#for all the endless afflictions

[random-xpressions]

Maturity is when you thank God for an affliction that brought you closer to him than a blessing that took you away from him...

Random Xpressions

[galedekarios]

gale & karlach

i think out of all the dynamics between the companions, i've come to enjoy gale and karlach the most over my time with the game. karlach especially bc she's the only one who genuinely seems to care about and for gale.

she repeatedly checks in on him after the orb reveal and doesn't turn it into a joke about slurping carrots, or sipping wine, or wanting him to be gone entirely from the group.

not only does she advocate for him to stay three times, depending on which dialogue path you pick:

gale's background story reveal & the reveal about the netherese orb

Karlach: Come on. We all have our secrets - and our risks. If Gale leaves, we might as well disband completely. - Karlach: Absolutely. We're all risky in our own ways. We stick together anyway. Right? - Karlach: If having dangerous, otherworldly objects stuck in your skin is wrong, then Gale and I both have to go. We're not really splitting up, are we?

but she's also the only one who repeatedly asks him throughout the game how he is doing, to make sure how he's faring, both in general and with his debilitating condition:

act 2 - shadow-cursed lands banter

Karlach: Doing all right, Gale? Gale: Oh, you know... Still alive and kicking, despite being surrounded on all sides by an endless manifestation of darkness and decay... devnote: Almost with a sigh. That's just how things are - Grim humour to it. Karlach: I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

act 3 - after mystra stabilised the orb

Karlach: How's the orb treating you, Gale? Gale: Oh, quite well as a matter of fact. Since it was stabilised, it's been humming along nicely. Gale: I have noticed one adverse side-effect. I seem to be losing hair in some, er, unexpected places. Karlach: I can only imagine.

i think it really bears repeating/stressing that no other companion does this. not one checks in on gale like karlach does, after his affliction has become known to his companions - with the exception of the protag potentially.

karlach also arguably has the strongest reaction in response to mystra's demands in act 2, showing again her care for gale, as well as her protective side:

Karlach: Aw, was that Gale's granddad? Player: That was Elminster Aumar - the most famous wizard in the realms. Karlach: Huh. Doesn't ring a bell. But all right! Must've had something important to say to Gale, if he came all this way. Good news, I hope. Player: I don't think it was. It turns out Gale has an explosive bomb in his chest - and Mystra has asked him to use it to blow up the heart of the Absolute. Karlach: Whoa, now. He's got a... well, I guess that would explain a little, but... Mystra... I mean, this is a lot to take in. Karlach: What's he going to do? - Player - Option 1: I think he's going to follow through with it. Karlach: Fuck me. There's devotion, and then there's stupidity. If the god of magic can't handle this without sacrificing Gale, she's no god at all. - Player - Option 2: I don't think he'd do that to himself, even if Mystra commanded it. Karlach: Good. I'm one hundred percent sure there's another way to bring down this cult. No true god would ask such a thing from her faithful. That's for certain. Karlach: Poor Gale. He must be in bits after hearing that. I'll distract him. Tell him I haven't read a book since secondary school, watch his face melt off. - Player - Option 3: I'm not sure. I think he's of several minds. Karlach: Well, tell him to pick the right one. Better yet, I'll do it. Fucking wizards, man! They always need help picking the simple, obvious option. Karlach: If Mystra can't think of another way to stop the Absolute than sacrificing Gale, she's no god worth worshipping. I'll say that to Gale - in, you know, gentle terms. - Player - Option 4: You know that bomb in Gale's chest? Mystra has asked him to use it to explode the heart of the Absolute. Karlach: She what?! Is she mad?! - Player - Option 5: Don't worry about it. Karlach: Karlach doesn't worry, she acts. So if Gale needs me, now's the time to tell me.

i particularly like that last response bc it really echoes throughout her relationship with gale ("karlach doesn't worry, she acts. so if gale needs me, now's the time to tell me.").

their banters are often playful, but also genuine. both karlach and gale tease each other, they joke with each other, showing how comfortable they are with each other despite their many differences, but there are also moments of understanding and care between them, allowing them to emphasise with each other:

Karlach: Man, it's good to be home. First round on who? Gale: She who thirsts buys drinks the first. devnote: Like it's a well-known saying Karlach: You won't pin me down with a rhyme, wizard! devnote: Jockeying with Gale (prob supposed to be Joking with Gale) Gale: She who declines gets the worst of the wines.

Karlach: Just when I was getting used to the sky again... Gale: Fear not, Karlach. Sun, moon and stars will still be there waiting for us. devnote: Reassuring Karlach: Meanwhile, this place is pretty spectacular, isn't it? Gale: No book or painting could ever do its strange beauty justice. But perhaps our stories might, when we return to the surface. devnote: Agreeing with Karlach, enjoying the sense of wonder as you explore

Gale: I've always felt flames to be a rather perfect expression of love, Karlach. Gale: Passionate, primal, capable of bestowing the most life-affirming comfort, or inflicting the profoundest damage. devnote: Listing the qualities of fire, Romantic, indulging in the poetry of the image Karlach: That's... pretty nice. Never thought about it like that. But now I will.

Karlach: Wouldn't mind a dancing axe of my own. Gale: A simple movement charm wouldn't be too hard to apply to such an object. I could conjure one up for you if you like? Karlach: Yes! I like! Gale: Very wel then. Once the city is saved, Karlach's Kinetic Cleaver will be first on my list.

Karlach: So, Gale - got any book recommendations for me?devnote: With concern Gale: You can read?! devnote: Taking the piss - knows full well Karlach can read, and that she's always claimed not to enjoy it Karlach: Very funny. Yes - I can read. School put me off big boring tomes. Sometimes I wonder what I'm missing. devnote: Friendly rather than flirtatious Gale: Say no more - I'll find the perfect book for you. I might even lend it to you from my library in Waterdeep. devnote: Jumping on the opportunity to give a book recommendation (a favourite hobby) Karlach: Ooh! Something with magic, please. And no devils.

even at his most vulnerable moments, karlach is there to support him:

before the stormshore tabernacle audience with mystra

Karlach: You can do this, Gale. And I'll be right here when you're done.

she allows herself to be protective of him and get angry on his behalf not after when it comes to mystra, but also when he is potentially kidnapped by orin:

karlach's reaction to gale being kidnapped

Karlach: That bloody freak won't get away with this. That's my wizard she took. And we're going to get him back.

once again, it's a good callback to her previous line: "karlach doesn't worry, she acts. so if gale needs me, now's the time to tell me."

she's willing to be needed by him - and he does need her. whether that is as a friend, or (if you chose to play so during an origin pt) as a romantic partner. it's a lovely dynamic either way.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Her Words

Summary: You are introduced with the prince as his second option for a marriage in your family. But how will the Prince react to you own affliction and the backlash from your family |  Mini-Series Masterlist

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

A/N: You all asked for a part 2 so ask and you shall receive! Again thank you for the request on this one it was really fun to write :)

Warnings: hitting, some sexual suggestions

You could feel your handwriting getting progressively worse as the weeks went by.

That was one thing you had not considered as a side-effect from spending so much time with Aemond.

Every hallway, every corner, every walk in the garden. There was always some off-chance that your paths would cross. And every time this coincidence seemed to happen, there was a stupid smile on your face and your hands grip on your notebook seemed less and less. One a few of occasions he had dared to close the space between you, whether it was to brush a hair from your face or to run a warm hand over yours. All of this serving to send warmth to your cheeks that a smile that reached your eyes.

Nobody was more surprised of this behaviour, than Aemond himself. Though he would never admit it to himself.

He had already gifted you one book, written entirely in cursive Valyrian, promising to read you through it, to teach you how to pronounce the words like a native. The book had been kept well and separate from the rest of them in the library. The cover was a wine colour and there was not a rip on it.

And when he extended the book out to you, your hands delicately traced the patterns on the front, inspecting all the details as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Your eyes had found his, wide and bright with gratitude and a slight film of tears coated them, mouth pulling into a line to stop yourself from crying at the kind gesture.

 "Ziry iksos issa jaelagon naejot rȳbagon ao pikībagon bisa, issa riñnykeā"

 When he spoke Valyrian, it almost seemed too perfect. His voice was suited to it, and it was a shame that he could not speak it all the time. The way he formed the words, his intonation, all serving to set off a spark inside you. And at the notion that he spoke only to you. For you.

It is my wish to hear you read this, my lady.

The words were sweet. But you relished in the way he said them more so.

The book nestled in your arms, you looked down, trying to hide the blush that very quickly was heating your face from the Prince before you. Your hand smoothed over your clothed arm, picking at the wrinkles in it with anxiety. Your hand went to your side and the mind raced at the notion that your notebook was not there.

And he was stood before you, regarding you and the way your anxious face formed being separated from your notebook. Of course, it had not been an accident. You had dared for this day to leave it behind, but now the space where it would have been seemed endless. Like those soldiers who return from battle with a limb missing, but still feeling it, still being able to control it.

Your eyes briefly met Aemond's and he could see the panic in your eyes. And you need not be panicked or anxious, you knew he was patient and kind, despite appearances.

"gūrogon aōha jēda…" He said quietly, he had his hands laced behind his back and his good eye looked down on you softly.

Take your time.

He looked so peaceful it bought a pain on your heart. Nobody was as patient as him. Nor had anyone in the past been.

You send him a ghost of a smile in thanks, looking away to pull in a long breath of air, so much so that your lungs ached. You let yourself exhale first before bringing another burst of air in, mouth open to form the words,

"i-iska…no, iksā to-l-lī sȳz…" you manage, the nerves being the cause of it more than anything, "…d-dārilaros Aemond…"

You are too kind, Prince Aemond.

You dared look back up at him once you'd finished the sentence. There was that look again, the darkened look he always gives you whenever you say his name. Your grip on the book tightened once again seeing him take a step towards you and he could hear a breath get caught in your throat. He was so close you could see all the details of his dragon-shaped clasps on his tunic. So close you could smell his scent around you. So close that you thought he might touch you.

"nyke hae ziry skori vestrā ñuha brōzi…"  

I like it when you say my name.

His hand came to a lock of your hair at the side of your face, running the strands through his dextrous fingers. His other fingers ran across your jaw, sending a chill through you, only to come to rest his palm on your cheek. His motions were so slow and calculated that it sent a heat through your body that settled in your stomach. You swallowed back, suddenly nervous in his presence, even more so when you felt his thumb trace the outside of your lip.

Your eye never moved from his.

"ivestragon ziry aril"

Say it again.

To anyone else it would have been a command. But he seemed desperate to hear it again and a shuddered breath came from you again.

And before you could even prepare yourself, do all your breathing and calming, the words seemed to pass your lips as naturally as the sun rises over the horizon.

"Aemond…"

He was so close still, a smirk on his face and a smile on your own. All anxiety seemed pressed down below the surface, replaced with something new. Something you thought you would never experience.

Desire.

A desire for his company. For his understanding and patience. But also a desire for him. For him to be pressed to you as if in need and desperation. You could feel your throat constrict at the mere thought.

"kostan ūndegon skoros iksā otāpagon…" He started.

I can see what you are thinking.

"…ñuha riña"

Against his better judgement, he withdrew his hand from you to place behind his back once more, standing back to revel in the effect he had on you. You knew what he was doing and it was not original in the slightest, but it still made you smile bashfully, fingers desperately gripping the book he had given you.

He cleared his throat as if he himself was also nervous, " kessa nyke ūndegon ao tolī…tolī ñuha gūrēñare?" he asked. Shall I see you later, after my training.

You nodded in earnest and watched as he turned to leave, his gaze on yours the entire time until his back faced you. Marvelling at his form as he walked away, he took one more glance back before rounding the corner and you wondered how someone could be so expressive with only one eye. And yet even the smallest glance could send a spark through you like no other. That, combined with his words, was the greatest pleasure you had known.

Even the way he walked away served to stir you so. The way his long legs carried his strides and the way he commanded his space with his form, such confidence at face value and yet so often, in your shared language, he had said that it was not always this way. He had learned the cold stare of feigned confidence through the many years he spent hiding himself away, learning to use his words as his weapon and training his body to be his deadliest.

Who would think that a man like this could be so gracious in the presence of a woman.

Of you.

Hurriedly, you half-ran back to your chambers, letting out a deep breath at being alone and able to let out your thoughts on the man. The book he had gifted you was placed lovingly on your bed as a maid softly knocked at your door. All you could do was face the mirror and uncontrollably smile as she loosened the ties of your dress, pulling the gown off your shoulders to pool at your feet.

"You seem in good spirits, my lady" she remarked, preparing the other dress to be worn at the feast. You could tell that when she said it, she was smiling, "Would the Prince have anything to do with that?"

In the mirror you met her gaze very briefly and shrugged, her hm in response seemed to satisfy her question. Without pressing any further, she draped the dress at your feet and once stepped inside pulled the heavy garment up your body to fasten at your front. This maid was quick about her work and laced it effortlessly at the front and at the back, using metal ones at the front that were coated with gold to compliment the deep forest colour of the gown.

Once the skirts were smoothed down, you observed your figure in the mirror. It was quite possibly the only thing you wore which truly fit you and it was here you felt you looked truly beautiful, for the first time maybe ever. All the small gold fastening attached at the front reminded you of the endless times you had seen Queen Alicent with her seven-pointed star accessories, and you thought she had looked beautiful then.

One your hair was styled the way you preferred, not overly braided, the maid stepped back to admire her own work.

"Beautiful, my lady"

You nod your head in thanks as she takes her leave.

You yourself look on your silhouette and shake slightly. To be his betrothed is one thing, but to be his wife. To tame the blood of the dragon. You felt underequipped for the task at hand.

But you had already conquered him. You just did not know it yet.

You had been seated at the table for some time with one of your older brothers before people started to file into the hall. Of course, this wasn't the first time you had been in this room but it had been so altered for the feast that it was unrecognisable. There was a long table in the middle of the room with a red tablecloth and many candles decorating the middle, their flames barely flickering the room was so quiet.

Glancing over to your brother, he had his head in his hand, probably severely hungover. His eyes were closed so tightly that you thought that he might be in pain, and you half thought to ask him if he was alright but decided against it. For he had not spoken a single word to you in the weeks your family had been guests to King Viserys and Lady Alicent.

With a sigh you smooth your hands over your gown and clasp your hands together, sending a glare over to your brother who whispered shut up at your sigh.

You could not even make sound in front of your family. The kindness served to you by Aemond had made you realise how badly they treated you. Especially your father.

The echoes of fast footsteps broke you from your trance and you looked over at the entrance to see you older sister, arms hurriedly beside her in her half-run and a fierce stare tracking the room.

Her daggered eyes landed upon you, finger pointed in your direction.

"You!" the words came from her like a stab.

Her fierce look had you on your feet, a questioning look on your face as your sister made for you across the room, your eldest brother not far behind in his own half-run. The other drunken brother furrowed his brows in curiosity and all time seemed to slow as your sister threw all her weight into her palm to strike you across the face.

You could barely register the pain in your face until you looked back into your sister's hateful eyes which is when the pain started to bloom across your cheek and jaw. More shocked than anything right now, you raised your hand to your now burning face to touch, it was not sore yet but it certainly would be. Your sister looked unnaturally angry, so much so that the lines around her mouth were now visible and she was shaking. Her eyes were scrunched up with her expression, mouth hanging open slightly to say something.

"You fucking whore" she spat at you, her hand came to your bare arm to twist the skin there and you let out a cry at the pain. But she would not let go and seemed to dig her fingernails into you even further, even at the sudden presence of your eldest brother and entrance of your father.

"What is the meaning of this!" your father's voice boomed but your sister never took her eyes off you. Afraid that if she would, you would escape her tight grip.

"How did you do it, hm?" she asked, eye boring into you, "The Prince could not have fallen for an idiot like you…"

Your mouth formed into a flat line in an attempt to deflect her unkind words, pushing the brewing tears back, but an ever-present feeling was there also. Anger.

"Let her go, sister" Your eldest brother was at her side, hand hooked under her arm to pull her away. Not one look from him was given to you.

Your father was not far behind, his booming voice aching for his daughter to release her hold on you, noting the arrival of Queen Alicent into the hall, who looked shocked at the whole situation.

"What did you do then, fuck him?" she snapped and you could feel your anger bubble inside of you. Mouth open ready to say something, the familiar block stopped you, but your sister was so close, so you thought to opt for a whisper if nothing else. You could no just stand idly by while she disrespected you. That is something you had learnt from him. In only the few weeks you had known him, he seemed to have taught you more than your family ever had.

"N-n.." you start, and a moment of surprise passes on your sister's face, but the anger remains, "…not all of us…h-have to…"

She seemed to mull over the words for a long time, fingernails pushing so hard into your skin you were sure there would be bruising and welts. And it was as if it was a language she had not know, you could see her bounce the words in her head. Or perhaps she had never bothered to hear for the sound of her sister's voice before.

It all came down on your sister so quickly and she let a sinister smile pass on her face at the understanding of your words.

"You dare take the Prince from me…" she cursed, her grip tightening like a vice once more around you and you closed your eyes once more to brace yourself for another strike.

"Care to tell me why your hands are on my betrothed?" a voice rang out loud and deep and your eyes popped open again to find Aemond at the doorway, hands ever clasped behind his back, his cold, hard stare at your sister.

