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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

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fogwitchoftheevermore · 11 months

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ok so. forgive me for a second but i've been abnormal about skizz and ren since the hiatus between third life and last life and holy shit this season is already not helping.

let's talk about skizz, ren, undying loyalty, and golden apples, shall we?

so the thing that you need to understand about skizz is that he is loyal to a fault. impulse literally says this exact thing about him in limited life, and skizz himself says himself: "you know me and my factions, i never turn." the second thing is that the first person their loyalty manifests for in third life is ren. he and ren run into each other on the second night when ren is getting accosted by mobs outside skizz's door and skizz gives him a place to stay the night. ren decides to trade skizz for his leather, for the upcoming enchanting buisness, and gives skizz a golden apple in exchange. skizz thinks this is wildly more than he deserves but is very thankful. skizz doesn't say it here, but this is the moment he swears his loyalty to ren.

throughout third life, he is willing to do or get basically anything for ren. the two of them literally die together to the tnt trap. when ren dies on the alter and everyone thinks martyn betrayed him, skizz is the first person to get there in the morning. he's in half broken gold armor and borrowed tools from bigb and he still tells ren "get behind me", still tries to protect him from martyn. when skizz is on red, he goes a bit crazy, but he channels that bloodlust into protecting ren. he kills jimmy in the red desert, he kills cleo when she tries to attack ren, he chases down impulse when he betrays dogwarts and dies trying to kill him.

when skizz dies in third life, he's got an unused golden apple in his hotbar. after he dies, he remembers the first time he met ren, etho, and martyn, and he spends quite a bit of time on his memory of ren and ren appears in his first memory of etho. after he dies, ren wields a blade named in his honor.

skizz spends third life loyal to ren- he dies for him and he dies with him.

in last life, ren and skizz end up on completely different sides, and it very quickly gets bad because when ren becomes boogey, he kills skizz. he lures him into a trap. he tells skizz he loves him. skizz literally says "i am broken hearted" when ren kills him. ren holds no regard for the relationship they used to have and yet skizz cannot help but compliment ren's skill with the trap, outright says he can't be mad at ren.

and then it only gets worse because skizz tries to storm ren's tower with impulse after they've gone red. and that! doesn't go well! and while skizz is retreating, while he is eating the golden apple in his hot bar, ren shoots him dead.

and that is the last time they've spoken. two years ago.

because skizz isn't in doublt life. and ren isn't in limited life.

and when skizz's time comes in limited life, he ensures he doesn't have a golden apple in his inventory this time. this time, he hands the apples off to his teammates, where he knows they will go to good use. and then he hands etho a diamond fucking axe (red winter is coming) and asks him to execute him for the sake of their alliance. ok! sure! fill ren's role more explicitly, why don't you!

and that first session of secret life genuinely only made it worse. when skizz is talking to tango and cleo about their alliance, skizz says he wants to give leadership over to someone else: "i want to be more of a soldier than a leader this time." cleo says she'll fill the roll of leader- she doesn't take orders well - and then seals their alliance by giving tango and skizz a golden apple each. because of course she does.

and well, we all know that didn't really work out, so that's one person off the list that skizz can fill the dogwarts shaped hole in him with, so then he goes to bdubs. he says he'll lay his sword at bdubs' feet. he says he'll win bdubs with his loyalty. he calls bdubs "my leige", jesus christ dude, you couldn't be less subtle unless you straight up called him ren's name.

skizz has been (whether accidentally or on purpose is up to you) trying to recreate the experience he had with dogwarts, and particularly what he had with ren, since the moment dogwarts fell. he can't have it with ren because he missed his only chance in last life, so he'll fill the void with whoever he can. his fellow soldier. ren's successor. ren's new kingmaker. anyone. and it's never gonna work. i need ren to come back for like, 900 reasons, but i especially need him to come back so skizz can have a shot at making it to spring.

#secret life spoilers #life series spoilers #skizzleman #rendog #secret life #my writing #analysis post #(not really. ill be real this very much veers more into summary territory than i would like for an analysis post.)#(but i like it enough to put it in that tag anyways)#renskizz #(is that their ship tag???)#(you dont have to read this through a shipping lens it should just be known that that *does* color how i think about them)#anyways. training montage by the mountain goats skizzleman song of all time.#“i'm doing this for revenge/i'm doing this to try and stay true/i'm doing this for the ones we had to leave behind/i'm doing this for you”

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love-letters-for-wise · 5 months

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I Want Movie, Not Feelings! (Wise x gn!reader)

[ no beta we die like Ethereals | OOC possibility ]

It was no secret that the Random Play siblings were quite the hustle-bustle. Apart from managing the video store, to a few, they also take "special" commissions to guide people at the Hollows. Not only that, being proxies, they had to keep their true identities a secret from parties seeking to unveil them. Though some, a select few people, were aware of the siblings' double lives.

One of the few people was you. Circumstances led you to discover the people behind Phaethon, and since today, you had been bound by a contract that wouldn't let you sell them out. No matter how high the price offered by desiring shadows.

Hence why, you did the second thing you could do best; befriending them! If you couldn't make them your enemies, then you would try to gain their favorability--maybe you could extract a favor or two from them.

That afternoon, you stopped by Random Play, wanting to browse what movie to play later in your homely, well-deserved movie night. The flyer of the memory-erasing pen you got from the technology store a few blocks away shoved down your purse. A silly machine, too expensive for you to want it. The sound of your arrival alerted the person in charge, prompting a "Welcome to Random Play" from behind a rack. A head popped from the side.

"Oh, it's you." Wise's voice sounded a bit guarded no matter how many times you had gone here, but he was quick to put up the professionalism. "Any movie you're looking for today?"

You hoped you could show a bewilderment, but his cynical--you meant--caution did deserve praise sometimes. Your eyes wandered around before settling on his form. "Yeah, I'm looking for something to eat my dinner with. Got any nasty murder documentaries with you?"

Wise was for sure weirded. You caught how his eyebrows slightly furrowed, it didn't help too that his eyebags seemed to enhance that emotion, before guiding you to a rack.

"We have..." Wise's fingers hovered in the air before settling on a video cover. "Don't Fuck with Bangboos," and those fingers began to slide as he listed all the titles on that one row. Just four movies there.

"Huh. And here I thought there would be more variety." Your eyes settled on Wise, the accusation clear knowing how much Wise loved documentaries. You were responded with a sigh.

"Unfortunately, documentaries-lovers, me included, would rather see things they can be grateful of--we have enough 'loss' already."

"Doesn't mean you can't have more of the darker documentaries."

"Never said that; I'm just saying there isn't enough demand for them." His eyebrows furrowed once more. He looked old.

"You really gotta stop trying to merge your eyebrows" Now it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows. Your face quickly relaxed while throwing him a grin, though. "Lest you want wrinkles at your age."

Wise's eyebrows slowly relaxed, staring at you with a passive look.

"There. Much better!" You huffed a wider grin. "Now, with what should you service your customer?"

Reluctantly, a smile formed on Wise's face. Shit, he looks cute. You mentally punched yourself for that.

"O-okay! Good!" Did you just stutter? "I'll be taking 'Don't Fuck with Bangboos', then! S-shall we go to the cashier?" A high-pitched voice.

Okay, NOW you're starting to change your mind on that memory-erasing pen.

Calm down, you! If you keep doing that, you're basically foiling your own plan.

You didn't hear exactly what Wise said. You just heard a plural amount of something, fished your purse and put some dennies on the counter, and took the movie. You did it! You did them all while remaining calm and not looking rushed or anything!

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Wise looked at the counter where you put your dennies on. After counting them, he found that you also put a little piece of paper along. He picked it up, finding the word "Wipe anyone's memory! Rebrand yourself anew!" at the top.

#wise zzz x reader #wise x reader #zzz x reader

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strawberrymochin · 5 months

Text

I will be back soon~

Genre- fluff, angst...umm yeah whatever synopsis- kento's baby fever (sorry)

Kento Nanami having a baby fever was sort of unexpected. Ever since you had known him from his emo canon phase, till his enlightenment of every job in world being shitty, he's a person to get straight to the point. Speak his mind without any barriers of people's opinions.

when you first saw him, among the busy crowds of the station along with bunch of people in similar uniform like him, you chuckled a bit to yourself noting his golden bangs. He looked at you once with a glare as you drop your head down, embarrassed, trying not to make the fact that you were staring at him obvious.

You never saw him after that day of rush hour in 2006.

As time went by, this encounter of you with the sullen guy with blonde side swept bangs had dust fallen over till the memory of it blurred completely from your vision.

Up until 2016, where in a buisness trip back to Tokyo led you to a person, striking a sense of familiarity. 'The Emo Blondie' you recognised from ten years ago.

"Is something wrong, miss? You've been staring at me for past five minutes." He said maintaining a calm demeanor, as blood rushed to your cheeks, ears red burning with embarrassment. "Oh no, I'm fine.....I was ah kinda zoned out." You say blocking your face from his view with the flies you held in your hand.

Insignificant. The memory was totally insignificant— however the evocation came out vividly crisp. As if the picture of that past encounter was engraved in your mind and this meeting with him blew gust of wind, blowing off the dust accumulated over it.

He has always been straight to the point. As mentioned earlier, he even voiced out whenever you got flustered working with him; when he bends down to your desk, hands caging you from both sides as he uses one to show you what changes shall you make in the proposal; his breath would brush on the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, "I think you should focus on the proposal, rather than shying away."

"Huh?"

He would simply walk away. And what annoyed you the most was his same neutral calm expression. Does his manner never falters? He drives you in such embarrassing situations that you would effing wish to die on that moment. Such a menace.

Better start to avoid him. That was your initial plan, which you put to use, ignoring nanami and cutting out any situation where you have to face each other; going for help to other employees rather than the one you're assisted to— 'kento nanami' ofcourse; refusing on lunch together with the group whenever he used to join; avoiding even to look at him.

