heir in your own right, a mad Prince. Marriages were rarely happy, oft filled with malcontent. The sanest of men mistreated their lady wives and what of mad men? You could hold your own, of that you were sure, but you did not want to go into a marriage fearing your life. You truly did want love to blossom in your union at some point, regardless of what seed sowed it. 

But if an alliance was to be forged, to unite the Seven Kingdoms, and strengthen your house, then you were to meet in a little more than a moons time. You had little choice, your father pleaded and was adamant that you met the Prince at the very least. Begrudgingly, you accepted. 

Packed and ready to set off, you mentally prepared for the long journey via ship. Maybe you'd get to see a dragon or two, you reconciled, forever curious about the wonderful beasts.

A marriage. That was exactly what Satoru needed. Another problem to add to his heaping pile of problematic problems. He did not understand why he had to get married. He was young, only one and twenty. He hadn't even had the opportunity to sample the whores of Flea Bottom yet. 

Not that he had any interest in whores to be completely transparent. Between his debilitating madness and constant training, lessons, and attending small court, Satoru barely had time to breathe. 

With his father's refusal to take another wife after his own mother passed came the incessant shoving of Satoru to marry his own.

He knew he was being stubborn; he knew realistically that if he did not breed, then the Targaryen line would end with him. If he had at least one or two children, if he was to pass before his time (which was looking very likely), then at least they'd inherit the throne. 

But Satoru was adamant that the Targaryen line would not end. He'd seen it in a vision, clear as day. A girl with long white hair and blue eyes that mirrored his own, sitting peacefully in flames with three dragons circling her. 

He consulted every single history book he had access to, and whilst they mentioned Targaryens being resistant to fire, there was no mention of a girl with three newly hatched dragons bathing in flames. To have one hatchling is considered a blessing many Targaryens are not fortunate to have, but to have hatched three? Almost impossible. With the lack of documentation, Satoru figured it must have been the future he saw. 

Though there was something in his gut telling him to meet with the Princess he was to wed. And whilst he was plagued with madness, Satoru wholeheartedly trusted his intuition. He knew there'd be something to gain from the meeting, but he didn't know what just yet. Maybe an answer to his dreams? Unlikely, but tugging in his gut wouldn’t cease.

In less than half a moons time, he was to meet his potential future wife and Queen. And for once, he wished he'd receive a clear vision of what his future was to be.

Stares followed you as you walked through the courtyard of the Royal Court, having finally, after a month of travelling, reached King’s Landing. Some curious, others leering, you did not have the energy to pay them any more mind. To be frank, you were exhausted, not faring too well with weeks at sea. You wanted to soak in a warm bath and sleep in a real bed. If you hadn’t been so tired, you might’ve met their stares with a glare.

You knew why they were so ‘fascinated’ by you. You did not look like the noblewomen they were used to seeing. The burnt orange chiffon that covered your body was almost see-through, and if one was to look, really pay attention, they could see the brown of your nipples. A generous amount of your cleavage was on show, half covered by the red material draped around one side of your body and tucked into your arm.  

A golden necklace, studded with amber stones, adorned your neck, with matching earrings, and a gold headband fixed just on top of your hairline. Your hair was free and unbound, unlike the ladies of court around you, who had their hair twisted into intricate braids.

Your mother, the Princess of Dorne, and your father were both bathed in similar colours, albeit a little more conservatively. Together, you were a blazing sight, embodying your house motto; unbowed, unbent, unbroken.

Your Royal convoy was met by the King and his Lords, who bowed and kissed your mother’s hand and warmly greeted your father. You bowed to the King, politely thanking him for his hospitality, and he responded to your words with a warm, familiar smile.

His son, the Prince, was nowhere to be seen. And although many might have been offended, you paid it no mind. As the Heir to Dorne, you knew very well just how busy his schedule could be. And in truth, you were nervous, wanting to stall your meeting as much as possible.

The maids led you to your room and had preemptively set up a warm bath for you to soak in, and you graciously thanked them. Your own personal maids took the liberty to add milk and honey to the warm water. Thanking them all once again, you dismissed them, wanting to bathe in peace.

You do not know how long you spent in the bath, lost in your thoughts. The water was now less than lukewarm, and your fingers had pruned up.

