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houserautha · 18 days

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These Destined Ends

Part 7

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: depictions of killing/death, a blood oath, oral sex f receiving, fingering, edging, dirty talk, p in v, no protection, breeding/pregnancy kink, creampie kind of

A/N: I hear wedding bells🎉 This took me a hot second to write up and edit, but it's also a little bit longer than I usually post. I hope you enjoy💕

Sleep evades you. The day of your wedding slips in uninvited, a wash of sunlight to chase away the shadows from your room. The bed is empty. Feyd-Rautha hasn’t returned or, at least, hasn’t visited you since.

You convince yourself that you don’t care.

But still your thoughts stray traitorously to him — where he is, what he’s doing, what he’s thinking and if it’s of you.

You stare out at the Grand Arena. It’s more or less attached to the Harkonnen fortress and, to your understanding, typically reserved for political rallies. It’s the only place large enough to host a wedding where the entire planet is invited, though, plus the added benefits of its close proximity.

A platform has been erected and already citizens are filing into their stadium-style seats despite the early hour. They will wait all day to sit front row at the marriage between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. A historic event, you realize with detached clarity. To be remembered for generations to come.

This does nothing to quell your roiling stomach.

You turn at the sound of your bedroom doors opening, hope lifting stupidly in your chest. Because it is not Feyd-Rautha who enters, but Lady Jessica.

She looks more radiant than ever, though you suspect this partially has to do with the time apart that you’ve spent.

“Mother?”

Perhaps your lack of rest has warped your vision.

Jessica smiles softly, confirming both your deepest fear and most shameful want. “Daughter.”

For the first time in your life, you run to her. She embraces you, cradling your face into her neck. She smells like home and the memory of Caladan has you blinking back tears. “Why are you here?”

“Did you really think we would miss your wedding?” Jessica brushes your hair back. “They are treating you well? You haven’t responded to any of our correspondences.”

“They are treating me well,” you tell her. You can’t help but think of Feyd-Rautha’s lips on your skin, between your legs, but quickly dismiss it. “And I haven’t received any correspondences.”

“Mm, as I suspected. Your father thought that you might be too busy to write but I knew better.”

“He’s here, too?”

“Of course.” Your mother presses something cold and metallic into your palm, curls your fingers around it. “I wanted to give you this.”

You frown. After closer inspection, you realize that it’s a necklace. Simple, elegant, with a thin silver chain and delicate pendant. “What is this?”

“I wore it when I first met your father. Although we are not married, our relationship has obviously grown past that of an arranged partnership. I can only hope you find similar happiness.” She pauses then, examining you. “I know you are aware that your birth was…orchestrated. But that does not change our love for you. You are our greatest treasure, Y/N.”

Your mood falters, slipping from between your fingers and shattering on the ground like glass. “This is a fertility necklace.”

“Yes,” Jessica says, dipping her chin.

You have the overwhelming sense to grind the necklace under your heel. The tears in your eyes now belong there for an entirely different reason.

“I thought you came here today to support me but instead you’re just carrying out your Bene Gesserit schemes,” you hiss. A dry laugh rattles in your throat. “I’m such a fool! You don’t care for me. You only care about what I can provide. My whole life, everything has been for them. Everything.”

Jessica’s jaw clenches. “That’s not true.”

Aggravated, you spin on her, teeth bared. “Then tell me you came here today of your volition.”

Jessica holds your gaze but does not reply.

“I knew it,” you all but snarl at her.

“I thought these past few months would’ve opened your eyes to your potential, the importance of your duty,” Jessica snarls back, matching your viciousness. “But still you are blind to the truth. You blatantly refuse to accept a plan that has been in effect for centuries. Ten thousand years of deliberate planning and you act as if you are here as punishment. You are living proof of the Bene Gesserit’s power, Y/N.”

Chest heaving, you shutter your raging emotions. “Leave me.”

“That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“I speak to you not as a daughter,” you retort, “but as the na-Baroness of House Harkonnen. And seeing that you are nothing but a concubine to the Duke, I demand that you leave.”

You know that with The Voice, Jessica could force you to bend to her will, to do any inexplicable amount of things. But she does not. She stands there, wavering, before striding back from which she came from without another word.

You hide the fertility necklace in the pot of a synthetic plant, and no one is the wiser when they come to prepare you. For the servants this is a joyous occasion and you do not want to dampen their enthusiasm. You mask your growing unease, laughing and joking with the girls as they recreate you into the image of na-Baroness.

“You look stunning,” Asha tells you privately. There’s quite some time before the ceremony starts, and she’s pulled you into a quiet corner of the room. “The na-Baron isn’t going to know what to do with himself.”

Oh, you very much doubt that. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Your wedding dress is a subtle combination of both Atreides and Harkonnen culture, a blend of elegance and functionality.

The dress itself is made from a lightweight, flexible material that mimics the look of metallic plates. Featuring overlapping panels that creates a segmented, scale-like effect, the bodice gives the illusion of Harkonnen armor. But the skirt, full and flowing, is entirely Atreides — layers of fabric cascading to the floor. Small, metallic accents line the hem that shimmer with your every step.

And, completing the look, a headpiece that forms a sort of M over your forehead and down your cheeks, adorn with jewels.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Have you seen him today? The na-Baron.”

“No, I haven’t. Why?”

“No reason.”

Asha’s mouth quirks teasingly. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” you say, too quickly, “well, yes. But not because of him, because of the ceremony. This will be my first time in front of Giedi Prime.”

“They will adore you,” Asha says. She waves a hand flippantly. “And if not, then your husband will have their heads.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s comforting.”

“Of course it is.” She squeezes your hand.

Your moment with Asha passes as you’re both pulled back into the revelries — spice-laden champagne, food that looks suspiciously like harvested organs, and the pounding, ear-splitting music that’s popular among the Harkonnens. By the time you’re called for the ceremony, your mood has lifted significantly, almost enough to make you forget that you’re the reason for celebration. It’s a sobering reminder.

Your heart threatens to burst from your chest. From inside the walls of the fortress, the roar of the crowd crests and falls like a tidal wave sent to sweep you away. The corridor is alive with mumbled conversation. A procession will precede you to the altar — noblemen and the likes, your parents, who you avoid — along with your betrothed, who is nowhere in sight. The gathered members of your bridal party shift and part, panic seizing you with white-knuckled fingers as the Baron maneuvers toward you.

He greets you with a saying repeated to you many times that day, one that after several iterations you’ve come to understand means, “May your death be swift in battle”.

How it relates to marriage, you are too nervous to inquire about.

“What a wonderful day,” he muses in a rasping lilt. “It would be a pity for someone to ruin it.”

“Indeed,” you reply, eyes narrowing.

“You understand the importance of the ceremony, don’t you?” You don’t respond, sensing that he will tell you nevertheless. “This is just one more step for Feyd-Rautha toward taking my place as Baron. How the ceremony goes will influence his standing with his people.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Of course this was just another political move. What did he think you would do, riot in the middle of the ceremony? You retort, “I understand.”

“Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

The chill that brushes down your spine, seeping into your bones, is deterred by the sudden clash of a gong. War drums erupt in tumultuous exalt. The very sound of them resonates deep within you, invoking a primal response of adrenaline, as if your body is preparing you for battle.

Which, you suppose is fitting.

And who else to be summoned by the promise of war then Feyd-Rautha.

He enters the room as he always does, commanding the attention of everyone in it. The effect is only amplified today, though, in his polished ceremonial armor and resolute intensity, a heady combination of brutality and valiancy.

Gazing at him us purifying fire, searing you from the inside out, and you take your time charting the unholy beauty of his face, gazing back at you with terrifying reverence.

In that moment, you possess no past or future — there is only him. An eternal now.

And then he steps past you and into the black sun, exultant, thrusting the knife above his head.

A championing cheer follows, impossibly louder than the thunder of the drums. Feyd-Rautha lingers and something in your chest expands at the sight of him dwelling in their approval, their admiration, somehow transcendent of any humanity he manages to have.

He truly is a god.

From your secretive position, you peer at him as he strides down the aisle to the platform where the officiant is waiting for him. At the top of the stairs, he turns and faces his people. In an act that surprises you, everyone who isn’t already on their feet rises, and in sync pound their fists to their chests. One two three.

Their utter devotion to him is staggering.

Feyd-Rautha raises his chin, simultaneously moved and expectant of this. He then takes his place at the altar.

Which means it’s your turn.

You loathe having to follow such a devastating display of power and love. There’s no telling how Giedi Prime will react to you, after all, considering that you are technically the enemy. Asha’s words come to you, emboldening you, and you lift your gaze. You will not falter.

A shushed quiet falls over the arena as you stride out, then enormous applause. You can only imagine what you look like to them, your people, but the only one who matters looks upon you with such unwavering devoutness that it nearly brings you to your knees. As you climb the steps to the altar, Feyd-Rautha’s hands clench into fists, a gesture you interpret as a sign of restraint.

Oh, if only he could touch you with those hands.

The officiant, a representative of the Imperium, begins to recite the traditional Harkonnen wedding script. A translator repeats the words to you, but you let the harsh language wash over you as you focus instead on the row of guests at the base of the altar. Your parents — looking fiercely protective, Leto smiling somewhat reluctantly; Jessica maintaining her cool demeanor — the Baron, emotionless, and beside him Rabban.

Did he wish it was him on the stage?

He catches you staring and flashes you a sickening smile. You look pointedly away, a fist forming in your stomach.

The beginning of the ceremony is tediously long and drenched in tradition, most of which you don’t understand even with the translator’s help. Marriage is not generally a romantic affair for Harkonnens, and the proof can be found in their strangely clinical rites. Again it’s impressed upon you that you are preparing for battle, one in which you would reside besides the most fearsome of its participants.

A pause on the officiant’s part draws you back to the present. You know what comes next, and the thought repulses you — Harkonnens of the Imperial House do not get married with the weight of enemies on their shoulders, pursuing a clean slate of sorts. You watch as a row of prisoners are led before the altar, hooded and bound and forced to their knees by a Harkonnen guard. You shiver despite the insurmountable heat.

You are familiar with war, with combat, the knife-thin edge upon which each fight balances. Life or death. But you can hardly stomach the idea of executing a helpless opponent, even if they are an enemy of your House.

Your throat thickens as Feyd-Rautha is bestowed a ceremonial blade.

Each hood of the prisoner is removed except for one, a man at the end who wavers to stay upright. Feyd-Rautha ignores this man, starting at the opposite end. His grin is apparent as he slashes through the throats of the prisoners, the blade his brush and the bodies his canvas, painting them both with ink-colored blood.

When Feyd-Rautha makes it to the still-hooded man, he pauses, shoulders heaving with the exertion of his wicked precision. Rivulets of blood stream down his armor. He says something unintelligible to the man, then removes his hood.

Your blood runs cold as you recognize him.

Ze’ev.

Now that you know who it is, you inspect him closer. There’s hardly any traces of the man you briefly knew. He is emaciated, bones lining his scarred flesh, clearly beaten within an inch of his life. After your encounter with Feyd-Rautha, you know that Harkonnens heal quickly, and the scars on his body indicate to you that he had been torn open again and again.

Feyd-Rautha turns. When he approaches you, his face is full of such naked adoration that it causes you to take a step back. He offers you the bloodied blade.

“For you,” he rasps.

You whisper fiercely, “What are you doing?”

“He is a gift, for you. On the day of our wedding.”

Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to refuse him. But to do so would be to decline your husband, shame him in front of his people — bile rises in your throat as you accept the blade, your fingers wrapping around the handle.

You breeze past him, refusing to meet his eye.

Ze’ev trembles as you advance on him. Though from his delicate condition or fear, you can’t be sure. His lips form a sneer. “You won’t do it.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” you say dryly. “I thought you were dead.”

“I should be. Your husband certainly brought me to the brink of it and back, telling me that he was saving me. For you.” Ze’ev spits at your feet then, a dark and bloody glob.

On Arrakis, this would’ve been a sign of respect.

But this wasn’t Arrakis.

You raise your arm in an upward swing, then across your body with exuberance, his blood hissing as it splatters the ground. Splatters you.

The crowd applauds your demonstration, and the sound of their approval echoes in your ears as you take the stage once more, the prisoners’ bodies carted away quickly. You feel numb. Bewildered.

But also deliciously righteous.

You face the man who put you in this position, who put the blade in your hand as a gift without considering the consequences. And he smiles because he knows — he knows that you are delighted, that the freckles of drying blood elicit an indisputable, terrifying delirium in you.

He coaxed this from you, what was better left in the dark.

And you don’t know if you should thank him.

The officiant switches to the common tongue. “The time has come to bind these lives together in the sight of their people. As na-Baron and na-Baroness, they pledge their loyalty and protection to one another, their flesh and blood now shared in duty and alliance.”

A second blade is brought out on a satin cushion.

“na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baroness Y/N, to uphold her honor and safeguard her well-being, as your duty demands?”

“I swear.”

“na-Baroness Y/N, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, to uphold his honor and safeguard his well-being, as your duty demands?”

You dip your chin. “I swear.”

“Then, as symbol of your shared duty and alliance, I ask you to exchange your blood.”

Feyd-Rautha takes the blade and, with surprising gentleness, turns your palm over and kisses it before gliding the tip of the blade over it. Your blood wells, bright red.

You take his own hand — large, scarred and calloused — and repeat the action.

Before he can heal, the officiant wraps a white cloth around your now joined hands, red blood mingling with black.

“You are my body, an extension of myself,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

You tense. This isn’t part of the ceremony.