Her head spun around with such speed, you thought it might pop off and her confused gaze met the Prince's, but it was not long before a sinister smile returned, her hands still on you.

"I am your betrothed" she returned.

Aemond turned his head so that he could face the sister straight on, nothing needed to be said, saying enough with his gaze entire. The room seemed deathly quiet as he took his few steps towards your sister, his eye never met yours, not even once. There was danger in the room and he felt he had to address it.

"Aemond…" Alicent muttered, trying to distract him. But it was no use. He was trained directly on your sister and you could feel her façade slip away by the second as she shrunk under his look.

"Release her" he ordered. When your sister did not move, he sent a hooded glare down at her, "Now"

It was clear your sister was too out of it to move, so your eldest brother pulled her towards him, with no resistance. Your groaned in pain as your sister's fingernails came from your skin, leaving red half-moon shaped marks on you. Aemond's hand was on your arm instantly, inspecting the damage your sister inflicted on you, his touch soft against the violence that had ensued before. His fingers traced the marks before allowing his eye to meet yours and then your cheek, seeing the way the skin was inflamed, red and no doubt sore.

It was difficult to gauge his emotion at this time. But all you knew it that he was angry.

Turning to your siblings and father, he took your arm softly to push you behind him, whispering to you softly.

"Gaomas ziry ōdrikagon?" Does it hurt? He asked.

You could not dignify him with a lie and simply replied quietly, "M-mirrī…" A little.

Aemond could not tolerate anyone laying a hand on you, and you seemed to understand this as he faced your family.

"What was that?" you father asked, wide-eyed and staring at you. Silence filled the room once more and your father shuffled embarrassed, "Answer me"

"She spoke" your sister said, "So it does speak"

Her laugh filled the room, that cackle that Aemond hated so much. The one that inspired him to cast her aside, now even more annoying.

"You mean to me that you can speak all this time?" your father says, a hint of annoyance in his voice, "And then once in the company of the Prince, suddenly your idiocy is gone?"

"She is a whore" your sister seethes, but your father orders her to be quiet.

"I would suggest you use different words " Aemond warned, his voice low and protective in the face of your family.

The otherwise quiet Queen Alicent seemed to step forward, using her body to separate the two parties. For a long time, she had been the dividing force between families and had no issues stepping back into that responsibility now.

"That is enough" she said softly, her eyes forever on your father, "My Lord, no promises have been made regarding joining our houses"

All at once, the reality of the situation seemed to hit your father. His face changed from one scorned, angry and exhausted to something more hopeful.

"He is meant to be my husband!" your sister called out, eldest brother still holding onto her arm. She looked positively furious and with the opportunity would most certainly have broken free to wreak havoc once more.

"Be quiet" your father warned. Looking towards you, he jutted his jaw upwards, feeling as if suddenly he had the upper hand, "This marriage will still benefit us no doubt and you have done this family an unexpected favour, your Grace"

Alicent wasn't enjoying a moment of this and simply looked onwards, almost dissociated. Your father's tone seemed predatory, his gaze creeping back over to you and Aemond. Your fingers rested on his hand, delicately gripping him and thanking him for his support in this awkward situation.

Aemond cocked his head, knowing your father had more to say.

Stepping forward, your father dared to glower at the Prince.

"You have taken this halfwit from me, at last"

It was clear it was aimed to set Aemond off. And it had almost worked as the man before you went to take a step forward, only to be met with your hand on his chest. Confused, he looked down at you but you simply shook your head. His look was difficult to decipher as many had often said before you, but you refused to allow him to act how others perceived him, so with a soft hand on his chest you gently pushed him back to take your place before him. One hand slipped into his, you faced your father, who had a sick, satisfied smile on his face.

You could see his gaze waver slightly when you went to open your mouth.

He was the one you feared the backlash from the most. Mother, at least, had been somewhat patient and accepting until her death. But after that, it only served to turn your father bitter. If he would not be patient for his other children, there was little hope for yourself growing up with any form of endearment. What could be expected of such a man.

You felt the familiar slam of a block in your throat, and you swallowed heavily, squeezing Aemond's hand beside you. Grounding you. With a deep breath, you looked back up to your father. He would not interrupt you this time. He would not best you.

He could not have the last laugh this time.

"You…" the words came out forcefully, almost clumsy. But no block in sight, "…are no father…t-to me"

The room was deathly quiet and more than anything, everyone was just shocked. You watched your father's face carefully and saw the raw shock that was so clearly there and you hadn't realised just how tightly you had been holding onto Aemond's hand until he squeezed back, a very obvious proud look on his features.

You took a glance about the room once the silence had become uncomfortable, your siblings sharing their own form of shock in equal measure. A sudden feeling of self-consciousness overtook you and you looked over at Alicent and finally Aemond.

Alicent looked entirely neutral if not a little amused, but Aemond did not have to hide his amusement, his lips turned up into a very clear smirk as his eye looked down at you. You dared to send him a smile back, secretly proud of what you had done in the spur of the moment.

"I think it is time for you to leave, my Lord" Alicent said, cutting through the stony silence, "The King and I will send the terms for the marriage in the coming days"

The father looked wordlessly over at the Queen, now haggard and expressionless.

"I trust the matter is closed"

"Hm" was your father's only response. He gave you somewhat of a glare before turning his back, his own hand clamping around your sisters to drag her out of the room. Your brother's seemed to give Aemond a look before following also, the eldest dragging the middle by the cuff of his shirt.

You let out a breath and your shoulders dropped, now relieved of the pressure. Aemond squeezed your hand again,

"T-tolī o-o…olvie?" you ask. Too much?

He shakes his head with a chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, "Daor, īles vok"

No, it was perfect.

 The weight of the burden your family was apparently very hefty, for as they arranged their hasty departure the next day it did not seem to bother you to see them off.

You would happily spend the afternoon sat beneath the Weirwood Tree, book softly placed in your lap. Aemond leaned against the tree behind you, reading over your shoulder as your eyes darted across the words scribbled on the page, fingers at the corner ready to turn with excitement.

Aemond smirked knowingly as his eye caught your family passing the gardens, the servants carrying their luggage. Your father leered over, a gaze that could kill settling upon the Prince, but the only thing that could occupy the space between you both was the sound of you reciting the book before you. The one he had given you as a present.

He sat by, watching every now and then as the line formed between your eyebrows at a particularly difficult word, taking staggered breaths to get the long ones through in a single utterance. And for a moment, watching you reciting the text, Aemond swore he saw the passing of regret pass over your father's features.

Your words seemed to be suited to Valyrian, Aemond so often thought, and even now as he listened to your words from the history book, he took a lock of hair between his fingers to play with the strands. A chill ran up your spine at his hand on your neck, pushing the hair away, the smooth skin hiding beneath now exposed to the cold air.

His hand remained at your nape as you finished the sentence.

"Rȳ z-zȳha…sȳrje…sk-skorkydoso gaomas…b-bisa pikībagon?..." How does this read? you pause to ask, a finger pointed at the page at an unknown symbol. Aemond sat up and leered over your shoulder at the spot,

"Valyria"

"Oh" you answer, now feeling stupid, but chuckling in response. You carried on, Aemond's chin now resting softly atop your shoulder.

"Valyria iksin se….ro-rovaja oktion isse se vys. Iemny ziry..."

"Lemnȳ" Aemond corrected, smiling.

You sigh and push the book closed to place beside you, looking up at Aemond's smug face, he was so close now that you could see the stitching of his eye-patch and a shuddered breath came from you at the hand that was still placed on your skin. His eye was once against hooded to look down at you, perhaps you would never get used to the feeling that gave you.

"Ao pikībagon sȳrī" You read well.

"e-emi mērī..sssepār rhēdan" We have only just started. You shake your head at his words.

"Nyke hae aōha elēni…" I like the sound of your voice, he trailed off and you could feel your cheeks heat up at his compliments. Truthfully, you loved the sound of his more. Especially when he spoke Valyrian. It being your shared language, there was a certain intimacy to it. And you found yourself wondering if he would speak it during…

Your sinful thoughts were cut off by his hand on your jaw, turning your face towards him. If he was close before, now he was even closer, and you held your breath and searched his eye for his intent. He was smiling down at you, finger softly dragging across your skin and it seemed like there was nothing more romantic than saying nothing at all in this moment. Eyes zoned in on him, you opened your mouth to say something, his name.

"Aem-"

His lips interrupted you and you could feel how his softness pressed against you, body heated instantly just purely with his touch. All that fire that burned in his blood, pumped around his body, to be pressed against you now; it burned so nicely that you smiled in his kiss. Allowing him to slip into your mouth as you smiled, the warmth enveloped the two of you and you hand was softly pressed to his chest, grasping the collar of his coat, perhaps in an effort to pull him closer. Aemond groaned with need, sending a vibration of desire that descended through you.

You had never felt so wanted in your life. And Gods, it felt so nice to be wanted, to be needed.

Time seemed to pass so slowly when he had you like this and the desire deepened more so when his hand cupped the back of your head, pressing further into you. A ghost of a moan left you which only seemed to spur him on more so, running swiftly out of breath.

"Aōha udra…" he broke away to whisper, forehead resting on yours, "…nyke jorrāelagon tolī"

You smiled, eyes closed and enveloped in his scent, his love. It was other-wordly.

Your words. I need more.

 Taglist:  @candypurplebutterfly @vainillasmil157 @ysa-psa @angelaevangelion @bellaisasleep @random-human02 @guardian-of-the-imagination​

[lesinquietes]

In which Alucard and his Deity!Darling are on a mission together, and he loses control when she gives him a glimpse of submission🪽✨

18+ (minors dni) // light almost-smut, yandere

Limerence

Alucard pins you beneath him, catching you by surprise. He clutches your wrists with rough claws. When you fall, it’s behind a set of bushes. Before you can sputter and protest, airships, no doubt seeking Hellsing presence, whizz by above you. Their bright search lights are fixed on the path you were once walking. If you would have stayed there, they would have caught you. Given the urgency of your matter, that wouldn’t have been preferable; there’s no telling how many soldiers they would have sent.

Gathered in such an intimate position, he’s shocked you’re not fighting him. He supposes you’ve learned to pick your poison. He doesn’t mean any harm to you… yet.

He waits for you to ask him to get up. You don’t. The ships have long passed. He wonders if you’re simply frozen with anticipation. He knows what that’s like, to be tantalized by the moment.

“That was close.” You mutter eventually. “They’re getting more desperate.”

“They are.” He agrees grimly. “Their interference would have been a nuisance.”

His piercing orbs trace your jawline, watching as you swallow whatever else you wanted to say. Such a pretty throat you have. The blood there is celestial. He’s never tasted the nectar of a deity before. He wonders if it’s toxic to a creature like him. If so, then maybe he was meant to perish like this, at your whim; maybe you were meant to die together.

He refuses to allow his impulses to overwhelm him. You’ve been warming up to him lately. While your edges remain quite sharp, they’ve significantly softened since your first encounter. Without the proper signals, he won’t completely cross your boundaries.

Meanwhile, you adjust beneath him. Inspecting his pale face, you think he’s rather handsome. In the moonlight, even more so. His glasses are off, revealing irises with subliminal messaging, coaxing you to submit. You huff. Vampires are a cocky breed. You’ve encounter his kind in the past. They were the same as him — snarky and sure of themselves… until they weren’t.

You’ll show him. He may be the father of all vampires, but you’re certain you’ve handled worse threats. Contrary to what he might believe, you’re not one to be dominated.

“I could have handled myself.” You whisper, eyes peering into his. “But… thank you.”

He pauses. Your energy is shifting. You’re receptive to him. After endless nights of watching over you, having you grow used to his presence, ensuring that you miss him when he’s not around — are you finally ready?

“You could have handled yourself.” The vampire echoes. “Is that why I was the one to act?”

He dips down, smooth black locks tickling your face. Brazenly, his lips brush against yours. He closes his eyes for the serene moment, taking you in. He’s amused that you don’t pull away. Yes, perhaps you want this, too.

“My sweet Goddess.” He purrs. “Have I not shown you that I’m capable of protecting you?”

You stir restlessly. He notices your thighs rubbing together, unconsciously creating friction in your lower region. You don’t seem to have any control over your physical form. Humanistic sensations are afflicting you. Lust is meant to be a foreign concept to higher beings, isn’t it? You’re reaching for a forbidden fruit.

“You… have done your best.” You admit, frowning gently. “I thanked you, didn’t I?”

“Thanked me!” He scoffs incredulously, planting a ginger kiss to your jaw. “The woman of my deepest fixations need not give me gratitude; she need only give me a fair chance.”

He indulges in your beauty, trying with every fibre of his undead being to avoid stealing a glance at your neck. His mood is different than it was a moment earlier. He wants to feed on you while he fucks you. The urge is damn near unable to be repressed.

“I want to claim you.” He confesses, voice husky and baritone. “But… I shouldn’t.”

He tries to believe what he says. He really, really does. Except he can see the panic rising on your features, and it’s driving his animalistic senses up the wall. It’s the first glimpse of your anxiety. You, a gorgeous creature, trusted a starving vampire to get this close to you.

The vulnerability you’re exuding is intoxicating. It’s making his head spin. He inhales your natural scent. His long tongue flickers out to lap upthe subtle layer of sweat on your quivering throat. That’s enough deliberation. That’s enough abstaining. He’s going to do it. He can’t stop himself.

Maybe you really are a witch, casting spells to lower his locus of control so you can vanquish him when he’s preoccupied. He chuckles darkly. That would be fun. He’s always preferred a mate he can play with prior to totally dominating them.

“My dear… you’re irresistible.”

Alucard’s fangs protrude, and he gradually sinks down to the area above your collarbone. Softly, you moan. He hums approvingly when you bear your neck for him. His mesmerizing orbs become predatorial. He’s dreamt of this moment. He going to guide you into the afterlife with him, and make you his first wife in decades.

At the last second, the tides shift.

From the heavens, a ray of light rains down on him. He notices a second too late. By the time he retracts, and leaps back from you, one of his long legs is trapped in the beam. It severs instantly. Although he doesn’t feel it, there’s a humiliation to the act which causes him to howl.

He skids to one knee and bares his teeth. With a gloved hand, he wipes the drool that dropped from the side of his mouth — evidence of his lust for you. He’s speechless. Rage and vigour twist in his chest.

You’re hovering a few inches above the ground. A bright light pours out of your eye sockets and mouth. You’re grinning at him.

“You didn’t actually think I’d willingly let you turn me, did you?” You snicker cruelly. “Foolish Dracula.”

He growls lowly. You know what it does to him when he hears you utter his name — his true alias from days of old.

“Tempting little witch.” He snarls, fangs protruding from his ajar mouth. “Why do you give me the illusion of possessing you, as if I have not spent countless nights resting on your limerence?”

He lost sight of himself. His safety ought to override his impulses. But in that moment, when he saw how submissive you — a powerful Goddess — were being to his touch, he was a slave to desire. You could have killed him with your offensive light. That excites him. You really are capable of eviscerating Anderson, aren’t you?

You return to the ground. The whiteness beaming from your eyes and mouth also tapers off. You’re back to how he recognizes you in no time, except the smirk hasn’t left your features.

“Can I rely on you to keep your mind on the mission, thirsty corpse?”

He wonders what it would be like to overpower you now. You wouldn’t let him win easily. In fact, he doesn’t know the extent of your strength just yet. You stand a good chance of destroying him. He’ll have to be patient if he wants a shot at obtaining you.

He’s coming around to the idea that it wasn’t the time to turn you. Integra would have been pissed. She was lenient when he turned Seras, but you? And in the middle of a crucial expedition, no less? She wouldn’t have shown him mercy this time. But… part of him doesn’t care; part of him — a deep, hushed voice at the back of his mind — urges him to do it anyways, that a mighty king is more than deserving of an all-powerful queen. It’s you who incites the covetous side of him.

“You can.” Alucard snickers humourlessly. “Until our work together is complete.”

Previous l

[carlsangel]

DON’T BE SORRY

carl grimes x reader

(carl comforts you.)

tags: angst, fluff.

masterlist here!

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM, DEATH

You used to feel so alone, so empty. Like nothing could fill the pit in your heart where you stored the love from your family. They were everything to you, losing them made you feel endless pain that would never go away. You couldn’t cope with it all, you only felt pure affliction.

The one way you knew how to cope was something you had to hide, at least you felt that way. You didn’t know what to do without your family, you’d felt like somehow it was all your fault. Maybe you could’ve done something, be more useful and actually save them. Maybe it wasn’t helpful to take it out on yourself instead of putting the anger towards what actually killed your family, the walkers. You couldn’t help it though. You truly felt you killed your family.

It occurred to you that maybe the last thing you’d need in this world was to inflict more pain on yourself but it had somehow made you feel better, like you were getting what you deserved. You could get by a while without hurting yourself but occasionally situations would happen that reminded you of everything.

There was one time in particular that really got to you. You were tracking a deer for a while, granted tracking wasn’t your best strong suit but you thought you’d give it a shot. You followed it for hours. You successfully shot it and it ran but it didn’t get far. When you got to it, it was taken down by a swarm of walkers. It just looked too much like when the same thing happened to your family. You burst into tears and ran.

It was a common thing for this to happen but one day, someone saved you from the swarm. He came in with a couple others and they took them down for you and invited you back to their settlement. You almost wanted to say no. You didn’t want to risk caring for more people, losing them and then pay the price for that loss.