You thought you were doing good. There were no more embarrassing situations, now that you keep your distance from the so called past emo guy. You were happy life was back in track again.

That night you were working overtime. Finishing it you strech yourself, gathering your bag to go back home, humming to a tune, walking up to the elevator.

The gate opened and your smile dropped. Inside standing was kento nanami— same expression. The air went awkward, tension rising, he kept staring at you with a frown.

"Are you getting in or not?"

"Ah— I am." You give in, actions suddenly involuntary. The doors closed. None of you spoke for a while, till his velvet voice broke the threads of stillness tangling around.

"Are you purposely ignoring me?" His voice sent shivers down your spine, as your eyes widen to look at him. Oh no— you're going red again. I mean how the fuck you're not supposed to, if he's leaning on the elevator walls, with that tight shirt, two buttons open from the collar with a loose tie looped around showing off his pretty collar bones.

"Wha— no" you blatantly lie.

"Lie," he comes closer, dangerously closer till your back touches the cold surface of the elevator, "you obviously seem to avoid my presence."

"Th— that's not the c-case. You see I ahh" your voice falls as his tongue swipes over his pursed lips. "Mhm? I see what?" You want to answer, but the words won't just come out throat.

"You know what I see? I see you having a crush on me which you are hesitant to act upon...." That's it you were done. You passed out of embarrassment. And the next thing you know, when you regain your consciousness is you laying on a bed with warm blankets draped upon, in an unknown bedroom, which you now recognise as your boyfriend's.

"Dating is shit," He said, "but we can try."

It's been two years now you're dating. Nanami started being a sorcerer again as it suited his tastes and you were happy you won't have to listen him venting "work is shit."

You held your pregnency test, hand shaking, as it showed two lines— positive. Nanami wanted a baby, though he never said it directly, but through these blissful years you have learned to pick up on his unspoken words.

You were not ready for a baby. You weren't even married yet. You still had a career, goals to fulfill. However, tears brimmed up your eyes, of unmatchable joy. You couldn't wait to see the look you on your boyfriend's face as you reveal it to him.

Will he be happy? You were nervous. But indeed there was no doubt he wouldn't. His face would creak up, eyes creasing as lips form a huge smile, grabbing your waist spinning you around with joy. Kissing you telling you're the most beautiful blessing to him.

You remember once he told you about his dream when you asked about it randomly. He said he wanted to settle somewhere in Malaysia, with you. So simple yet so beautiful. Maybe it's time to fulfill it. You and nanami, settling in Malaysia as a mini version of you both joins soon. Have a family.

You couldn't wait to see him in the evening near Shibuya as you had a date night with him after he finishes with something that got him engaged real quick. He kissed your forehead before leaving, "I will be back soon." He said inhaling your scent from the crook of your neck.

You hurried to Shibuya, making sure not to forget the pregnancy test with you— a bow wrapped around it. You chuckle being impatient to see his reaction.

Your eyes scanned around to spot the familiar blonde hair. You don't know why people seemed to be in a rush. Unable to find your boyfriend you tilt your head in confusion.

You stroll around trying to find him. The air smells weird, sort of metalic, like— blood. A unsettling feeling crossed your heart. The station seems oddly quite, you turn your head trying to spot people, till you step on something mushy— a hand. It was a human hand you stepped on.

You stumble back, wanting to scream. Blood is scattered everywhere with sliced dead bodies of people. Dread strikes you—"Please don't be here. Please don't be here. Please nanami." — and among the dead bodies you spot him, standing covered in bruises. Half body burnt as a guy had his hand on his back. A wicked smile on his face.

You stilled as nanami looked at you for a second then looking somewhere else. He didn't recognise you from far. It seemed like he's in a daze.

No— you can't just stand there. You have to go and tell him. Tell him that he's going to be a father. Tell him you guys will be shifting to malaysia. Living his dream life.

You take one step towards him, trying to voice out his name— but it's useless. You couldn't.

Your boyfriend's body burst into pieces— the one you cuddled with every night, his crimson red blood splattered everywhere, just infront of your eyes— and you could do nothing. Nothing but stand.

The guy behind him noticed you, smirking deviously, but decided to ignore and run after a pink haired guy as you fall on your knees.

You crawl upto the bloody mess, of your boyfriend. Tears fell down your face as you hand touches him— his blood— smearing it on your face. He looked beautiful— even when he was half burnt. His blood was the darkest shade of red you've ever seen.

Why does everything has to be like this? You didn't even get to tell him about his baby, growing in your womb. You didn't get to see him smile. You didn't get to start a family with him.

'I will be back soon.' He said before leaving.

"You lied." You manage to let out between sobs.

Years passed after that incident. Nanami left this world, but his baby joined it. Your son has the same hair as him, which you like to style in the emo hairstyle in which you first saw his dad.

You shifted to malaysia after that, protecting your son, the only reason for you to live— living namami's dream, which you made yours.

a/n- sorry | ごめんなさい

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mcuamerica · 15 days

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Legacy | Eris x Reader

For Eris Week 2024 - Day 2: Childhood | Legacy @erisweekofficial

Summary: Eris and his mate have two girls, but Eris starts to doubt his ability as a father as you’re about to have a boy.

Warnings: parental abuse (Beron), child near-drowning (let me know if I missed anything!)

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears for Eris Week.

Calida and Rhea ran around the Forest House garden. Callie stuck to the areas near the bushes while Rhea played by the brook, always so much closer to water than Callie. It was a trait that you nor Eris had a clue where it came from but Rhea loved the water. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was a daughter of Summer and not Night and Autumn. Nonetheless, you were both proud to call her your daughter. Callie too.

Eris frowned as he watched Rhea stumble into the small brook, sitting up in his chair to prepare to help her.

He paused, a memory of when he was a child flashing through his mind.

Lucien was showing Eris how he caught fish. A mere boy of 10. He had no business being in the river. Certainly not when a dam suddenly broke and rushed the water towards him. Eris was too late, watching as his youngest brother was devoured by the waves. As we went to help, his father’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Do not help him,” he said sternly.

Eris looked up, frowning. “What do you mean? He will drown.” A slap for the talk back fell upon his cheek. He was used to it, should’ve known better.

“If he does, then he is no son of mine.” He said and frowned as he watched the red haired boy fight against the raging water. Eris looked towards the broken dam, frowning at the singed bark around the edges. His father. Beron had broken the dam. Knowing Lucien would drown.

Eris turned towards his father. “Mother will be-“

“Your mother will not say anything.” Beron said, his hand coming up to Eris’s throat. “Shall I throw you into the water as well? See how well you survive, Eris?” He growled.

Eris shook his head, taking a deep breath as his father released his throat. “Let him die… or save him and face the consequences of ensuring the weakness of your brother. Of my legacy.” He growled.

Eris watched as Lucien struggled. He could swim. Not well… but he could. He was struggling to stay afloat… and being pulled further down the river. To the waterfall. Damn the consequences, he wasn’t going to let his brother die because his father was a bastard.

He ran towards the river, leaping in after Lucien. He helped Lucien to the shore, his arm wrapping against his waist. Lucien coughed out water as they reached the shore. Just as he was about to say thank you to his brother, Eris was snatched out of the water by Beron.

“Find your way home.” Beron growled to Lucien then winnowed away from him, Eris’s dripping body going with him.

Eris received the beating of his life that night. And two days afterwards. Lucien was fine, but was forbidden to see Eris for weeks. What did it say about Eris that his daughters never experienced such things? It was good, they never met their grandfather. Never knew the abuse he endured. But did that make him weak? For keeping it to himself?

Just as he had the thought, Callie ran over to her, helping her up.

“You okay?” Her small voice asked, ever the protective older sister.

Rhea frowned at a rock beneath her foot. “It tripped me.” She said, crossing her arms.

Eris let out a small chuckle, leaning back as he watched his girls talk. They ran off together, two of his (their) hounds running after them. He looked over his shoulder as you slept on the bed, perched up by a few pillows so your pregnant stomach would be supported. He still wasn’t sure how you two had managed to get pregnant so close in years, but he wasn’t complaining.

He loved you so much it hurt. And he loved your two girls even more, if it was possible. Though, you know your were having a boy this time around. And a boy was different.

Raising the girls was new. There was nothing for him to compare to… his father raised all boys, if you call what he did raising… The girls were different. They were bright and soft and strong and full of life. And he knew his little boy would be too. But… his father raised so many boys. And all but two were truly decent. If Eris counted himself decent.

Would he be different towards his boy? Treat him harder? Worse than his girls? Would be expect more from him just because he was a male?

The inner turmoil raced through his head, so much that it was communicated down the bond to you.

You stirred from your afternoon nap, seeing Eris chewing on his lip. It was a quirk he didn’t show often but when he did you knew something was wrong.

You slowly got out of the bed. You were 8 months pregnant, very much ready to be done with the pregnancy and have your little boy in your arms. But something was bothering Eris. And that was something you needed to fix. If only because you wanted to go back to sleep.

“Eris.” You whispered, a hand resting on his shoulder.

Eris barely moved, his eyes glancing up to you. “Are you well, my love?” He asked you.

A small smile danced on your lips. “I should be asking you that. You’re a nervous wreck. Are the girls okay?” You asked.

“They’re perfect… that’s the problem.” He said.

A confused frowned made its way to your face with a slight tilt of your head.

“It’s just… What if the girls are this way because… I’m meant to raise girls. Because my father-“ Eris took a shaky breath. “My father raised terrible sons. What if I do the same?” He asked.

“Eris… are you the only one raising them?” You asked, walking to stand in front of him. His only answer was a shake of the head. “Are you planning to raise our boy differently?” Another shake of the head. “And will you love him just as much as you love our girls?” Another one.. “Then why would you raise a terrible son?”

His eyes finally met yours, amber burning into violet. “Because I don’t know how to raise a son.”