Feyd-Rautha, one hand still clasped in yours, uses the other to beat his chest. One two three. You watch as the crowd responds in kind: the same gesture, reverberating throughout Giedi Prime.

It’s incredibly intoxicating, to be the focus of such a powerful gesture. You let it wash over your skin and infiltrate your bloodstream, alter something inside you, rearranging your very cells into what it takes to be a fearless ruler. You would do anything to garner such a response again.

The officiant waits until the last thump can be heard before he declares, “May your bond be as unbreakable as the strongest fortress. United by duty and alliance, I present to you — the na-Baron and na-Baroness!”

Having spent so much time dreading the ceremony, you never stopped to think about what would happen after it. Currently you sit atop the dais in the throne room, accepting an endless line of Harkonnens who want to congratulate you on your feat of an arranged marriage. Your palm that the blade cut stings with every hand you shake.

After what seems like a small eternity, it’s time for you to join the nobles at the reception. Memories of the last time you sat at the table trickle in through your exhaustion — which you promptly shove away.

The feast passes in a blur. You don’t have the appetite for any of it, but hopefully do a convincing job of moving your food around on your plate.

And then: it’s time for your first dance.

Reluctantly you let Feyd-Rautha sweep you into the center of the room, the usual security you feel in his presence succumbing to your own fears. He holds you tight against him. His tone is clipped, political, plush lips on the shell of your ear, “You had never killed before.”

Ah, your first words as husband and wife.

“No I had never killed before,” you snap at him. “Not everyone goes around just slaughtering whoever they feel like.”

Feyd-Rautha is a surprisingly agile dancer, though you figure that it isn’t all that removed from fighting. “I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“Perhaps, but you did.” Your throat thickens. “What I did is irreversible.”

“You told me you wanted him to pay for what he did.”

“I-I did. I just didn’t think —”

“If you let someone who crosses you live, then others will try,” Feyd-Rautha says, incensed. “You must strangle the serpent while it’s a hatchling, for once it grows, it will seek you out while you lay in your bed and slip around your neck.”

You can’t suppress your shudder. What a lovely metaphor. Apparently Giedi Prime has loads of fun phrases alluding to death.

“You could’ve told me,” you mutter in lieu of a response.

“It was a gift.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. Was that all it was? Another part of your game?

“Most people give jewelry as gifts,” you retort.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips twitch. “I am not most people.”

“I know.” To prove your point, you coast your fingers over his side where the dagger went in.

He pulls you tighter against him. “I would have you right here in front of everyone if you’d let me.”

You can’t help but smirk. “I know.”

He opens his mouth to continue but he’s interrupted — by Rabban, nonetheless. “na-Baron, I request a dance with my sister in-law.”

Feyd-Rautha’s grip on you tightens. “No.”

“Yes,” you say, loosening his fingers from around your waist. “It won’t be long.”

Feyd-Rautha stares after you unhappily as his brother leads you away. Other couples have now taken to the floor in an elaborate dance that you don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, seeing that Rabban just drags you after him for each step.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says finally.

“You suppose?”

“If it was up to me, Feyd-Rautha would be the one extending his congratulations.” Rabban’s small, dark eyes examine you. “Though the Bene Gesserits have chosen well for a Harkonnen bride. You are a formidable force.”

“Thank you,” you reply, sensing more.

“There are…things…in order that will happen because you will not submit to me,” Rabban says.

Your jaw sets. “Like what?”

“You’ve made your choice.” There’s a twinge of pity in his voice. Not for him. For you? “I thought I should forewarn you.”

“Rabban, what are you talking about? You never said anything about —”

“The day of the Crucible. I told you my wishes and you denied me them.”

“You said nothing that would warrant a warning. I thought you just envious of your brother for obtaining something else that you can’t have.”

“Envious? No. More deserving? Perhaps.”

Behind Rabban, a soldier materializes from the crowd. Sardaukar. You stiffen — it hadn’t come to your attention that anyone from the Imperium had attended your wedding.

“Excuse my interruption,” the soldier says. “I wanted to congratulate you on your union on behalf of the Emperor. He extends his deepest apologies that he isn’t t able to be here himself.”

You nod curtly.

The soldier’s gaze slides to Rabban. “May I have a word with you?”

Begrudgingly, Rabban releases you with a final look. You watch his retreating form, mind reeling with confusion. What did the Sardaukar want with Rabban? And why did the soldier look so familiar to you? Idly, you wonder if the violent nature of the Sardaukar soldiers remind you of the Harkonnens.

No, that isn’t it. That soldier had been here before, at the dinner a few weeks before. He had been the one to call the Baron away, you recall. But he had been dressed as a Harkonnen soldier then, not a soldier of the Imperial army.

The revelation creeps over you uneasily.

Before you can give it much thought, however, someone whisks you away into the next dance. A protest forms on your tongue before you realize it’s Asha — cheeks pink and beaming at you.

“Asha!” You can’t help but laugh, partly out of relief. “I thought you were another terrible admirer.”

“I am an admirer,” she says, “though I would hardly consider myself terrible.”

“Terrible for taking so long to get to me.”

“My apologies, but the na-Baroness is in high demand.” You settle into a comfortable rhythm as the music plays and Asha leads you in the unfamiliar dance. After some time, she grows uncharacteristically serious. “I know your feelings for the na-Baron are…complicated…but your ceremony was beautiful.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

“The way he saluted you…” Asha trails off, waving her hand as if to ward off tears. This reaction spurns your curiosity.

Trying not to sound too interested, you ask, “What does it even mean?”

A slightly dreamy expression crosses Asha’s face. “Generally it’s reserved for military generals as a sign of respect, something that soldiers do to show their loyalty.”

“So when he did it to me…?”

“He was signaling that he sees you as someone superior to himself, someone to respect. That he is your willing soldier.” Asha grins. “Everyone has been talking about it.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can think to say. “Should I have done it back?”

Asha shakes her head. “Definitely not. It would’ve been an insult to him. His judgement. You did the right thing.”

You’re not sure what the right thing was, but you let the subject go. It lingers in your mind, however, to the point that you over-analyze the moment during the ceremony, replaying Feyd-Rautha’s expression as he saluted you.

You want to confront him about it, but apparently your first dance is all you will see of your new husband on the eve of your wedding. Even trying to catch his eye is impossible as you are both continuously pulled in different directions.

“Is this a bad time?”

At first you bristle, afraid that you’ve been caught sneaking away from the festivities. You have no idea of the time but it has to be well into the morning now, and you just wanted a moment to collect your thoughts. The spot you’ve chosen in a darken alcove gave you a perfect vantage point of Feyd-Rautha, infuriatingly charming as he speaks to a pair of nobles out of earshot.

You tear your gaze from him.

“Father!” You run into the arms of Leto, Duke of Arrakis, who ambles down the hall to you. It’s reflective of your greeting with Jessica this morning, but he inspires only warmth and fond memories. The brush of his beard across your cheek fills you with longing. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“I apologize for not going this morning to visit you. Your mother insisted she go alone.” A frown tugs on his handsome features but disappears as quick as it appeared. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. It’s as if you are a child again, the light of your father’s attention basking you in a sunny glow.

“I…” Leto pauses, deliberates. Your father is usually not someone to be lost for words. “I wish I had done something to prevent this.”

You touch his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

“I blame myself, it’s true. What kind of father willingly hands his daughter over to that…monster?”

“You had no choice. Neither of us did.”

“Listen, Y/N, your mother regrets how your conversation went this morning. She has only wanted the best for you,” he adds softly.

His words prick at you, and suddenly the warmth of his light diminishes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Her intentions can be…muddled by her Bene Gesserit training. But that doesn’t change the love she feels for you.”

“Her love.” You chuckle bitterly. “All that she loves is what others can do to forward the Bene Gesserit agenda. You. Me. Don’t you realize?”

Leto’s expression softens. “Just come with me. She’s waiting for us. She wants to try again.”

Anger seizes you with white-knuckles and stifling heat, blooming in your chest. “I’ve given her too many opportunities to make things right. You just told me that you wish you could’ve prevented this. She could’ve prevented this. I do not wish to speak another word to someone who has orchestrated my entire life since conception.”

Perhaps you can blame the time that you’ve spent apart, the exhaustive events the day has presented you, but there is a side to Leto that you have forgotten — his frightening, unwavering loyalty to Jessica. A loyalty that not even you, his daughter, can temper.

His voice is that of a diplomat, detached and commanding as he says, “You will not speak of your mother in such a way.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but jumping to the defense of your mother cuts you deeper than any knife can. You swallow your disappointment.

“You’re fooled by her just like everyone else.”

Leto’s mouth tightens into an angry slash. “You are not the daughter I remember.”

“No.” You tilt your chin. “She is gone.”

“Then I have no business with you.”

Your tongue rolls in your cheek, over your teeth, carefully selecting your next words. “So be it. I won’t inconvenience you with my company.”

You can’t stand to witness his expression, or let him see the grimace of pain that graces yours, so you turn from him before either happens. You go, not back towards the party, but away — you can’t be here any longer. It feels as if your bones are trying to flee from your skeleton, your skin suddenly stretched too tightly.

Truthfully you have no destination in mind but your feet carry you to the one place that you know will guarantee silence.

Feyd-Rautha’s strategy room.

In the dark your fingers find the seam of the door and you ease it open, slinking inside. For the first time since this morning, you’re alone, and there’s no auditory assault of voices or music.

Back against the wall, you slide down to the ground and pull your knees to your chest. You will tears to your eyes but there are none to summon, lost to the icy numbness claiming you. Any other feeling is cast adrift.

Could it have only been three months ago that you were on Arrakis, sparring with Gurney?

You no longer recognize yourself.

The closest identifying factor is when the door open and Feyd-Rautha appears. There’s a resemblance there, a call of darkness in him that something within you answers. Your mouth twists in distaste. How did he find you?

“Go away.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“I don’t care. This is my strategy room, and I can come and go as I please.” Cast in shadows, you can barely make out his face, but the scorch of his gaze is telling of his scrutiny. “Get up off the floor.”

“No.”

“Get up or I’ll make you.”

You weigh his words. Then you reluctantly rise to your feet, unable to look at him.

“This…attitude is unbecoming of you.”

“You’re a prick,” you fire back.

“A na-Baroness, brooding alone — and on the floor, nonetheless, like a common stray. I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

“Or what?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “I will have to remind you who you are.”

Heat flickers in your belly, a weak flame. “And what is that? A whore, a womb? I am nothing but what others have made me to be.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs.

He actually laughs.

The sound of which is so unnatural, so unnerving, that your muscles tense like they’re anticipating a fight. You flush with shame — anger — and raise your hand to strike him but Feyd-Rautha catches your wrist. His words lilt with ill-timed amusement.

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

You struggle to wrest yourself from his grasp, but the effort is futile. “Let go of me.”

“No. Never.”

Feyd-Rautha’s lips crash into yours. He steers your back to the wall, colliding with your spine. He swallows your cry of pain with his mouth, slanting it over yours, hands bracketing either side of your face. His fingers delve into your hair, pads of his thumbs pressing against your cheeks. The weak flame inside you ignites into a raging inferno.

He kisses you with a fierce, concentrated energy, as if his sole purpose is to bruise your mouth with his own. His tongue flickers across your bottom lip, behind your teeth. You moan at the same time Feyd-Rautha chooses to coast his hands down your sides and your head lolls back, neck bared.

He grabs onto you as his mouth flies to your exposed throat, hands greedily clutching at your waist. Feyd-Rautha presses a series of kisses that turn swiftly into nibbles, bites. He sucks and licks at your neck, no doubt creating a necklace of love marks, eagerly staking his claim on the sensitive skin. Each bite and lick winds you closer and closer to an orgasm, the idea of his lips marking you wickedly delightful.

Feyd-Rautha moves his hands to your ass, to the underside of your thighs, and hikes you up. Without thinking, you lock your legs around him. The action brings his hardened length nudging against your center and you whimper, grinding into him, desperate for friction.

“I want you so fucking bad,” you pant. “Please.”

He hums against your neck. “What did you say you were — a whore?” His hips roll with yours, the memory of him inside you inciting a moan from your lips. “The na-Baron doesn’t bother fucking whores.”

“Please,” you say again.

In response, Feyd-Rautha bites down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You wince even as pleasure floods over you. “Beg all you want but I won’t fuck a whore.”

You fail to conjure a response as he pins you to the wall with his hips, your arms thrown around his neck, and effectively loosens his hands in order to hoist your dress up. Your flesh pimples as it’s exposed to the cool air of the strategy room.

Feyd-Rautha’s hands skim over you, brush over your center. You whimper, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me who you are,” he rasps.

Feyd-Rautha teases your clit through your panties, drawing lazy circles with his fingers. You buck your hips in an effort to gain reprieve but he denies you this.

Your voice pitches nearly into a whine. “I-I don’t know.”

And you don’t — not after the sequence of your day, not with Feyd-Rautha unraveling you with his his hands and his mouth. You are infinitesimal, insignificant, clay waiting to be shaped in his capable touch.

“Then I will remind you,” Feyd-Rautha says. He pushes your panties to the side, ghosting his digits over your entrance so that you writhe in desperation. “You are my wife, the na-Baroness of the House Harkonnen. You will raze cities to the ground and bring men to their knees. I will fuck you often and fill you with my seed, keep you pregnant so that you bear my children. You are not nothing, you are magnificent.”

His words are punctuated by his short, breathy pants, fingers pressing to your cunt without giving you any of the pleasure that you seek.

“Now — tell me who you are.”