The boy who saved you was named Carl, he was your age and he quickly became your best friend, eventually your boyfriend. He managed to make you feel okay about everything. He told you how it wasn’t your fault, that you shouldn’t blame yourself for the death of your family. He was so gentle with the way he treated and loved you. There’s nothing he loved more than gently kissing around your body but you made it a point to him to not kiss your arms, you tended to pull away.

You didn’t want him to know, you were worried of what he’d think of you. He never gave you a reason to believe he’d be angry at you or anything like that but you were still nervous about it. He never wanted to pry as to why you didn’t want him kissing your arms because he respected you enough to not mention it unless you did.

You never planned on telling him, but you didn’t want him to find out either. Unfortunately, when he did find out, it wasn’t on your own terms.

“Hey wake up.” Carl pokes at you while you were sleeping peacefully in your bed (you guys had nightly sleepovers.) You pry your eyes open and look up at him, sort of giving him a mean look for waking you up. “Cranky.” He says, looking down at you with a cute little smile. “Yeah cranky. I’m so sleepy.” You sit up and yawn while he walks around the room. “We have to go check the snares my dad put out yesterday. He’s hoping for rabbits.” Carl explains, grabbing clothes from your closet and tossing them at you.

“Rabbits? For what?” You stand up slowly, stretching out your limbs. “Uhh I think Carol wants to make some stew. I dunno.” He replies briefly. You finish up changing and arm yourself with a handgun as well as a large knife. You both head out to go check the snares. The first two you checked were empty, which made sense since Rick set them out late last night in clearer areas.

When you get to the last snare, the both of you were pleased to find out that it caught a larger rabbit. You unlatch it and pack it away. “Carol’s gonna be excited. I know she’s been wanting to make stew for a while-” You were cut off by the sound of guttural screams coming from somewhere deep in the forest. There was no doubt you’d follow them to help whoever it was.

You and Carl ran through the woods, following the screams with your guns in hand. The screams get louder and louder as you approach and you pray that you’ll be able to save them. When you reach them, it was too late. The man was already on the floor, being ripped to shreds by the undead. Carl was with you, but somehow that didn’t seem to help this time. You remember your family, you couldn’t save this man just like you couldn’t save them. You run off back home, not even taking the walkers out, not waiting for Carl.

You go home in tears, you walk up the stairs not acknowledging anyone else who lived in the house because you simply couldn’t look at anyone. You change your clothes to try and distract from the pain of it all and blink your tears away. You stand for a moment trying to navigate what exactly to do next but your mind strays to one solution. You walk over to your dresser and dig to the bottom where you kept a little box. The little box where you kept razors. Every time Carl looked for clothes for you, you were worried he’d find it. He never did.

You grab the box and contemplate for a moment. Did you want to do this? It’s been a while since you last indulged but something about this time was different. You head over to the bathroom and shut the door. You breathe heavily, thinking about the man. His life ended because you didn’t run fast enough. Your mind was made up.

You sit on the edge of the tub and set the box of razors on the toilet lid. You open it and take one out, looking at it while wiping your tears away. You slide your sleeve down a little and stare at the scars from past times you’d done this before. You go for it, but are interrupted by the sound of voices downstairs. You listen for a moment before putting the blade back up to your arm. Before you know it, Carl bursts into the bathroom.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry-” He looks at you and the blade in your hands as you scramble to put it away and hide the box. “N-no I’m sorry I shouldn’t be…” Your voice trails off as you try to find the words to explain yourself. “Don’t be sorry.” He walks closer to you and kneels so he can see you better. He takes off his hat and places it on the counter. He rests his hands on your knees as he looks at you with pure love.

“Is that why you don’t like the kisses?” He lifts his hand up to wipe the tears from your face. He holds your cheek delicately and you nod into his hand. More tears roll down your face and he leans in closer to kiss them away. “They told me you were upset.” He says, referring to the Alexandrians you lived with. “It was the man, wasn’t it?” He holds your hands, gripping them tightly. You nod once more. He pulls your hand up to kiss them. “That’s not your fault. None of this is your fault okay? I promise you, I’d never lie to you.” He murmurs, kissing your hands between each sentence. You knew he was being honest, he always was. Carl never beat around the bush, but he was never brutally honest, he was always soft with you.

“Can I…?” He gestures to your arms and looks to you for approval. You look at him and hesitate but nod, sniffling a bit. He rolls your sleeve down slowly and he looks at you before leaning down to place soft kisses over your scars. Didn’t leave a single one un-kissed. He pulled the sleeve down your other arm and repeats the process. Every single scar was kissed. He always knew how to make you feel loved. He looks at you and studies your face like he’s done thousands of times before. He leans up to kiss your nose, then your forehead and then your cheek.

Carl leans forward and hugs you tightly. He sits there and tells you how much he loves you over and over.

Now, your heart feels fuller than ever.

a/n: i hope i did this well, i really like it even though i’ve never written a fic like this before. it took me a while to get out bc i really did my research for it to make it best i could. i also had a ton of school stuff to deal with. thank you anon for the request <3 my inbox is nowww empty so if you guys want plsss send some requests.

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7

GIF: Originally posted by @simply---words

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dubious/non consent. Language. Kissing. Nudity. First time. AFAB + AMAB penetrative sex. Unprotected sex.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Hello there! How are you all doing? Thank you so much for sticking with me on this. I always hope I can get chapters out quickly and it always turns into 2+ weeks... Special thank you shout out to my IRL bestie @theviridianbunny for giving the chapter a once over ❤️Much love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

Morpheus' eyes glint like onyx stones under firelight as he waits for you to yield. His breathing is as laboured as it was when you initially laid eyes on him, and with each exhale you are exposed more and more to the intoxicating scent that rolls off his alabaster skin.

One hand is braceleted around your wrist, thumb swiping back and forth over the veins there that jump frantically, the other steadies the solid appendage that nudges temptingly against your opening.

"I can see that you want this," he intonates proudly. "Your physical reactions inform me of all that I need to know."

Your attention darts down to the markers that are broadcasting your arousal: first to the hardened peaks of your nipples, and further down to blushing labia framing your swollen clit. Morpheus follows the same path with predatory meticulousness.

"Oh, yes, those reactions are delightfully obvious. Most of all here."

He drags the tip of his erection in a teasing circle around your entrance and smiles sadistically when you stiffen and whimper in response. He brushes his nose against yours, the playfulness of the gesture juxtaposed entirely by his next sentence.

"Your sweet enticing cunt, gushing as it prepares itself for entry."

If you could close your legs to shield yourself from further embarrassment you would, for his dirty words only add to the wetness that he has observed between them. It's now running onto the silk sheets, mingling with the pre-cum that drips from his poised cock.

Morpheus continues to speak, "But I would know from even more subtle signs: the shade of the flush on your chest, the curl of your toes, the arch of your back." He dips his head, breath feathering over the shell of your ear as he whispers, "You want penetration."

He is right. Of course he is.

The desire to be filled is powerful - a base instinct that is relentlessly chiselling away at your resolve. You swear you can hear a voice in your head chanting with every proverbial swing of the hammer:

Do it. Do it. Do it.

A conflicted whine pushes past the clench of your teeth.

Morpheus has fallen silent, his tongue tracing a scintillating path directly over your jugular, an action that makes you automatically twist to offer more of your neck to him. He doesn't oblige, instead he moves his head lazily and stares you down once more.

How was he so good at playing with you like this?

The question spends little time unanswered; the Maiden's words from the tail-end of your conversation with the Fates bounces to the forefront of your brain. "He has been made to be perfect for you."

It's the whole soulmates thing.

Speaking of the soul, to make matters worse, the ache in your chest is returning with ire. It appears that the touch of his skin is no longer enough to pacify the pain. A flash of recognition musters in your mind from the near-imperceptible sudden knit of Morpheus' brows, the tautness in his own chest; subdued cues that he shares this affliction.

You reach out with your free hand and spread your palm across his sternum, feeling the fierce shuddering there that matches yours.

His soul.

It is under the same stress as yours. He had said he could feel the sub-epidermal heat like you but had made no mention of this. Supernatural being or not, Morpheus is grappling with pain and it will simply not do.

Your eyes flick up, your decision made in the next heartbeat.

"I surrender."

Quicksilver flashes through those blackhole irises and with an exultant groan he sheathes himself within you.

You screw your eyes shut and cry out, amazed by how far he is able to push in before he meets resistance. The overstimulation you had been predicting is absent, as is the agony you feared would accompany it. It's just the involuntary constricting of your channel that you contend with, a metronome swinging between discomfort and enjoyment.

"Look at me," Morpheus commands in that velvet voice.

You comply, and when you do you see that his eyes are blue again. A pair of cerulean pools; tranquil, somewhere to shelter. If only you could relax enough to slip into those waters. There's so much tension in your jaw and balled fists, inside you.

"Breathe," he coaxes, guiding you with tenderness, a hand reaching to hold yours to give it a grounding squeeze.

You inhale slowly and shakily, mouth forming a shape of surprise when the muscles slacken and allow Morpheus to sink those last few centimetres within you.

The agony inside your chest ceases and from the small change in Morpheus' posture, you intuit that his has too. Heat like a solar flare envelopes you head to toe and the weight of his lustful stare only adds to the pyre.

"Mmm, that's it," he praises huskily, putting a forearm flat on the bed next to your face. "You feel divine, Y/N."

You nod zealously, unable to concur in any other way as he has robbed you completely of sentence forming. Your walls flutter as you adjust to the stretch, the feeling of this beautiful being bottomed out inside you. Your soulmate, exactly where he needs to be.

Morpheus makes the first move; a languid roll of his hips that grazes every place inside you, and releases breathy moans from you both. Your grab onto him, the spot where neck meets shoulder, as your mind scrambles to process the pleasure. With this initial test completed, he studies your expression, looking for any indication of a wish to stop. He finds none. Only a pair of expectant eyes overflowing with desire for him to keep teaching you like he promised.

He begins to rock into you with lavish, sensual thrusts. Your cunt unfurls even further to ease his movements; you are a moonflower, blooming under the night sky that overlooks the chamber, under his celestial form.

Remembering how much he liked it before, you move your free hand to play with his hair, eliciting deep-seated shudders all down his spine. It is joyous to inspire another such visceral reflex and you feel it pass through into your own body at each point of contact.

If he is a sculptor, you are the clay yielding beneath the presses of his body, shaping you into something entirely new - a lover. Just when he has you in the desired form, he changes everything.

He slows to a stop, still tucked safely within your warmth and secures his hands around your calves to bring them around his slight waist. You're not sure how it's possible but the change in elevation makes him feel even thicker.

His eyes are becoming darker again, gaze centred steadfastly on your face as he once more restrains both your wrists against the midnight coloured sheets. The semiotics give an unmistakable clue to his plan.

He's going to fuck you like he said he wanted.

You brace as he drags his cock back, and then he delivers a bruising thrust, animalistic grunt sounding low in his throat as the jut of his hip bones imprint into your flesh. A measure of dark lust is shot into your bloodstream and immediately you yearn for more of this roughness.

"Please," you say breathlessly.

He indulges you with a barrage of hammering thrusts, moans tumbling from your lips with abandon as warmth settles in your skeleton. His own vocalisations of pleasure syncopate with the completion of each thrust. The sound takes residence in your brain, his touch in every cell. The wish he had to occupy you in entirety is being granted.

You only take your eyes off him for a handful of seconds to look at the place where your bodies are joined, where he is slamming into you, the obscene image of it.

It's like he is an open flame and you are being doused in 99% proof vodka; the fire under your skin is so intense that your moans transform into screams. Morpheus consumes them all with the sudden seal of his mouth over yours.

The smothering action unlocks something inside you. In your chest, where your soul resides, it is vibrating aggressively, much more than it has done in the course of the evening thus far.

Morpheus notices the surge in the shaking and pulls back from the kiss.

"We must be close," he muses.

You feel the orb writhe in retaliation to his statement and your whole body does the same involuntarily.

"Shhh," he says in baritone purrs, pausing in his movements to soothe you. "A little longer and then I will breach the last defence about your soul."

His tone is confident as he restarts the powerful pace he has set, "I will not fail you."

He is stormy waves against a sea wall, bringing with it both the promise of blissful inundation and the threat of drowning. Yet you wouldn't mind drowning in him. A deep-rooted impulse tells you it would be an honour to lose yourself to the King of Dreams and Nightmares.

Your conclusion translates to the contraction of your calf muscles as you pull Morpheus tighter against you, deepening the physical connection to him as well as the emotional; choosing to submit fully to this somewhat scary situation - the tying together of your souls.

Pulling him closer, it's not without cost. The extra exertion, the deeper angle he can now reach, with all the pleasure it brings, quickly takes its toll. You are becoming weaker, his determined expression growing blurry, the edges of your vision field greying and closing in. You can't tell if you're about to climax or pass out.

Morpheus, observant and empathic, interlaces his fingers with yours and grips them tightly, clearly intent on keeping you here, not drifting off into the dimension of unconsciousness. Your returning hold is just as strong, perhaps a tad on the side of overtly vehement, but if it is then he doesn't seem to care. He just keeps railing into you, the warning signs of an oncoming orgasm beginning to daintily pulse through your walls.

A long-fingered hand reaches between your bodies to hover over your clit. With the last of your energy reserves, you arch up into his fingers, determined to reach your high, instinct telling you that it will somehow aid Morpheus in his endeavours.

He grunts sinfully in approval at your enthusiasm and uses the pad of his index finger to stimulate you, a familiar instruction issued as your soul jolts sharply, shockwaves rocking your bones.

"Let go."

The way he says the words, coupled with the movements of his hand and cock brings on the most intense orgasm you have ever experienced.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty seconds elapse where your muscles are clamping down, desiring to keep his still-moving length as deep inside as possible. You loudly say his name, pleasure devouring you whole as you look adoringly into Morpheus' indigo eyes, before you are devastated by a snapping sensation as he breaks your soul open.

You are splintered and for a measure of moments, the exposed edges of the shards threaten to turn your insides to ribbons. Your brace for lacerations is short-lived; his essence, like liquid lapis, pours in to bind the pieces of your soul. Melding with you on a metaphysical level. Waking you from the mortal life you had and greeting you with a new path.

While you have no basis for comparison, an errant thought occurs to you that what is transpiring between you and Morpheus is fulfilling something of unfathomable importance. Something that was borne far from this room, in both the measures of space and time. Primordial. Inexorable. This linking of your soul with his is the culmination of what the Fates have wanted for millennia.

And once your soul is content, your essence begins to reach out in return. Like tender shoots drawn towards solar light, your soul stretches past its boundary to embrace his.

It's the final trigger that allows Morpheus to find his own release. His mouth jumps in astonishment, eyes turning black, then silver, then blue; a broken groan echoing around the low-lit room as he buries his pulsating cock deep inside you and spills his seed into your cunt.

You keen from the warmth of it, and you swear the fast paced breaths he is taking sound like melodies carried on ocean breezes.

The stars above you have been joined by dancing swathes of green and purple - a depiction of the Aurora Borealis at its finest. It swells with each inhale that Morpheus takes, his state having a direct effect on the sky. The colours catch the high points of his face, glowing vibrantly on his cheekbones, nose bridge and cupid's bow.

You wonder if this is the most beautiful sight you will ever see. The perfect face of your ethereal soulmate, framed by celestial splendour, gazing at you with the same devotion that you are casting towards him. But then he smiles. A small, genuine smile that makes your heart soar despite its fatigue, and it's clear that there will never be anything that can compare.

Morpheus then lowers his head to your chest and presses his lips to your healed soul.

"You are complete," he declares.

-------------------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

Blinding: "Felt it in my fists, in my feet, in the hollows of my eyelids. Shaking through my skull, through my spine and down through my ribs. No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone. No more calling like a crow for a boy, for a body in the garden. No more dreaming like a girl so in love, so in love with the wrong world."

[playfully-sadistic]

(just dabbled back into temperature play, so I thought, I'd share some quick, short wisdom for the baby doms and baby subs)

Curious about wax play? Here's some nice little pointers, if you don't know where to start.

How to choose a candle that is suitable? First off, beeswax? Nuh-uh (for beginners). It burns hot enough to leave second degree burns if you don't know what you're doing. For starters, use natural (white), non-scented wax. It has a fairly low melting temperature - afterwards, feel free to explore with colored wax, if you're looking for aesthetic values.

What to do before the scene? Obviously, negotations... always. Make sure to evaluate your sub's pain limit beforehand (are they a big masochist or not?). Arguably The most important step: Test the impact of the hot wax on your own skin. That way, you can get a feeling for the pain (how it stings and how much it stings), and feel more confident and safe afflicting it onto your sub. For easy removal after playtime, make sure to prepare your sub's skin with either vaseline or baby oil - you'll thank me later, I promise. Adding onto that, use towels to avoid spillings.