“You didn’t know how to raise a daughter until 10 years ago,” you said, cupping his cheek. “And now you have two. Maybe not perfect, but damn good daughters. Who love you more than anything.” You said. “And I would not decide to have a child with you, male or female, if I thought you would make a bad father.”

Tears lined his eyes. “But my father-“

“Was a terrible man… and you, Eris Vanserra, are not your father. Not by a long shot.” You said and leaned down, pressing your lips to his. “Don’t you forget that.” You whispered before turning away from him. “Let’s go get the girls, I’m hungry and we should make some apple crisp.” You said.

Eris followed after you, soon seeing the girls wrap themselves around your legs. And when he looked at the three of you, and soon to be fourth growing in your belly, he knew this would be his legacy. The strong, loving family you built together. And he was proud to have it.

A/N: I love the thought of Eris being a girl dad (and being amazing at it) but being insecure when a boy rolls around... ugh I love him.

#erisweek2024 #eris fic #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #acotar #katie writes

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an-idyllic-novelist · 1 year

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100 Milestone Event - raiden taeemon with mitsuri!reader! short story 🍡

Here it is everyone, the milestone event for reaching +100 followers! This is also part two of another milestone on my yandere blog!

The link will be here, so definitely check it out first before reading this one! Special thanks to @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me with the sections I was struggling to write. Not gonna lie, Raiden’s dialogue is a bit hard lol. So with that being said: sit back, relax and enjoy! :)

warnings: canon divergence of manga, violence, strong language.

The moment Raiden Taeemon witnessed the strength of a Hashira is a memory he would never forget.

In Valhalla, there were many activities to entertain the masses such as gambling or martial arts tournaments, but sumo matches have been providing just the right amount of spectacle and violence far longer than any known sport. Even gods had become sponsors to certain dojos, providing funds for more equipment and so forth. Raiden was content with his lifestyle, fighting against strong opponents, eating good food and followed by having some fun with a few girls depending on how much alcohol he drank that night.

Then sumo wrestlers began disappearing from the dojos, one by one. Their remains would be discovered the following morning, torn asunder and…half-eaten. The sight frightened the customers so much that they didn’t dare go outside unless they were absolutely certain that the matches would not last beyond the first rays of the sun setting across the hazy blue skies. Even the gods had begun to worry, believing there was a serial killer on the loose…if you can call withdrawing their sponsorships an expression of anxiety. The masters of the dojos even began restricting the fighters to a curfew, forbidding anyone from going out into the night lest they face expulsion.

But Raiden was tough. He had been the strongest sumo wrestler of his time. He could take care of himself. If someone wants to come after him, he’ll return the gesture wholeheartedly.

After an evening of drinking, he took his usual stroll back home when he heard someone call out to him. Confused and half inebriated, Raiden looked over his shoulder and saw a shivering, drooling, decrepit old man with a large lump on his head. At first he thought something was wrong with him…but that concern changed to alarm when the man split his body up into four younger versions of himself with fashionable robes, fangs, and possessed weapons. One of them even had wings and talons like an eagle!

One of them opened his mouth and released a loud screech with enough strength to make Raiden’s head spin and catapulted him into a building. As he stumbled to get out of the debris, the one wearing red robes thrusted his wooden staff into the ground, lightning bolts spitting from it. Raiden screamed, white-hot pain pulsing through his body.

“This is supposed to be the strongest one in this district? How lame!”

“Shut up and finish the job, Karaku! We cannot be seen or else they will come! We cannot go back to that place!”

“Come on, it’s been so long since we’ve played with our food~!”

For the first time in his life, Raiden felt fear. He did not know what these guys…this thing was, but he had to get away. He had to get away or he might die again.

“I’ll finish it. Do not worry, human, your death shall be quick and painless.”

Raiden’s eyes widened as the one dressed in blue charged towards him, wielding a halberd with an apathetic expression. Yet before the weapon could put a hole in his chest, it flew out of his bronze hands with a loud ‘crack’.

“Geez, of all the demons that had to be causing trouble in this place, it’s you guys again?!”

The sumo wrestler whipped his head towards the rooftops of the building, seeing a young woman with braided pink-greenish hair and dressed in black, [Eye Color] orbs narrowed and face pouting as she wielded….a whip? Behind her were two other individuals. A kid in a checkered haori…and a little girl with a piece of bamboo in her mouth?

He watched them leap into the air; the kid unsheathed his sword and went straight towards Red, the girl charged at the green-robed one he assumed was Karaku, and the woman targeted the blue one that was right in front of him.

Neither opponent was giving an inch in their fight, and Raiden had to admit that the kid and muzzled girl were doing remarkably well….yet it wasn’t their unusual sword style or hand-to-hand combat techniques that caught his interest. It was the woman who had torn off her opponent’s arm as soon as she flipped him over her shoulder, knocking him into the ground with a loud ‘crack’.

The blue-eyed demon opened his mouth to scream or release an attack like the yellow one, but she swung her whip across his neck, decapitating the bastard.

Wait, where is the yellow one? Hearing a loud screech, Raiden whipped his head up to the nighttime skies and saw the demon's mouth stretching. The wrestler watched in horror as sparks of electrified air were being collected into a whirling sphere. And the target of the attack was none other than the little lady.

Somehow, he’d been able to force his aching body to move from the debris and bolt towards her, pushing the lady as close to the ground as possible without crushing her, using himself as a shield to absorb most of the attack when it came at them.

The last thing he remembered were his ears feeling wet and the woman’s worried face and… she was saying something to him before he lost consciousness.

He didn’t know what it was, but he hoped it’d been a ‘thank you’. It’s not everyday he got to protect a damsel from a demon, even when she could stand on her own ground.

As Raiden slowly came too, feeling the familiar padding of his futon, he groaned deeply, unable to open his eyes. A headache throbbed painfully through his whole head, making him both dizzy and nauseous.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a hangover this bad as he was slowly able to open his eyes, wincing at the light peeking through his window. His other senses slowly came back to him as the throbbing in his head slowly dulled. Raiden shifted and instantly froze, feeling his whole body seemed to be on fire yet so heavy at the same time.

As the minutes ticked by, Raiden was slowly able to sit up, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his head, but his movements were stiff, almost like he was restricted, looking down to see bandages all over his body. His mind drew a blank, not remembering getting hurt and like a switch was flipped at that word, hurt, what he could recall from the night before came rushing back to him, making him fall back against his futon as his headache returned full force.

Shit…what the hell even happened? All he remembered was having a good time and then the weird old man…

Raiden’s eyes widened. That’s right. The old man turned into four demons! And then there were those kids…and that woman. The woman with hair that looked like sakura mochi and had the strength of a bear.

Head spinning, heart pounding, his mouth stretched into a grin as the memories from last night came back in full force. He had a preference for the larger ladies, but he’s always been flexible~.

Rengoku had told you countless times that if you ever crossed paths with Hantengu in the Bifrost, never confront him alone. He nearly lost his life against the Upper Moon Demon at the Swordsman’s Village if it hadn’t been for Tanjiro, Muichiro, and Nezuko. In all honesty, he thought the demon would no longer exist once his head had been cut off. But he is still there, in the Bifrost, and he escaped through a tear in the barrier.

He tried to consume as many strong humans as possible to regain his strength, though his efforts drew in unnecessary attention and that’s how he got caught. Tanjiro was able to deliver the final blow to the main body, and everything else went well….although no one had anticipated the damage done to the sumo wrestling district.

Oh goodness, what was going to happen? You knew Tengen and Rengoku loved to go there and watch the matches, especially when Raiden Taeemon was participating, but now it’d take weeks to clean up the mess! Gah, you failed on your second official mission as the Love Hashira! One more strike, and the Master’s gonna be so mad he won’t let you be part of the Demon Slayer Corps anymore!!

You sighed heavily, trudging through the streets with a heavy heart as your crow flew high in the skies above. You had completed another shift in the Bifrost, followed by an investigation in regards to another possible demon sighting in the northern areas of Valhalla.

Although everyone had reassured you that no one was seriously injured that fateful night, it still bothered you tremendously. You had offered to donate the money made from selling honeycombs at the farmer’s market towards the reconstruction of the district, but the Master told you not to fret.

You did what you had to do, and minimized the casualties as much as possible. Rengoku has taught his apprentice very well. The compliment still made your face flush with happiness…though, to your embarrassment, not as much as when you brought that handsome fellow back to his dojo. Raiden Taeemon. You rescued Raiden Taeemon from a demon and treated him in his own room!

Oh, you were such an awful woman~!

Feeling your face redden in embarrassment, you slapped your cheeks together. Pull yourself together, [First Name]! There’s no need to reminisce about the past ‘cause it’ll make delicious food go sour in your mouth! And it’s time for lunch anyway, just think about what you’re gonna order and worry about everything else later unless there’s an urgent message from the Master!

Nodding to yourself, you quickened your pace and found a restaurant with the wisteria symbol stamped just beneath the sign. If a Demon Slayer needed a place to stay or to eat, the establishments that carried the Master’s symbol were trustworthy.

You could relax here without worrying about a demon or paying too much out of your pocket, although you secretly snuck in a hefty tip to the staff for working so hard to accommodate your…quirks. Yeah, quirks, let’s go with that!

Smiling brightly at the familiar faces of the employees, you greeted them enthusiastically and wished they had a good shift as you followed one of them towards the back of the restaurant. This place still catered to other customers, so you always reserved a room for yourself to enjoy your meal in privacy.

Being gawked at for having unusual hair or how much you ate on a daily basis brought back unpleasant memories.

You squealed joyfully at the lacquered oval-shaped table, covered with every single item on the menu plus their best-selling herbal tea! You thanked the staff member profusely for their hard work in the kitchen, promising to enjoy the meal to the fullest!