Whilst your body had been soothed and relaxed, your mind was far from. You had heard whispers about the Prince’s striking beauty, the magnificent blue of his eyes. Yet you still feared, usually the pretty ones had the worst personalities and egos in your experience. You had tried to ask the maids, but all they said was that ‘it would be the most agreeable match, your grace’.  

The fact that no one was willing to tell you about your potential husband to be worried you.

All you knew was that he was mad and devastatingly handsome.

Sighing, you got out of your bath and dried off, calling your maids to help you get dressed. Once again, you donned light and airy chiffon, this time opting for a simple, short sleeved red dress and a burnt orange scarf draped over your left side and tucked into your waist with a golden band. The scarf was embroidered with gold outlines of the sun, matching your house sigil. A golden snake bracelet was wrapped around your forearm, but you decided to forgo the rest of your jewellery besides your rings. You wanted to explore the castle and feared too much jewellery would make unnecessary noise.  

There were still quite a couple of hours till you were meant to dine with the Targaryens, so you quietly slipped out of your rooms and set out to explore your potential future home.

Nerves were worming throughout Satoru’s body, unsettling him deeply; he could hardly focus on the book in front of him. He had another dream last night, a golden spear barrelling straight through his heart. Except there was no pain or blood, he felt entirely at peace, and his heart had beaten even stronger.

Satoru had wrenched off his blindfold off, desperately searching through the archives. He tried to find out what the golden spear could mean or potentially represent. Initially, he thought it would mean there would be a good hunting season perhaps, and in another text, it made mention of how a spear could symbolise courage and achievement. Still, there was something in his gut telling him that it couldn’t possibly be it.

Maybe he’d die having won some great war? That wouldn’t make too much sense given that the Seven Kingdoms were at the height of their prosperity, and if his betrothal was to go well, that would only serve to further that. Every single possible conclusion he came to, his body was telling him he was wrong.

His palms dug into his eyes as he roughly exhaled, cursing under his breath. The doors to the library opened, and he knew a servant had probably found him to tell him he was to go back to the training he was skipping.

“I’ll be right there, just give me a moment.” He said, his breath coming out in quick pants, palms digging into his eyes further.

The pain brought him great comfort.

Instead of hearing the doors close, he hears light footsteps coming closer towards him. Gently, soft hands grasp at his wrists, slowly pulling them away from his eyes.

Satoru is shocked stiff, wondering which servant had the audacity to touch him in such way.

His eyes open, and the first thing he sees is a golden snake wrapped around a forearm. A jolt goes through his body, every single hair on his body stands, and his vision bleeds red.

A snake, the arm, Satoru’s vision from months ago finds him once more. He’s rendered breathless at the sensation, gasping for air. The hands move from his wrists to cup his face.

“-okay?”

His hearing is muffled, and his eyes struggle to find focus. His stomach bubbles with excitement and trepidation. There’s a soft voice lulling him back to reality, a familiar voice that he can not quite place. Fingers stroke his cheek, the cold rings bringing great ease, and eventually, it pulls him out of his own head.

“Just breathe,” the voice tells him, fingers gently closing his lids and returning to stroke his cheeks. Satoru’s breath somewhat evens out as he focuses on breathing. Once he’s settled, he squeezes his eyes shut and gains the courage to open them one more.

You’re beautiful, is his first thought. Breathtaking. An explosion of red and gold, a beautiful sunset orange.

You look like the answer to all his prayers.

“-you okay?”

Satoru snaps out of his thoughts and realises you’re talking to him. He wordlessly nods, his eyes moving away from your figure in embarrassment. Your hands fall from his face, and Satoru misses their warmth already. The incessant tugging in his gut had died down to a gentle pull, and Satoru knew, with certainty, he found what he was looking for.

“I apologise for touching you so brazenly, my Prince.” You said, thinking that the man in front of you was probably uncomfortable by your touch. You figured out who he was as you stepped into the library, after all, how many white-haired and blue-eyed people were there, casually walking around the Keep.

You knew you probably shouldn’t have touched him, but he looked like he was having a panicked episode. His breath came out quick and ragged, eyes blown wide and teary. You remembered how your parents would hold your face to ground you and guide you to breathing normally again, helping you calm down.

Satoru slowly turns back to you and takes you in once more. It’s better than the first time he laid eyes on you. His soul feels at peace, his body wanting to cave in on yours. He doesn’t even realise it, but the ringing in his ears had finally quietened down.