What to do during the scene? Make sure to light your playtime candle approximately 10-15 minutes before you begin your scene. That way, a puddle of wax can melt - although, anticipation and tension are your two big best friends with wax play. For extra points, you can blindfold your sub and/or tie them up. That way, they can neither see your next move nor flinch away from the heated (hehe) impact of the wax. Keep in mind that the distance between candle and your sub's body determine the wax' temperature when it is dropped onto their skin. The higher you hold the candle, the less the impact will sting - the closer the candle is, the hotter the wax will remain; additionally to the heat radiating from the candle's flame itself (but let's not dive into that now). As with all impact play, start light. Build your sub's pain tolerance slowly, take your time, so the both of you can enjoy the, again, anticipation. For added stimulation (if you're feeling more confident), try using both hot wax and ice cubes on your sub's body, switching them up in between. A great time, Lace's guarantee :D But frankly, there's endless variations of adding wax play to your scenes.

What to do after the scene? Clean-up is very easy if you applied baby oil or vaseline before the scene - just take a towel and carefully wipe everything of. Make sure to apply soothing balms or lotions on the affected skin afterwards, disinfect them beforehand if they seem very irritated. Absolutely, ab-solute-ly, check in with your sub's condition the next day or two and look for serious burns.

That's it for the beginning. Stay safe, sane and consensual, and most importantly, enjoy yourselves :)

[transmutationisms]

…so can you expand on the psychological ramifications of stewy being in private equity? that has definitely been lost on me given that i barely understand what private equity is

ok this is an underrated funny aspect of the show imo, and also good insight into stewy and kendall. i'm trying to spare you a bunch of stupid business jargon but basically, maesbury capital (which stewy represents but sandy/sandi ultimately own) is a private equity fund, meaning it's a big pile of a bunch of rich people's money, and stewy's job is to take that money and invest in private companies. a PE fund can invest at a few different points: at the very beginning of a startup's life (venture or angel investing), at a point where the company is trying to grow or restructure (growth investing), or when a company is struggling financially, in which case the fund is usually planning to either dismantle it and sell it for scrap, restructure and go public, or sell it for cash to another company. PE firms like to present themselves as doing a lot of growth or venture investing, but in truth many/most are primarily engaging in this third category of investment strategies, because they're lucrative (and because many startups are stupid, and only good for generating investor payouts).

so, when kendall went and dismantled vaulter in season 2 because logan decided that selling most of it for scrap would be more profitable? that's basically a dramatisation of what stewy does routinely, except of course the exact financial instruments and strategies will differ because stewy represents a PE firm. like, if kendall's venture capitalist schemes tell us about his delusions of creating cool new products and services, stewy is sort of the opposite because his structural goal is usually to dismantle companies and liquidate them however is best for maesbury's backers. it's a total destruction of all use-value and a conversion of it into pure exchange-value in the form of capital (which goes into his pockets and maesbury's). stewy generates money by destroying utility, which is perverse if you think capitalism is supposed to create and sustain human life, but actually completely comprehensible if you understand that capitalism is an insatiable growth machine with inherently contradictory internal tendencies and no raison d'être beyond the endless accumulation of pure capital itself.

many viewers think stewy is insane because he is friends with kendall roy. this is true, but on a deeper level stewy is insane because his job is to participate in the inexorable tendency to more and more abstraction in the capitalist mode of production. it literally does not matter at all to someone like stewy whether people are fed or clothed or happy, or have any of their needs met. the point is solely to create money, to turn all social forms and values into numbers on a balance sheet. this is why, when kendall tries to threaten him on axos at the end of season 2, stewy is able to casually tell him that "it doesn't matter; it doesn't mean anything." he and sandy are convincing shareholders that their offer will be able to make them more money, "and that's all that this is." stewy speaks the language of business differently than logan, because stewy doesn't care about dick-swinging competitions or demonstrating dominance in logan's cringey old catholic military way. which makes stewy more rational in certain ways, but also more insane, in that he operates in a way totally detached from this type of social value system and solely motivated by cold hard numbers.

the irony is that, whilst being detached and disembodied in his business practices, stewy is also better than the roys at appreciating the material fruits of wealth. he eats; he dresses well; he enjoys the "several houses" he owns. kendall is always trying to come up with some grand moral bullshit masculinity reason that what he's doing is noble or whatever, and he's alienated from his body and afflicted with severe catholic martyr disease. stewy just bypasses all that shit, measures his success by his payouts, and enjoys wealth because he sees it as an end in itself and not a means to logan roy's respect.

this is also why kendall's line in 'living+' about "it's enough to make you lose your faith in capitalism" is so funny. kendall can't just accept that business is a bunch of meaningless bullshit confidence games played by coked-up assholes who like to win; he always has to try to convince himself he's making cool new tech shit, or saving the world from the spectre of death itself or some shit. it's like, insane that he made it to literally 40 years old, growing up in a media conglomerate of all things, and still thinks that what he's doing requires actual skill or creates actual social value—but of course, part of the reason he still thinks this is because he deified logan and was therefore incapable of ever seeing logan or waystar for what they really were. stewy would never say that line because he can't be disillusioned this way on account of he already knows the whole thing is bullshit. it's just that to him it doesn't matter, because being bullshit does not preclude it from paying well.

[heliads]

Okay so here come the Enola Holmes requests; hear me out, Tewksbury best friends to lovers where the reader makes things out of paper and tries to teach Tewksbury how to make paper flowers when he asks. He SUCKS at it, but he's head over heels for her and so he spends hours alone practicing and he makes her this cute bouquet out of newspaper and maybe it has like a little love confession note or something in it idk idk but my brain is in overdrive rn

YES this idea is literally the cutest thing ever to me, hope i did it justice!

masterlist

Tewkesbury doesn’t know that he’s lost until he sees her. It’s been too long since he’s been able to get away like this, trade off the drama of the House of Lords and every rule he’s expected to follow for the actual thrills of life. It may be his destiny to grow so deeply entrenched in politics that he stops seeing the difference between his working life and the rest of his waking one, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Needless to say, the second he was able to skive off another day spent around the members of Parliament, Tewkesbury did so with a flourish. He could think of nothing better than tracking down his best friend and spending the rest of the weekend annoying her without pause, but now that he’s actually here, he finds himself coming up short. It was supposed to be nothing out of the ordinary, these couple of days away, but yet when Tewkesbury stares at the girl who’s been like a sister all of these years, he suddenly wishes that connection would disappear in his head forever.

The problem is that the girl who looks up at him with a smile when she sees him looks different somehow, as if spending a mere month or two out of her company has been enough to completely rewrite Tewkesbury’s entire mental picture of her. Do her eyes always shine like that when she sees him, or is that new? Has he always wanted to smile like mad whenever they’re together, or is that the lingering affection of some new affliction Tewkesbury doesn’t think he could name if he tried?

It shakes him to the core, this sudden feeling. One moment, he’s rounding the corner to meet up with a friend, just that, and then he’s looking at this girl and all he can think about is that he never wants to leave her side again. Politics can go to hell without him. Tewkesbury only has an excuse to leave the government buildings for this weekend, but he wishes it could be forever.

He doesn’t have all of eternity to ponder this, though. Y/N L/N races up to him when their eyes meet, and then he’s standing before her, breathless and wondering how on earth he is supposed to go about as if nothing has changed when he’s pretty sure that every possible thing has.

Y/N, however, seems utterly devoid of the miraculous transformation currently wreaking havoc in between Tewkesbury’s ribs. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she beams, “I was beginning to think that you’d gone ahead and moved into the Palace of Westminster forever. I haven’t seen you in years.”

Tewkesbury finds it within himself to scoff at this blatant lie. “That’s absurd. I saw you not seven weeks ago.”

Y/N arches a disbelieving brow. “Yes, seven weeks ago. That’s a perfectly ordinary time to go without visiting your best friend even once, you traitor.”

Tewkesbury clasps a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “Cruel. I have never once been a traitor to you.”

He doesn’t know that he could, now. He can’t imagine a world in which he is not following her around, either in endless loops around the London streets or in constant cycles of daydreams in which Tewkesbury is able to put an actual name to the emotions currently driving him mad.

Y/N grins. “I’m glad to hear it. I was worried for a second there, you know.”

“No you weren’t,” Tewkesbury laughs.

“Perhaps not,” Y/N says with an elaborate shrug, “but I like to keep you on your toes. It makes for a more dramatic weekend if we’re both slinging accusations left and right.”

“Not as fun, though,” he argues.

Y/N concedes this point through a solemn nod. “No, not as fun. I’ve never had to worry about fun with you, though.”

She looks up at him with a smile, and Tewkesbury thinks that his heart might explode out of his chest. He wants to say something, needs to say something, but all he can manage is–

“You know what would be fun? If you showed me how to make those paper crafts. I know you can do it, I’ve seen you make tons of stuff from paper before. It’s really cool, and I missed seeing you do it. I missed–”

He cuts off the hopeless flood of words before he can say something incriminating like that he missed her, but Tewkesbury gets the feeling that he’s already said too much. Also too little at the same time; Y/N promises him that they’ll get to make the paper shapes as requested, but he swears her face drops a little, like she could sense that there was something Tewkesbury was trying to say but just couldn’t manage. He wants to try again, but the words choke up his throat and he can’t get out a single syllable.

Instead, he contents himself with watching Y/N as they walk, how the sun dapples her skin with endless patterns of gold. He watches as they leave the streets as well, once they head for Y/N’s house down the block. Tewkesbury pushes the door open; it’s always been more of his home than any other corner or annex of his family place. This is where he feels at peace, and although he’s always thought that was just what came with finding a friend like Y/N, he’s starting to think that it could be more. That maybe they could be more.

It is a false hope, however, and one that will only serve to make him bleed, to rob the happiness from his chest whenever Tewkesbury looks over and sees Y/N. They are friends, compatriots, brethren in a war that all young children grown old must face at some point. Never have they been closer, and never has he wished that they could be closer still.

He’s caught staring as they head up the stairs, and he looks away hastily although the damage is done. Y/N laughs at the blush forming on his cheeks. Although Tewkesbury reacts by habit and shoves her with an outstretched, playful arm, he can’t seem to stop his hand from lingering there on her shoulder, fingers reaching as if to pluck some sort of love out of her through willpower alone.

He finds it not, though, and is forced to stay satisfied with smiling to himself and wondering if the rest of his life will be like this, just watching and hoping for a happy ending that may never come his way. Tewkesbury has always wanted something he could never have:  a world outside of family rules, a universe that did not want him controlled, and now, worst of all, a love that should have stayed platonic. It is the cut that aches the most.

The moment is good, though. Y/N has always had this most peculiar skill when it comes to paper crafts, and Tewkesbury regards her now through lowered eyes. Her hands flit around the cut shapes, slicing off delicate corners and creasing folds until a simple note becomes a prancing pony, a soaring bird about to take flight around the room.

Tewkesbury shakes his head after she produces yet another paper marvel. “I don’t know how you do it,” he protests, “Show me, can’t you? Let’s make a flower or something.”

“Flowers have always been your favorite, haven’t they?” Y/N comments. She does as requested, although what are lovely narcissi and tulips in her hands turn into sadly wilted clumps of paper in his.

Tewkesbury just can’t figure out how she does it. Even after that particular day ends, he finds himself sitting in his room surrounded by heaps of useless folds, trying and failing to emulate her easy way with the paper crafts. One would think that Tewkesbury, with his lifetime of knowledge about every facet of flora there is to know, would be able to reproduce his beloved plants in paper form, but here you would be surprised.

Tewkesbury labors for hours, days even, but his progress is slow and totally frustrating. Y/N catches him at it a few times and laughs at him. The sound, so sharp it stings, carves a smile on Tewkesbury’s face even when he’s almost been driven to the point of madness by the infuriatingly unrealistic paper flowers.

He insists that Y/N show him a few more times, of course, but Tewkesbury can’t seem to pick up a single thing. Maybe that’s because he’s not really hearing but looking at his professor. The sunlight clings to her like a child, playing at her hair in ways that only golden beams can get away with in proper society. Despite Y/N’s protests that he really is getting better, Tewkesbury only thinks he’s getting better at one thing and one thing alone:  falling harder for her.

Soon enough, he finds that he cannot go a day, cannot even draw a breath, without thinking about how much he loves Y/N. His room is dizzy and chaotic, the paper flowers piling up in the corners and spilling out of waste paper baskets. Tewkesbury’s hands are nicked by all the paper cuts he’s given himself by accident, and he finds his fingers keep twitching by his sides to run through the familiar folds and patterns as he goes by his days.

At some point, Tewkesbury looks up and realizes that he’s done it, mastered the things. They’re nothing compared to Y/N’s magic with them, of course, but they do the trick for now. An idea comes to him, and Tewkesbury carefully makes one pristine paper flower after another, all the types he knows by heart and some he has to consult in his books, too, just to get the right varieties.

Y/N is surprised when he presents them to her at first, this newsprint bouquet. Her eyes are enchanted and rove up and down the folded petals, the cut stems.

“You did all of this?” She asks, voice tinged with excitement.

Tewkesbury laughs. “You don’t have to seem so surprised. I was bound to get it at some point, you know.”

Y/N flashes him a grin in between her admirations of the paper flowers. “I never doubted you for a second, I swear it.”

He believes her, he always has. How is it that Tewkesbury can see straight through politicians and their lies, but yet find himself stumbling over Y/N’s every word? Every ounce of critical thought leaves his head in a blessed whirlpool the second she smiles at him. It is a problem that Tewkesbury refuses to solve.

A voice calls from behind him; Tewkesbury wasn’t able to stay for long today, only long enough to press the paper bouquet into Y/N’s hands and make her swear to look at it before he’s dashing back to the House of Lords again for the day’s work.

He doesn’t have to stay to make sure she’ll investigate, nor to discover what she finds. Soon enough, Y/N will be glancing over the paper creases and realize that not all of the flowers are made of newsprint. Some are made of notes, notes to her, notes that are at last able to explain all that Tewkesbury couldn’t put into words if he tried.

It’s a story about how a boy fell in love with a girl, how Tewkesbury is so lost on Y/N that he can’t think straight. Unable to help himself, he’s cataloged the flowers he’s made for her; camellias for longing, jasmine for sweet love, goldenrod so he’ll have luck in this, begonias so that even if she doesn’t feel the same way, he can at least thank her for all of the memories they made in the past years.

It might be the bravest thing he’s ever done. In truth, when Tewkesbury steps out of the reaches of Parliament for the day, he doesn’t know what to expect. In all his endless plotting and scheming about how to do this, he was never able to accurately sum up how Y/N might respond.

In the end, she surprises him. Tewkesbury enters the streets of London and there she is, waiting for him with a smile on her face unlike anything he’s ever seen before. Tewkesbury has prided himself on being able to place each one of her smiles in his memory, rank them on how happy she truly is, and this one blows all of the others away.

He walks to her, and they meet in the middle somewhere, both bursting with hopes finally answered.

“I love you too,” she says, “more than anything. More than you love me, I think.”

“Doubtful,” Tewkesbury replies, “I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to love more than I love you.”

She laughs. “I look forward to proving you wrong on that point.”

He looks forward to it, too. There are few things in life that can be described as going perfectly, but this, this is it. This is perfection itself, him and her and the glorious world stretching out around them. Nothing could be better.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

enola holmes tag list: empty for now!

[leggerefiore]

I understand if this is too triggering so you don’t want to touch it, but I have a somewhat cathartic request. Did any of the kids take longer to conceive than their parents hoped/planned? If so, how did they deal with the feelings that came with it?

cw: mentions of pregnancy and infertility, struggles conceiving

characters: Ingo, Volo

▲Ingo▼

● Admittedly, Ingo's son was not an instant success in coming to be. He truly held many ideals. Far too many. He would admit that he was horribly concerned about various things when many attempts went by without bearing fruit, so to speak. Was there something wrong with him? Infertility hung in the back of his mind, but he was far too terrified to even say the word until he absolutely had to. In that case, he knew adoption was an option, yet he desperately wished to experience every step of the way with his partner. He was careful in tracking various things and eating foods and vitamins meant to aid in the act of conception. His breaks at work were spent reading articles after articles related to conception. Truly, he definitely seems like he is going mad.

● His feelings are both sad and determined. He realises quickly that his expectations for it to be simple and easy were not something that anyone should hold. Hurt eats at his heart, which would only be worsened if the situation also saddens his partner. It stings to know that both of them shared these strong feelings. Yet, his nature as a responsible person refuses to let him ruminate on these sorts of things. As stated before, he turns in his energy into looking for solutions and aids in changing this. It was not the end of the world should there be failure to conceive. There were various options to explore aside from the most common way – neither of you were failures or lesser people for this. It was simply a commonality in the world that no one really openly discussed.

● Though, he is in literal tears when his partner shows him a positive pregnancy test. All his hard work… He squeezes them into a tight hug and shouts a loud “bravo.” His joy in unable to be held back. He will quite literally do anything for his partner now. (Not that he would not have before.)

📜Volo💫

⭐️ To Volo's endless frustration and blaming of being in Arceus's ire and shadow, his child seemingly is denied to him. Now, seeing as the time period is the 1800s, Volo does not exactly have the extensive knowledge of fertility that someone of the modern era could obtain, so he absolutely assumes that Arceus denies him this simple wish. To him, a child is a necessity. His bloodline is deeply important to him – He refuses to allow the ancient Sinnoh people to end with him and Cogita. Yet, a certain deity seems keen to make that a reality despite his endless efforts in trying to change that. He ends up consulting Cogita to find answers about what he should do – There was little else who he could turn, and he trusted her most of all in this world.