The employee - a kindly older man with four children and one grandchild - smiled serenely, saying it is the least he and his family can do for the people who saved them long ago, in life and death, from demons. If you need anything, just let him or someone else know.

Upon bowing to each other, he left, closing the door behind him. You wasted no time in giving your thanks to this lovely banquet and began eating to your hearts’ desire. But an hour later, however, a knock came at the door. It was the old man again, but he sounded…worried.

You blinked. Huh? You didn’t remember asking for thirds! You just did that ten minutes ago! Concerned, you allowed him to enter, immediately inquiring what was wrong, what could you do to help.

He swallowed. “That is….there is a man who insists on asking about the ‘cute little lady with hair like sakura mochi’. I told him I knew whom he was speaking about, but politely asked him to leave because you were not to be disturbed. But he is insistent on…sharing this room with you for lunch. What should I do, Lady Hashira?”

You frowned. It wasn’t too unusual to have some rowdy customers walk through these doors, but not to this extent. Perhaps…the person who is giving the owner such a difficult time is because the man has some information he would like to relay to the Demon Slayer Corps? It would make more sense to go directly to a Hashira than pass a message to a kakushi.

You nodded your head to the owner.

“It’s all right, let him come in. Whatever he wants to eat, please add it to my bill.”

The owner’s silver brows pinched beneath his hairline as he frowned. “As you wish, Lady Hashira.” He bowed and quickly left the room, closing the sliding paper door behind him.

Humming softly to yourself, you sat yourself back down in your seat. Some of the employees appeared from behind, quickly and quietly removing the empty plates and rushing back to the kitchens.You thanked each of them for your hard work, smiling softly as you began pouring tea into two earth-brown ceramic cups.

One for yourself, and one for your guest. In your humble opinion, there is no better beverage to have mid-meal than freshly brewed green tea.

Just as you finished pouring the tea into the second cup, the door opened again.

When you looked up to thank the owner for complying with your request, blood drained from your face and your heart somersaulted in your throat. Standing behind the quaking owner was a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a dark blue yukata and wooden sandals. White highlights stuck out of his dark brown hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. And he was grinning.

This is Raiden. Raiden Taeemon, the man you had saved from Hantengu and patched up his wounds like the lascivious criminal you were. Oh no, did he figure out what you’d done? Wait, did he even remember that night?! His breath smelled strongly of rice wine when you carried him back to his dojo! You thought for certain that he’d been too intoxicated to realize what happened!

“Hey, there.” He purred softly.

You swallowed. “H-Hello.” You said. “I hear that you wished to speak to me. May I inquire why?” You tried to keep your voice neutral and calm so as to not show that you were nervous. Your palms began to sweat as he took a seat at the table. Raiden beamed, his smile revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“I wanted to thank you!”

But you did not hear him. You were still under the assumption he was angry as you quickly backed away from the sumo wrestler, your forehead and hands resting firmly on the wooden floor in the position of the dogeza.

“I’m so sorry!” You blubbered. “I’m sorry you got hurt! I wasn’t strong enough to handle the demon on my own and you got hurt trying to protect me!! And there was so much damage to the b-buildings! What if you can’t have matches?! What have I done?! I’ll pay for all the damages somehow, I swear it in my honor as the Love Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps!”

“W-Wait a sec, little lady -”

“But to make it even worse, I entered your home without your permission, and I even touched your body so I could patch you up! Oh, I should have done more! What was I even thinking about being a capable Hashira when Rengoku recommended me to the Master to take up the mantle! Now all the good vibes from lunch are gone!!”

You squeaked as you were suddenly lifted up from the ground, your face being gently cradled by calloused palms and being pulled towards Raiden’s face, chapped lips being pressed against your mouth. Raiden Taeemon was kissing you.

Heat immediately flooded into your cheeks yet you did not dare move, just staring at this man in disbelief. When he pulled away, he smiled at you, tilting his head to the side. “You okay now?”

Your immediate response had been knocking him back into an adjacent wall and turning away to hide your smiling, flushed face. To think you had your first kiss with a strong, handsome man! He did surprise you with a warm laugh, standing up and brushing the dust off of his yukata.

“Sorry about that! You were rambling and that was the only thing I could think of to calm you down!”

When you informed that he was in fact the first person to kiss you like that, he looked at you, completely stunned at your confession before grinning.

“You’re pulling my leg! There ain’t no way a woman as stunning as you hasn’t been kissed before!”

But you remained silent, unable to form any more words beyond the truth. You were never a very good liar. He then surprised you when he lowered his head to the floor, profusely apologizing for putting you in such an embarrassing position.

You quickly forgave him, saying that he did not know in the first place, and in fairness, you had believed that you would not see each other again after that fateful night. You did, however, emphasize that he did have to take responsibility for his actions.

He laughed warmly, jabbing his thumb against his chest. “I’ll do just that then! I’ll marry ya, if you’re willing to be with someone like me!”

You beamed. “Better yet, how about we have lunch together while we’re here? I did say that whatever my ‘guest’ would like to have would be paid by me! And the food here is absolutely delicious! You simply must try their spicy dishes and sweets, if you have a sweet tooth!”

The rest of the afternoon had been lovely, sharing dishes and sharing stories about each other. Not wanting to repeat your parents’ mistakes, you were upfront with Raiden about being a Hashira…as well as being the eldest daughter of the ocean god Poseidon. There were going to be risks if the two of you moved forward….including the possibility that you might not come back from a mission, or even a routine patrol in the Bifrost might get awry.

But to your surprise, Raiden wanted this. He wanted you, a woman who had once been told by a former suitor that only a wild animal could love someone with odd-colored hair and a big appetite.

He did not care if you were a human or a god; what mattered to him, more than strength and beauty, was honesty and kindness.

And you could not be any happier.

Bonus Content:

The last thread of Hades’ patience snapped when his little brother demanded to have [First Name] removed from the Demon Slayer Corps in his palace, after he’d just told Poseidon that she was doing well under Ubuyashiki’s watchful eye.

When he heard about his niece's promotion, Hades was obligated to tell Poseidon the truth about her whereabouts. Obviously he was not taking it very well.

However, Hades will not tolerate being disrespected in his own domain.

The lord of the underworld glared at the tyrant of the oceans. “She may be your daughter, but she is still the Love Hashira of the Demon Slayer Corps. You know damned well I cannot replace skilled soldiers at the flick of a wrist. It doesn’t work like that for this organization. I’m sorry, Poseidon…but you brought this outcome upon yourself. If [First Name] wishes to see you or talk to you, she will do so on her own terms. Do not push yourself into her life again, you’ll only make things worse.”

Hades admired his brother’s kingly qualities, he truly did…but when it came to matters about his eldest daughter, Poseidon was extremely overprotective of her. He could be…irrational.

It was a good thing he’d concealed the wedding invitation moments before Poseidon came here. The god of perfection would never allow his child to marry a human, even if he were the strongest sumo wrestler in history or treated [First Name] just as Hades treated his wife Persephone: with respect, love, and honor.

Poseidon could care less about Amphitrite. Reputation is all that mattered to him; and because he valued that so highly, the price had been paid with his daughter’s ‘disappearance’.

Too little, too late.

Taglist:

@potato-studez-hungryformore

@mallory-a-bond

@hansel-the-pierrot

@bre99-blog

@mortemorii

@myrisan-melodies

@nooneknows8976

@puffy-bangs

@onecantsimply

@nunezs-stuff

@praisethesuuun

@thatstrangesheep

@zodiacs-web

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@themoonisrising

Honorable mentions:

@deathmetalunicorn1

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #an idyllic novelist #record of ragnarok #ror x reader #snv x reader #fem reader #mitsuri!reader #snv #ror raiden #snv raiden #ror x you #snv x you #milestone event #raiden tameemon #raiden tameemon x reader

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spacebarbarianweird · 9 months

Note

Astarion with Wood Elf!Tav headcanons, pls?

I decided to stick to the prompt and write about Wood Elves as promised, but let me know in the requests if you want Wild Elf!Tav as well!

Astarion x Wood Elf!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: a mention of suicide and PTSD

As a Wood Elf, you grew up deep in the woods in one of the many hidden villages of your people.

Since childhood, you learned to trust humans and dwarves and know how to survive in the forests.

You are good with animals and have your own familiar - a lynx called Mould (because of her weird patterns on the fur).

When you were sixteen, your woods were destroyed by orcs. You survived by hiding high in the trees, afraid of going down.

From now on, your path is the path of revenge.

To orcs, who destroyed your home. To humans who sicced them and solved the issues with Elves with their dirty hands. To dwarves who refused to help.

And to High Elves who didn't help a young orphan

You kill. You destroy. You are cruel and violent like a drow, not a Wood Elf.

Your rage and your blindness are used by the wrong people.

Your bow and your arrows become a weapon of destruction.

You leave a blood trace wherever you go.

Until you are kidnapped by mindflayers.

You aren't afraid. You want to die. You just wait until the cruel will of the Illithyds turns you into something monstrous.

But it doesn't happen. The tadpole blocks some of your most unpleasant memories and suppresses the bloodlust and disgust.

You've never felt so good!

As a leader, you gather your small company to get to Baldur's Gate.

You feel something is off with Astarion - Wood Elves have a good intuition concerning the Undead.

You feel compassion - you also left a trace of blood. You allow him to feed on you, and with every day you get closer.

He reconnects with the Elven culture through you, though Sylvan Elves and Moon Elves are different.

You braid his short hair and adorn it with little pieces of jewelry the same way men of your kin did.

On the other hand, he tells you about history and geography things that aren't known to isolated Or-tel-quessir.

You help Astarion to heal, and you feel like something is healing inside you. Your past, your sorrows.

But the moment the tadpole disappears...

It is all back.

The blood on your hands. The cries of your victims.

You want to die.

While the streets of Baldur's Gate are festive, you walk like a ghost.

You don't deserve to live. Not after everything you've done.