He notices the rings on your hands and instinctively moves to grab them.

“A spear?” He questions, somewhat frantic. You let him take hold of your hand, wanting him to feel at ease in your presence and quickly recognising this was the supposed madness everyone spoke about.

“Our sigil,” you explained gently, as he moved his face closer to your hand in disbelief. “Of House Martell. A sun, with a golden spear through it.”

“A golden spear,” Satoru repeated, a breathless laugh escaping his lips. “How could I have been so stupid, of course it’s your sigil!”

The Prince’s erratic behaviour was more than a little alarming, but for some reason, you were not worried or in fear. You let him process whatever he needed to process, seeing the cogs turning in his brain.

His eyes also visibly cleared up, and his face looked much more relaxed. The Prince really was strikingly handsome. You felt drawn to him, fighting the urge to hold his hand properly, fingers itching to trace his little scar and stroke his supple cheeks once more.

“I apologise, Princess,” he says, calmed after minutes of just staring and fiddling with your ring. “It is unbecoming of a Prince to treat you in such a way.”

Still, he made no move to release your hand; you found that you did not mind, liking the roughened touch of his fingers on yours.

He looks up at you with those gorgeous eyes, and you realise if they were the last thing you saw, you would die a satisfied and happy woman. You shake your head at him, as if telling him not to worry about it. If anything, you should be apologising to him.

“And I also apologise for your betrothal to me.” His voice is a lot firmer than before, but still soft and whispery. You go to open your mouth to refute his statement, but he speaks before you can.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions, so please-“ he gestures to the chair next to him with his free hand, “-sit, and we can discuss matters.”

Before you sit next to him, you grab the hand already on yours with your other and look at him imploringly.

“I know they say that you are mad, my Prince, but you are not broken or incapable of love. In truth, I was a little insulted by your proposal at first, but I truly think I could come to greatly care for you, if not love.”

You had not felt safer with a man alone, as you had with Satoru, besides your own father. It was a strange and indescribable feeling, but you felt as though your souls truly were connected, his presence bringing you ease. You didn’t believe in soulmates or love at first sight. You knew all too well just how cruel the world was, but in Satoru, you found the next closest thing.

Satoru visibly melts at your words. In truth, that’s all he could ask for. He presses a chaste kiss to your conjoined hands and nods.

With a smile on his face, he thinks he could learn to love you too.

He gently guides your hand to sit in the chair next to him, his sturdy thigh comfortably pressed against yours. For the first time in his life, Satoru opens up to someone about his thoughts and feelings with great ease.

In the next couple of hours, you truly get to know the ins and outs of the Heir to the Iron Throne, as he too became familiar with you, the future Princess of Dorne. Before you knew it, it was time for the dinner the King had prepared to welcome his guests.

You and Satoru had shyly walked to the dining hall together, side by side, your hand still in his grasp and resting on his arm.

His blindfold remained forgotten on the desk.

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

[algae-tm]

KILL BILL P.10

Charles Leclerc x ex! Reader, Oscar Piastri x Reader

Author’s note : So I don’t write narrative or rather I don’t write fanfic narrative, but there’s so much I want to say in this fic that feels clunky putting in like a text message. So here y’all go. I’m not 100% satisfied with the Oscar bit but also I started writing at 2 and it’s now 3:30 am so I’m gunna go to bed and then probably write some more in the coming days, do not worry we will get more in depth Oscar lore! - Algae 🌱

••••

Despite almost being 20 years old, Charles had been just a boy when you met him. A boy with a chip on his shoulder and the world at his feet—a dangerous combination that should’ve sent you running but had the opposite effect. When you first saw him, you could practically see the gears turning in his head. He paid you no attention, probably didn’t even realise you were loitering on the outskirts of his garage, watching the mechanics run around in a dazed frenzy, but you were enthralled by him.

He stood steadfastly in front of his car, with a pinched look adorning his face, forehead creased, and eyebrows drawn together. Anyone else would’ve written him off as confused, overwhelmed, not fit to have signed a contract saying he’d be battling in F1 alongside the greats—they still wrote him off as an emotionally unstable boy. But even before you had ever spoken to him, you understood what hardly anyone else did. You understood that, while Charles Leclerc was still a boy, he was more calculating than confused. And in the years of knowing him that followed, as you’d watched him progress to f1, as you’d watched him win races, that statement would prove to be true time and time again.