⭐️ Mostly, he feels spite and angry. Volo's cruel side really gets fully exposed when it comes to anything he is desperate about, and this is, unfortunately, something that he was desperate for. He berates himself while pondering truly if there is something wrong with him to bring about this situation. Then, he will turn towards his partner and wonder if it is them before realising that Arceus's chosen likely would not be stricken with such an affliction. He turns fully into any action or belief or myth that may absolve this situation. Pleading to Landorus and Enamorus for some kind of blessing – Perhaps even daring to scream for Arceus to do something. Honestly, he is not exactly the most stable and capable of handling this. His partner will have to help comfort him while getting little in return for their own feelings about this.

⭐️ But, in the end, whatever deity had heard his plea gave a reply in the form of an obvious swelling of his partner. All his desperation and heartache are finally vanquished. His attention then shifts in maintaining this precocious thing – food, comfort, and safety being deeply ingrained in his mind. He is ready to do anything to make sure this happens – Truly anything.

[incomingalbatross]

So Your Fave is OOC: A Brief Guide to the Condition

(Note: this list is intended for cases of OOC Protagonists specifically. Please contact the publishers at Faves Diagnosis Ltd. for information on other character types.)

Infantilization Also known as woobification in the classic manuals, this variety has plagued faves for decades, and is particularly insidious among intellectuals, younger protagonists (relative to the rest of the cast), and those perceived as having repressed inner lives. Do you know your fave as a stubborn, determined character with a temper and a brain and some personality flaws? Have all of those traits disappeared in favor of endless tears, martyr syndrome, and a general air of helpless pureness and fragility? We may be looking at infantilization.

Villains are Cool A condition particularly widespread in faves native to moral, plot-heavy, or thematically-complex stories. If your fave is a person deeply dedicated to the heroic side in their canon, but you suddenly find them rejecting that side outright as inherently corrupt and instead celebrating the antiheroes or even villains as misunderstood victims, this may be the diagnosis you've been looking for. May coexist with Author's Mouthpiece (see below), but this is a difficult and risky diagnosis.

Author's Mouthpiece There is ongoing debate in the diagnostic community as to whether this should be defined as a single condition, though tending to be comorbid with other varieties, or whether it should be established as an umbrella category which encompasses several more specific conditions. In this pamphlet, we define it by itself first, before describing related conditions. This condition directly replaces your fave's opinions and beliefs with those of their current writer's, with varying but often severe results.

Secretly Judging You This afflicts faves with the secret power, unrevealed in canon, of having been right about everything all along—and bitter about it. Likely to appear in bashfic and fics labeled "fix-its." Is your fave suddenly condemning people, concepts, or ideals to which they are canonically loyal? Are they taking pains to explain why every flawed or questionable action they took in canon was actually correct, while revealing their scorn and contempt for the flaws of their friends (or even claiming they never really were friends)? They may have been afflicted with this unpleasant condition, often considered a variant of, or comorbid with, Author's Mouthpiece.

Has Read the Canon A variety particularly widespread in fix-its and AUs, which gifts the protagonist with a magical ability to know exactly what the right decisions are at any point in their canon, even when they have no in-universe basis for their choices. Another symptom includes mentioning canon plot points as hypotheticals and then sneering at them as being absurd. It cannot be proved that these protagonists were given a summary of their original canon before beginning to live out their AU, but evidence strongly suggests that. Also considered an offshoot of Author's Mouthpiece, although there is some debate as to just how far the overlap goes.

Snarky McQuip An attitude change, sometimes manifesting as general scorn for the other characters and/or story (see also: Secretly Judging You), and sometimes as an air of flippancy and emotional distance from the events of their own canon. Has been identified as a symptom of Has Read the Canon, with which it often coincides, but the argument that it is a tonal manifestation of Author's Mouthpiece (reflecting the author's emotional distance) has been found more convincing in recent years. May also be an outside contagion from the MCU and related environments, mutated bathos from Whedon canons, or the proliferation of dissatisfied fan cultures.

They Would not Have the Emotional Intelligence to Say That A more superficial change than many listed here. In which a characters' feelings and beliefs may remain unchanged, but they suddenly acquire the ability to state them in direct and impersonal language. If their mental blocks have disappeared, they suddenly have the vocabulary of a therapy book, and all personal idiosyncrasies have been flattened out of their approach to communication, you may be looking at this condition. Again, it is less deep-seated than most! However, we understand it can still be deeply disconcerting to encounter in your fave unexpectedly.

[venussaidso]

Rahu Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 2 of) 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟕

warning ⚠️: suicide, death, movie spoilers!

All the Rahu nakshatras are ruled by deities related to the weather. Rudra (Ardra), being god of roaring storms. Vayu (Swati), being god of wind. Varuna (Shatabhisha), being god of the seas & sky. This validating the volatile nature of these nakshatras, explaining why they get a reputation of being unstable and emotional in tropical astrology being cast as water signs.

The story of Vayu's son being struck by Indra's weapon and Vayu wishing to cause harm to all his subjects shows the intensity of Swati. Lord Vayu lives inside all creatures. So when his son was severely injured, his rage grew as no one batted an eye, his fury making all worlds start to feel like hell. Creating unhappiness in all lives. Even the gods were miserable, constantly hoping for some sliver of contentment back. Swati is where desire is born from a state of misery and lack. Vayu's rage translated in everybody's affliction. Their punishment being in a cycle of desiring and suffering. Being that Rahu is constantly dissatisfied, chasing things he might never attain, or attaining desired things which never fulfill the heart, we see how it's perfectly expressed with Vayu through Swati. And Vayu himself, representing the rage of injustice in the world and causing obstruction through Swati as I briefly touched on in the first post.

About justice and morality, which I see in the other nakshatras. In relation to Rudra's story: Lord Brahma, the Creator of all creations, was harassing his own daughter (who he created directly from his semen), Saraswati, continuously pushing his sexual advances on her even as she ran away. He sprouted five heads in search for her when she disappeared from his sight. And immediately, Lord Rudra cut off the root of his heads. He condemned him for his incestuous actions and decided that there will be no proper way for anyone to worship him as he is unholy. Brahma was ostracized. Ever since that incident, Brahma has been reciting the four Vedas as a way to repent. Rudra being righteous in the story, cutting what is so clearly wrong and sinful. From that, we can see how this manifests through Ardra as I touched on in the first post.

Then Lord Varuna, ruling over Shatabhisha, is the guardian of moral law. He punishes sinners by binding them with his famous noose which is in the form of a snake. His name can be derived from the Sanskrit root which means 'to surround' or 'to bind'. This referencing the rivers and ocean surrounding the world which are ruled by him and him binding sinners in justice. Varuna plays a crucial role in framing your principles, values and beliefs & religiously operating from them.

Despite these deities literally being deities and natives with these nakshatras just being human, we can still see how there can be righteousness expressed through them in many ways. And fighting/advocating for what's right in a sinful society. A lot of advocates I found have other recurring nakshatras such as Uttara/Purva Ashada, Uttara/Purva Bhadrapada, Revati, Hasta, and Ketu nakshatras. And among the list are also Rahu nakshatras or Rahu influence.

Some examples above of important activist figures who fought societal inequities and inhuman laws in history with Rahu nakshatra/prominent Rahu influence.

Endless desire being birthed from dissatisfaction is a theme also found in Ardra. And that is because of Rudra. Rudra was created from between Brahma's eyebrows as a result of his anger which was triggered by his ignorant passion. The Bhagavad-gītā scriptures describe the essence of Rudra in such a way: Krodha (fury/rage) is the product of kāma (desire/lust), which is the result of ignorant and egocentric passion. It is when the desiring is unsatisfied that rage is born. This causes one to become enslaved by their senses, the material world, and their desires. Such themes manifest through Ardra, which forms a powerful axis with Mula. Mula which kills all desire and ego as it recognizes it as the root of all evil. Mula, who is ruled by the deity Nirrti, who is also known as the ferocious Goddess Kali - slayer of men! Kali grants liberation by removing the illusion of the ego. Emphasizing that we are the eternal I AM and not the body. Goddess Kali is a manifestation of Rudra/Shiva. Though, they oppose one another. Both being ferocious, they are still at two opposite ends of the spectrum. Rudra's rage being driven by desire and the ignorant ego, Kali's rage destroying desire and ego. The two deities ruling the two nakshatras which are at opposite axis of each other, being perfectly paired with the representative shadow planets Rahu and Ketu, which is so fitting.

The most perfect media story that represent these respective energies is the Turkish drama called Aşk-ı Memnu. In which the female lead is played by a Mula Moon and the male lead is played by an Ardra Moon (with a Swati Sun). And the Latin telenovela version of it, Pasión Prohibida, in which the female lead is also played by Mula Moon and the male lead is played by an Ardra Moon again!

The male character in this forbidden love story starts to lust after his uncle's newly wife and eventually she ends up desiring him as well. They both give into their desire and start to have a secret affair which leads to them falling for each other. Their sinful/lustful relationship leads them to misery. The male character, being Ardra, ends up feeling wrongful and rejects her when she proposes them to run away together. She even plans on divorcing his uncle in order to be with him, but now he's choosing to run on a false/illusory moral compass "doing the right thing" (yet he's still hiding the truth from his uncle). Her, being Mula, acknowledges they're in love and is willing to expose everything for them to be together (Ketu being unrealistic and irrational). She realizes her attempts at convincing him are futile, and she ends up killing herself on the day of his wedding to another woman and their affair gets exposed to everyone. She did this knowing it will bring him his very own death. He dies too, figuratively. On the finale, both soap operas show how he is left with absolutely nothing in the world. This being the works of Kali through Mula, killing him and draining him of everything. Because it all started with the Ardra character, he initiated the affair and pushed his lustful advances on her. Rudra, desiring and lusting, only creating his own downfall. So perfectly shown in these soap operas.

Now, Rudra can be the destroyer of desires as well. As he creates misery, he can destroy it. He is the Destroyer, and he acts as a healer. Rudra literally means "one who destroys all problems from their roots", which emphasizes the power of self-liberation. Emphasizing the self-power Rudra holds! And just like Vayu was the bringer of unhappiness, he is also the ones who breathes life and happiness into all living things as well. This shows the dualistic nature in Swati and Ardra, and the power these nakshatras holds.

There seems to be an understanding in self-creation and manifestation in all three of the nakshatras. Vayu is the breather of life and happiness, but also the bringer of misery and death. Rudra is the creator and destroyer of illusions. Varuna being the king of the universe. It's very interesting to find manifestation themes in films that have some Rahu and Rahu nakshatras roles playing around them. Such as the film 13 Going On 30.

13-year-old Jenna, played by Christa B. Allen who has Moon conjunct Rahu, wishes on her birthday to be a successful, beautiful, charismatic 30-year-old version of herself.

And her wish comes true as she wakes up as her desired version, played by Ardra Ascendent Jennifer Garner.

And the film 16 Wishes directed by Swati Sun, Peter DeLuise. A teenage girl has created a list of things she wishes to happen on her 16th birthday and everything manifests exactly the way she wanted.

Both stories show the dissatisfaction experienced by the main characters with their manifested desires, which perfectly shows the nature of Rahu. After getting everything they wished for, they still want to go back to the way things used to be before.

Interestingly, the theme of 'trapped in a movie' is something that I found related with Rahu influence. For example, the film The Final Girls is about a young girl, who just lost her mom, getting teleported into a movie starring her mother. The actress playing the young girl is Taissa Farmiga, who has her Moon Rashi Lord in Swati and her Atmakaraka planet in Shatabhisha. And the film is made by Todd Strauss-Schulson who is an Ardra Sun and Swati Moon.

Also, The Truman Show, starring Swati ASC Jim Carrey, who plays a insurance salesman who is oblivious to the fact that his entire life is a TV show watched by the entire world, that everybody around him is an actor — everything around him is a fake simulation.

Then, there these two kdramas, titled "W" and "Extraordinary You". In W, a young woman teleports into a famous web comicbook which was written by her father and meets the main character whom she falls in love with, later realizing that she was the one who created him from a childhood drawing (which her father took inspiration from). He comes to the truth of his nature as a 2D-character and decides to take control of his own destiny from the writer. He is played by Lee Jong-Suk, who is a Shatabhisha Moon. And his love interest who indirectly created him is played by Han Hyo-Joo who is a Shatabhisha Sun.

Then, in Extraordinary You, a high school student realizes on her own that her reality is not real. And she then discovers that she is not only in a comicbook, but she is a background character in which her doomed destiny is decided by the writer. She attempts to change that, wanting to fulfill her desires (Rahu) and dreams of love. She is played by Kim Hye-yoon, who is a Swati Moon. And another character who comes to the realization of the unreality of things (and that he never had a choice in his identity) is played by Lee Jae-wook, who is also a Swati Moon.

Rahu is very much material-world-based, as everything that drives it is purely based on ego and all things of the five senses. It's outwardly chasing, engaging with the world purely on changing it, and attaining desires. Rahu represents the modern-world. Hustle culture, hook-up culture, productivity, transactional relationships, to-do lists, politics, activism etc. All these things that are a part of the human ego's world. It feels real because it's all happening to your ego. But Ketu kills the ego, thus killing the illusions (the world surrounding the ego), and Rahu drives the ego, thus upholding the illusion around it. I mention this very obvious observation as a way to connect all the mentioned films above.

Although it'd be very fitting for Ketu to be the one who awakens you first from the illusions, it is actually Rahu. The films 13 Going On 30 and 16 Wishes showcasing one's attainment of their desires being very unfulfilling and even wanting things to go back to normal - thus appreciating the things you took for granted. It could even go so far as to deciding to walk a spiritual path from all the resulted emptiness from material things. Then that's where Ketu 'welcomes' you.

The very unreality of the world we live in is incredibly Rahuvian, especially the discovery that you were 'never really human' but merely a character. This theme, from a Ketu perspective, suggests that you are Consciousness, and you fooled yourself into believing you were a mere human because of how the world (Rahu) appeared to be so real to your human mind. So "you got lost in the sauce". And the identity you think you are is as unreal as the world, it's all an illusion. Ketu challenges, "If not the body, if not the thoughts, if not the story you've been told, if not the emotions, who am I?" Rahu cannot answer. Rahu can only showcase the unreality of things, such as the Rahu-influenced kdramas I mentioned above; "W" and "Extraordinary You". It is Rahu that causes illusions, and waits for you to break the illusions.

One theme I found interesting and noteworthy which has Rahu/Ketu influence is body swapping. Popular films I found carrying this concept of people's 'souls' switching bodies have an underlying message of understanding someone else by literally walking in their shoes. And also valuing the life you had before, being grateful for what you took for granted, and having a better understanding of other people. The understanding that no one's life, no matter how flashy and stunning it seems, is really perfect or worthy to put on a pedestal. This understanding being mostly showcased in films such as 'The Change-Up' and 'Freaky Friday'.

In Change-Up, two best friends have polarizing lifestyles. One is a busy lawyer who is a responsible father and husband. And the other is an actor who is still a free, bachelor playboy. Both desire each other's lives and a body swap happens, which has them realizing how challenging it is to be each other. Now they want to revert back to their original lives, now valuing what they took for granted. It stars Ryan Reynolds, Swati Moon, and Jason Bateman who has Mars in Swati. In Freaky Friday, a mother and daughter who don't understand each other at all end up body swapping and they learn things they never knew from experiencing each other's lives, which heals their relationship. The film stars Lindsey Lohan who is an Ardra Sun and Jamie Lee Curtis who is Mula ASC.

Then the two films you see on the left are about two pretty teenage girls swapping bodies with unattractive looking, greasy criminals (one a robber, another a murderer). Comedies showing how ludicrous it is for greasy looking, middle-aged, white men to have the soul of a teenage girl, though the movies do show the beautiful bond between friends who can recognize each other even if they were in another body. This likely playing into 7th house and 11th house themes as Hot Chick stars Swati/Libra natives, Rob Schneider & Rachel McAdams. And Freaky starring Shatabhisha/Aquarius natives, Vince Vaughen and Kathryn Newton. (As shown in the visual)

Here are more examples of body swapping movies/tv shows shown above: "Alchemy of Souls (season one)", "Mr Queen", "It's A Boy Girl Thing", "Dating The Enemy", "Secret Garden".

Thank you so much for ending here! Now, onto preparing the next post like this about ketu 🫠 byeeeee.

[kiame-sama]

Paved With Good Intentions- ((Yandere!Anderson v Yandere!Alucard) x Fem!Reader)

Warnings; yandere, yandere vs yandere, consistent 'good v evil' juxtaposition, virgin reader, slight unhinged behavior, both Alucard and Anderson are monsters in some way obsessing over the equivalent of a pet human, objectification, vampires (it's Hellsing, there will be vampires), religious soldiers, blasphemy, angels, devils, blood, mention of violence,

~~~~~~~~

The road to eternal suffering is paved with good intentions.

It was good intentions that got you into the mess you were currently facing, and it was those good intentions that captured the attention of monsters. Most people were concerned only with their own benefit and that was where you differed from all of them.

You wanted to help people regardless of if they were good people or not, doing what you could to lend a hand to those that needed it. There were what seemed to be endless empty churches in the country side because so many people decided to move into the cities instead. It was in one of these abandoned churches that you set up a small hospital and grew various herbs to help the people that came to you.

Medicines were becoming more expensive and people could not afford to be treated with more modern methods. You didn't charge any money to those who came to you for help, nor did you demand they be repentant followers of God. With all the new branches of the church and the demand of being a certain religion to receive help, you decided to just help without that demand.

Of course, since you had moved into a church there was no small amount of visitors regarding the church, most of whom you sent on their way. From pastors to wandering priests looking for a place to preach their sermon, countless people showed up at your door looking to spread their 'doctrine' to whoever would listen. Regardless of how far out from London you were, it seems anyone trying to help drew endless attention.

Letters demanding you declare some kind of loyalty to one branch of Christianity or another were shredded and burned. People who were not seeking aid but seeking followers were sent away with more than an angry word or two. Anyone trying to cause problems or preach loudly about their ideals were kicked out and chased off by you. Even with the countless people causing problems, more showed up for help of some kind.

That was how you first encountered the two monsters that would stalk your waking world and nightmares.