You want to end it all. You find a solitary place where no one will ever find you, and you take a dagger.

You faint as the blood leaves your body, and you feel like death lulls you to forever sleep.

You hope that your soul is too corrupt to be reincarnated.

But-

You wake up.

Alive.

Astarion has saved you.

He found you by the smell of blood and managed to find help before it was too late.

You remember his desperate cry for help, his attempts to stop the blood loss.

As you recover, he takes care of you. He spoon-feeds you, changes the bandages, and never ever says anything about your suicide attempt.

He knows why you did it. And he won't allow you to do that ever again.

Together, you leave the city and go into the wilderness.

You help each other heal. Astarion soothes your mental pain, and you help him with nightmares.

You have a few more attempts to off yourself, but Astarion always finds words to stop you.

With years, it gets easier. You redeemed yourself in your own eyes by helping people. You found the strength to keep living.

As for Astarion, he comes to terms with your mortality.

You will live for centuries, and you have a lot of time together.

And you will return. You will reincarnate and, if he is still alive, you shall meet again.

A century post-game, you find yourself in the familiar woods.

You know this place.

It is your destroyed home.

You cry and grieve while Astarion holds you, not letting you fall into the dark abyss of your sorrows.

He helps you build a small shrine, a reminder about people who used to live there.

And you feel good. You feel free.

Astarion suggests going to see more of this world. Other continents, maybe, other planes.

And you agree. You leave your past and go into the future with your Thiramin, once and forever love.

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#spacebarbarian headcanon #dnd elves #high elves #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #tav x astarion #astarion x f!tav #dnd elf #dnd wood elf

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neo-zone · 3 months

Text

Sweet Home 3 Teaser Personal Breakdown

youtube

As what I feared, Sergeant Tak and Sang-won collabed (for the lack of better word). The people showing symptoms, instead of being isolated in certain place outside the stadium until they die (if my memory is correct), will be taken to wherever the Neohuman gang intended to further undergo monsterization process and if some are lucky enough, will be Neohumans (since we know not all people become Neohumans, some turn into pure full monster form)

Dr. Lim is pretty much alive, doing the announcement on the beginning of the trailer (well I thought Sang-won gonna give him double amount of karma for the torturous experiment he volunteered, apparently a too high expectation my bad). My assumption is after the encounter in the last episode of season 2, he made an agreement with Sang-won (probably to save his ass) and let him to the stadium

Yi-kyung's daughter is also inside the stadium now. Hm, wonder how and when she get in 🤔 What is she gonna do in season 3? Whose side she's on? Or she's still on her own side with the non-Neohuman monsters like the ones she has befriended (notice that none of them are Neohumans)? We shall see

Now I remember why the high school shaman girl in Exhuma felt familiar, turned out few months before the movie, she played the monster girl Sergeant Kim met in the last episode of season 2 where his platoon went inside the facility (now she's outside with the others). Yeah, definitely a polar opposite role. Strange I didn't saw her actress name in the SH2 cast list, I wonder why

Some glimpses of tragedy and doom that will happen to the soldiers (and if my memory is correct there's the sick woman with military boyfriend as well). It's not pretty, I know

We got action duo Eun-yu and Chan-young obviously fighting the monsters (and probably Neohumans too). His fans on twt pointing out in an understandable fear because of the genre that this little sneak peak might be summarizing his final appearances (as in death flag), but let's see when the season is released. I'm positive he's gonna survive, but if he got the Ji-su treatment, welp won't be surprised again this time

The scene where everyone (including Hyun-su and not just the stadium survivors) gathered outside, I wonder what was that for? 🤔 There are some monster cocoons as well

Only Kim and one of his crew who survived Bamseom?

Where did Hyun-su get the cool black suit? Did he go to another shopping mall like at the early episodes of season 2? Have he consider wearing a sleeveless cloth because it's a shame the expensive sleeve got ripped again

My bad feeling and paranoia is skyrocketing again with that Eun-hyeok only scene 😶 Yeah I know he literally walked with Eun-yu and Hyun-su on the first official teaser pic back in February. But better safe than sorry, I never trust that kind of blank sinister look and head tilting

Hoooo, Hyun-su is talking about taking out and killing Sang-won? 👀 Can't wait for the unlimited stabbing and flirting between them (featuring Eun-hyeok if the battle royal gonna be real)

We (I mean Hyun-su) gonna fight a bigger protein monster?

Who does Sang-won refer to with the "we'll meet soon? Hyun-su? His biological child?

Good luck with your family drama and inner monster struggle, Yi-kyung. Wish you all the best

Please do correct me if I'm wrong or add what you noticed but I didn't on the reply. Thank you

#sweet home #sweet home netflix #sweet home 3 #sweet home season 3

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paperglader · 9 months

Text

So… I did jingliu’s companion mission…

you’re telling me that the only thing that’s been keeping this woman alive is hatred and a promise she made to someone she loved like eons ago… and that the reincarnation of that same woman who she made the promise to told her that she could cure her mental turmoil if only she let herself rid of the torments of the past, and jingliu was like “nope, my pain is the only thing that’s keeping the memory of my loved one alive, so I shall bare it till the stars go dark” TO HER FACE. And then proceded to tell her that even though she couldn’t physically do anything to aid her illness, just by being near her once again, she healed more than any medicine could’ve ever done.

So, she’s doomed by immortality to live her life infinitely with the grief of the loss of the one she loved + the loss of her own sanity, and the guilt of the deeds made whilst she wasn’t lucid in her own body. Believing herself a sinner and a criminal, with no memories of the good times, all stolen by her own mind- with only hatred left towards the people that she once called her friends. A revenge that could never be fulfilled by her own blade. So, she seeks for one last final respite before being locked away at last, to serve her due. She tries one final time to draw blood, to diminish, to sever- to grant a favor, to end a life. And throughout that last display of violence she gets, once again, to see a flash of the face that she had missed so dearly, of a soul she once loved that until then had been stored amongst forgotten phantoms of what once was. In the end neither of them get what they sought. Either way, they are doomed to keep trying still, for eternity. To hate each other. To mourn. To hate themselves, to punish themselves, to punish each other. To kill. To die. To be reborn, yet again, with the same weight on their shoulders and a feeble mind that’s just on the verge of collapse. Sick and tired. Forever.

#when I thought I couldn’t be more obsessed #this woman just shows up and throws even more angst into my face #blade was such a surprise as well and I love it I love the guilt and the anger #and the utter bloodthirst to make something that went so wrong right again #there’s just something about characters being crushed and corrupted by immortality and how they serve as a reminder that minds like ours ar #not meant to last forever #and so useful to portray how the passage of time can heal many wounds and also rot and fester others #I love that the high cloud quintet is made of a dead woman a trio that refuses to go to therapy and jing yuan who is just there #jingliu #high cloud quintet #honkai #honkai star rail #baiheng #hsr blade #jingliu x baiheng #hsr bailu #hsr jingliu #hsr #hsr spoilers #the fact that a los the 50/50 on her banner truly is so rude #never getting over it

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bubblespalace · 3 months

Note

Hiiii!! I hope ur day is going good !! („• ֊ •„) I really really hope I’m requesting in the right spot (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) Anyways, can you do how the Sakamaki brothers would react to falling deeply in love with someone who is dying and there is no way to prevent it? Take ur time ofc and if there is a character limit and I just didn’t see it you can just choose randomly if you’d like !! Hope u have a good week !! (⌒▽⌒)♡

Bubble: I absolutely love angsty asks so ofc!! Thank you for the love, know I am sending positive energy back! I wanted to make this accurate, so I do mention suicide. Please note, I am not trying to idealize anything. I have struggled with this. But this is how a select few boys would actually think.

Trigger Warning

"Even if it's not something I can prevent, I'll stay. Until your end, I promise. I have never, ever, felt as though I need someone so much... I'd be willing to go after you, if that's what you'd want."

"I refuse to believe there isn't a cure to this. I shall search day and night, no rest. You will not be leaving me... Not when I'm accustomed to you the way I am."

"I'm not allowing what's mine to leave me, chichinashi. I'll get that Tableware Otaku to come up with something!"

"I don't want you to ever leave. Why must I have the most unfortunate luck, to fall in love with the one dolly I can never keep. You must promise to not leave me entirely, please. I love you too much..."

"I'll spend as much time with you as I can, Bitc- ...Y/N. I won't let you have a single bad memory during this time. I'll give you everything, even during your last moments... Why do I have to lose you when I finally have you to care?"

"I don't... I won't be able to go on without you, you know. I'll be dead the moment you die anyway... Just hold on, for as long as possible. For me, please."

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #diaboliklovers #reiji sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #shu sakamaki #laito sakamaki #diabolik lovers ask blog #ayato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #tw suicide #tw suicide idealation

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thesharktanksdriver · 4 months

Text

Omg I’m having so many thoughts about the newer stuff of one piece.

These are all jumbled thoughts I came up with recently so it’s unstructured and probably doesn’t make any sense but fuck it

Masterlist for Determiation!

Spoilers for egghead

Determination! Y/n and the seraphim’s would be so god damn interesting like yall won’t believe the sheer amount of ideas running through my head.

Like y/n accidentally running into the Seraphim’s in Egghead after getting separated from the straw hats and absolutely going still when they see S-String(I shall call him that since they’d yet to reveal his designation) and absolutely going into a blind haze where they apologize to him not realizing he’s not Doffy (or at least the Doffy that they feel like they failed).

And it’s there that their dragged to meet the other Seraphim’s

Maybe it was programmed into them to find and retrieve y/n, maybe even protect them.

So the young lunarian children linger by y/n’s side and naturally become curious. Because how can they not be? Especially when all their lives so far had been carried out in a lab, born from artificial wombs that fashioned them of DNA stolen from various people and a species long dead and forgotten.

How can they not be curious when this person they were ordered to retrieve and protect knew of who they were cloned of. Knew more about them than they did themselves outside their programming.