As the memories of your early encounters with Charles flooded your mind, you couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. He had been so young, so full of ambition and determination. You had admired him from afar, drawn to his intensity and drive to succeed. Despite the chaos of the racing world swirling around him, he had always seemed to have a clear vision of where he was going.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed. The pressures of fame and success had taken their toll, turning him into a shell of the boy you’d met. The boy with the fire in his eyes had become a man weighed down by expectations and responsibilities. And in the process, he had pushed you away, convinced that you didn't understand the sacrifices he had to make. Convinced that he held you captive in a life you weren’t ready to lead.

Charles may have told you some bullshit excuse about children and the future but you had always been able to see through him and despite this separation nothing had changed. From the arguments in the months leading to the breakup you knew he was putting an unnecessary amount of pressure on himself, putting all his hopes and aspirations on Ferrari, despite how often that had proven to be a mistake. Yes, the stupid misunderstanding of your future together was a large part of the reason you broke up, but you had a incessant feeling that Charles had felt trapped in his life, in his racing, and had attributed that trapped feeling to you.

You did not want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. You didn’t want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind on the 8 hour flight from JFK to Nice, and as you drove down to Monaco you couldn’t help but think about your parents. You had grown up with parents who had no business staying together, yet just couldn’t leave each others orbits. And no matter how much you cursed this dynamic as a child, you were worried that it was something you were bound to repeat. As you pulled in to the hotel you had decided to meet Charles at - nice neutral territory, you realised even if you didn’t get back together, you were going to forgive him. And it would be the easiest thing you had ever done. You checked in. Getting the key from the concierge as they told you someone had already checked in earlier.

You spotted him immediately. He was sitting at a small table near the window, a glass of something amber in front of him. He looked up as you approached, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There he was, the man you had loved for so long, the man who had been your everything. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You sat down opposite him, your heart in your throat.

"Charlie," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hi," he replied, his eyes searching yours. "You look good."

"Thanks. You too."

There was an awkward silence, both of you unsure of how to begin. Finally, Charles took a deep breath. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"I needed to see you," you admitted. "I needed to know if... if there's still something here."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "I've missed you," he said quietly. "It's been strange, not having you around."

"I've missed you too," you replied, your voice cracking slightly. "But I don't know if missing each other is enough."

Charles looked down at his glass, his fingers tracing the rim. "I know," he said softly. "I've been thinking a lot about us, about what went wrong. And I realise now that I wasn't fair to you. I was so focused on my career, that I had built a different reality in my head, and that I didn't see what it was doing to us. I'm sorry."

His words hit you hard, the sincerity in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. "I'm sorry too," you said. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to say you had nothing to be sorry for, but you continued, eyes downcast "I wasn't always patient, I didn’t like that I couldn’t get a read on you. I just - I wanted us to be happy.”

"I wanted that too," he said, finally looking up at you. "And maybe we can be, but we need to be honest with each other. We need to figure out what we really want."

You nodded, wiping away a tear. "I don't know if I can go back to how things were," you said. "It hurt too much."

Charles reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I don't want to go back," he said. "I want to move forward. I want us to be better."

His touch was familiar, comforting, but it also reminded you of the pain you had endured. You pulled your hand away gently, needing to keep some distance. "I'm seeing someone else," you said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Charles looked taken aback, his eyes widening slightly. "Oscar," he said, more a statement than a question, “so you’re actually seeing him?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. "It’s still new, fuck it’s really new, and it wasn't planned," you said quickly. "It just... happened. After we broke up, he was there for me. He wanted me, and it started off as this petty way to make you jealous but I feel something more for him."

Charles was silent for a moment, processing this new information. "Do you love him?" he asked finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"No," you admitted. You could practically feel a weight lift of Charles’ shoulders "I do care about him. A lot."

He nodded slowly, his expression pained. "I understand," he said. "I can't expect you to wait for me, to put your life on hold. But I still love you, and I think we could have a future together, if we both want it."

He held out his hand to you, and maybe you were going to regret it in the future but you took it.