~~~~~~~~

It wasn't anything new for subsects of churches to crop up around London, but one particular church stood out among others. Apparently people went to the church seeking healing of their afflictions and would leave speaking about an angel that took care of them. Some even claimed it was miraculous healing from God, which drew more than a few raised eyebrows.

After countless letters sent and no response given, members of Hellsing and Iscariot decided to drop in for a visit. Of course, neither of them planned in accordance with one another- the two factions hated each other- but by whatever play of fate, they wound up visiting at the same time. Naturally the two monsters Alucard and Anderson were eager to continue their fight and little was going to stop them from going at it.

With weapons drawn and teeth bared, the monsters prepared to tear into one another gleefully. At least, the planned to until a decidedly female voice broke through their concentration with unusual clarity.

"Stop!"

It was atypical that either monsters would be called off their quarry so easily, but something about the voice snapped through their minds and drew their eyes to the source of the sound. Standing at the large double doors of the old church was a woman who glared with a fiery fury at the pair that still had yet to lower their weapons. The onlookers were surprised to see this young woman march out and into the moonlight toward the pair of beasts. Where most only saw this (h/c) woman with smooth (c/s) flesh walking in a pure white dress, the monsters saw something else entirely.

Perhaps it was the fact that none of them were exactly human, or perhaps it was because they were such monsters, but they saw a startling truth. Beneath the moonlight they saw the halo cast above the head of the woman, large ruffled wings partially open and catching the light that filtered down in a dazzling display. Light lazily faded in and out of existence like fireflies blinking in the night as it danced around the woman.

"Enough! I would have gladly welcomed you all had you not begun a fight immediately in front of my home! Put your weapons down immediately."

The pair were at a loss for words as they stared with unblinking eyes at the frustrated woman that chastised them. Weapons were slowly lowered as either monster took the being standing before them into consideration.

Alucard, the monster vampire, was shocked. He was not used to seeing anything close to the depiction of an angel among humans. As far as he had been concerned, there was no such thing as an angel outside of the various holy scriptures. Yet it seemed an angel stood before him in all their glory, the scent of the warm blood flowing within their veins calling to the beast inside with a low and seductive croon.

Anderson, the holy abomination, was humbled. He knew angels existed among men and he even thought he had caught a glimpse of one before, but nothing like this. Before him stood one of God's heavenly warriors sent down to perform blessings on His behalf. It humbled and invigorated Anderson to stand before one of the divine soldiers after years of preaching to the masses.

The group on both sides were fascinated to see the pair of beasts react so oddly and out of their typical character. On one side of the divide, a young blonde spoke up, her blue eyes filled with confusion as she pointed a single finger at the woman.

"Why does she have wings?"

"Wait," Integra turned to Seras, "what?"

"That woman, she's got wings."

This made the onlookers glance back only to see the same that they saw before, a woman with unshakable resolve in a flowing white dress. It was enough of an oddity that they resolved to speak on it once out of earshot of the young woman who seemed none the wiser.

"Forgive them," the priest Anderson had come with spoke first, walking forward to address the woman, "it seems they have forgotten their manners. We are here-"

"I don't care why you are here unless you are seeking healing. I will not have my patients be ridiculed or judged for any reason or by anyone."

"My good lady, we are not here to judge. Just to know what branch of the church you operate under-"

"None of them. This church was abandoned by your people long ago and I have turned it into my hospital where anyone and everyone can seek medical aid regardless of what brand of poison they believe in on Sundays. If you are here to preach, you can leave now and not come back. If you are here for medical attention, you may come inside only if you leave this violent nonsense at the door."

With that, you turned on one heel and confidently walked back to the church, not even glancing behind you to see if the group was following. Where most saw your retreating back, the beasts saw your illustrious feathers ruffled by the wind as the wings settled down securely on your back.

~~~~~~~~

"You found a what?"

The shocked voice broke the silence that had hung over the group of clergy members who sat at attention. The pope and all living cardinals were present among the ranks but even they were stunned to hear the report from their holy monstrosity.

"A tried and true angel. My eyes can't be deceived as easily as most. Even that abhorrent Hellsing Vampire saw her for what she truly is. She doesn't seem aware of her divinity which leads me to believe she was sent to live among us humans as a human, but she is an angel regardless."

This caused a hushed murmur to escape over the group as the men present tried to come to terms with several things. Naturally, hearing an angel walked on the Earth among men bolstered their faith and encouraged the idea that God watched over them. Beyond the angelic being, the idea that a No-Life King was aware of such a holy creature was certainly a cause for concern.

"So enemies outside of the church know one of heaven's blessed has appeared. We need to keep this holy servant out of the hands of those heretics!"

There were several shouts of agreement from the group, the members of the clergy keen to keep such a divine gift from falling into the hands of heretics. An angel was a member of the heavenly order and should be protected at all costs regardless of who may die as a result. Any member of the church would happily give their life to protect one of the divine soldiers from the filth of the world. It was during this murmuring and light bouts of conversation that Father Anderson chose to speak.

"I believe I know how."

"How?"

"She is clearly a very devoted woman who tends to the infirm, but she is loyal beyond human standards. Were she to find herself wed to a suitor, she would no doubt be a loyal wife."

This caused an immense outbreak of whispers and questions to come from the group. It made sense, of course, to have the angel wed to one of the church's most loyal members, but there were still countless questions among them. All of these questions were murmured and whispered among the group, yet Anderson stood silently where he had been since the start of the congregation taking place.

"What holy soldier could possibly be worthy of such a task?"

"Could one among us ever hope to claim a lady of God?"

"What a blessing to see every side of such a beautiful divine being!"

It was then the Pope spoke, standing up and demanding the attention of those in the room. An immediate silence fell over the group as they all looked to the holiest among them for guidence.

"Enough! The answer is clear, as a loyal member of this church and a true follower of God, Father Anderson is the obvious choice. Who else could keep such a precious blessing safe?"

After a moment of consideration, several cardinals voiced their agreement with the decision of the pope. Even those who were not in agreement kept their opinion to themselves, knowing that they had no better option to propose instead.

A grin stretched across Father Anderson's face, knowing that he had basically been given the go ahead to claim that angel any way he wished. There were dark lustful feelings churning inside of him, but who could truly blame him? If he was to be bound and wed to an angel, he would certainly wish to consummate the betrothal and have his new wife in her rightful place beneath him. The thought of being able to defile and indulge in the succulent flesh of that angelic being was no small temptation.

"I gladly accept and will take that pure being of God into the safety of my arms so that darkness may never touch her."

~~~~~~~~

"What exactly did you both see?"

Integra questioned the two vampires standing before her about the odd events that had taken place. They had cautiously retreated for the time being to assess the new information they had been presented with. The first thing that needed to be addressed was what exactly the vampires saw, as Integra only saw a woman instead of the angel the vampires saw.

"Oh? Police girl saw the truth as well? She is a Draculina, but I had expected only Anderson and I to see."

Alucard had his ever present grin as he thought about the unusual being he and the members of Hellsing had come across. Certainly the angel was not an every day being as it was the first time Alucard had even seen such a creature. It interested him to know that Seras had also witnessed the angel, but it was likely due to being one of Alucard's coven.

"Like I said, I saw that woman who yelled at Master Alucard had wings. They were big and fluffy and it was like she had some kind of light above her."

Seras was understandably confused in the situation because it seemed like an angel would be a much more common occurrence especially since it involved the various branches of the church. She was only starting to realize that it was a big deal to see an angel and even her master had not seen such a being before despite his long lifespan.

Alucard spoke next, his voice the usual relaxed drawl, but now there was an edge of excitement that accented his voice. An angel meant countless vampires and humans would be clambering over one another to get at such a divine being. Having one live in Hellsing manor meant all the entertainment possible would be coming to him instead of him being sent out to find and eliminate.

"I truly didn't think any feathered servant would be able to stand on this blood stained soil, let alone live among the worst of humans. But that is what they are supposed to do, right? Lift up the poor sinners and cure the ailments of all, even the non believers. The police girl is correct, (y/n) did have wings with bright feathers. I would say they were white, but I believe they were clear and worked like a prism where light is refracted. Above the crown of her head was an obvious gathering of light, a halo that so many humans have failed to capture the likeness of. A true angel."

Integra hummed in contemplation, knowing that Alucard was likely the best source of information regarding the odd woman they encountered. Anything they could do to keep that divine being out of the reach of Iscariot would always be ideal. Of course, she needed to think about her next move while anticipating the next move of her enemy.

"Iscariot will be chomping at the bit to get their vile hands on her. Alucard," Integra's voice was stern and to the point, "if I send you to retrieve her, you must give your word to bring her back alive, understood?"