“I-I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife.”

A wail looses from you as Feyd-Rautha plunges his fingers inside you, relieved from your aching by his careful ministrations. Each pump of his hand brings his palm to your sex, quick and authoritative. A hand that had killed six men today, saluted you, bled with you, and the severity of the situation has your walls clenching around him — he is Feyd-Rautha, and he is fucking you with his fingers, littering your body with bites and kisses and mumbled, appreciative praises.

It’s not surprising that this drives you to orgasm with record speed, to alleviating the pressure building between your legs —

Feyd-Rautha removes his fingers, depriving you of your release. You almost howl in frustration.

“Close,” he says. “But I’m not convinced.”

“No, please —”

“You can cum once you’ve convinced me that you remember who you are. Until then — your pleasure will be withheld.”

Again, he punishes you with his fingers, splitting you open as he inserts them. Your back bows.

“Now,” he pants, “tell. Me. Again.”

“I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife,” you repeat, mustering as much conviction as you can. You would tell him anything if it meant cumming on his fingers.

Harder, faster, wrist snapping: “And?”

“And…I am magnificent.”

Feyd-Rautha’s satisfaction is evident even in the dark, judging only by the pulse of his fingers, the breathy laugh fanning into your neck. He removes his fingers again, though, to your chagrin, trading positions for one that allows him to see your face. “Oh, you are,” he purrs. “And I bet you taste even better.”

You hitch your legs around his shoulders at his prompting. Feyd-Rautha sinking to his knees while applying enough weight to keep you trapped against the wall. You suppress another whimper. Your thighs are nearly flush with your chest as Feyd-Rautha dips his head to greet your cunt, driving you higher up the wall and forcing you to grab onto his armor for support.

You can’t see him with the skirt of your dress in the way, but you feel his mouth hovering your entrance.

Feyd-Rautha presses a kiss to you. He flicks his tongue over your clit, then licks a stripe up your center back to it, lapping eagerly between your thighs. His mouth works in tandem with his tongue, his teeth, treating you to the same nipping and sucking that he administered to your neck. Your hips buck to meet his every stroke.

And then, there it is again, your orgasm fighting for completion, raking claws of molten lava through your belly, your pelvis.

From between your legs, Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Convince me and I’ll let you cum.”

You swallow down a cry of protest. If you don’t get your release, you might actually implode. You do your best to summon his words from before, “I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife. And I am magnificent.”

“And how will I fuck you?”

Your teeth grind as you recall, “Often.”

“Why?”

“To-To keep me pregnant,” you stammer out. You rarely allow yourself to imagine your body in such a state, afraid of what it will invoke, but you do now: belly swollen with Feyd-Rautha’s child, breasts full, a physical manifestation of the vigorous fucking he regularly bestows.

And just like that, like the snapping of a rubberband, he returns his mouth to your cunt and laps at you until you finally, finally, reach your orgasm. Feyd-Rautha holds you steady as the prolonged release cleaves you in half, shuddering against his mouth, your vision swimming with stars. Tears wet your cheeks with your relief.

You sag into him, and he effortlessly lifts you back to your feet, still trapping you to the wall, one hand lazily skimming your hip.

“Do not, ever again, think so lowly of yourself. Do you understand?”

Your head bobbles stupidly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He brushes hair back from your face, runs his finger along the scattering of angry welts he’s left on your neck. “Now, my jewel, how do you want me to fuck you?”

You commit him to memory, this renegade angel, a contrast of darkness and your own personal deliverance. “I’ll let you choose.”

Without missing a beat, Feyd-Rautha carries you to the strategy table and lays you flat on your back, maneuvering to grab your ankles, one in each hand and spreading you wide. He takes his straining cock from his pants and strokes it as he admires you. “Mm, my beautiful wife, so eager for me to fuck her.”

He traces your entrance with his fingers, then notches his cock there, sliding the tip of it between your slick folds. You ache to take him but with your ankles in his grip, he keeps you firmly in place. Like a silly, wanton thing, you try desperately to grind against him as he drags himself, up and down, teasing you.

“Please, Feyd,” you beg, “please fuck me.”

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Feyd. Please.”

The ridges and crests of the strategy table bite into your back as he drives into you. The ecstasy of finally having him inside you is almost too much to bear — hips snapping, groans rumbling through his chest. He is inspired like this, immersed in the feel of your walls clamping down on his cock, pupils blown, plush lips parted with each panting breath.

If you only you could bottle up this moment, savor the way you both rise to meet the other like waves upon the shores of Caladan.

He pounds into you in a borderline frenzy, each near-violent thrust surging your orgasm higher.

Then Feyd-Rautha releases your ankles, your legs returning around his waist, and he captures your wrists instead, holding them over your head. The angle allows him to press himself to you, spearing you deeper, winding your desire tighter and tighter.

“My wife,” he rasps, “my jewel. Look at me.”

You meet his gaze. Feyd-Rautha smirks, pleased with himself, with you, and thrusts into you with swift finality. Your orgasm peaks and suddenly you’re shuddering and convulsing beneath him, pleasure wrought from every fiber of your being.

Distantly, you feel your cunt draw out Feyd-Rautha’s own orgasm, hips rolling against you as he spills himself inside you. He collapses on top of you, both of you panting, greedily drinking in lungfuls of air. Ostensibly, he recovers first and peels himself from you, tucking his cock back into his pants.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him breathlessly, thighs quivering as you stand, the wrinkled skirt of your dress cascading back to the ground.

“I suppose no one will question whether or not we’ve consummated our marriage,” he says.

Your cheeks burn. “Does it matter?”

“It’s typical for someone to watch to confirm,” he tells you, lifting a shoulder. “I said that it would be obvious enough.”

You gasp and swat his chest. “You didn’t.”

“The alternative was some noble peeking in on our fucking. Would you have preferred that? I do know you like to watch.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” you admit.

“Precisely.”

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes flicker over your face, and you can only guess what he sees there — you’re coated in a thin sheen of sweat and, undoubtedly, love marks, hair tangled and headpiece askew.

You shy away from him. “Do we have to go back to the reception?”

“No,” he nearly snorts, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing. “I fully intend on taking you to my bed and fucking you until you’re a mewling, quivering mess.”

Your cunt, still full with his cum, dripping with it down your thighs, clenches in anticipation.

“Then what are we still doing here?”

Part 8

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #fanfic #feyd smut #feyd rautha harkonnen #mrs feyd rautha Harkonnen now

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raysources · 1 year

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𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 — a collection of one - liners taken from various songs on one of my ships’ playlists. slightly edited for clarity. change pronouns as necessary.

❛ to tell you is too scary , so i’ll just say something else . ❜ ❛ what the hell do i have to lose ? ❜ ❛ i wanna get stuck in your head . ❜ ❛ i think that i should probably tell you this in case there is an accident and i never see you again . ❜ ❛ maybe i won’t ever say what’s in my head . ❜ ❛ am i pretty now ? ❜ ❛ am i pretty enough to lie to ? ❜ ❛ say my name like a slur , but i’ve been called worse . ❜ ❛ am i pretty enough to love back ? ❜ ❛ maybe i’m in love . ❜ ❛ oh my god , if i tell him , he’ll tell her , and then she will know i like her . ❜ ❛ i don’t think that i can take this heartbreak any longer . ❜ ❛ i will not hold it in . ❜ ❛ you never even knew about the heartache i was going through . ❜ ❛ we could be happy , can’t you see ? ❜ ❛ you’re not a monster , just a human . ❜ ❛ you’re not gruesome , just human , and you made a few mistakes . ❜ ❛ i am broken down in shame . ❜ ❛ i believe that you will see a better day . ❜ ❛ i don’t wanna know i’m not capable of coming out alive . ❜ ❛ i mean every word i say . ❜ ❛ you love me , but you don’t know it yet . ❜ ❛ everything is just an accident . ❜ ❛ if i never laid eyes on you , would i feel something missing ? ❜ ❛ if you never laid eyes on me , would you know something’s gone ? ❜ ❛ let’s just live in the afterglow . ❜ ❛ ever think , what if we never met ? ❜ ❛ i was always alone until you came along . ❜ ❛ i think i like you maybe more than i should . ❜ ❛ with you , i just can’t shut up . ❜ ❛ you are my favorite drug . ❜ ❛ you’re perfect in the way that you are . ❜ ❛ compassion always set you apart . ❜ ❛ you are worth the trouble to keep . ❜ ❛ you and i will always belong . ❜ ❛ she doesn’t get your humor like i do . ❜ ❛ she’ll never know your story like i do . ❜ ❛ what you’re looking for has been here the whole time . ❜ ❛ you belong with me . ❜ ❛ i can’t help thinking this is how it ought to be . ❜ ❛ you’ve got a smile that can light up this whole town . ❜ ❛ have you ever thought just maybe , you belong with me ? ❜ ❛ do you feel like me ? ❜ ❛ how are your lungs ? are they in pain ? ❜ ❛ would you be so kind as to fall in love with me ? ❜ ❛ i know you know that i like you . ❜ ❛ i like you , but that’s not enough . ❜ ❛ let’s swap chests today . ❜ ❛ please fall in love with me . ❜ ❛ will i ever learn ? ❜ ❛ how can i resist ya ? ❜ ❛ why did i ever let you go ? ❜ ❛ you know that i’m not that strong . ❜ ❛ goodbye doesn’t mean forever . ❜ ❛ i like you but not that way . ❜ ❛ i just think that you’re cute . ❜ ❛ on you , i have been sold . ❜ ❛ you made my life happy once again . ❜ ❛ it’s you i wanna be around . ❜ ❛ i’ve been waiting for a pretty face to walk right through the door , but now i’ve found : you came in through the window . ❜ ❛ you’re the person that i love to see . ❜ ❛ it’s always sunny with you . ❜ ❛ i’ve been waiting for a girl like you for a while . ❜ ❛ you’re the only thing that’s making me smile . ❜ ❛ i know that he loves me . ❜ ❛ he’s no romeo . ❜ ❛ pull yourself together . ❜ ❛ after you leave , i’ll be so alright it’s true . ❜ ❛ how could i ever be so dumb to believe i’d be the one you would adore ? ❜ ❛ i wanna be with you . ❜ ❛ i wanna be with you all the time . ❜ ❛ i wanna be loved by you every night . ❜ ❛ i guess god wants us apart for heaven’s sake . ❜ ❛ show me all the dark parts of your mind . ❜

#rp prompts #lyric starters #sentence starters #ask meme #rp ask meme #mine.#mine : prompts.

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respectthepetty · 3 months

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Cooking Crush Ep. 7 Cut Scenes

There were only two cut scenes this week, so I debated posting about them, but I've been reporting on the missing scenes from YouTube's version of Cooking Crush [first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth], so I gotta keep it up.

There are plenty of GIFs for the first missing scene, but Ten asked Prem why he avoided Dy's question regarding what they are are to each other.

And wanted clarity that he wasn't the only one catching feelings.

Prem said he just didn't want his friends to tease him and apologizes, but Ten wants more than an apology, so Prem hugs him and kisses him to demonstrate that the feelings are mutual.

Edit: Added because of @twig-tea's observant eye - During the car makeout, the boys get in the car and look at each other which prompts Prem to quickly nod then proceed to straddle Ten's lap.

The next cut scene happens the day after Ten says they should take a break, so they can both have time to prove themselves. Dy called Prem to check on him and Prem tells him he couldn't sleep and feels unsteady about all of it.

He goes into a coffee shop and sees Ten sleeping outside.

And we got this.

That's it!

#Cooking Crush #cooking crush the series #uncut version on wetv #episode 7 #I think I got them all

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lesbiansforangusmcdonald · 4 months

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Ok, finals are over, so now I can FINALLY post my Pepe Sylvia theory about Porter actually being evil that has been ruminating in my head ever since I saw season 2! (spoilers for s2 of fantasy high, obviously)

(sorry if someone’s talked about it before and I couldn’t find it, but like WE NEED TO DISCUSS THIS BEFORE S3!)

Ok, so I noticed something when Ragh talked about the first time he saw Kalina in episode 4 of season 2 (“Heartache on the Celestine Sea”). He says that he saw Jace talking to some elven woman (who is revealed to be Adaine’s mom, Arianwen) and to “someone he couldn’t see. I just assumed somebody was invisible.” This is most likely Kalina, as Arianwen was there to get the Nightmare King’s crown and Kalina could have been helping her do that. However, this is important because, since Ragh could obviously see Kalina later on, this is a point in time when he couldn’t see Kalina.

Then Ragh says that after he saw that, Jace and Porter came to talk to him, and “Porter did some barbarian healing with me.” This seems normal enough, as Ragh had just been in a huge fight, but Ragh stipulates that “I didn’t feel that injured, honestly.” So this line already makes it seem as though Porter may have had some ulterior motive for healing Ragh.

Then, Ragh says that as he was walking home after this, he was approached by Kalina, who threatened to kill his mom if he said anything about seeing Arianwen at the school.

(the clip of the scene is here, if you wanna watch it, edited slightly for clarity)

So this makes me think that Jace and Porter knew Ragh saw Arianwen at the school, knew he would probably tell the Bad Kids about it, and Porter intentionally passed Kalina to Ragh through healing in order to ensure his silence.

AND if you’re thinking this may be a bit far-fetched, I’ll remind you that Landren Leir, the cleric of the unnamed goddess who infiltrated the elven Galicaean church after the fall of the unnamed goddess, also passed on Kalina via healing of the high-elven clergy, which she was then murdered for.