INSTA

carlossainz55 posted on his story

(Image 1 caption : summer with friends. Image 2 caption : reunited )

seen by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 2,344,234 others

User31 : brother what?

Used42 : oh my god please tell me they’re back together!!!

charles_leclerc : y/n isn’t going to like this. delete it now for your health

lewishamilton : so that’s where she is… tell her to message me

y/bff/n : oh brother this guy STINKS.

user32 : bop

yourusername : delete this now

carlossainz55 has deleted his story

••••

You hadn’t been ignoring Oscar, okay maybe you had just slightly. But spending the short break with Charles was, okay you don’t know what it was. You were confused. Really fucking confused. Being around Charles had encompassed you, like it always did. The week and a bit you had spent with him was a whirlwind of emotions. You spent time with Charles, talking about everything and nothing, rediscovering the things that had brought you together in the first place. You laughed together, reminisced about the good times, and shared your hopes and fears. It was comforting, but it also made you realise how much you had both changed.

But Oscar Piastri was something new. Not just new something novel, he brought fresh perspectives, and the way he made you feel was so different from how you felt with Charles, and something in you said you had to give him a chance. So you guess you had been ignoring him, but only due to the fear that he’d want answers you wouldn’t be able to give. The weeks after your ‘not date’ had been filled with constant phone calls, and texts, and despite the constant feeling to remind him that you weren’t dating you both knew that wasn’t true, you both knew there was something there. So you couldn’t blame Oscar for his eagerness, in fact you relished in it, you knew Oscar was playing it up to make you laugh, make you open up more and it was working. He deserved much better than you.

••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

[dokries]

pairing: lee jihoon (woozi) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: 733

warnings: mentions of food, jihoon is said to be a barbie BECAUSE IT’S TRUE, passing remark about “killing” (as in it hurts to just sit and watch)

author note: in true @woozivrse fashion, this is unnamed. this was a birthday gift for them! we miss you blond long hair woozi 😞

masterlist

you sit slumped on the couch of your second home, your phone tossed to the side to watch your boyfriend work. jihoon, too engrossed in his music as usual, doesn’t notice your eyes on him from the corner of his studio.

soonyoung had ordered…whatever tigers eat, and was waiting outside for the delivery person to arrive after he saw that they were a minute away. this left you utterly bored, the hyperactive man being the only thing more entertaining than your phone–of course your boyfriend is as well, but he had been glued to his computer ever since you and soonyoung had crashed his studio earlier.

your eyes drift from jihoon’s hands moving on his keyboard, probably writing lyrics that suddenly pop into his head, to the back of his ears, reminding you of his vampire-like complexion. the boys had somehow convinced him to go to italy with them–read: forced him to go, with soonyoung and vernon apologizing for taking him from you for a week over the phone before they got on their flight. you could thank them for finally dragging him outside; your man needs more vitamin d.

however, your eyes linger on his newly dyed hair, tucked back from his face, the length already to his shoulders. you had laughed when hoshi said jihoon was your very own barbie, but thinking back on it, you realize he’s right. your little rice ball is multi-talented, and blond! literally barbie.

you need to braid his hair. it’s the only thing in your mind, and it’s killing you to just watch him.

you sigh, catching the attention of the man who plagues your thoughts way too often.

“oh, did young-ah leave to go get the food he ordered?” jihoon asks, turning his chair around to look at you, his brows still furrowed from looking at the big screen in front of him for the past few hours.

you nod before looking longingly at his hair, hoping he’ll notice your gaze.

nope.

he just looks at you questionably, causing you to sigh again. okay, maybe you just needed to be more direct.

“i–”

“do–”

you both start speaking over each other, and share a small smile before you gesture for jihoon to talk first.

he clears his throat, the tips of his ears turning red. “do you…do you want to braid my hair?”

his hesitancy makes your jaw drop open. your mind is filled with only two thoughts. one: he's so cute. two: what can’t your man do? is he a mind reader??