"Yes, my master."

~~~~~~~~

(Tell me if y'all like it or want more!)

[xenosagaepisodeone]

supersize me is incredible in how potently hateful it is. it's as if the pop culture wasteland of the 2000s suffocated spurlock's brain to the point where whatever synapses that hadn't shriveled up were only left capable of firing off the same demand to keep punching down at all costs that every halfwit with access to cable news and a desire to 'tell it how it is' seemed to have been afflicted with. everyone knows the methodology in this doc is bunk, but what's missing from the conversation is how this film is another artifact of antagonizing incurious dipshit libertarian smarming about how the sheepish masses cannot just simply get with the program and be better. "americans are fat fat fat fat so fucking fat and they love it so much that they'll let their kids eat the same slop that they serve in prison" "wait, back up. the same apparatus that provides elementary school lunches also supplies prison food? and you're saying the cost of healthier food isn't all that much more? is there anything here worth looking into further?" "no. but have this clip of this random guy talking about how we should heckle fat people like how we heckle smokers". what made this film notable for its time was how it was less focused on how being fat makes you look (which isn't to say that isn't still a huge component of it. because it is. and spurlock has endless shots of strangers with their faces blurred out to emphasize this), but the alleged deterioration of lifestyle, values and vitality that comes with the depletion of one's physical health. that is to say, the film is arguing that failing to live a regimented lifestyle causes one to fall into a state of moral decay. this is the buried lede, because ultimately this film is actually-actually about an alcoholic externalizing the complex he has towards his own lack of self control onto fat people.

it is no wonder why elementary school health teachers in the aughts were quick to deploy it in classrooms at the same rate they did photos of STIs in place of actual sex ed. the imagery of this greasy motherfucker throwing up in his car is meant to serve the same purpose in telling kids that this is what happens when they can't control themselves. when a corporation is blamed for something, it's only inasmuch as it enables people to be dumb and fat. spurlock points out how mcdonald's predatory advertising normalizes it's products in places it should not be (hospitals in particular), which you think would warrant further discussion- but in line with pushing responsibility onto the role of the individual, this is framed as merely mcdonalds tricking customers instead of actively encroaching on their way of life via invading media and legislature. no, the real villains are cafeteria lunch ladies, who are not instilling discipline in your children unlike National Weight Loss Hero Jared Fogle, who educates children around the world. one can only imagine that spurlock's libertarian values compel him to feel a sense of kinship.

the funniest part of this film was the one doctor who seemed to know that he was bullshitting about not having any drinking habits but doesn't want to be up front about confronting him. at first he comments on how how spurlock's liver resembles one belonging to someone engaged in long term alcohol abuse, and then later in the film he gives some generic lip service in response to spurlock's report like 'well, i wouldn't think that fast food and liver health are connected, but your report seems to indicate otherwise' before cutting straight to "whatever you're doing, stop pickling your liver". also at another point spurlock goes "lunch time" and there's a hard cut to some fat mcdonalds employees and he's trying so hard to evoke disgust with all of these shots but my response to these baddies is just "zamn looks like they got dinner and dessert too 🥵🥵💦💦💦💦💦💦💦"

but anyway

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 6)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nudity. Language. Mentions of sex.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Hello there! We're back in Morpheus' POV for this chapter. I've really enjoyed exploring the softer side of Morpheus with the aftercare but still keeping that foreboding undertones. Hope you like it too. Let me know what you think! All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

Morpheus can see he has pushed your body to breaking point.

The only movements you are able to make are those that are involuntary. The intake of breath, sharp and shallow. The blink of eyelids, slow and drowsy. And the aftershocks feathering along the walls that still hug his softening cock.

The rapture of his own high vibrates in every cell, the humanoid form he takes being the epicentre, with waves of it expanding out across the expanse of the Dreaming, bathing it all in euphoria. He smiles faintly - anyone asleep during your union would have been privy to it in some aspect. Flashes of noises and sensations perhaps, or images of you entangled with him.

With a tender gaze, he looks at your exhausted form. He takes time to notice the details that others might have overlooked. The gradient of the dip of your navel. The vellus hair gracing your skin. The delicate lines on your face brought on by years of smiles. Every inch of you is perfection, the starshine streaming down enhancing your already incandescent air. Soulmate or not, you are the most remarkable person he has met.

There is no denying that you are to be his muse. Now that he has introduced you to his world he can resume work on creating new dreams, and your temperament and features are inspiring him already. His dreamers will be spoiled once the concepts are given life and sent forth into the Dreaming.

He is pulled away from observing your body by the sudden overflowing of silent tears. In the glow of the room, as they track down your cheeks, their lustre is like pearls washed up on a lonely seashore.

He's searching your expression for an indication to the source before they get close to wetting the sheets, cupping your face instinctually as feverous fear infects him. Is pain afflicting you?

His initial assessment gleans that they are falling despite there being no tangible signs of pain or sorrow, anger nor disgust. Further investigation is required.

He drops his register to the mellowest he can manage, whispering your name first, next asking, "Are you alright?"

You dip your chin in a solitary nod. A truthful nod.

You then take a deep breath, voice hoarse as you speak, "I just -"

Words fail you and you look down at your chest in lieu of finding the desired descriptors, hoping that he would catch on.

Your soul.

You make a little high-pitched sound in the back of your throat as he places a palm over its housing. Still very sensitive. With good reason.

Those last layers of defences that had been protecting you from the intensity of the soul bond had been steadfast in their resistance. Of course, they were never going to prevail over him, being the Endless that he is, yet the challenge could not be denied.

And now the conquest was over. He had you exactly where he wanted; physical form in the Dreaming, the Fates' prophecy fulfilled, soul tie complete.

He zeros in on your soul, using his aptitude for the metaphysical to see it in its actual form. The ball of light, two centimetres in diameter, that not too long ago was shattered, now criss-crossed with threads of rich blue, reminiscent of Kintsugi pottery. A mark of the small amount of his power - power that he'd quite literally fucked into you, that was slowly spreading out from your soul through your body, altering as it went. Only time would tell as to what enhancements it would bring if any.

His own soul was cleaved open at the end too, now infused with your essence; twines of seafoam green that he can feel rebalancing the constitution left so weary and depleted by his imprisonment.

It also appears that your mortality has been removed in the process; you are as eternal as he is now. He's against broaching this with you presently, feeling it would be misguided to do so. At this point in time you deserve the most diligent and gentle aftercare. It was your first time; you had trusted him with your wellbeing and that meant the moments after as well.

He will make his touches and movements so very delicate from here, continuing to keep his focus on your facial expressions and body language as much as possible.

Beginning with how he rises out of the position he had held over your body, giving him the ability to ease your crossed ankles out of the firm grip around his waist. Reluctantly, he withdraws himself from the warmth of your core, more trembles breaking free from the fluidity of the movement.

It makes you whimper loudly, the unintended stimulation and the way he guides your legs down to the mattress, as the recognition of how locked up your thigh and calf muscles are bark in your nerve endings.

"Would you allow me to clean you?" He asks, gesturing to the fluids that are now leaking from your cunt.

You seem surprised yet you agree nonetheless.

He conjures a bowl of water and a linen cloth, setting the former to the side of your right hip. The display has you propping yourself up on your forearms, fascinated by the shaping of form that comes so naturally to him. He moistens the fabric, pitter patters emanating erratically as he squeezes out the excess.

"I will stop if it is too much." A promise made while holding eye contact before beginning a gentle yet meticulous cleanse, re-dunking the cloth when needed.

Aside from a couple of flinches early on when he brushes over your clit, you cope with the touches very well, and Morpheus shows he acknowledges this in the murmured praises he looses with the completion of each swipe.

A stumble in your breathing has him stopping immediately though, drawing his attention to your startled face, eyes wide as you take in the pinkish tinge of colour in the water.

"Shit. I'm so sorry. I can finish taking care of it," your voice is warbled as you try and fail to close your trembling legs.

He puts a steady hand on your knee. "You have no reason to apologise."

A little dimple forms between your eyebrows, lips pulled thin by a grimace; evidently you are unconvinced.

"I want to take care of your needs. Please let me," he says with gentle candidness.

You blow out an unsteady breath as you struggle to look at him, attention darting all around the room, actively choosing to go anywhere but towards him.

These hallmarks of humiliation, vulnerability, they unreservedly rile him. Who had made you feel like this was unacceptable? No doubt your world's societal norms. Though Morpheus has seen improvements in them in recent years, there are lingering, foolish ideals on what was decorous when it came to the human body.

He relays his thoughts on the matter, "It is a natural occurrence, as natural as any other bleeding from broken skin. There is nothing to be ashamed of, Y/N."

He lets the reassurance settle in as he rubs his free hand up and down the outside of your left thigh.

"You know I speak the truth," he adds when you still remain silent.

Eventually you let your head slump back. "You're right."

His chest swells with pride at his successful reframing. "May I continue?"

You make a noise of affirmation.

Once he is done, the bowl and cloth de-materialise along with the patches of fluid that had been glistening on the sheets.

He leaves the space between your splayed legs, pausing as he kneels next you. You look like a ragdoll that has been dropped from a great height, limbs askew and head limp. He wishes to scoop you into his arms and re-arrange you, cocooning your beautiful body in the most luxurious fabrics his mind can create. So he does just that.

With a hand flat between your shoulder blades and another under your knees, he moves you to lay further up the bed, fashioning a sumptuous silk sheet to settle over you, a twin of the one tucked over the mattress. A knitted cashmere throw weighs down the sheet to seal in warmth. The last step is a plump pillow; he cradles your head carefully as he positions it.

"Thank you," you say shyly as he puts his head on an identical pillow, laying on his side so he can watch you.

"You are most welcome, my soulmate."

A beat. "Is there something I can do for you, Morpheus?"

He feels a thrill go through him, lust rising once more. Hearing his name on your lips is everything. Undoubtedly it always will be. He's instantly grappling with the urge to fuck you again and it is by sheer force of will he just manages to leash his lust.

"All I require is proximity to you," his words sounding much more gallant than he feels.

With visible effort, you roll onto your side, intent on providing him with delightful closeness despite the aches. Face to face, he decides now is time for a debrief.

"Is there anything you wish to discuss about the acts we performed together?"

You fiddle with your fingers, tentatively asking, "Did I do okay?"

The question is so endearing, it makes his chest tighten.

"Yes. You were, are perfection."

He catches the bashful glance your throw towards him and he draws even closer.

You had done so very well, taking everything in your stride since he found you in the waking world. Gone through a myriad of emotions, dealt with intense, sometimes painful physical reactions. And the sex... Well.

He runs a hand from your temple to jaw a few times to distract from the ever-mounting desires, thankfully taking the edge off with the affections.

"It is true. You are so trusting, communicative, generous. Receptive."

You huff out a noise of amusement. "How do you know that I wouldn't respond like that to everyone?"

Possessive jealousy drives a dagger into his heart, stiffening every part of his being, hackles rising as the sickening idea of anyone else touching you takes form in his expert imagination. Your question had been teasing - obvious from the impish quality in your eyes yet he cannot stop the rage that flares at the idea.

He extinguishes his temper, pushing it into the usual spot deep within, speaking with a level and authoritative cadence.

"You were not meant to be touched by anyone but me."

He holds your gaze resolutely, fascinated by how your pupils dilate from the covetous statement, fingers digging into the softness of your behind to add further weight to his claim.

"You derive pleasure from hearing me say that."

"Yes," you confirm, a telling half-smile appearing. "Though it would appear I am not the only one."

You nudge against the growing erection hidden by the sheets with your knuckles. The simple touch is a catalyst, his restraint almost breaking, eyes shifting to match the backdrop of the night sky above you both.

"Not right now," you assert.

His answering glare makes you raise your eyebrows. But you do not back down.

"Very well. I will keep myself contained. For the time being."

You press a sweet, quick kiss to his cheek. "I appreciate you enduring such hardship."

You laugh a little at the end of the teasing sentence. It is an effervescent sound, one that makes him feel so alive. When was the last time he truly felt like that?

He would do anything to keep you laughing like that, make you happy.

Inspired by that sentiment, he drapes an arm over your body and pulls you closer. You sigh in contentment, smiling warmly at him.

A crescent moon rises to accompany the stars in the ceiling sky. The slip of light it reflects is as peace-giving as your skin against his. Quiet descends.

Finally - after the frenzied events of the past couple of hours, the delirium that had ensnared the both of you in body and mind, spurring him to reveal the truth to you and initiate the binding of your souls - finally everything stills.

And in this stillness, after a considerable number of minutes, Morpheus begins to register the results of the soul bond between you; a direct line broadcasting your every emotion to him even though you are awake.

They are not particularly stable right now, kaleidoscopic in how quickly they evolve from one to the next. He is accustomed to knowing humanity's emotions, exposed to every facet of them for millennia yet this is different. With the dreamers there is a certain level of detachment. Being his soulmate, the impartiality is gone.

He is peering around the curtain.

And the emotions you are feeling are about him, directly influenced by him.

Exhilaration, fondness, trepidation, pensiveness.

His eyelids flutter at the intimacy, mouth dropping open with a shaky sigh.

"What is it?" You ask immediately as worry enters the mix. How adorable that your reflex was concern for him.

"Our soul bond is strengthening. I can feel your emotions."

You blink, stimulated by the notion first, then disappointed. "I can't feel anything coming from you."

"Give it time," he reassures.

"How much time?"

A little smile quirks his lips from your charming impatience.

"A few hours. Perhaps more."

Curiosity dances in your eyes as well as your mind; you study him closely, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. "What's it like?"

"It is quite diverting."

In fact, it is the sort of thing that has potential to consume his every thought. He will have to be cautious of how much time he is dialled into the bond. As long as he makes the rules now then he will be okay. No over-use. No over-reliance.

A brush of fingers across the back of his hand, the inside of his wrist. "Tell me what you're feeling, Morpheus," you whisper.

He pulls himself from the compelling information flowing from you and takes a reading of his own internal state.

It's tempting to lay it all on the table. To tell you of the powerful emotional reactions happening. But he won't. The emotions must be compressed into something more regulated. He chooses the words carefully:

"I am wholly contented."

Joy and relief swirl from you and you kiss him. The softness of your lips help soothe the fierce feelings and when you part, Morpheus is fully reigned in.

He notes that your eyes are drifting now, glassy with oncoming sleep.

He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone.

"It is okay if you want to fall asleep," he murmurs. "My only request is that you permit me to hold you, so I may monitor how things progress."

There is much acclimation to be made. The scalding heat that had been rampant under his own skin has only just dropped to a simmer, let alone all the things to come. He must not leave your side until your body has adjusted to the energy within you.

"I wouldn't say no to sleep," you say with a lethargic smile.

He eases you into a nearer proximity. An arm slung across your middle. Legs tangling together. You nuzzle against the skin of his neck, inhaling deeply as if his scent could knock you right out.

"Good night, soulmate."

He kisses the top of your head, replying with the same.

You place a palm over his soul. "Thank you, Morpheus. For answering all my questions and being so patient with me."

"It is the least I can do, Y/N."

Morpheus keeps still as you sink into subconsciousness. Not a hard feat for him; he mastered that art long ago. Crossing the threshold into sleep is smooth for you, exhaustion efficiently picking the lock.

As soon as you are fully under he peers at you, cheeks already rosy from the warmth of the sheets and his body, lips parted. You appear serene on the surface - he decides to lean into that link one last time for tonight.

Yes. There it is. Evidence that you feel safe and happy. He has done his job well. Now to maintain this level of performance. For your sake as well as his own.

Your presence is the first rain after a drought. A lighthouse on a treacherous stormy night. You are an antidote to a poison that he hadn't realised he was choking on. You are healing him, just as he knew you would.

And there are measures that must be taken to keep it that way.

-------------------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"Controlling my feelings for too long. Forcing our darkest souls to unfold. Pushing us into self destruction. They make me, make me dream your dreams."

[claymoresword]

I Choose Her | Chp: 16

Hermione Granger x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Wordcount: 5.2k

Warnings: just a lot of fluff, draco malfoy & y/n, potential self harm references , plot heavy

Note: Hello! Yes it's finally here you're not dreaming... As always, endless thanks for your patience and support, knowing how much you guys love this fic is literally the only reason why I have kept this story going for so long. That being said, we're nearing the end now which is depressing but all we can do is savour the next couple of chapters before it all comes to an inevitable end :(

Anyway, this might be the longest chapter I've written so hopefully you enjoy this one!

Taglist: @gvrsto @aweidlich @xxsekhmet @arielj @poppyflower-22 @scarleigh1989 @smut-religiously777 @cocoyeehaw @blackbirdv98 @arcturusseer @iamcapitalgbicorn8287 @lonewalker17 @karasonromanoff @httphayn @bigbadsofty07 @cherryflavoredcoke @dumpsapphic @idontwannabehereatm @js-a-writer @baylegend6 @puta1 @t-wylia @raven-ss

Hermione stirs awake due to your sudden movements next to her. You continue clutching your arm, grimacing. 

Biting down hard on your tongue to avoid screaming out, and to redirect some of the pain in your arm elsewhere.

Since that day at Malfoy Manor, every new summon from the Dark Lord has been nearly unbearable to combat.

It seems the more you fought it, the more excruciating it got; torturing you into submission. 

"Hey– why are you awake?" Hermione mutters groggily as she sits up as well.

You don't reply, only staring down at the Dark Mark, it pulses visibly, you wince again.

"Fuck–" You hiss, shutting your eyes tightly. You focus all your energy on fighting the affliction.

Hermione's expression rapidly turns to one of realization and then worry.

"It's hurting again?" Hermione asks, but she doesn't expect a response amidst your visible agony.

You observed as she hovered her hand over the mark on your arm. Hermione utters the incantation, and soon enough you are able to catch your breath again, the once torturous pulsing now reduced to a dull ache.

Painful, but bearable.

Your other senses return and finally you catch the other woman's gaze, you flash her a smile in relief and gratitude.

"Thank you." You say above a whisper, the Gryffindor responds by leaning in, planting several kisses on your cheek before nuzzling her face into your neck, holding you close.

She clutches onto you desperately, and you hold onto her same.

"I just hate to see you in pain." Hermione mumbles against your shoulder, you lean back to look at her.

"It wasn't always this bad.. You know who– he's getting desperate. Just like Harry said, he knows we are close to defeating him." You state, assuredly.

Your attempt to steer the conversation fails, your hopeful sentiment does nothing to sway Hermione, if anything she appears more distressed.

Your girlfriend looks away, helpless. Your brows furrow at the sight.

"What is it, my love?" You ask and Hermione hesitates to respond.

After a prolonged moment, her eyes finally meet yours again.

"I don't know– it just seems like you are having to sacrifice a whole lot to be here with me." The Gryffindor admits, she plays with your fingers nervously.

"Don't say that." You sigh.

You catch the tears welling up in Hermione's eyes, it makes you ache.

"I'm not here out of obligation, I'm here because I want to be." You state earnestly, trying your best to squander her doubts.

Stubbornly, Hermione continues to allow her anxieties to get ahold of her.

"What if the other Death Eaters– if they find us again– what if they do something to you?" The other woman continues to spiral, and you shake your head in disapproval.

"Hermione, you're not going to talk me into abandoning you.. not now. Not after everything we've endured." You affirm.

"But–" The Gryffindor starts and you swiftly interject.

"I don't care if they threaten to skin me alive.. I'm not leaving you." You counter dismissively and Hermione lets out a huff of amusement, she rolls her eyes, albeit half-heartedly.

"That's not funny." She scolds, your girlfriend glares at you to the best of her ability.

It only makes your heart swell.

"It wasn't a joke." You quip, gently cupping her cheek with your hand. 

Hermione eyes flutter shut as she leans into your touch, she releases a deep breath, tilting her head to place a chaste kiss on your palm.

"Either way, it's my fault. I should've never gone to the initiation, I should've fought against it." You insist, this time Hermione shakes her head, she grabs your wrist firmly.

"You didn't have a choice." She counters, and after deliberating, you nod.

You were merely buying time, an attempt to throw your parents off your trail. You didn't have a choice.

"No I didn't–" You agree.

"But I do now– and I'm choosing you. That is all." You state and Hermione's tense expression softens at last.

She leans in to capture your lips with her own, kissing you deeply. Amidst your lip lock, your girlfriend moves to straddle you, her hand moves to the nape of your neck. Your own hands instinctively settle on Hermione's waist as she opens her mouth wider, inviting you to deepen the kiss.

As your tongue enters her mouth, you are allowed a fleeting moment of bliss before you feel another sharp pain, it courses through your arm, so sudden and unwelcomed that you are forced to break the kiss.

Hermione chases your lips for a moment before gathering herself, once again she appears concerned, but you school your expression, placing a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"Go back to sleep.. I need to get some air." You say, gently shoving your girlfriend off your lap.