So the children ask questions and they learn

Maybe S-Snake asks about her “mother”, being the only girl had always been a bit lonely for her even when her “brothers” had done their best to make sure she knows she’s accepted. So she wonders about Boa, and how she had come from an island full of women. What was that like? Would they still brush her hair like S-Bear does? Or pat her head for doing a good job like S-Shark did?. She asks about if she was as pretty as Boa, if she was good enough for her “mother” if they ever would meet, a bit of insecurity for the first time curling up in her stomach before y/n says that Boa would love her no matter what, accept her no matter what. Because Boa would never turn down a woman in need, let alone a little girl that was imprisoned such as she was. In that sense she finds a comfort in you, especially as you indulge in things her brothers would usually sigh at but agree to anyways. Without a hassle you let her do little shows where she shows off her fire or make small drawings with the limited art supplies they have. When S-Snake draws you with her and the other Seraphim your heart squeezes ever so slightly.

Maybe S-Hawk has y/n teach him the techniques that Mihawk had taught them when on his island. In a sense he’s curious of his “father” but hides it away as he’d rather die than openly admit the gnawing questions in his mind. When y/n lets him use the blade gifted by Mihawk he can’t help but instinctively rub his thumb over the hilt where the greatest swordsman initials lay carved, a smile also instinctively crawling up the clones face. When his “siblings” become too much and he wants peace and quiet y/n lingers by his side, a silent company that he appreciates as memories not of his own of similar occasions plague his mind. He usually doesn’t enjoy these influx of memories but these ones are peaceful, not filled in bloodshed but instead of a small garden full of ripe fruits he doesn’t know the names of as well as the times in which he narrowly helps them escape an accidental death that may or may not leave S-Hawk on his toes and leads to his presence lingering by your side.

S-Shark notices that y/n seems the most comfortable with him though he knows it makes sense since they’re apart of the crew his progenitor joined. He doesn’t know how to feel about Jinbe, but he does retain a certain sense of respect for him even before he learns more about the fishman and how much he fought for his people. Much like the others he has a sense of curiosity of the world but his is specifically towards the sea, moreso a place where gilled people and pretty women with fish tails lived. That placed seemed so different compared to egghead, more lively and colourful in a way he can’t describe. He cherishes those memories no matter how hazy and unfocused they are, so seeing y/n show him the brightly coloured shells and small bits of coral really make his day. S-Shark knows he can’t go in the ocean on account of the green blood he possesses but he can’t help but wonder. Y/n occasionally clings to him in a way that feels natural, and it’s almost second nature that when this happens he lets them do so without complaint.

S-Bear even before using his ability feels pin roll off you in waves he couldn’t quite comprehend, as if your small body similar to their own could not contain the amount of emotional and physical agony, it cracks and spills from the seems of you that have been restitched and reattached like a doll. It’s scary, but somehow the most terrifying thing is that you retain a smile despite it all. It doesn’t affect you outwardly and maybe even inwardly at most times but it’s there and it lingers around you like an ever-present rain cloud about to burst into a storm. It saddens him, and it reminds him of memories of a pink haired girl he cannot place the name of. Too young to experience such heartache and at the same time her eyes are old and withered from everything that had happened. A child who acts older than their real age because they have to, not because they want to.

S-String notices that there’s a certain kind of Resigned sadness and almost a sense of hope with y/n’a eyes, yet they can never look at him fully without flinching. It confuses him, especially since despite that they treat him with such kindness even when he purposefully acts out or teases the others or them. S-String does not get as many memories compared to the others, most of which are locked away and repressed for some reason but what he does somewhat remember from his “father” is blissful moments of childhood with a boy he cannot name and y/n. This leaves him more confused, these were happy memories yet why do they look at him (and by extension his “father” with such sadness?). So at some point he asks And it’s there that S-String comes to dislike the man that made up his genetic makeup. Because for as much as the others got on his nerves sometimes S-Flamingo loved his “family”, loved his “Sister” and “Brothers” more than he’d like to admit. So hearing that the man he was cloned after harmed his family, and harmed the only person in their lives that had shown him and his siblings any sense of normalcy struck him. That man is the reason why they can’t properly look him in the eye both out of fear and a sense of failure, that man is a reason for their overwhelming pain that night even S-Bear cant comprehend, that man is the reason they broke down when they first saw him and kept apologizing for failing him. S-Stribg isn’t sure as to what happened to you and his predecessor but S-String knows you had not failed him nor his siblings, and he has a feeling you hadn’t failed Doflaimgo but rather he failed you.

S-Sand feels towards y/n a more than ordinary sense of curiosity that plagues his mind. Something he feels is a lingering emotion from his progenitor as he quietly watches and listens to you. It’s odd to him the flippant attitude towards death, something he’s pondered about as the dried out bodies of those who tried to enter egghead lay on the ground. He understands that your immortal, death isn’t much of a good deal to you yet you regard it in such a way that it bothers him. Why do you not seem to care when you tell a story of being ripped from limb to limb or left to bleed out. Surely that’s not something that was fun to experience let alone all the other instances in which you’d died via starvation on the sea or dehydration. Those things hurt, and in that regard you must be hurting all the time if not physically then mentally. Because of that like Mihawk he lingers, first due to curiosity and then out of a certain protectiveness that feel much less like programming and real. When on a mission they feel nothing, more in an empty minded state rather than truly conscious. They don’t feel fear let alone worry but for you he does, and he’s slowly seeing the others feel it too.

S-shadow just finds y/n to be cool’s ngl lol (I don’t know much about Moria so I don’t know how to write for him let alone his seraphim)

Maybe at some point y/n promises them that they’ll one day be free of orders that circulate in their heads

Free to use their wings in a real sky that’s not simulated

And maybe the Seraphim feel a spark of something at those words in their souls

The young lunarian children never thought that they had souls, had the to privilege to posses one when they were clones with no free will, remakes of others who were real people and could make decisions themselves.

But suddenly they find the words of a promise resonate within them, staying there in Suddenly full chests that should just have had it echo due to their emptiness. But the promise stays

And they silently dream of that promise

A place where they could be free

A place where they weren’t poked and prodded at

A place where they could call each other by “brother” and “sister” in full confidence

A place where they may choose their own names

A place where they could experience this idea of “family” that they often pondered about from memories not their own

A place where y/n would teach them all they’d need to know about the world before they’d one day take it by storm

A place where they’d make safe for both themselves and the person they found wanting to protect even without the orders issued by the pacifista

#determination!#platonic #one piece #one piece x reader

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colddelusionsheep · 11 months

Text

And we are back with the second part! Not going to lie, I started working on a DND campaign right after this. So writing progress is slow. Still writing at ungodly hours of the night tho, and as always, no one under 18.

1st Part

The start

As the other tribute said good by to his family. You could see how they cried for him. How they weeped for the fact that he would not be returning.

The other tribute was a boy that you had seem around the district. Flint Overhill. You never had any interaction with him, but each time you saw him you could tell he didn't like you.

He had dark black hair that was just above his shoulders. His eyes were such a dark blue that they almost looked black in the right light. If you remember correctly, last reaping the girl he was sweet on got picked.

She was a nice girl, quiet and kept to herself. She died as soon as the games started, didn't even stand a chance. Just like you.

The peacekeepers led his family out, and you could hear them weeping even after the door was closed and locked. Flint finally looked at you. The disgust in his eyes was plain to see.

"Looks like your luck has finally ran out. How does it feel to get what you deserve?" His words hit deep. They hit a place you thought had long sense gone cold.

"It wasn't my fault you know. My name was in there same as hers."

"Don't you dare speak of her." You could tell he was holding back. "With how many times you have put your name in, it should of been you."

"I-" before you could even respond. A patronizing voice spoke up.

"Oh my tributes, I certainly do have my hands full, don't I? Let's try not to kill each other just yet. You want to save that for the games!" Nodding his head, you could see all the pins that were in place to hold his wig on. "It makes a great show, oh yes indeed, but what's the point in a show with no cameras."

Both you and Flint were speechless. The complete disregard he had was unlike anything either of you had seen.

"Now, my name is Marius. I will be taking care of you two for the next couple of days. I hope I don't have trouble in the future with you two." As he spoke, he gave you and Flint a small wink. Then he started to usher the two of you into the train.

Before you know it, it felt like you stepped into a whole new world. Finery unlike anything you could've ever thought of existed was right here in front of your eyes.

"For the few days you are with us, you two shall be treated like royalty. Only the finest of things shall be able to touch my tributes' skin." As he went on, you mind stated to wonder along with your eyes.

You could see Flint role his eyes at Marius. Finding whatever you had just tuned out to be incredibly boring. You ran your hands along the wooded walls. It's smoothness brought back a far away memory to you.

It was blurry, but you could see the fine wood above you. Along with a man's voice....a voice that sounded so familiar. Before you could get lost into it more.

You felt a pinch on your arm. Snapping your head up. You could see the unapproving face of Marius. "Now, we will have to work on those manners. They are absolutely deplorable. No matter, we shall tackle that problem in the morning. You two get some rest. You will meet your mentor in the morning as well. So those manners better be improved."

At the last sentence, he gave you an especially harsh glare.

Flint brushed past you, giving your shoulder a mean jab as he did it.

You silently followed where they were showing you two your rooms. Stepping into your quarters. You were in awe of the luxury that was in it. Sitting on the bed felt like you would sleeping in the arms of an angel. Even the smell was wonderous. It was a mix of vanilla and rose.

But, before you could fully enjoy all the things around you. You suddenly remembered at what cost this is all for. Tears start to fall down in violent choked sobs.

You didn't want them to know, you didn't want them to know just how hopeless you are. How you were doomed to die in that arena just like they all wanted.

Yet, as you sat the crying your soul out. You were unaware of the camera watching your every move.

===============================

"I want those mutts done by tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir."