(when you ask him later, he says that soonyoung had brought up that you wanted to braid his hair when it’s longer a few months ago. that sneaky little–)

regaining your composure, you nod quietly, still in shock that jihoon of all people had suggested you braid his hair first.

you gesture for him to move to the space right under your spot on the couch, and as he walks over, you can’t help but feel giddy inside.

when he sits down and is comfortable, you stare at the back of his head, unsure of where to start. you’ve never braided your boyfriend’s hair before, so maybe just a simple braid would suffice…for now.

you separate jihoon’s hair into three sections and take them gently, slowly braiding it to make sure he’s not uncomfortable.

the soft sounds of both of your breathing is the only noise in the room as you finish, trying to include the entire length to compensate for the lack of a hair tie.

you pat jihoon’s head once before giggling to yourself and taking a picture of your handiwork to show him. you tell him to turn around, and hand your phone to him with eager eyes, tucking jihoon’s bangs behind his ears as he gives you a soft smile, and a nod of approval.

“this looks great,” jihoon says before placing a shy peck on your cheek, his own turning red.

“HEY GUYS, I THINK THE DELIVERY PERSON WAS FLIRTING WITH ME?? THEY ASKED TO CONFIRM MY NUMBER—” soonyoung starts, slamming the door open with the takeout container of his favorite chicken place in his hands before looking down at the two of you smiling at each other. “oh you guys are being lovey-dovey again. i’ll see myself out…nice hangout guys!” he winks before closing the door, leaving you and jihoon both red in the face.

[sprite-writes-fanfic]

How the Killers from DBD would react to you slapping their ass.

Hey guys! Welcome to my silly DBD headcanons, this was just for fun, worked with a great buddy of mine @despacitobandito! <3 They helped me and we overall had a great time making this together so I hope you all get a good laugh out of this. Also! Apparently more killers have come out since Unknown’s release that I didn’t write down during the making of this, sorry for missing any new killers! Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 390

CW: Crack headcanons, nothing graphic, some reactions you’d expect from a slasher, contains killers up to Unknown!

Evan MacMillan - Trapper

• Insulted that you would ever touch his fine juicy ass.

Philip Ojomo - Wraith

• “Oh..!” You both are really awkward afterwards. Like just awkwardly staring at each other in silence.

Max Thompson Jr. - Hillbilly

• He’s genuinely startled by you slapping his ass, a little flattered probably.

Sally Smithson - Nurse

• Your hand phases through her and she slashes the shit out of you.

Michael Myers - Shape

• The thousand yard stare before he’d stab you in the face.

Lisa Sherwood - Hag

• *Minecraft skeleton noises.*

Herman Carter - Doctor

• *Farts electricity and electrocutes you.*

Anna - Huntress

• Stops humming. Run. Dude just run.

Bubba Sawyer - Cannibal

• Squeals and cries, you touched his no-no square.

Freddy Krueger - Nightmare

• Turns into literal dust because that’s what he deserves.

Amanda Young - Pig

• Instant bear trap, you don’t even get to find the key, as soon as it’s on, it snaps.

Jeffery Hawk - Clown

• Burp and fart combo.

Rin Yamaoka - Spirit

• You cut your hand since she has a glass shard sticking out of her ass cheek.

Frank, Julie, Susie and Joey - Legion

• They all gang up on you and kick you on the ground, JoJo style.

Adiris - Plague

• She pukes on you, like a baby.

Danny Johnson - Ghostface

• He liked it so much that he hunts you down for you to do it again.

Kazan Yamaoka - Oni

• Feels his masculinity being threatened and he hunts you every game to beat you violently.

Caleb Quinn - Deathslinger

• You traumatized the old man.

Pyramid Head - Executioner

• Execution via guillotine.

Talbot Grimes - Blight

• Immediately tries to vore you but he can’t as he doesn’t have movement in his lower jaw.

Charlotte Deshayes - Twins

• Victor shoots out of her chest and mauls you.

Ji-Woon Hak - Trickster

• Promoted to side hoe and discord kitten that manages his social media; you’re forced to listen to his music on loop on Spotify. There is no escape.

Nemesis

• “S.T.A.R.S.” *blows you up.*

Elliot Spencer - Cenobite

• “I came.”

Carmina Mora - Artist

• Screeches and crows swarm you.

Albert Wesker - Mastermind

• Look of pure disappointment before he hooks you. “Look but don’t touch.”

Tarhos Kovács - Knight

• “Oh good heavens!” *His and him gang mori you.*

Adriana Imai - Skull Merchant

• She cyberstalks you and cancels you on Twitter/X.

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky - Good Guy

• Punted across the whole damn map.

Unknown

• Snap, crackle, pop.