But in order to pass it on to Ragh at all, Porter must have been infected with Kalina as well, so here are some of my theories of what that could mean;

1. Porter had no idea he was infected and was just trying to heal a student.

I mean, totally possible, right? From most of the other angles, Porter seems like a decent guy; he supports Fig in barbarian class, he’s part of a community at his local gym, and he did get sucked into a palimpsest when Kalvaxis/Goldenhoard was trying to take over the school — why would that happen if Porter wouldn’t have been opposed to what Kalvaxis/Goldenhoard was doing? And there are plenty of people who are infected with Kalina and never show any symptoms, and therefore never know. It could have been totally innocent. BUT it’s just a little too convenient, isn’t it? Ragh sees Arianwen at the school, and then right after he’s “randomly” infected with Kalina? It just doesn’t seem like a coincidence.

2. Porter knew he was passing Kalina onto Ragh, but wasn’t aware of the full plot to steal the Nightmare King’s crown.

I mean, also possible, right? Maybe Jace put Porter up to it, maybe he knew more than Porter did about the whole situation? Porter wasn’t initially mentioned as talking to Arianwen, maybe Jace just manipulated Porter because he knew that Ragh would trust Porter as his teacher. BUT I think that it would be kind of weird for Porter to be in the school, be infected, be around all of these other people who are in on this wider plot, but they don’t get him involved. Maybe they thought he wouldn’t go for it, thought he was too nice, but I’m not sure. I mean, I think this theory has more merit than the first one, like it’s possible, just would be a little weird.

3. Porter was in on the plot to bring back the Nightmare King.

I mean. Like I know this may not be another Loose Duke situation. But it’s possible! Like, he’s in the right positions! He works at the school. He has the trust of some of the bad kids. He didn’t openly support Kalvaxis or anything he did. Maybe their larger organization (which they do hint that there are more people throughout the world that want to bring back the nightmare king throughout the campaign) thought that he should lay low and hold onto the trust of the bad kids, just wait until the right time to strike. Again, the fact that he would knowingly put a student, one of HIS barbarian students, in such serious danger, in order to protect the larger interest of bringing back the Nightmare King, does not stack up well against him.

So, do I think that Porter will end up being the big bad of season 3, or even the elusive season 4? No, probably not. BUT I do think that he’s sus as fuck and we need to stay on our toes, because he could turn out to be more of a threat with the right opportunities.

#I’m still WILDING over this tiny find #because like !?!?!? WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN BRENNAN?!?#is this another loose duke situation or are you just fucking with us?#it’s driving me nuts I hope we get some clarity one way or the other #fantasy high #fh #fantasy high sophomore year #fantasy high junior year #fhsy #fhjy #d20 #dimension 20 #dimension twenty #Porter #d20 porter #fh theory #emily axford #brennan lee mulligan

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wangxianficfinder · 7 months

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In the mood for...

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1. Hello lovely mods! Itmf fics where there is an OC or just another mdzs character with a crush on WWX or lwj. Someone jealous of their significant other or just plain trying to flirt with one of them. But the pairing should be strict wwx/lwj throughout ofcourse. Thank you!

Su She Eats his Heart Out by KizuKatana (T, 16k, wangxian, modern, Guest-starring the belated but incendiary sexual awakening of LWJ, 3rd person pov, SS is hyperfixated on LWJ, LWJ does his best to pretend SS doesn't exist, WWX isn't even pretending he really doesn't notice SS exists, MM exists and is awesome, implied offscreen wangxian sex)

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2. Hello! Thank you for all the work you do in finding and recommending fics!! Presently, I am in the mood for Twin Prides of Yunmeng fics (although specifically ones where Jiang Yanli is still alive, so I suppose I should say Yunmeng Trio to be more accurate) protecting each other and being siblings, or fics that pertain to JC, JY, and WWX trying to protect and support each other from Jiang Fengmian and Yi Ziyuan’s A+ Parenting. Once again thank you so much and I hope you have a wonderful day!!

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It, Lynchpin [PODFIC] by Opalsong, [PODFIC] Lynchpin by Gwogobo)

The worth of a life with no regrets by SnowdropsAndDreams (Not Rated, 21k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Self-Indulgent, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Post-Canon Fix-It)

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3. good morning and hope you're having a kickass sunday.i was wondering if you bestowe upon this lowly one your magic of "Rec-Finding". A) any type of meaningful apology to Wèi Yīng, after the truth comes out. like something substantial. especially (if not exclusively) w LXC. he victim plamed WWX and im not satisfied w the novel on that part (yay fanfics). I jus don't want to be immediate forgiveness. like i want a time skip that LXC is still being given a cold shoulder. tbc

hi again (rorro im verbose). B) do you have any recs Lan Zhan is more vocal to others, a public scolding of sorts, about Wèi Yīng's sacrifices and plight. but non of out of context self deprivation attitude that does more harm than anyway. ty for your patience. @masticateme

拨云见日 by RoseThorne (G, 1k, WangXian, Justice, Anger, Sect Leader Yáo Bashing, Cultivation Discussion Conferences, Restitution, Self-Indulgent, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Post-Canon) might count

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4. itmf fics where jzx and jyl are alive! I just want things with lots of family feels, like jl getting the support he needs from his parents and wwx and jc having their sis. or maybe fics where jzx actually gets to be the jin sect leader and can make these good changes to the sect. thanks in advance!

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5. could i ask for people's fave wangxian/gen cold read podfics? i adore and appreciate edited podfics obviously, but i was introduced to danmei through a twitch streamer's read-alongs where him stopping and laughing and discussing were a FEATURE ❤️ (also it kinda makes me feel better about having to redo sentences agshdjf) im fine with explicit podfics (but i do prefer canon dynamics if so) many thanks ❤️❤️ oh just to add to the cold read itmf- ive gone through a lot of kisahawklin's lovely work, which occasionally feature one of my fave things (not being able to finish a sentence due to losing it laughing)

[Podfic] Clarity (cold read) by flamingwell (G, 1-1.5 H, wangxian, Canon Divergence, past/present time switches occur throughout the fic, Podfic, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming)

I rec the podficer Dangercupcake! Specifically her podfics of Love, in fire and blood, and Please don't let me be misunderstood! She also does metas and linguistic podcasts/fics that are pretty cool!

podfic of "love, in fire and blood" by cicer by dangercupcake (M, 20h+, WangXian, Audio Format: Streaming, Audio Format: MP3, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Arranged Marriage, Politics, trans reader (podfic), cold read (podfic), no editing (podfic))

Podfic of "please don't let me be misunderstood" by sysrae by dangercupcake (Not Rated, 20-30M, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Past Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Car Accidents, Audio Format: Streaming, Audio Format: MP3, cold read (podfic))

[Podfic] Cold read of "a light hidden and singing" by occultings (microcomets) by KeriArentikai (E, 5-6h, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Era, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, brief family abuse, mentions of wangxian's canonical kinks, Misunderstandings, Blood and Injury, Rimming, Outdoor Sex, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, First Time, Miscommunication, Canon Divergence, Happy Ending, cold read podfic, unedited podfic, Getting Together) I haven't listened yet but enjoyed the fic

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6. Hiii I'm itmf a fic where wwx is reincarnated as a female plz

The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos by dvasva (M, 123k, wangxian, QS & WWX, NHS & WWX, WWX & LSZ & LWJ, canon divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Functionally Trans Character, Mild Sexual Content, Domestic Fluff, Love Confessions, Transphobia, Good Parents LWJ & WWX, Pining, WWX is a Tease, Grief/Mourning, Body Dysphoria, Fake Marriage, Canonical Character Death, Misunderstandings, Doting LWJ, Arranged Marriage, lying to your family about your demonic boyfriend taking over your wifes body for fun and pleasure, WWX is not in Mo Xuanyu's body, Misgendering, Mild Angst, Assumptions, Comedic Elements, non-sexual nudity, Blood, Discussion of Various Bodily Functions, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, 4 years of mourning instead of 13, The Juniors start a conspiracy board, POV Multiple, Corporal Punishment, Trans WWX, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, pregnancy mention, Warning: JGS, Sexual Harassment, Threats, WIP)

patching the road with vague intentions by loosingletters (T, 18k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Humor, Developing Friendships, WWX Resurrected By Others, Trans WWX, Case Fic, POV WWX, POV LQR, Family, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, MXY Lives)

Plans fly out the window by English is my death (Lena013) (T, <1k, JGY/QS, JGY/WWX, LWJ & WWX, JC & WWX, reincarnation, canon divergence, QS does the ritual, YLLZ WWX, impersonation)

To Deserve So Much More by renysen (T, 19k, wangxian, getting together, one big happy family, no angst, getting engaged, family feels, female bodied WWX)

So You Want to Start a War by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 41k, WIP, MY/QS, MY/WWX, WangXian, Reincarnation, Half-Sibling Incest Mention!, QS does the ritual instead of MXY, WWX as a woman, MY Is His Own Warning, Canon Divergence, Impersonation, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Please check the notes before reading a chapter, Timeline What Timeline, WWX Has PTSD)

❤️ Beauty and the Boot by PTchan (T, 44k, wangxian, summoned by f!oc, Canon Divergence, Romantic Comedy, Genderbending, Denial, Fem!WWX, WangXian kids, Crack-ish, WIP)

Femme Fatale by coffeepie (E, 59k, WIP, WWX/WC, WWX/WZ, WWX/WRH, WWX/JGS, Porn, Smut, Possession, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, Time Travel Fix-It, Penis In Vagina Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Aphrodisiacs, Rough Sex, Minor WangXian, Canon Divergence, Oral Sex, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Strangulation, Object Insertion, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Blood and Injury)

No Matter What You Are by LilyFaraday (M, 77k, WIP, WangXian, Female WWX, Genderbending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Marriage of Convenience)

In Sickness and In Health (And In Strange and Unexpected Times Too) by purplemonster (E, 28k, WangXian, Fem! WWX, Mpreg, well technically not mpreg since he's a woman, Fluff and Smut)

~*~

7. Hi for the next in the mood for are there any good dark Wei Wuxian fics?? I always see dark LWJ but dark WWX seems so cool too @iyo-luv

~*~

8. Hello. I hope y’all are well. Thank you for what you do. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 i was wonderinf if you can recommend fics where The Untamed Wei Ying and Lan Zhan meet MDZS Lan Zhan and Wei Ying. Please and thank you.

~*~

9. Hello ! Do you know any fics where the swords manifest as real people?

Intervention of Spirits by Vrishchika (T, 4k, WangXian, Pre-Relationship, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, WWX Has a New Golden Core)

~*~

10. Hi I'm itmf angst, can you please recommend fics where wwx just breaks / snaps and people are there to see it/ react to it ? ( could be characters watching memories , and it has that scene) thxx

Enough! by Jeeny271196 (Not Rated, 12k, WangXian, Gūsū Lán Sect Bashing, Jiāng Family Bashing, JC Bashing, LXC Bashing, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics)

~*~

11. Hi, I have been reading this completely amazing fics that are inspired by The Great British Bake Off, like "on your marks, get set, bake!" by BlackWiresOnHerHead and "don't threaten me with a good time" by livinginaworldofnoise, they are so fun and entertaining!! I wonder if there are more stories that deal with baking and cooking competitions. I have read the ones in the Reality TV compilation so anything else will be totally welcomed!! Thank you!! Be well!! :) @monicaop21

The Great Chinese Cook-Off by aubreyli, cafecliche, etymologyplayground, mme_anxious (G, 20k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, The Great British Bake Off Fusion, sort of; it's more of a cooking show, because most Chinese people use their ovens for pot/pan storage, Collaboration, Screenplay/Script Format, Humor, Baking, Cooking, Stress)

~*~

12. ITMF Wei Wuxian best uncle to Jin Ling? Anything we get to see their relationship. It can be of any kind but it'd be nice to give it extra attention if JL doesn't agree with JC's treatment towards WWX! But anything goes really. You're doing amazing work, thank you!

hills and rivers by LtLJ (T, 56k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, the family that hunts demons together stays together, and doesn't murder each other, Case Fic, BAMF WWX, Mojo's post)

Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL)

component parts by perfectlyrose (G, 1k, JL & WWX, minor wangxian, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Really it's angst but make it healing, Minor JYL/JZX, Family, Family Bonding, Family Feels, A couple of orphans figuring out family, and the legacy of parents)

~*~

13. Hi, For the next itmf -any good fics where everything as in classic timeframe, Sects exist, pining exists, cultivation ethics problems exist, but no Jiangs in the picture. At all

Thank you! @best-before-end

~*~

14. ITMF: A) serenity. I want fics that give serene atmosphere or feelings. Like

(ID: gif of waves gently moving on a beach)

B) fics which have beach in canon era. Or wx / wwx traveling to Ocean/beach place @whateverweilanlovechild

14A)

Of Winter Coats and Snowball Fights by Iggysassou (T, 2k, WangXian, Mentioned WN, Post-Canon, Married Couple, Fluff)

it's your soul by syriala (G, 3k, WangXian, Misunderstandings, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Fluff)

suddenly knowing you’re home by RavenclawLoki (T, 1k, WangXian, Fluff, head empty, no thoughts, only wangxian being married, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Canon, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts)

14B)

Linger by the Door (I've Always Been Yours) by piecrust (T, 78k, wangxian, canon compliant, slow burn)

Judge Softly by Chrononautical (E, 32k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, LXC & LWJ, LQR & LXC, LQR & WWX, Various OCs, Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Mind Reading, Oblivious WWX, WWX Has Self-Worth Issues, BAMF Wwx, Genius WWX, sex makes WWX stupid, LQR Tries, It may be more accurate to say LQR learns to try, Suffering LQR, Post-Canon Fix-It, Ghosts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Teacher LQR, Mutual Pining, Longing, Playful Sex, Use Your Words, Canon-Typical Violence, Switching, Virgin WWX, Love Confessions)

~*~

15. For ITMF, are there any fics where LSZ's time in the Burial Mounds had some effect on him, whether he remembers his time there or not? Whether it's supernatural abilities (like in LSZ Sees Dead People), or being good at 'inventing' things (cause he saw them on WWX's worktable), or random healing knowledge from overhearing WQ lecturing WWX, even if he no longer remembers where he picked up any of that stuff. @thispatternismine

~*~

16. Thank you for all your work!

Itmf fics which actively calls into question Lan Qiren's bias and lax adherence to the lan rules. I want a confrontation or am active argument not just a character thinking about it or speaking about it to someone else. Basically, Lan Qiren gets called out fic. Extra kudos if it's during the cloud recess study arc. Love

Going on charmingly by scribbet (T, 21k, WangXian, Teenage LWJ, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WWX is BSSR's Disciple, Genius WWX, Petty LWJ, Meddling LXC, Canon Divergence, JFM Doesn't Adopt WWX, Technically pre-relationship, POV LWJ)

Admonishment by bookwyrmling (T, 6k, LQR & WWX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It of Sorts, Teacher LQR, Student WWX, POV LQR, Mixed Canon, Gūsū Lán Sect Positive, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Golden Core Reveal)

~*~

17. Hey, thanks for your work as always! I'm sure it has been done before but I couldn't find it and ITMF political intrigue fics! Extra points for fake relationships, scheming bastard coalitions, crossdressing your way to love and happiness or any of those things ☺️.