As her lower confirmed. She went back watching the live feed. She has to give you credit, you were a pretty cryer. At least in her eyes.

This year was going to be a fun one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There we go! I hope y'all like it. Also, small little note, I do not do taglists. They can get pretty chaotic and I write on my phone so they can get really annoying to do.

#yandere writing #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere idea #yandere story #yandere hunger games #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere headcannons #yandere concept #yandere male #yandere platonic

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humansofnewyork · 1 year

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(44/54) "On my final morning in Iran I woke with the sun. I knelt to the ground and prayed. It was a six mile walk to the border. The road climbed through the mountains, the same mountains that ran through Nahavand. But in Nahavand the trees were green. Here there was no life. Ferdowsi once wrote: ‘You cannot escape what is written.’ I’ve always hated that quote. There’s always a choice to be made. Just do the next right thing. That’s what I’ve always believed. Do the next right thing, say the next true thing, and a path will open up. A way will appear. I thought that we could get there. I thought that we, as a people, were going to get there. Every day we would take a step closer: more jobs, more hospitals, more schools. If only we kept choosing the next right thing, we could get there. We could build a new Iran around us. In the end light would win, as Ferdowsi writes: ‘The universe bends toward goodness.’ But you must never underestimate the forces of darkness. They can be victorious for a long time. Years. Decades. Lifetimes. Ferdowsi worked for thirty-three years. Seven verses a day. In the name of the God of Soul and Wisdom. But when he finished no one cared. Iran had been invaded once again, this time by the Turks. No one took the time to read his words. He died a broken man. Nobody heard the story of his life. Nobody heard the story of his death. He wasn’t even given a proper burial. The local cleric wouldn’t allow him to be buried in an Islamic cemetery, so they buried him in his garden. But he died with hope. Because he knew. He knew that no matter how deep they are buried, some words have wings. At the end of Shahnameh, Ferdowsi wrote: “I shall not die. These seeds I’ve sown will save my name and memory from the grave.”

واپسین سپیده‌د‌مم در ایران بود. با خورشید برخاستم و نماز خواندم. تا مرز دو فرسنگ راه بود و راه مرزی از کوهستان زاگرُس می‌گذشت. همان رشته‌کوهی که از نهاوند هم می‌گذرد. ولی در نهاوند درختها سبز بودند. اینجا نشانی از زندگی ندیدم. مرز بسته و گذرگاه تهی بود. حس می‌کردم، مرگ پا به پای من می آید. فردوسی گفته بود: بکوشیم و از کوشش ما چه سود / کز آغاز بود آن چه بایست بود. همواره از این گفته بیزار بوده‌ام. همیشه انتخاب و گزینشی هست. هراندازه تاریک می‌نماید، کار نیکِ پیشِ رو را انجام دهیم بس است. این باور همیشگی من بوده است. اگر تنها نیک‌کردار باشیم و راستی‌ها را بازگوییم، راهی باز و گذرگاهی نمایان خواهد شد. فکر می‌کردم که می‌توانیم به آنجا برسیم. بر این باور بودم که ملت ما به آنجا خواهد رسید. هر روز یک گام و نزدیکتر خواهیم شد: پیشه‌های بیشتر، درمانگاه‌های بیشتر، آموزشگاه‌های بیشتر. اگرهمواره گزینه‌های نیکِ پیشِ رو را بر می‌گزیدیم به آنجا می‌رسیدیم، می‌توانستیم ایرانی نو پیرامون خود بسازیم. هنگامی که چشم‌اندازی بسیار تاریک هم روبه‌رویمان باشد، هنوز گزینه‌ای هست تا سرنوشت را خود ‌بنویسیم. همیشه گزینه‌ای هست. نیکی یا بدی. روشنایی یا تاریکی. فرهنگ ما نویدبخش پیروزی روشنایی بر تاریکی‌ست چنانکه فردوسی می‌سراید: که گیتی نگردد، مگر بر بهی / به ما بازگردد کلاه مهی. ولی هشیار باشیم، نیروی تاریکی را اندک نینگاریم! تاریکی می‌تواند زمانی دراز بپاید. سال‌ها، دهه‌ها و بیشتر. فردوسی، دلشکسته جهان را بدرود گفت. یگانه پسرش مُرده بود. ایران در نبردی دیگر شکست خورده بود. ترک‌ها اکنون کشور را زیر فرمان داشتند. سی‌وسه سال رنج او را در برآوردن آن کاخ بلند درنیافتند. گفتار نغزش ناخوانده ماند. مرد دینکار از خاکسپاری او در گورستان مسلمانان جلوگیری کرد. ناگزیر او را در باغ خانه‌اش به خاک سپردند. کسی داستان زندگی او را نشنید. کسی از مرگ‌اش آگاه نشد. بزرگمرد روزگاران این خُرسندی را داشت که سخنانش در گور نمی‌شوند، بال گشوده و پرواز می‌کنند. هرجا و هر اندازه واژگانش را در ژر��ی خاک فرو برند، بال خواهند گشود و پرواز خواهند کرد. جاودان مردا، تو می‌دانستی و آنرا به زیبایی سرودی: نمیرم از این پس که من زنده‌ام / که تُخم سخن را پراکنده‌ام

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dragon-of-the-soutn · 5 months

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Oh Robert and Cersei eldest legitimate daughter oc’s my beloveds.

Like just the idea of Robert and Cersei having the one legit kid is so funny because that little girls life would have been so messy and horrid and wild.

-Just 18 year old Cersei nine months into her marriage (if we assume legit daughter was a wedding night baby) who is so proud at having given the King a Princess and the realm an heir. It doesn’t even matter that she’s a girl with blue eyes and a tuft of black hair because she’s obviously going to grow up to be just like Cersei in very way that’s meaningful, there going to have matching outfits, her daughter will be the bell of the court, the apple of her fathers eye and everything is going to be perfect.

-And then her marriage to Robert deteriorates rapidly and her little girl just becomes another part of her that Robert now has a claim on that she can’t scrub clean. The girl is an eye sore, a reminder of all she’s lost and can never claw back. Her bright expressive blue eyes become defiant and wilful and her thick black hair Cersei thought beautiful now is course, wiry and unmanageable. At two years old the girl is just like Robert and his pestilential brothers in every way (this is what we call projection), and nothing like her beautiful golden haired, green eyed Joffrey who is perfect in every way, shall become the best king in the history of Westeros and be exactly like Cersei because he already is. And she has exactly the same thoughts when Myrcella and Tommen are born. The girl on the other hand when Cersei remembers that she exists is just an easy target for her to lash out at when she’s angry with Robert.

-The girl has no memories of her mother ever being kind to her, she was only a babe during that time. And had been raised by a revolving door of Septa’s, nursemaids and Maestro’s since then. She has grown up understanding that her mother doesn’t like her, has no idea why her mother doesn’t like her and probably assumes that she a fourteen year old girl who has lived a pretty sheltered life so far must be the worst person to ever exist, and my goodness does she internalise that shit.

-So is see her either overcompensating to try and prove that she isn’t what Cersei thinks she is by trying to be the most Princess to ever Princess. Like my girl can dance, sing, play the high harp and 12 other instruments, sew, embroider, reads and writes poetry and novels in about twelve diffent languages, recite her textbooks backwards from memory and has a head for numbers. Or she swings violently the other way to give her mother a giant middle finger say I am all you feared me to be and more and chooses to out tomboy every tomboy who has ever tomboyed. Lannister arrogance and Baratheon stubborn coming in clutch in both scenarios.

-Because of course she isn’t doing too much and pushing herself too far and burning herself out, fuck you, learns High Valyrian at seven years old in a week to piss you off. And of course she isn’t doing this for attention or to prove something by doing something that will likely get her killed, fuck you, dose a backflip and then demands to be taught how to sword fight to piss you off.

-To be clear Robert is an equally shitty father to all his children. He ignores the lot of them equally bar maybe Joffrey who he sort of remembers exists because he’s crowned Prince and his behaviour keeps Robert awake at night and all that jazz. Truly equality for all.

-Also please welcome Legit daughter to the elder sister-mother gang headed by Catelyn Stark because someone had to raise Myrcella and Tommen and it sure as hell wasn’t Cersei and Robert. Truly mothering at 12 like Cersei had died in childbirth, no one is doing it like her. (Myrcella and Tommen are the only bright things in her life and she would die for them.)

-You’ve heard of Mammas boys, you’ve heard of Daddy’s girls now get ready for Uncle Renly’s girl. The only adult in her life to give her an ounce of unconditional affection and guidance and my goodness does she cling onto that like a vice. Like ride or die for Renly in a way that’s concerning.

-Or arguably worse, she’s a Stannis girl because she’s recognised that there both outsiders in there own family and Stannis was once like ‘I also can repeat the entire history of House Baratheon backwards’ and now she’s convinced they bonded. Six year old legit daughter will just appear in his office when Cersei had laid into her being silently sad and morose (she is in fact depressed) and Stannis who had no idea how to comfort a child nor recognise that she is in fact sad will be like ‘just sit there and don’t bother me while I’m working’. And be sweating bullets having no idea what to say to her for the rest of the day so they just sit in silence while his nice is like, ‘uncle Stannis is a thoughtful and quiet person like me so we say what we need to with silences 🥰 he’s the only one in the Red Keep who understands me 😊❤️, I wish he was my father.’ Meanwhile Stannis is like ‘should I ask Davos for advice? He has children, does he know how to talk to children? No, I’ll ask Davos.’ And he never does.

-And then Robert dies, Ned is like yo Stannis all the kids bar your favourite nice are illegitimate and things get juicy!

#asoiaf #a game of thrones #valerianscrolls #robert baratheon #stannis baratheon #renly baratheon #cersei lannister #asoiaf oc #house baratheon #house lannister #valyrian scrolls #valyrianscrolls

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greenandsorrow · 6 months

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The fox (2): Found something real that's out of touch.