Hermione takes the hint, but still, she sees right through you.

"What's wrong?" She asks as she settles on her side of the bed once more.

"Nothing. I just need to clear my head. I'll be right back, I promise." You reply, as convincingly as you can manage.

Hermione isn't satisfied with your response, but she decides not to push it further. 

She nods, loosening her grip on your sleeve.

You avoid eye contact as you plant a lingering kiss on her forehead, one Hermione can't help but melt into.

The Gryffindor has to fight the urge to force you to stay as you climb out of bed, stepping out of the tent.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You wrap your arms around yourself as the cold breeze pierces through the midnight air, edged and ruthless.

The sharp sting that was once contained to your left arm has since spread throughout your entire body, your coat proving less than adequate to keep you even remotely warm. 

You quickly regret your decision to leave the comfort of Hermione's embrace. 

Just as you've decided on returning to the tent, a faint light in the distance catches your attention, and soon you make out a male figure in the shadows as it approaches you.

Quickly deducing that it couldn't be neither Harry nor Ron, as they were both asleep in their respective tents.

You instinctively fish out your wand from your pocket, you grip it tightly, prepared to use it if needed.

As you catch a glimpse of platinum hair, your face contorts in shock. The notes of his cologne envelops your senses, familiar and unmistakable, you don't get the opportunity to consider if your eyes were playing tricks on you.

"Draco? what–" You gape.

"Listen, I can't stay long." Your best friend interjects, halting directly in front of you.

Then, your body reacts before your mind can mitigate it. You lunge forward, practically jumping into his arms. 

Draco is stunned for a moment, until he finally embraces you just as tightly in return.

"How are you?" He asks as soon as you separate.

You scoff. It was an impossible question to answer, a bit silly frankly, but you knew Draco was merely asking out of genuine concern.

"I'm alright." You reply, you watch as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What about you?" You return the gesture and he chuckles, humorless.

Draco shrugs, avoiding an answer entirely.

"Things are getting really tense." He claims, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"Your parents have sent out a band of snatchers to look for you." Your best friend states and you aren't particularly shocked. 

"Of course they did." You comment through a long sigh.

Draco steps closer, even though you were seemingly entirely alone, the platinum haired man remains paranoid.

"Word has spread about you and Hermione, and– what you did to Bellatrix. I can't guarantee that the other Death Eaters won't harm you if they find you." Your best friend remarks. An uneasy feeling settles at the pit of your stomach, you fold your arms over your chest.

"You have to lay low– or just come back home, please, it's far too dangerous." He pleads.

"Draco, you know I can't do that." You respond with a scowl, but the man was insistent.

"If you come home, at the very least, your parents– they'll protect you." His attempts to convince you prove fruitless, Draco only grows increasingly desperate.

"You're going to get yourself killed. Out here– with them." He finally states plainly, gesturing to the tent behind you, and you can't find it in yourself to deny a plain truth.

"Maybe." You say, and you pause as Draco sets his jaw, somehow he is more worried than you are.

"But I can't leave her." You add and finally he scoffs.

"You are so stubborn." The platinum haired man hisses, but you don't take offense, only finding the irony in his words.

"You're one to talk." You retaliate, and Draco finally tears his eyes away.

Your best friend knows now that you've made up your mind, nothing he says in this moment will convince you otherwise.

"Then know this– The Dark Lord is planning an ambush on Hogwarts, any day now." Draco now basically whispering directly into your ear.

"Ambush? Why? Snape's headmaster now, Dumbledore's gone, isn't that what he wanted?" You lean back slightly, perplexed.

Draco shrugs but now he appears noticeably distressed, more than he was just a moment ago, the man checks your surroundings once more.

"I think he wants to take over, and leave people no choice but to join his cause. No doubt he will kill anyone who dares to go against him." Your best friend adds, and your mouth falls open slightly at the realization.

Voldermort was definitely getting desperate.

"Just promise me that you'll stay away." Draco reiterates sternly, but you don't reply, your gaze fixed on the darkness, far in the distance as you allow your mind to speculate.

"Y/n." Draco insists on a response, he snaps you out of your thoughts.

"It's up to Harry, really. Hermione will follow his lead, I have to as well." You finally say, and it's not the answer the man was hoping for, his head falls below his shoulders in defeat.

Just before you can conjure some version of an apology, Draco wraps his arms around you, once again. He hugs you in a way that lets you know how afraid he truly is, a crippling feeling you both shared. 

Things are entirely uncertain now. It is possible you may never see each other again.

"I really hope she's worth it." The man says as he releases you, and just as you open your mouth to respond, you hear a rustling from the tent behind you.

Draco flinches and your head snaps back to investigate the noise.

In just a fraction of a second, a sudden gust of air tickles the side of your face. The same side where Draco was standing just moments ago.

You no longer feel his presence, his cologne now a lingering scent. He's disapparated and frustratingly, you can't contain the tears prickling in your eyes.

However, you force yourself not to let them fall as Hermione soon peaks her head out of the tent, before taking a large step outside. 

You recognize your cardigan wrapped around her frame. 

"Y/n, who were you talking to?"

════════════════════════════════════════════

Harry and Ron narrow their gaze at you in disbelief, while Hermione kept her hand intertwined with yours.

The conversation with Draco had casted a shadow over you, sudden and nearly paralyzing. It seems you were grieving. 

You grieved the chance to go home and be with your family. Mainly you can't help but feel you've failed Draco in some way. 

It weighed on you, knocked you off your feet. Hermione senses this but she can only offer to hold your hand as you try to find your footing.

"What, you still don't trust me?" You scoff as The Chosen One and his best friend continued to stare at you with skepticism.

"No, not really.." Ron quips, and you don't care enough to grace him with a reaction, luckily for him, Harry finally speaks up.

"It's not that– why would Draco help us?" He ponders, no longer skeptical, just doubtful.

"Yeah, how do you know he's not setting us up? The Death Eaters might be on their way already." The ginger haired man is still convinced of your ulterior motives and you finally glower at him.

"Ron, if that were true they would've taken us already, you know that." Hermione chimes in before you, and you are thankful for it.

"In any case– we'll have to go back to Hogwarts anyway." Harry states, the one thing you were afraid he would utter.

You hold your head in your hands for a moment. As righteous and frustrating as he can be, of course Harry will always try to do the right thing.

That is the exact opposite of what you should do right now.

"And what? Offer yourself up as bait?" You taunt, but he is unfazed, certain of his decision.

"I can't just let them die." He asserts and you glance at Hermione, a look on her face that shows she is not exactly on your side, not this time.

"What exactly is your plan, Potter?" You relent.

"The Horcrux is hidden somewhere in the castle, we have to go there and locate it and kill it– and if Draco is right, if you know who marches on Hogwarts that means the snake will be with him, I can find the snake. I will kill it and we'll get a step closer to ending him, once and for all." The dark haired man declares with such conviction, but it does nothing to convince you.

The task will not be an easy one, there are bound to be consequences.

"Fine." Ron mutters in agreement.

Then Harry shifts his gaze to Hermione, "Alright." She nods in approval as well.

The scowl that covers your features only falters as you meet Hermione's expectant look.

You roll your eyes, it was three against one. It is not like you have much of a choice.

"Something tells me this is going to go horribly wrong.." You trail off.

"But alright."

════════════════════════════════════════════

You apparate into Hogsmeade, and the incessant screeching that pierces the evening air was deafening. It disorients the four of you, but you quickly gain your bearings as you spot the group of Death Eaters in the distance.

You, along with the golden trio, continue to use the darkness to your advantage. You disappear into the shadows, eventually crouching down behind a large table.

Soon the Death Eaters disperse into different directions, but a pair of them continue to head your way.

Heavy footsteps approach, the pair of men mutter something intelligible before they begin scanning through the area, looking underneath each table.

The four of you glance at each other, desperate for a way out. It was too late to disapparate, you were at all loss, you were about to get caught, again.

The sense of dread that overpowers you is only subdued as you feel Hermione clutching onto your arm.

You are graced with a fleeting moment of clarity, soon enough, an idea occurs to you.

You roll up your sleeves quickly, leaving your Dark Mark exposed.

Hermione observes your action silently, perplexed.

Then you begin to rise, but before your head can emerge into view, she harshly pulls you back down with a death grip on your collar.

She scowls.

"What are you doing?" She whispers, but her tone is sharp, vexed.

"Just trust me." You respond, providing no further explanation, you extract your wand quickly as you fight out of her hold as you stand up abruptly.

The pair of Death Eaters jumps slightly at the sight of you. You quickly realize that both men were unfamiliar to you; there is a chance they don't recognize you either.

You continue to push your luck, stepping out of the shadows. When the mark on your arm comes into view, their expressions grow less tense, and you release the breath you were holding.

It appears your luck has yet to run out. 

"He's not under here, I've just checked." You lie, and it doesn't take the men much convincing to take your word.

They give you a curt nod.

"You cover the rest of this side, we'll check over there." One of the Death Eaters orders, soon they both turn to walk in opposite directions, splitting up to cover more of the area.

You waited until they were out of view before crouching down again, but to your confusion, Hermione was nowhere to be found.

No trace of Harry and Ron either.

"Lumos." As you searched for them, you began trying to mentally uncover an explanation.

You wonder if they had perhaps apparated elsewhere, but you eventually decide against the possibility. Certain that your girlfriend wouldn't just leave you like that, at least not without some type of forewarning.

Soon, you are inching past a dark alley, rows of abandoned pubs and houses come into view, but no sign of the trio.

"Hermione–" You finally call out, frustrated.

They are hiding, somewhere.

As you near the seemingly abandoned Hog's Head pub, the door suddenly opens, and you are dragged in by the arm, the touch you immediately recognized.

You can't contain it as you beamed in relief as  you step inside,your girlfriend locks the door swiftly before dragging you further down a flight of stairs. 

Once you get to the bottom of the steps the Gryffindor finally turns to you. Your grin now reduced to an easy smirk as you stared at Hermione, merely gratified at the knowledge that she had no true plans to abandon you.

Then the other woman gazes at you knowingly, a tangible sense of devotion and deeply rooted trust, a feeling that tethers you to the other. 

The pair of you now certain that you could survive anything, as you will always have each other to rely on.

It moves your very spirit, the urge to act upon your desires overcomes your being and Hermione in turn, gives into her own. Soon you are both leaning in, as your lips crashed against Hermione's, she kisses you, despairingly and unafraid. She presses her body up against yours and you fall back against the wall behind you. 

"You need to stop taking risks like that, they could've recognized you." Hermione breathes out as your mouths separate, she runs her fingers through your hair.

You don't respond, merely scanning her delicate features with your eyes, you find yourself memorizing every freckle and crease. 

You thumb tracing over her bottom lip causing them to part slightly.

Then, you kiss her again, open mouthed and forceful. Hermione welcomes this, as she lets slip a faint noise of approval, your hand rests on the small of her back, pulling her impossibly closer.

Your plans to continue the kiss is ruined as you hear the harsh noise; the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Hermione pulls away first, then she looks away, sheepish.

Contrastingly you stare down the source of the interruption. Ron's disapproving stare has done nothing but vex you in the past, and this time it is no different.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we've got more important matters to deal with right now." The snide remark irritates you, but not as much as it might have once did as you recognized that he had a fair point.

Before you can retaliate, the swinging door leading into the kitchen opens, a man enters.

A man you quickly realized to have an uncanny resemblance to the previous headmaster of Hogwarts.

You observed as he set down a tray of bread and butterbeer. As Ron approaches the tray, Hermione does as well, dragging you along with her, but you kept your gaze on the man, squinting slightly, perplexed.

"Aberforth. Dumbledore's brother." Hermione finally leans in to whisper into your ear, providing you the answer to your question.

You take a single bite of the bread, nearly too tough to chew and almost impossible to swallow. 

You gently place it back onto the tray, as polite as you can manage, you force the tough piece of bread down your throat and ingest nothing else after that.

Hermione and Ron continue chewing eagerly, merely glad of the decent bit of sustenance.

Harry doesn't move; he continues watching the painting of a girl, mounted up on the wall.

You find yourself staring at it as well, finally you catch the figure blink, as if it just took notice of you. Her shoulders rose and fell ever so slightly as she breathed, but her expression remained stoic.

"Do you hear from the others much– from the Order?" Hermione asks, after swallowing the contents in her mouth.

Aberforth narrows his gaze.

"The Order's finished. 'You know who' has won, anyone who says otherwise is killing themselves." He states definitively, his pessimism isn't lost on any of you. 

"We need to get into Hogwarts tonight. Dumbledore gave us a job to do." Harry asserts, and Aberforth glances at him, almost amused.

"Did he now, Nice job? Easy?" The older man's condescension was beginning to make your head hurt.

Harry's patience stretches further than yours, as he manages a civil response.

"We've been hunting Horcruxes. We think the last one's inside the castle, but we'll need your help getting in." The chosen one states firm and unfazed.

Hermione quietly offers you her mug of butterbeer, you accept it gladly, taking a sip as the older man grants Harry an equally negative response.

"This is no job, my brother's given you. It's a suicide mission. Do yourself a favor, boy, go home. Live a little longer." 

"Dumbledore entrusted me to see this through." Harry's conviction doesn't falter even as he begins to grow agitated himself. 

"What makes you think you can trust him? What makes you think you can believe anything my brother told you? In all the time that you knew him, did he ever mention my name?" Aberforth taunts, the vitriol lacing his statements makes you grimace.

You glance at Hermione, she is sporting a similar look.

"Has he ever mentioned her?" The older man gestures to the painting.

Harry shrugs.

"Why should he–" He starts.

"Keep secrets? You tell me." Aberforth finishes for him.

"I trusted him." Harry insistent on not backing down.

"That's a boy's answer!" Aberforth barks.

"A boy who goes chasing Horcruxes on the word of a man who wouldn't even tell him where to start, you're lying!" The older man slurs, gesturing with a goblet still in hand.

Then, it finally occurred to you that the younger Dumbledore was drunk. At least drunk enough to take out his anger on the wrong person.

"Not just to me, that doesn't matter– to yourself as well. That's what a fool does. You don't strike me as a fool, Harry Potter, so I ask you again, there must be a reason." Aberforth continues, stepping closer the dark haired man. 

Perhaps an effort to intimidate, but miraculously, Harry manages to keep a level head as he holds the man's hard stare.

"I'm not interested in what happened between you and your brother, I don't care that you've given up. I trusted the man I knew. We need to get into the castle, tonight." The Chosen One declares, and Aberforth is visibly taken aback by Harry's response, and so are you.

Then, the long bearded man nods subtly to the painting above Harry. The four of you watched intently as the girl walked further into it, disappearing into the distance.

"Where have you sent her?" Ron asks.

"You'll see, soon enough." Aberforth mutters, he walks with his goblet, toward the exit.

"That's your sister Arianna, isn't it? She died very young, didn't she?" Hermione asks, gesturing to the now vacant painting.

Aberforth pauses to look at her.

"My brother sacrificed many things, Mr Potter, on his journey to find power. Including Arianna." Aberforth's reply, a final attempt to sway Harry, but his devotion to the former headmaster of Hogwarts remains.

"Thank you, Mr Dumbledore." Your girlfriend expresses earnestly, and the man only nods, dejected, soon disappearing through the doorway.

"He did save our lives twice, and kept an eye on us in that mirror." Hermione looks between you, Harry and Ron.

"That doesn't seem like someone who's given up." She says in a hushed tone, now looking directly at Harry.

He averts his gaze, mulling over his best friend's statement.

A prolonged silence hangs around you before the painting starts to shift and move, soon it opens outward like a door, revealing a dark passageway.

You catch movement in the shadows, your hand instinctively moves to wrap around Hermione's waist. Your girlfriend doesn't hesitate to step slightly closer to you, also acting on instinct.

The figure that emerges is not one you'd expect, you quickly recognize it to be Neville Longbottom.

You didn't know him well, beyond a few fleeting interactions at school in the past, but 

based on Harry's reaction, you considered his presence to be a welcomed one.

"Neville? You look–" The dark haired boy beams, and his friend interjects.

"Like hell I reckon." Neville quips.

"This is nothing, Seamus is worse." 

He grins, his gaze shifts between the golden trio, and when his eyes fall on you, he appears stunned, for a moment.

You decide to flash him a clipped smile, one he eventually returns.

"We best get a move on." The man finally gestures.

════════════════════════════════════════════

"I don't remember this on the Marauder's Map." Ron questions as the four of you follow Neville through the dingy passageway. 

You trailed closely next to Hermione, and Ron behind you.

"That's because it never existed until now, the other secret passages were sealed off before the start of the year. This is the only way in or out now." Neville explains, the light from his wand continues to barely illuminate the path ahead.

"The grounds are crawling with Death Eaters and Dementors." He remarks and suddenly you feel inclined once more to hide the Dark Mark beneath your sleeve.

Hermione catches your subtle action, but doesn't comment on it.

"How bad is it with Snape as Headmaster?" She asks instead, returning her attention ahead.

"Hardly ever see him. It's the Carrows you need to watch out for." Neville quips and your face contorts in disbelief.

"Carrows?" Harry asks.

"Yeah, they're in charge of discipline." His friend states.

"What? They put the Carrows in charge?" You gape, appalled.

"What is it? How horrible are they?" Hermione asks as she notices your reaction.

"I mean they're insane, fanatics– obsessed with blood purity. But last I heard, they were locked up in Azkaban." You admit and now Hermione's expression is nothing short of horrified.

You intertwined your fingers, an attempt to wordlessly reassure her.

"Well, they're out now." Neville states.

"Who do you think did this to me?" He adds, turning around for a moment to point at the deep gash on his face. 

Although his tone was lighthearted, you can't help but feel a twinge of remorse.

After a few more steps, the five of you halt behind a flat wall. You eventually make it out to be the back of a painting, similar to one at the pub.

Neville pushes it open, he pauses to address the crowd on the other side, and soon enough, he steps aside to reveal Harry.

The room suddenly erupts with claps and cheers as they welcome The Chosen One.

Hermione continued to hold your hand as you stepped out of the passageway and into the room, Ron following suit.

You receive a few stares as you emerge next to Hermione, but no one addresses you directly, not until Seamus catches sight of you.

"What is she doing here?" He jeers, as the cheering for Harry completely dies down. 

Now all eyes are definitely on you.

To your complete surprise, Ron is first to come to your defense.

"Back off alright, she's on our side." The ginger haired man says but Seamus is less than convinced.

"I'm sure that's what she wants us to believe. We've learnt well enough by now not to trust the word of any Slytherin." He spat as he stepped closer, and Seamus' attempt to intimidate you only works to amuse you.

You can't help the mocking smile that forms on your lips, and his scowl simply deepens at the sight.

"I say get her out of here." He announces, glancing around the room for any supporters of his idea.

"No!" Hermione interjects, she swiftly sets her body in between you and Seamus.

"We wouldn't be here without her help, Seamus you have no idea what you're on about." Ron defends you again, and this time you are truly bewildered.

Noticing he is outnumbered, Seamus relents.

"I've got my eye on you." He hands you the passing threat, and you tilt your head slightly.

"Is that supposed to frighten me?" You taunt, unfolding your arms, now you are prepared to go for your wand.

"Enough! None of this is going to help us defeat 'you know who'. We can't afford to fight amongst ourselves." Harry quickly shuts down the possibility. 

"Harry's right." Neville steps forward.

"So what's the plan?" He asks, and soon all attention is on Harry once more as everyone awaits his call.

"Okay, there's something hidden here in the castle, and it may help us defeat 'you know who'." He starts, his voice bounces off the stone walls as the room goes silent.

"Right. What is it?" Neville asks expectantly.

"We don't know." Harry responds truthfully and his friend glances at Saemus for a moment.

"Where is it?" He tries again and Harry shakes his head.

"We don't know that either." He repeats and the group standing before the four of you continue staring, deadpan.

You allow your head to droop, letting out a prolonged sigh.

"Look, I realize that's not much to go on." Harry starts.

"That's nothing to go on." Seamus interjects.

"I think it has something to do with Ravenclaw. Um, it'll be small, easily concealed." Harry recalls his visions.

"Anyone have any ideas?" He asks, the desperation in his voice was evident.

For a while it seems all hope was lost, until Luna finally speaks.

"Well there's Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem." She suggests.

"Bloody hell, there we go." Ron releases a breath of relief.

Now the deadpan gaze is shifted towards the platinum haired girl.

"Lost diadem of Ravenclaw, has anyone ever heard of it? It's quite famous." Luna adds.

"Yes, but Luna, it's lost, for centuries now, there isn't a person alive who's seen it." Cho chimes in from next to her.

"Excuse me, can someone please tell me what a bloody diadem is?" Ron pleads, and you let out a huff of amusement, against your better judgment.

Hermione finds the opportunity to glare at you.

"It's a sort of crown, you know, like a Tiara." Cho explains, but it gives none of you any clue of where to locate it.

Before the discussion can go any further, the main door opens, soon Ginny bursts in, she is stunned for a moment as she spots Harry.

"Harry." She gapes.

"Hello." The dark haired man responds, equally jarred.

Ron scoffs as his sister pays no attention to him.

"Five months she hasn't seen me, it's like I'm 'Frankie first year'.. I'm her brother." He remarks above a whisper, and you grin.

"Yes but she's got a lot of brothers doesn't she? There's only one Harry." You quip teasingly, earning a smile from Hermione.

The ginger haired man merely rolls his eyes.

"Shut up, Y/n." He huffs.

"What is it Ginny?" Seamus finally asks.

"Snape knows. He knows Harry was spotted in Hogsmeade."