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #wangxianficfinder #mdzs #the untamed #long post #i'm in the mood for a fic #wangxian fic search

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stardustprompts · 7 months

Text

the outsider - stephen king sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !! some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw ; death , language , mental health

‘i’ve got a good feeling about this.’

‘how’s the other guy look?’

‘I think I’ll wait for my lawyer.’

‘doesn’t look like a monster, does he?’

‘please stop nagging me!’

‘this is a nightmare.’

‘you’re in shit up to your waist and it’s getting deeper.’

‘drop the bullshit and confess.’

‘you have the wrong man.’

‘this is awful. it’s like the whole world turned upside down.’

‘I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.’

‘you got him. you got him, so what’s wrong?’

‘i’ve made some mistakes, but nothing like this. it’s as if I went blind.’

‘it made sense then and it makes sense now.’

‘that happens to be the dirty truth.’

‘I don’t expect you to believe it, but it’s the truth.’

‘don’t you want to know what happened?’

‘don’t you want to get this right?’

‘you are going to die.’

‘this is your chance to clear your conscience.’

‘you did what you had to do.’

‘did you come here to convince me or yourself?’

‘it’s just a loose thread that isn’t loose anymore.’

‘I haven’t said a word against you. why would I?’

‘your fucking point is fucking taken.’

‘belief isn’t the point. it’s a metaphor.’

‘sometimes the tracks just stop, and we have to live with that.’

‘time to do something besides brood.’

‘let’s go back to bed. I think I can sleep now.’

‘I don’t believe in the supernatural.’

‘you scared the hell out of me.’

‘you had your think-face on.’

‘you need to get out of here.’

‘I need to talk to you. please let me talk to you.’

‘I had my reasons, but they weren’t good reasons.’

‘I feel broken.’

‘you’re in a hell of a mess.’

‘i’m tired of this. and I’m tired of you.’

‘I made a mistake i’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.’

‘what I’m saying is that I understand why you lost perspective.’

‘it doesn’t make things better, but thanks.’

‘maybe we’re all on the same side here.’

‘I have a crazy idea. want to hear?’

‘that is weird, but probably not substantive.’

‘you see what I meant when I said this just keeps getting weirder and weirder.’

‘so is that what you think we’ve got here? the boogeyman?’

‘do you think I’m crazy? is that it?’

‘there is something very wrong about this. the more you find, the wronger it gets.’

‘wake up, (name)! wake up to what's right in front of you!’

‘I can’t accept it. it goes against everything I’ve believed my whole life.’

‘you’re stronger than that.’

‘(name) is dead. you can let it go.’

‘can’t you let this go now?’

‘i’ll tread with utmost caution.’

‘don’t expect any sympathy from me.’

‘I think it’s good that you’re sad. I hope you’ll be sad for a long time.’

‘anything is possible. anything at all. the world is full of nooks and crannies.’

‘if you tell anyone that, I’d have to kill you.’

‘you know what they say, there are none so blind as those who will not see.’

‘so what? he went crazy, and crazy people don’t give a shit.’

‘don’t move. if you move, I’ll kill you. if you scream, I’ll kill you.’

‘i’ve been threatened before.’

‘i’ve been threatened before. any cop worth their salt has been threatened.’

‘may I say that I think you’re being sort of a fool?’

‘you may be opening the door on things far beyond your ability to understand.’

‘I can’t believe that. I will never believe that.’

‘I believe that you believe.’

‘I know you made a mistake. I know you’re trying to atone for it. but what if you’re making a worse mistake by keeping on?’

‘i'm no genius, but I didn’t hit my head falling out of the dumb- tree, either.’

‘this case is like a zombie that won’t stay dead.’

‘I know how far out it is, we all do, you don’t need to keep telling us, like you’re the only sane man in the lunatic asylum.’

‘you’re making leap I’m not ready to make.’

‘I’m not a hundred percent on board with this myself.’

‘you need to at least keep the possibility in mind.’

‘if you run into something you can’t handle … back off. and come home to me.’

‘I need to tell you something, and it’s important. are you listening?’

‘you’re a good man, (name). a good man who made a bad mistake. you’re not the first to do that, and you won’t be the last.’

‘you have to live with that, and I’ll help you. make it better if you can, but please don’t make it worse.’

‘you need some sleep. you look very tired.’

‘sometimes it seems as if the more tired I am, the harder it is to go to sleep. especially if I’m worried and anxious.’

‘if you want to live, you better run for it!’

‘I have no appetite for your bullshit.’

‘you’re sort of amazing.’

‘no offense, but your sense of humor is a little weak. you should work on that.’

‘this is a horrible place, isn’t it?’

‘I can’t let you leave. it seems we’re at a standoff.’

‘people are blind to explanations that lie outside their perception of reality.’

‘you never should have come looking for me.’

‘overconfidence breeds carelessness. cops see a lot of that.’

‘that’s all you are to me—- cattle.’

‘I can’t do it again, (name). not ever. ever ever ever!’

‘that’s not me being funny, that’s true admiration.’

‘you’ve been through this before. or something like it, haven’t you?’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever be together again.’

‘sometimes life can be very poopy.’

‘is it over? that’s all I care about. is it really over?’

‘dreams are the way we touch the unseen world, that’s what I believe. they are a special gift.’

‘i'm a very curious person. sometimes that gets me into trouble.’

‘if you can’t let go of the past, the mistakes you’ve made will eat you alive.’

‘what you’re feeling … and I’m feeling … that’s normal.’

‘reality is thin ice, but most people skate on it their whole lives and never fall through until the very end. we did fall through, but we helped each other out.’

#rp sentence starters #rp prompts #rp memes #literature prompts #literature sentence starters #horror prompts #horror sentence starters #anna's 31 days of halloween #the outsider prompts #the outsider sentence starters #stephen king prompts #stephen king sentence starters #31 days of halloween: 8

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kopfkino-o · 2 months

Text

The Seer's Stone - Chapter 6 (Az POV)

Summary: Azriel is being pushed to his limits, driven half-mad by his increased workload, Koschei’s recent movements, and the unaddressed feelings still hanging between him and Elain. His mind is at war with himself, thoughts and regrets constantly battling with him, but when an old acquaintance comes calling he feels compelled to answer, bound by loyalty and duty he sets off to find what very well might be his own damnation.

Pairing: Elain x Azriel

Timeline: Post-ACOSF

Wordcount: 1970

Read:

Chapter One | The Crone’s Trade

Chapter Two | The Oracle of Seraphyros

Chapter Three | Last of Our Kind (Azriel)

Chapter Four | An Empty Seat

Chapter Five | Death and the Lovely Fawn - UPDATED

Author’s Note: Hope you all enjoy! More below 💋

PHEW! After several months of insanity (see: moving to a new city, taking on several new projects at my day job as a graphic designer, getting engaged, traveling to Europe to be in a friend's wedding, hurting my knee again (rip lmao), and the general chaos of being alive) I am so excited to be back writing again. And even more excited to share this latest chapter of the Seer's Stone with the world.

Writing took a back seat within my life last year, due impart to the aforementioned chaos, but also due to some personal anxieties I had about sharing my work. It's irrational, I know, writing is writing, art is art! But still, I found myself lacking confidence and facing a ton of writer's block, but I found some new inspiration through my professional creative work, had a few friends that really helped to cheer me on, and had a lot of downtime after my knee surgery to think about and play around with my craft. All that being said, I'm really really glad to be back at it and revisiting this story, and learning through writing fanfiction.

My plans for the fic haven't changed (too much), but I do think I ought to note that I made some edits to the last update, Chapter Five | Death and the Lovely Fawn, that I feel like I just needed to make to provide clarity/build up for the direction of the story.

Lastly, I just wanted to say thank you to the folks who reached to me about this fic even when I wasn't actively updating it and offered me support/encouragement. This meant so so much to me, more than you all probably know, and I just wanted to say thanks for that.

This one's for you guys.

xoxo, Court

There was a building headache in Azriel's temples.

Every beat of his heart reverberated through his skull like a war drum. Azriel worked his jaw, grinding his teeth. There had always been something about the dank darkness of the Hewn City that pressed down on him like a fist, but the hateful place was particularly grating tonight.

Wrong, his shadows murmured, this place is wrong

"Hush," he snapped back at them, in no mood for their whisperings.

The floor shifted underfoot, and the long, stone passageway changed before his eyes, writhing as if it were a living thing. To anyone else, the illusion might have been nauseating, but these tunnels and their strange enchantments had become second nature to him during the time he served beneath Rhysand's father.

The old High Lord had personally keyed the spells into the oily stone walls to prevent his captives from ever learning the true layout of the tunnel system. And, perhaps, to also remind them they were so far beneath the earth they could only dream of feeling the warmth of the sun on their faces again.

He had been cruel like that.

Azriel rounded a bend in the stone and found himself in another long hallway carved directly into the mountain. Only this hallway was lined with ancient, half-rusted cell doors—cells that housed the worst of the Night Court's filth. Or at least, what was left of them.

Halfway down the corridor, Feyre and Amren were waiting for him outside one of those cells, the High Lady and her second-in-command half-concealed in shadow, their whispered voices echoing queerly off the rock walls.

Both females fell silent when they caught sight of him. Something twisted in Azriel’s gut. For them both to be here, in the dead of the night, with Nyx still so young and Varian here in Velaris on a short respite from Adriata, meant something was wrong. The look on Feyre’s beautiful face only confirmed that. Something was very, very wrong.

“You’re late,” Amren snapped. It was as much a greeting as he’d get from her.

Azriel matched the second’s same cool indifference. “I was in the middle of something when you sent for me. I came as soon as I could.”

“Off again, doing only the Mother knows what? You don’t fool me, boy. I can smell the Continent on you.”

“I come, I go. So is the nature of my work.”

“Is it, now?”

“If you intend to suggest I’m up to something you disapprove of, then by all means, Amren, do so now and let us be done with it. I’m not here to indulge in idle banter.”

The second-in-command bared her teeth, smoke-gray eyes glowing like two torches amidst the gloom, and for half a heartbeat, Azriel thought she might press the matter.

Then Feyre stepped forward and cleared her throat. There were dark smudges of exhaustion beneath the High Lady’s eyes, but she still looked as regal as ever in her Illyrian leathers, her carved ashwood bow and a matching quiver of arrows peeking up over her armored shoulders.

“Enough, you two,” Feyre said, voice laced with nothing but command. She shot both Azriel and Amren a warning look before folding her tattooed hands behind her back, taking up the position of authority fitting of both a war commander and a queen. “We have bigger matters at hand, and I didn’t leave my infant son asleep at home with a nanny just to come here and listen to you bicker.” She nudged Amren with an armored elbow. “So, won't you be a dear and update our lovely Spymaster on the situation at hand?”

Amren shot him one last distrustful look before answering their High Lady's command. "We picked up two...stragglers...trying to make their way to the Prison Isle. From what we've been able to gather, it appears they were attempting to make their way inside the Prison itself."

Azriel's brows rose. Sneak onto the Prison Isle? That was not only impossible, but it was complete and utter madness. A sick, sudden realization shuddered through him, so fierce it cut through the pounding in his head.

Elain.

Elain was trying to get access to the Prison for reasons still unknown to him. Her and the spellspinner she'd tried so diligently to keep hidden in the Library.

Azriel's shadows had brought him word of their machinations weeks ago, initially tipped off by the arrival of the young spellspinner, and catching Elain in his bedroom yesterday had only confirmed his suspicions, but surely she hadn't gone against his warnings. Surely she hadn't...

"Something wrong, boy?" Amren crooned.

He ignored her. "Tell me everything," he said to Feyre.