Alastor x fem!fox!reader

stay tuned for the final chapter

"To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world."

~Le petit prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery

The girl woke up with a start. Her mother was by her side. The monotone sound of the machines attached to her body could be heard. She had died but they had brought her back.

In the few minutes it had taken to revive her, her soul had wandered all the way to Hell- due to how there hadn't been any guidance from Heaven. Her death hadn't been meant to happen. Not yet.

Time flew differently in the afterlife, since she had spent a good fifteen days at the hotel, but as mentioned, only a couple of minutes at the hospital.

The girl lived. She left the hospital, but she kept her promise to Alastor. She never forgot about him. While he was in Hell, thinking she was in Heaven, she was alive, roaming Earth.

She searched a plethora of archives at Louisiana's library and she tried to gather as much information as possible from her grandma about Alastor the radio host.

A serial killer that would hide his victims' bodies on deer haunting ground. He had been killed while mistaken for one. Hence his appearance in the afterlife. He was also found to be linked to voodoo practices- for hurtful purposes.

He had been a bad man in all his life. He had caused pain to others, but she couldn't just ignore the way he had been there for her during her short stay in the hotel.

Alastor was the one cooking her Jambalaya when she was sad and entertaining her with his charm and wit. That's how she'd always remember him. The smiling, gentledeer with the black cane.

She went as far as visiting Louisiana's old cemetery. Why would she leave flowers on the grave of a killer? Why would she sit and reminisce about one of Hell's most devious sinners? She wasn't the one to give him forgiveness. She didn't even try to justify his vile actions. The flowers were simply her way of saying "thank you, because even though you've done so many wrongs, you did at least one good deed and that was helping me".

The photograph on the grave -placed behind a now broken frame- was fading slowly but surely. The young man that looked back at her had a smooth, tan complexion and bespectacled, smart eyes. The shade of his eyes and hair reminded her of hot coffee in the morning. The quality wasn't great, but then again, coloured pictures weren't as advanced back then.

Alastor's visits to Rosie grew more frequent after his little, fluffy friend vanished. He'd sit for hours with his hellborn bestie, telling her about every single detail of his experience with the young girl.

"I'm surprised you didn't just devour her Hun! I'm sure she'd taste so delicious!"

"Dear Rosie... I have to be honest with you... If there's one person except from my mother that I would never hurt... It is her, the fox."

Both of whom were gone for the foreseeable eternity.

With Rosie refilling his tea cup frequently and asking him additional questions, Alastor couldn't help but think about the fox.

It hadn't been all good times, but now that she was gone, even the not so pleasant memories carried a bittersweet quality to them.

For example, there had been many arguments between them and the girl hadn't been scared to show him her teeth, quite literally.

He found himself thinking of her again as he made his way back to the hotel, after his visit at Cannibal town.

Alastor's memory...

She was being nosy again. Asking too many questions.

"Well yes, I did die in the woods like you... It's peculiar. This is the first time I ever meet someone who died under the same circumstances... not the exact same, but you get my drill?"

The girl had shrugged, but she hadn't been able to suppress her smile at being given attention. Alastor had continued talking, simultaneously warming up his voice for his radio show.

"What if this is too much of a coincidence? What if this is part of some bigger plot..."

"A bigger plot? How so Alastor?"

He liked the way she pronounced his name. She'd say it with caution, like it was something important that should be respected.

Sometimes people get sent in our lives for a reason. Sometimes they teach us a lesson. Sometimes we are the lesson. Sometimes they are reminders. Reminders of things we had forgotten that existed.

"Do you have a tail?"

"What do you expect?"

"Oh please show me!"

As much as he wanted to be intimidating and taken seriously, even if he was an overlord, the fact that his body got changed into a deer was somewhat humiliating. He. Is. Not. Prey.

"Not happening."

He should have shown her, just to see that sparkle in her eyes. Regret.

Charlie was singing. It wasn't like him zoning out, but a few weeks ago the fox had been in that very same room, walking away... frustrated.

Alastor's memory...

"Oh dear..." he had muttered, following after her before swiftly stepping in front of her and slightly raising his arm, blocking her way.

"Now it would be quite rude to simply walk away, would it not?"

"Manners are the last thing occupying my mind after I was thrown in purgatory."

He had let out a chuckle of agreement at her point.

"Sometimes a bit of charm can take you a long way in life... and besides the company of your sweet self would be delightful!"

"Can it take me to Heaven?"

"What about a story sweetheart? It was so brutal when I first spawned here... just thinking about that time makes my tongue tingle with the sweet taste of blood."

"I hate this place."

She had been unhappy all the time he knew her.

In a mockingly sympathetic tone Alastor had tried to distract her.

"Awww... are you really not enjoying your stay here in our beautiful hotel? I'm sure you have met some really interesting individuals."

"I prefer my well deserved place in HEAVEN thank you very much."

All their conversations had always circled back to that exact point.

While she was beginning to grow on him, to her Alastor was still no one. She would chat with him, but he wasn't someone special in her heart. The radio demon hated himself for allowing that bond to bloom, but he hated himself even more because it was one sided. Him being on the losing end.

And there had been another fight that very same day.

"LET ME DOWN"

"Ask nicely."

"I hate you."

Alastor's playful attitude had vanished.

"Hate is a strong feeling. What is there to hate? My looks? My voice? My past?"

"You're a demon. You're... I hate you as much as I hate this place."

"Think again."

Sometimes it was truly infuriating how stubborn she would be.

"Um... I... I don't know. Everything."

"Everything?"

Despite himself, Alastor's tone had gotten slightly bitter.

"Well... this just ruins the mood now. Don't you think it's rather unreasonable to hate someone you've known only for three days? I can tell you're quite childish... but you're not that childish, right young one?"

She had placed a palm on his chest to push him away. She was practically glowing from purity while he was emitting pure darkness.

The radio demon had looked a little surprised when the girl had pushed him away without showing fear. Leaning in, he'd spoken in a whisper while his hot breath had hit her cheek.

"My dear, you shouldn't resist what's happening... Just allow yourself to stay with us at the hotel... As a sinner."

Alastor had decided to corrupt the new resident of the hotel. His taunting words and unsettling change of size hadn't fazed her... The girl had been scared, but still, she had managed to give him a few really sharp scratches. Yet, he hadn't responded to pain at all.

...he would always carry the little scars she left on him. A reminder that she had been there.

The real reason he had wanted her to stay was selfish. It would have done her more harm than good. He didn't like how he had acted like the bigger person.

But when it had happened -the ridiculous scratches- with a threatening voice he had told her...

"You think you're so strong Fox, huh? Because if I wanted to, I could crush you with just a single motion of one of my fingers."

"Then, you'd... you'd have Heaven against you!"

He had bursted into a laugh.

"Oh dear... I can't believe how naive you are! Heaven is not going to do anything to defend an insignificant person such as yourself. They're more worried about themselves and their perfect little world. The ones you look up to are always the first to disappoint you mon petit renard."

He never understood why he had said that to her. He had practically tried to save her from a heartbreaking realization. A realization that had always pained Alastor in his childhood. To know you have to fend for yourself. While he had perfected the art, he wished she didn't have to.

He had forgotten they were fighting.

She was dreaming of him, again. Red hair. Razor blades for teeth. The sound of static filling the air and making her hair frizz.

The girl liked that memory, it was one of her favourites to relive in her sleep.

The fox's memory...

"No, my dear fox, you're not a good soul. In reality you're really just a little hypocrite and have a high opinion of yourself- haha!"

She had been curled up in a ball in her bed. Luscious hair flowing and a light dress covering her small body.

Alastor had walked into the room she was occupying and had sat down next to her. He had spoken in a soft and caring voice.

"You don't have to try and stay holy while you're here in hell... This is a safe place where you can act out your hedonistic desires and not worry about being judged by anyone!"

"Jeez Alastor! I don't have such desires... My only desire right now is a fluffy blanket and some hot chocolate."

Alastor had snapped his fingers... He then had turned into a shadow, slipping away like sand and returning like a chilly breeze... With hot chocolate and a very fluffy blanket he had most definitely stolen from Charlie's bedroom.

Her eyes had widened and she had smiled.

"Oh my gosh..."

He had grinned in response. It wasn't like him acting on impulse, without deeper motives.

"I told you mon renard! This is the best place you could possibly be to try and relax! Here we are free from all the restrictions set on us in Heaven!"

"Thank you Alastor!"

She had never bought a thing he had told her and he knew it. But this act had somehow been calming this... this weird apprehension. The demon had somehow known that his time with her would be limited. She hadn't belonged.

In comparison to him, she was a saint, an angel even.

While she had been drinking her hot chocolate, he had taken the opportunity to really look at her, imprinting her features in his memory, engraving the shine of her fangs and the blush on her cheeks in his brain.

"Now just look at that cute little face of yours!"

"Oh, look as much as you want. I'll be gone soon anyway."

She had said that with such a confidence. He wouldn't have shown her, but she could sense it. He was sad.

Alastor had simply chuckled and then sighed.

"Yes I guess so. But for now just rest... Maybe tomorrow will be your lucky day!"

He gently stroked her hair, until her eyes had closed.

"Sleep well darling~"

That night she had decided he was someone to her and not just anyone.

She never knew, but that same night he had noticed how small she actually was compared to him and had genuinely smiled.

She smiled in her sleep, mimicking the motion he had made... months ago.

...time flies.

The car accident is now years away.

All the parts-> here!

🧡Please do not repost or directly copy my work.

🧡This fic's title is a lyric from 'Not about angels' by Birdy. It's not proof read, so forgive any spelling or grammar errors.

🧡The human Alastor fanart isn't mine. All credits go to the artist.

🧡I am aware this isn't everyone's cup of tea -writing wise or plot wise- but it was a spontaneous idea of mine I wanted to try and make work.

🧡Dividers-> @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune

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