"One male, one female. Both don't seem to hold any particular court alliance, but they were...dressed strangely. Almost as if they were trying to blend in with the Library's priestesses. Only their robes were gray, not white, and they carried no invoking stones." Feyre scrubbed a hand down her face. "Rhys caught the male on the beaches; I found the female still on the boat they'd used to reach the Isle."

Azriel might have sighed his relief if only Feyre's words weren't too much to stomach. Elain and her friends, and whatever wild plan they'd concocted, might be safe for now, but an unwelcome stranger trying to land on the Prison Isle was nothing to take lightly. And the fact Azriel, nor his shadows, had seen it coming rankled him.

"I tried to talk to her, wanted to know who she was, why she was there," the High Lady continued. "But she pulled a knife before I could get to her. I watched her open her own throat. Tried to heal her, but to no avail, little thanks to the poison on her blade." Feyre shook her head then tossed a thumb towards the cell door. "Rhys is inside with the male. He won't speak, though. He just keeps... singing."

"Singing?" Azriel echoed.

"He means to mock us," Amren murmured.

It was Feyre who ignored the second-in-command now. The High Lady tipped her head towards the cell door. "You'll see." She said. "We'll be waiting at the Riverhouse for your report."

And with that, Feyre reached a hand for Amren and winnowed them both away, leaving Azriel alone with his pounding head, the ancient black stone, and the iron door looming before him.

Azriel drew in a breath. Down, down, down he sank into himself before he strode for the cell door and shoved it open.

The sharp smell of blood and piss and fear arrested his senses as soon as he stepped into the dimly lit cell.

Old memories reared their ugly heads, taking him back to a different time where he came to these very cells to serve a far different lord. Truth-Teller warmed at his side, steadying him. Azriel wrapped a hand around the dagger's familiar hilt and shoved the memories back inside their iron cages to rot.

He made a quick sweep of the room when his eyes finally adjusted. Shadows clung to the corners of the narrow cell, dark enough to conceal his brother's powerful form hidden within them. Rhys was the darkness here. Anyone else might have missed him, but Azriel knew his brother's scent, the sound of his breathing, and marked where he stood in one of the shadowy corners.

In the center of the cell, bound and blindfolded, sat the captive. His gray robes were bloody, his lip split and broken, but he was singing just as Feyre had promised. Singing some horrible old song.

"...blue blood, red blood, blood black as a moonless night," the captive's voice echoed off the cell walls, garbled and made watery by his mouthful of broken teeth. "A pound of flesh, a pound of bone, a gift for a maiden made of light..."

Azriel's shadows swarmed. They flowed across the old stone floors to circle the captive like a pack of hungry dogs, writhing and twisting as they tried to make sense of him and his strange song. Almost as if the song had offended them. As if it scared them.

The darkness melted, and Rhys appeared from within it, arms crossed and brow furrowed, the mask of the High Lord in perfect place. Stars were dancing in his violet eyes, cold and unyielding, burning with a hunger Azriel himself knew all too well.

"He's been at it all night," Rhys said softly. "The same two verses of the same song, over and over again. It's driving me fucking mad."

"You scramble his brains or something?" Azriel asked.

"Would that I could. His mind is impenetrable. Practically walled off with solid obsidian. I've never seen anything like it."

"He's been prepped on how to face a Daemati, then."

"Or spelled to keep one out of his mind."

The words rose a chill within him, and Azriel found himself watching his brother more closely. Rhys worked a tick in his jaw, violet eyes churning as he assessed the battered man babbling his strange song.

"...away, away, at the crown of midnight..."

Azriel had never heard the tune before. Yet, it rankled him somehow. Dragged cold talons through his guts as if it were trying to make a home there.

Pain pricked behind his eyes, blooming like a thousand burning stars.

Azriel rolled his shoulders, fighting the headache, and drew in a deep breath of the rank air, descending deeper into that inside, readying himself for what was to come.

"He'll break," he said softly.

Rhys did not look at him as he replied. "I know."

Eventually, they exchanged the briefest, most fleeting of looks, but the silent words that passed between them meant everything. Rhys's eyes reminded him that Azriel did not have to do this. That he was, in fact, not his father's son. That this Night Court was a court of dreamers, of sons who were forgiven of the sins of their fathers, of daughters free to live as they pleased.

But the weight of duty had been taught to Azriel decades ago. And it was not a lesson so easily forgotten.

Skin slips easier off the smaller bones, blood congeals at the joints, and the mind always, always fractures first.

The old High Lord had taught him those things. Had made sure Azriel knew them, committed them to his memory so he might never forget his purpose. His worth. The thing he'd been made for.

Azriel slid Truth-Teller from its sheath. "Leave us," he said to his brother, voice soft as night. "I'll bring my report to the Riverhouse."

Rhysand put a gentle hand on his shoulder, the gesture made as if it might spare him, as if it might change what he was and the things he was born to do.

It wouldn't.

Azriel had stopped telling himself such follies a long, long time ago.

So he waited until his brother closed the cell door behind him. Waited until his shadows drank the last bit of light from the dank cell. Waited and listened as the prisoner whimpered the last verses of his swan song.

"...a sword for the son, a horn for the Queen, and dagger for their fool..."

Once, when he was just a boy, the shadows had taught him there was a place he could go, somewhere he could hide from his father's wrath, from his brothers' hate. Somewhere deep within himself. A place where he felt nothing, saw nothing.

Was nothing.

Azriel went to that place now, hiding somewhere deep within himself. He thought of roses as he raised Truth-Teller to the pale flesh of the prisoner's chest and began to cut.

Blood bloomed and the ache in Azriel's head erupted like a thunderclap.

And a dagger for the fool.

#the seer's stone #elriel fanfiction #the seer's stone fanfic #elriel

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bassettmemes · 1 year

Text

THEY’RE CREEPY AND THEY’RE KOOKY. ↳ a collection of lines from the first season of netflix’s wednesday. these are in no particular order and will contain spoilers for the show. some lines have been edited for clarity or to give options.

“those are all traits of great writers. and serial killers.”

“the first boy/girl/person i kiss would turn out to be a psychotic, serial-killing monster.”

“how do you feel about scary movies?”

“we work. we shouldn’t, but we do.”

“hummers stick together.”

“being your friend should come with a warning label.”

“you giggle when you text, which is a 24/7 addiction.”

“[name], the mark you have left on me is indelible.”

“i act as if i don’t care if people dislike me. deep down... i enjoy it.”

“are you really going to make me ask?”

“i want to assure you i remain as cold and heartless as the first day we met.”

“i’ll survive alone. i always do.”

“i could die alone!”

“we all die alone.”

“as soon as the dirt hits the coffin, i’m out.”

“[name] always looks half dead.”

“i actually fillet the bodies of my victims, then feed them to my menagerie of pets.”

“if you need me for anything, anything at all, i’m only a crystal ball away.”

“everyone would know i failed to get the job done.”

“not hugging is kind of our thing.”

“the only person who gets to torture my sibling is me.”

“you guys are making me nauseous. not in a good way.”

“my personal philosophy is kill or be killed.”

“you growl in your sleep.”

“i don’t know who etsy is, but i doubt she was an outcast settler.”

“if i am the monster, then why haven’t i killed you?”

“for some reason i cannot fathom or indulge, you seem to like me.”

“seriously, you could cut the tension with an executioner’s axe.”

“i’m not friend material, let alone more-than-friend material.”

“i will never fall in love, or be a housewife, or have a family.”

“i swear on my late scorpion’s soul, my hands are clean.”

“they couldn’t even spring for real pig’s blood. it’s only paint.”

“you know the old saying: never bring a knife to a swordfight. unless it’s concealed.”

“they want to turn me into a version of herself.”

“i find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation.”

“it takes a special kind of stupid to devote an entire theme park to zealots responsible for mass genocide.”

“emotions are a gateway trait. they lead to feelings, which trigger tears. i don’t do tears.”

“you’re really bad at cheering people up.”

“this reminds me of when you got your first grave-digging kit. you were so happy you nearly smiled.”

“there’s that biting sense of humor that i always adored.”

“if he breaks your heart, i’ll nail-gun his.”

“why would i share information about an ongoing investigation with a high school kid?”

“don’t you want eyes and ears behind those ivy-covered walls?”

“did you think i was going to judge you over some lousy prank?”

“i consistently stalk my parents.”

“i brought my pocket mace. the medieval kind.”

“it’s not my fault i can’t interpret your emotional morse code.”

“there’s nothing quite like the feeling of being proven right.”

“i’d rather stick needles in my eyes. i’ll probably do that anyway.”

“if you hear me screaming bloody murder, there’s a good chance i’m just enjoying myself.”

#sentence meme #sentence starters #sentence starter #sentence prompts #wednesday sentence staters #wednesday rp meme #rp meme #rp prompt #rp prompts #rp #addams family sentence starters

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ugh-yoongi · 1 year

Note

your hand is touching mine and i can't stop myself from taking it & Yoongi

thank you for the request! i've had this sitting in my drafts forever, so it gave me an excuse to finish it (and why it's so long dgkjd one day i will learn what a drabble is). i hope you enjoy it. <3

i call this yoongi's romantic comedy of errors.

pairing: yoongi x f. reader

genre: friends to lovers, miscommunication, fluff/comedy

warnings: reader is taehyung's sister, they're coworkers, yoongi is really bad at asking people out on dates someone pls help our boy, some swearing. this was long and i was too lazy to edit it, so if you see any mistakes no you didn't.

wordcount: 2100

taking valentine's day drabble requests here ♡

Yoongi reaches for his wallet, cheeks aching from hours spent laughing.

He’s glad he did this—took a chance, asked you out properly. There’s none of the usual awkwardness that comes along with nights out, none of the dread of having to turn someone down, none of the guilt. No, this had gone well. Better than he ever could’ve imagined, and instead of preparing his trademark I had a great time, but… speech, he’s trying to figure out how to ask you out again without being a floundering, incompetent mess.

But then you reach for your wallet, too, and Yoongi—

“What are you doing?” he laughs, aiming for casual.

It works. You laugh softly, quirking an eyebrow. “Getting my card so we can split the bill.”

The words are out of his mouth before his brain can catch up. “What? I can’t let you pay on a—”

Everything comes to a screeching halt. A record-scratch moment. Because he finally figures out what’s going on, sees the way your eyes widen in panic at Yoongi calling this a date. Surely, he’d been clear enough when he asked you to dinner. He had to have been. He distinctly remembers wearing his best shirt into the office that day. He’d even worn the expensive cologne—the one he’d carefully rationed because you’d complimented it before and he didn’t want it to run out before he got a chance to use it properly.

No, he couldn’t have been that dumb. Still—he wracks his brain, tries to remember how he’d worded it, except now he’s in survival mode and everything’s coming up blank. So he does the only thing he can think of—“I can’t let you pay for your birthday dinner.”—and lies.

What a fucking idiot.

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, like you’re talking to the idiot he most definitely is. “My birthday isn’t for another four months.”

The laugh he forces out can only be described as a hellish witch cackle. “I know that,” he insists, “but I just figured why not, you know! Who says you can’t take your friends to birthday dinners four months early?”

You’re nearly stunned into silence. “But this isn’t even our traditional birthday dinner restaurant.”

“I wanted to try something new,” he answers, even though it comes out more like a question. He had wanted to try something new, and look where that’s gotten him. “Hoseok said this place was nice.”

“Yeah, but Hoseok’s been with his partner for eighty years.”

Yoongi’s laugh is pained, now. No more witch cackle, just the dying wheezes of a man running out of excuses and time. One of his favorite things about you is how smart and unwilling to put up with bullshit you are. A week ago, he never would’ve entertained being on the receiving end of it, but now it’s all he can do to tread water. “Oh, really?” he asks, playing stupid. “I didn’t think this place had, like, partner vibes.”

“There’s a little candle on the table,” you deadpan. “There’s a woman in the corner playing a violin. It absolutely has partner vibes.”

“Maybe I just wanted to splurge?”

Your stare is pointed, gaze full of suspicion. “Did you, now.”

There’s a moment where the light breaks through the clouds. Clarity, and Yoongi doesn’t make the same mistake twice. You’re not buying anything he’s selling, so he’s not going to force it. This wasn’t a date for you. He’ll tuck his tail between his legs and take the loss, and it’ll hurt, sure, and it’ll be one of those things that keeps him up at night years into the future, the embarrassment agonizing, but keeping your friendship intact is more important.

So he just sighs. Hands your credit card back to you and ignores your protests. “Of course I did,” he answers. Tries handing the envelope with just his card inside to a passing waiter, but you throw your arm into the aisle to stop him.

“Quit playing with me and tell me what’s going on,” you snap. “You’re being weird and I don’t like it.”

The waiter side-steps your arm and says, “Please unhand me, ma’am.”

(God, Yoongi’s going to have to triple his tip.)

“Shut up, Taehyung, I’m not even touching you.”

(Quadruple it, by the looks of it.)

Taehyung just sighs. “Fuck you, dude. I didn’t bother you the entire time you were on your date, and now you wanna mess with me when I’m just trying to cash out and go home.”

Yoongi says—“Oh, do you know him?”

—at the same time you say, “He’s my broth—what do you mean my date?”

Taehyung looks at you the way you’d looked at Yoongi. “Do you know where you are right now?”

You snap your fingers. “Because it has partner vibes, right?”

“Definitely has partner vibes,” Taehyung agrees. “There’s little candles on the tables.”

You turn to Yoongi. “I told you!” All he can do is shrug. Candles aren’t really his thing, mostly just ambiance, so what does he know.

Taehyung looks between the two of you, clearly running numbers in his head. How to not lose his tip, probably, or maybe envisioning what Yoongi would be like as a brother-in-law. No, wait—

“Okay, I’m gonna go. This is really weird and you’re both very stupid. Bye.”

You roll your eyes. “Yoongi’s just—”

“I literally do not care who my sister is dating! It’s none of my business!” Taehyung calls over his shoulder, much to Yoongi’s horror and the dismay of the rest of the patrons.

Once he’s gone, the two of you sit in awkward silence. He’s surprised you’re sticking around. The night has turned into an absolute shitshow, and Yoongi wouldn’t blame you a bit for leaving, though the fact that you haven’t has him hesitantly optimistic. Maybe he can salvage this, figure out a way to explain the miscommunication in a way that doesn’t sound condescending, because I’m sorry I thought I asked you out properly makes you sound like a dunce who can’t comprehend when they’re being asked out properly.

What a mess.

It’s not until Taehyung returns with his card, he’s tipped 50%, and he’s moving to put on his jacket do you speak. “Was he right?”

“Your brother?” Yoongi asks reflexively. You nod and his palms get all sweaty. “Um. I’m not really sure how to answer that.”

You snort. “Honestly, for a start.”

“I—okay,” he acquiesces. “Maybe not here, though. People are still staring and it’s making me want to throw up.”

The two of you move to his car. He turns it on and lets it idle, turns on your seat warmer and the heat because it’s cold outside and he’s already sweating buckets so what difference does it make. He’s got the anxiety shakes, anyway. And it’s not lost on him that this is new, too. Before, the two of you always met up in the city. Separate cars, separate ways. He’d picked you up tonight. Right at seven, just like he’d said, so he can’t figure out where everything had gone sideways.

“Okay, I’m just gonna—I did think this was a date,” he says. Feels good to get it out there, he supposes, but the way your jaw drops doesn’t make him feel too great.

You snap it shut. “Oh. Okay.”

He picks at his dress pants. He knows the fabric is expensive but not what it is. The salesperson at the store said it was one of their best and the charge on his card confirmed it. He’d bought three-million won pants for a date and he’d managed to fuck it all up. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Huh? What d’you mean for what. For thinking it was a date when it wasn’t.”

Friendships have survived worse, right? There’s a guy who works with both of you who divorced his wife of ten years and they still go on vacations together all the time, so the two of you are going to be fine. Shit, would Yoongi be able to go to Saint-Tropez with you after a divorce? That’s some heavy shit. That’s almost insane, he thinks. Does he have that kind of maturity? Is it maturity? The guy works in the communications department, so maybe he’s just… good at that? Maybe Yoongi should’ve asked him for some pointers.

“Can I just ask,” you start, and it’s the way you turn in your seat, angling your body towards him, that activates his fight-or-flight. Yoongi’s anxiety is not built for this kind of confrontation. Not at all. “What made you think it was a date?”

“My pants are three-million won,” he blurts out.

“You thought this was a date because… you’re wearing expensive pants?”

He groans. Bonks his head against the steering wheel and nearly has a heart attack when the horn beeps, far too loud for this parking garage. “No, it’s not just the pants. I thought I’d been very clear when I asked you to dinner that it was, like, a date. And then I almost said that and you looked really panicked, like you’d rather be buried alive, so I lied and said it was a birthday dinner even though it obviously wasn’t, and then your brother—and, yeah. I don’t know. Clearly I’m not as good at this as I thought I was.”

“Okay, first of all: yikes.” Yoongi nearly wails. “Secondly: Yoongi, you said you don’t date coworkers! Why the hell would I have thought this was a date?”

“In my defense, I said that a long time ago.”

“And never rescinded it!” you argue back. “Why would I think that’d changed?”

“Well—because!” Your stare is blank. “Because I picked you up—”

“I told you my car is in the shop three days ago—”

“And I’m pretty sure when I asked, I said, do you want to go to dinner with me—”

“Sure,” you concede, “as friends! We always go to dinner together!”

“But…” He sighs, runs his hands down his face. Might as well rip off the bandaid. “My pants.”

“Yoongi, all of your pants are expensive. You make an ungodly amount of money a year.”

“It’s Valentine’s Day?” he tries again.

You groan. “Yeah, and I’m supposed to give you a gift.” You run your hands over your face, and it’s really stupid, Yoongi thinks, because you’re wearing makeup. Did you always wear makeup when the two of you went to dinner? He can’t remember. He knows “no makeup” makeup is a thing, so he’s not all that confident he could tell what is and isn’t makeup, and it hits him for the millionth time this evening how bad he is at this.

“Look,” you continue, “let’s just… go somewhere else.”

“Maybe you should pick, since…” He gestures vaguely at himself.

You nod. “Yeah, good idea. That new ice cream place is close. We could go there.”

Yoongi glances out the window. It’s cold outside. A little gray, too, so it’s probably going to snow, considering it’s the middle of February and it’s been unseasonably cold, even for winter. But it’s not an outright rejection. It’s your idea, and if he dares to think it, the look you’re giving him is hopeful. He’s sure the wires in his brain will overheat and start crackling at the mere thought of you wanting to spend more time with him, so he’s agreeing before he can think twice. If his fucking pants are three-million won, they better keep him warm.

He doesn’t know what to do once you’re out of the car. Does he try to hold your hand? Does he loop his arm through yours? Throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you against his side? He’s already ten steps behind. He’s got a few centimeters on you, but your legs are longer, and it’s a little embarrassing, the hurried waddle he does to catch up. And he must sidle up too close, because your hand brushes against his.

Still warm, even though it’s going to snow. Even though you aren’t wearing gloves. All he can think is that the two of you are on your way to some new ice cream place because you wanted to go there, even though he’s put you through the ringer tonight, so he exchanges his stupidity for bravery. Closes in a little more, smiles when you look up at him and cock an eyebrow.

Because your hand is brushing against his, and he can’t stop himself from taking it.

For the first time all night, he knows it’s the right move when you smile.

#vday drabbles #yoongi imagine #yoongi drabble #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #jewel answers

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suga-kookiemonster · 1 year

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satisfy 05 (teaser)

summary⇢ “listen,” taehyung says, eyes wide and eager as he smiles at you. “i figure we can just help each other out. i scratch your back, you scratch mine.” but when you find yourself suddenly in need of a massive favor, exactly how much scratching are you willing to do? pairing⇢ kimline/reader teaser word count⇢ 1k estimated chapter word count⇢ 13k+ rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | escort!au | ceo!au (kinda)

a/n⇢ HELLO!!! i've been slowly working on this for what feels like forever and i can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel 😭 fingers crossed i can post in the next few weeks, but for now i wanted to share a little snippet. as always, subject to change until i do my final edit--HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS IS GONNA BE A DOOZY 😈

You were even planning on putting on a little makeup, on properly doing your hair for the first time in weeks and giving the bun you had been sporting a rest. However, all it took was a knock on your door to put an end to all those extras.

You frowned at the sound and padded over to your front door, happy you had already thrown on a hoodie to keep yourself warm until the festivities properly started. The sight of a familiar man through the peephole, hands resting comfortably in his slacks, threw you off.

Automatically, your hands were disengaging all the locks, were swinging the door open. “You’re early—”

Whatever words you had next immediately dissipated on your tongue. Taehyung was there, but he apparently came with company. Your mind whirred, trying to come up with a perfectly logical reason for why all three Kim brothers were at your doorstep right now.

“Your hair,” you blurted, your scrambled brain latching onto the easiest subject first.

“Hmm?” Taehyung ruffled his newly dyed locks, the onyx hue a stark difference from the silver you were used to. “Oh yeah, I guess I haven’t seen you all week. My dad wanted me to dye it to a more ‘appropriate’ color before the conference. But whatever. It was time for a change, anyway. And this will be easier to upkeep.”

You could only continue to stare at him as he spoke, your eyes naturally drifting over his shoulder at your additional visitors.

All three of them were dressed pretty casually, which was normal for Taehyung and Namjoon, but less so for Seokjin when not in the comfort of his own home. The soft pink of his sweatsuit was a stark contrast to the sharp intelligence of his eyes. He met your gaze for only a few seconds before he was turning to meet Namjoon’s instead, a pinch in his brow.

Taehyung spoke again before either of them could say anything. “You gonna keep us out here?” he teased, casually leaning against the doorframe.

That finally jumpstarted you out of your haze, scrambling to move out of the way and gesture them inside. “Yes, of course. Come in!” Before your nosy neighbor caught them and assumed you were slutting it up.

(She would technically be right, but still. It was the principle. Your life was none of that judgy shrew’s business.)

Tae strolled in like he always did—like he owned the place—but you noticed his brothers’ strides seemed a bit more hesitant than the confidence you usually got to witness. Namjoon’s mouth was slightly pursed in the way you’d long learned meant he was thinking. Why did they seem as confused as you did?

“Hi,” you hedged anyway, a small, puzzled smile on your lips. “It’s been a while. Sorry if I’m acting weird—I just wasn’t expecting you, so I’m a little thrown off.”

Understanding immediately crossed Seokjin’s features, but you only got a second to see it before he was whipping towards his youngest brother, appalled.

Namjoon was looking at him too, clearly irritated. “Are you serious, Taehyung?”

“What?” you asked, gaze flitting between the three of them in hope of finding some clarity.

“You never asked her?” Seokjin snapped.

Namjoon shook his head. “You know that’s not cool, man.”

“Never asked me what?” you cut in, bemused.

Taehyung, for his part, looked properly contrite. “I’m sorry,” he told the room, before solidly placing his attention back on you. His eyes were soft and sincere. “It truly slipped my mind, and I’m sorry, _____. I didn’t think.”

“When do you ever?” Seokjin snarked, but you ignored him, focused solely on Taehyung.

“What, Tae?” you encouraged gently. “What are you sorry for?”

It was clear from the hunch of his shoulders that he felt bad. “Um…”

“He invited us to come with him to meet you today,” Namjoon supplied. He gave his little brother a disappointed shake of his head. “But that’s not a decision for him to make. Is it, Tae.”

“I just knew that none of us have seen her in a while,” Tae whined. “And _____, when you reached out yesterday, I figured it would be the perfect opportunity since we’re leaving the country for a few weeks.”

“I should have known better,” Seokjin muttered with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry about this, _____. You never marked group activities as a no and I thought Taehyung actually asked you like an adult, so I just assumed you were on board. I can leave.”

You blinked, still trying to grasp what was going on. “You were…trying to share your time?” you asked Taehyung slowly.

He nodded meekly. “I don’t mind sharing,” came his honest answer.

“But does she,” Seokjin scoffed, eyes narrowing in irritation. “That’s the only thing that matters. And to think otherwise is just selfish, Taehyung.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” The words left your lips before your brain could even register them, likely spurred on by how chastened Taehyung looked. The three of them looked at you in surprise.

“It’s okay?” Namjoon parroted, an eyebrow raised in question.

You swallowed, then gave a nod of confirmation. Because you knew Taehyung had never been trying to trap you. One of the qualities that simply made him him was his spontaneity, and while that made him fun and interesting to be around, it also was a double-edged sword that could end up with situations like this.

Tae knew none of them had seen you in a while, he knew they were soon going to jet out of the country, and had simply been trying to be nice in inviting his brothers along. He didn’t mean any harm.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, giving him a reassuring smile that visibly loosened some of the tension in his body. “You can all stay.”

The words settled between the four of you, heavy in the resulting quiet. Teeming with implication. You still weren’t completely sure what you were agreeing to, but what you did know was that you were going to need something to help stave off the nerves slowly bubbling beneath your skin. You cleared your throat, turning to make your way to the kitchen. “I think I need a drink.”

#👀👀👀👀👀👀👀#fic: satisfy #mine #bae #husband #mr. worldwide #✨kim tag✨#namjoon smut #taehyung smut #seokjin smut #bts fanfic #bts smut

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misfithive · 7 months

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Thank you for the way you handled that ask about Wille's and Simon's drama. Because that sentence 'On the other hand, Simon needs to have a bit of more drama thrown at him' made me so furious. It was so insensitive! The fact that he suffers in silence and alone in his room not to bother other people doesn't mean he doesn't suffer enough and needs some more! The fact that he didn't jump on the table or say he feels like dying doesn't make his experience any less traumatic than Wille's. What he needs is to process his trauma rather than brushing it aside, not to get some more.

Once again thank you, you put it all beautifully.

Yes 😭 this is a very common hope for Simon to get pushed to the point of a breakdown but it’s like .. at what cost?😩 He has been thru enough trauma for a lifetime and a half. And the thing is, most people cannot actually stop and process the trauma if they are constantly being hit with more. I think we are more likely to get simon opening up if he is able to find safety which he did not really have. he is expected to be the strong one by everyone in his life. His friends try their best but still, telling him to rebound is the same message him mother gives him of “you are strong”. Bc they dont want him to sit with his feelings and cry (it’s uncomfortable and not the norm for them), they want him to forget about the Prince and move on. Up until s3 he has not had someone to cry to- thats why he writes his songs and holds wille’s sweater. Even when he is talking to Rosh and Ayub in the kitchen if he was actually crying to them i feel they would show it- it appears he probably cried on the way home before they came (this is my hc if yall think he cried to them u can believe that if u want)

i think Simon’s character is very accurate to what a lot of men, people socialized as men, and also people of color experience and how we deal with our emotions. I get that for a lot of people it is cathartic to sob but for many of us, crying like that especially in front of someone else is terrifying. we are conditioned that letting other people see u in that vulnerable state is a weakness (puts you in danger or will be used against you & that anger is safer). I know some men who have not cried since they were children and told me they dont even remember what it feels like to cry or how to actually let the tears fall from their eyes. It is messed up. Is that fair? No. Is it true that it is a weakness? No. But not everyone learns that. The patriarchy sucks and harms us all lol i wish people would understand that and have empathy for the deep sadness that simon is carrying and hiding whether he lets it out or not.

Not to mention everyone deals with their trauma differently and i think it is cool that the show is realistic and shows people dealing with things in different ways. Simons character is relatable bc of this and instead of people saying “it’s not fair that Wille gets to express himself in this way and Simon doesn’t” i want people to think about WHY Simon is not be able to. I know wanting simon to cry comes from a good place but it does upset me a little bit bc even if he doesnt have a breakdown s3, that doesnt mean that the writers hate him and arent doing his story justice which is what people say abt s2. At the same time, if he does have a break down, that would be totally warranted. i'm just saying that if it doesn't happen that's valid too.

THAT BEING SAID. I think s3 is a great opportunity for Simon to hear from Wille that he doesnt always have to be strong and that Wille can be a reliable safe space. I think Wille’s tenderness is something that Simon sees and now that they are on good terms and Wille has worked to rebuild the trust, I hope Simon will turn to Wille for emotional support however that looks.

Ermmmn I’m very sorry that this turned into a dump but i had to get it off my chest.(made a few edits for clarity and spelling mistakes bc i posted this in the middle of the night)

#misfit answers asks #young royals #this is not targeted at the first anon i just see it a lot and have a lot to say on the topic #simon eriksson

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magnoliapromenadegalleria · 8 months

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Ray didn't do anything wrong. I know that might be a controversial take right now with Sand's heart break being so fresh, and Boston has been overdue for some black Air Force 1 energy for a minute, but before you wanna tussle, hear me out. Don't touch the mic, and hear me out. They had some open communication that they were friends. Friends who obviously have a deep attraction to each other who either occasionally hook up, or at the very least are playing a very intense game of chicken, but friends nonetheless.

Sand has said this on multiple occasions. He has said that he would never take someone like Ray as his boyfriend. That Ray is not his special person. In Yoh's kitchen Ray asked Sand if he was okay with what they were doing, and Sand said yes and that they wouldn't develop it. He can differentiate between love and sex. In Ray's car after Mew called for help, Sand said he didn't have a right to be mad at Ray. Despite how Sand feels, he is communicating that he does not take Ray seriously and that he doesn't see him in that way.

To those around them it is obvious that there is something there. Yoh, Boston, Nick, Mew, and even Sand's momma have all made comments about them. Ol' girl Summer sensed there was something between them and she knew Ray all of two seconds, and made her exit like a lady. To us as viewers there is that same clarity that there is something there. We see how they look and react to one another.

So why is it not clear to Ray? Ray sees Sand's reactions, what is he not getting? Well...because Ray can't read minds. I think at this point it is fair to say that Ray will take what you're saying at face value. He's usually not going to argue with you. Even if you take his feelings for Mew out of the equation, Sand and him both agreed that this wouldn't be anything more than what they mutually agreed on. He knows he hurt Sand by leaving him for Mew, but is that because he has a clear understanding on how Sand feels, or is it because he felt bad for leaving him? He knows Sand is upset after the fight with Boston, but is that because he knows Sand is falling/has fallen for him, or because he felt he ruined Sand's birthday with his own drama? It is very possible that they are not looking at these situations through the same lens.

I personally had to learn that even though how I know how I feel and my emotions are clear TO ME, that does not mean they are clear to everyone else. Even if they sense something is off, if I don't communicate my feelings they won't know. Everyone occupies the center of their own universe. No one can know how you feel better than you do unless you speak. We know how Sand feels because we were able to get his commentary. We have an idea of what Ray feels because what he may not convey in words, he does with how he looks at Sand. They are not getting the same insight into each other like we are with them. I wrote earlier that they had open communication between them in Yoh's kitchen. "Open" but not "honest". Sand is not being honest with Ray to avoid heartbreak, I'd say that's a wash, and Ray isn't being honest with himself because of what he thinks he feels for Mew still lingers. Their actions are honest. The time they spend together, their banter, their touches. Their words are not. It will be interesting to see the breakdown in communication the more their feelings for one another mature.

Edit: I wanted to add, Ray does not owe Sand an explanation when it comes to his feelings for Mew. Another controversial take right now, I know. They may act like a couple, but they are not one, and Sand already clocked that Ray was using him as a distraction last episode. Now that Sand knows, he needs to think about what he wants to do moving forward.

#only friends the series #only friends the series spoilers #only friends #ofts #thai drama #thai bl #first kanaphan #khaotung thanawat #force jiratchapong #book kasidet #mark pakin #neo nimtawat #lookjun bhasidi #sandray #sanray #topmew #bostonnick

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jjkamochoso · 2 months

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My Boy’s Got His Own Ringtone

Nanami x gn!reader

Angst, hurt/no comfort

Based on 100 gecs’ song “Ringtone”

Warnings: none (idk why it’s marked as a mature post, there’s nothing sus in here)

[My boy’s got his own ringtone, it’s the only one I know, it’s the only one I answer]

You glanced at the clock, seeing the hour and minutes hands being precisely where you didn’t want them. You still had about 3 hours left in the workday and you were drowning in mission reports that had to be looked over, edited for clarity, submitted to the higher ups, then filed correctly. With the influx of high grade curses roaming around, paperwork from sorcerers for office people like you was bound to increase as well and you were getting the brunt of it. You were exhausted, to say the least. Not to mention, your cellphone wouldn’t stop ringing with people asking you the stupidest questions, leading you to almost throw the damn thing in the dumpster. Instead of costing yourself the extra money that you don’t have by ruining the (unfortunately necessary) piece of technology, you had put the annoying rectangle on do not disturb and shoved it in one of your desk drawers.

“30 minutes of peace and quiet, that’s all I can afford,” you had muttered to yourself, but now that time had passed and you found yourself grasping the phone once more. Taking a deep breath, you glanced at the lit up screen—27 missed calls and 45 group texts. Scrolling through the texts, you were thankful that none of them were urgent matters. The phone calls, on the other hand, were ones you had to attend to and make sure all questions were answered. You were about to press the “call back” button for the first sorcerer who needed your assistance, but your phone rang with a call from someone else. Before you smashed the phone into little tiny pieces, you registered the ringtone and quickly answered, a smile forming on your face for the first time today.

“Nanami! How can I help you today?” you asked, any trace of previous annoyance immediately dissolved.

“L/n, hello. I have a question to ask you, and I’m sure you’ve been busy. Is this an alright time to talk?”

You practically swooned. You couldn’t believe how respectful of your time and work Nanami was and it made him even more attractive, if that was possible.

“I’ll always make time for you,” you answered sweetly.

“And I, for you,” he replied, and then dove into his question. It was a fairly simple one and you were honestly surprised he needed clarification. Maybe he was teaching Yuji how to write reports and wanted to hear it being explained from the source? Whatever it was, you were just happy to hear his voice, no matter the situation.

“Does that make sense?” you asked after explaining.

“Yes, thank you very much. I appreciate your help today and whenever I may need assistance in the future.”

“Don’t ever hesitate to call, text, or seek me out. You know where my office is!”

It was true, Nanami did. He had spent many hours there with you, in comfortable silence, typing away reports and filling out various paperwork. He would try to convince himself that the reason he sought out refuge with you was because no one would find him there to bother him while he was working, not because he desperately wanted to watch the way you would crinkle your nose when you caught a horrendously bad typo in a report, or be enthralled in the way your nimble fingers made quick use of the computer keyboard, or anxiously awaited your invitation to a coffee shop during lunch breaks where everything would feel like a perfect date instead of an outing with a close friend if he just admitted his feelings to you. No, he chose the office he did most of his work in because he was helplessly, selfishly in love with the person whose nameplate graced the door.

You, of course, returned Nanami’s undisclosed affection, but you knew it could never work. He was a Grade 1 sorcerer while you were a lowly office clerk, a glorified secretary, no better than the salaryman position he had left behind. Status and money were of no matter to either of you, but you felt, deep in your heart, that your lack of status and achievements could never win over the 7:3 sorcerer. He was so handsome and accomplished that he could have anyone in the world and certainly deserved better than someone like you.

Anyway, back to the phone call.

“That I do, I’ve spent many days in there. Thank you for sharing your space with me. Speaking of, do you mind if I drop by at the end of the day?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You hadn’t seen Nanami in a fair amount of time since he had been dispatched on all sorts of missions lately.

“Of course! What’s mine is yours. You’re welcome here anytime,” you said, hoping he understood that you truly meant it with every fiber of your being.

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon,” he said, and hung up. As you went back to your work, you noticed you had a new jolt of energy. You didn’t even realize you were supposed to be off 5 minutes ago until there was a knock at your door.

“Come in!” you said, shuffling the rest of your papers away to deal with them tomorrow. In your haste, you didn’t notice your phone flying into the pile and landing somewhere unseen.

“It’s just me,” Nanami said, slipping past the doorframe.

“Just you, huh?” you teased, earning a small smile from him.

“I’m here to staple a few things, if that’s alright,” he explained, and you gestured to the stapler on your desk. In reality, he wanted to come by and see you since he’d been gone for so long. You had become a source of comfort to him, something he knew he could depend on to be there when he came back from a mission. In a world where his existence could be easily taken from him, he liked the idea of loving someone who lived a more peaceful life. Sure, you thought your job was boring, and it was, but Nanami wanted that for someone as precious to him as you were. You, on the other hand, were thinking about how blessed you were for being able to see his muscular forearm on full display as he leaned over to staple papers, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow. You didn’t want to look away, but certainly wouldn’t be caught staring. You grabbed your bag before trying to head home, but you absolutely couldn’t find your phone anywhere.

“That stupid thing causes me more and more trouble,” you mumbled, furiously digging through drawers. Nanami had never seen you so flustered before, and he had to admit, it was pretty cute. However, he knew he needed to help with whatever it was you were talking about.

“Trying to find something?” he asked, gaining your attention. You huffed, moving a stray piece of hair out of your face.

“I lost my phone when I was going through piles of papers,” you explained, “but of course nobody needs me anymore or else I’d hear it ring and could find where it went.”

“Want me to call it?”

“Please,” you said, exasperated. With a slight chuckle, he clicked on your contact and it started to ring. All of a sudden, you heard Nanami’s custom ringtone coming from your trash can.

[It’s my way of trying to let you know, I’ve got a little thing for you, I’ve got a little crush or something]

“Found it!” you exclaimed, pulling the phone out as it continued to blare his very own theme song.

“That’s a ringtone I’ve never heard before,” Nanami commented, “did you choose a new one while I’ve been gone?”

Damn him for being so observant! You weren’t sure if you wanted to tell him the truth but the words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Nope, this is your own special one,” you said sheepishly. You figured you should explain yourself further since he gave you a look that implied he wanted to hear more. “You’re the only person I actually like to talk to, so it’s my way of filtering out the calls I don’t care to answer.”

“I see,” he said, his warm brown eyes staring into your own. His expression was unreadable as always and you hoped you hadn’t made him uncomfortable.

“Is that weird? I can change it if you think that’s weird, I—”

“No!” he said, hurriedly, “please don’t. I find it… endearing. I feel the same, your company is the only one I can stand most days.” With his confession coupled with yours, it was hard for both of you to make eye contact out of embarrassment.

“Okay well, I guess I should head home,” you said, trying to make a beeline for the door, but you felt Nanami’s large hand gently grab hold of your arm so you didn’t leave.

“Wait, l/n, I need to ask you something else.” These words that left his mouth were quieter than usual.

“I’m off the clock, Nanami, you can call me y/n if you want,” you told him, and you could’ve sworn you saw a hint of a blush on his face.

“Okay then, y/n, you’re well versed in the rules of jujutsu workplaces and colleague relations, right?”

You nodded and he continued.

“I know we don’t technically work together but please tell me before I get my hopes up. Would it be wrong of me to ask you on a date?”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Was Nanami being serious? He was never a man of jokes like Gojo so he must be for real. You gulped.

“There’s no rules regarding that subject that I know of,” you replied and Nanami looked relieved.

“Oh. Then, allow me to ask you properly this time. Y/n, would you grant me the privilege of taking you on a date?”

“I would love nothing more, Nanami,” you said, smiling.

“Please,” he said, his eyes shining, “call me Kento.”

You felt like the luckiest person in the world.

It was a brisk fall day and you were enjoying your time out of the office for the weekend. The market you were at was pleasantly busy, enough people to observe for a bit but not too many where it was overwhelming. It was nice to get out and walk around for a while. Taking in the smells of the pastries, you followed your nose to a vendor selling the cutest little loaves of bread.

Nanami would love these, you thought to yourself, and bought a few of them for breakfast. As you strolled away, bag in hand, you heard a phone ring. It was that same ringtone that lived in your mind since the day you set it for the man you loved. You hurriedly dug your hand into your purse, excited for once to find your phone, but you were greeted with a dark screen. All of a sudden, you felt a sensation like someone grabbing your heart and twisting it out of your chest.

[Used to love that ringtone when you called me, now it makes me sick]

No. It wasn’t Nanami calling you. He couldn’t.

Kento Nanami was dead.

A/n: it was my first time writing some evil like this, I hope you enjoyed the heart shattering moment😈 also I can’t remember if there’s report writing and paperwork in the JJK universe but I’m sure there is so take this with a grain of salt okay love you byeeee <3

#nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami x reader angst #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you

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