#high ground ff

[constantvariations]

Why did they create such a useless character to show Cinder's backstory when Salem is literally right there AND the real question the audience wants answered???

Imagine if it had been Salem who stayed at the hotel and saw something of herself in the scrappy servant girl. She saw how the Madame treated little Cinder and offered a way out only if Cinder has the power to be useful to her. Maybe she put Cinder to a test of how far she was willing to go for freedom, or maybe Salem wanted something from the Madame that she wouldn't give so it was up to Cinder to provide

Either way, Salem gets a young disciple that's ruthlessly ambitious and easy to manipulate and Cinder gains the illusion of freedom under a new master

[zestyderg]

It did not take me long to make battle form joe 🧍

(Oh, and Dimetro Dina, who is having one of the worst fights of her life....)

[bedpissercastiel]

it's crazy to me when cats lay on the ground like girl.... u have the gift of jumping why arent u higher?

[novaursa]

Love love LOVE reading your most recent requests! Especially the cregan ones

If you’re still taking requests, could I get one from cregan pov where velaryon/targ reader must wed cregan to honor the pact made by Jace. I’d Iove to get cregans first impressions of seeing her, almost in awe because it’s his first time seeing a targ/velaryon with old Valyrian features and how he feels about the betrothal. Bonus points if you add her dragon too 👀💖

Valyrian Bride

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: I hope this is what you had in mind. 🙂

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

Cregan Stark stood tall upon the frost-crusted battlements of Winterfell, his grey eyes fixed on the southern horizon. The wind howled around him, cold and biting, but he barely noticed. The men beside him, his bannermen and closest retainers, stood in hushed anticipation. They were a hardy lot, men of the North, but today there was a tension in the air that not even their steadfast presence could dispel. The daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Dragon Princess promised to him, was on her way. And she was bringing her dragon.

Cregan was a man of duty, honor-bound by his word. When Jacaerys Velaryon had come to the North, securing his father’s oath to Rhaenyra, Cregan had listened to the young prince’s proposal with a calculating mind. He had known what the South was asking—his allegiance in a civil war that would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The North had no taste for southern squabbles, but for an alliance that could secure his people’s future, Cregan had agreed. A marriage bond, a union with the blood of kings and dragons.

But he hadn’t expected this.

The sky darkened. A shadow passed over the pale light of the day, and a roar echoed across the windswept land. His heart quickened. The unmistakable sound of wings filled the air, as if the heavens themselves were being torn apart. Men murmured in awe, some with fear. Cregan’s grip on the pommel of his sword tightened as he peered into the sky. And then, she appeared.

The dragon came first—Vaetrix, her crimson scales gleaming like molten fire against the pale snow. Larger than anything Cregan had seen before, the great beast descended from the clouds with a grace that defied her monstrous size. Her wings flared, casting a shadow over the courtyard, and the air was filled with the smell of sulfur and smoke.

But it wasn’t the dragon that took Cregan’s breath away.

Atop Vaetrix, astride the monstrous creature as if born to it, was the princess. Her silver-gold hair streamed behind her like a banner, long and flowing, catching the sunlight as she descended. Her features were sharp, unmistakably Valyrian—the high cheekbones, the proud set of her jaw, the violet eyes that seemed to pierce through everything they beheld. She was a vision of Old Valyria, like the stories his father had told him as a boy. She bore little resemblance to her half-brothers, with their softer features. No, this was the blood of the dragon in full force.

His bannermen whispered around him.

"She looks like a goddess," one muttered, his voice thick with awe.

"Old Valyria reborn," another added, his voice trembling.

Cregan said nothing. He could only stare, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He had expected a girl, a lady to wed and secure an alliance, but this… this was something else entirely. There was power in her, in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself atop that dragon. She was not just a girl of noble birth—she was a force of nature, a storm in human form.

Vaetrix landed with a deafening thud, snow and dirt kicking up around her as she folded her massive wings. The ground trembled beneath her weight, but Cregan stood firm. He watched as the princess dismounted with a fluid grace, her hand brushing along Vaetrix's scaled neck before she strode forward. Her boots crunched in the snow, the chill of the North seemingly unfelt by her as if the dragon's fire warmed her from within.

When her eyes met his, Cregan felt a jolt run through him. Those violet eyes… they were ancient, wise beyond her years, and yet held a fire that could burn a man alive if he dared to challenge her. His mouth felt dry, his usual steady words faltering in his throat.

She approached, and as she drew nearer, Cregan noticed more—her height, the proud way she held her head, the confidence in her steps. She did not walk like someone being delivered to a husband. No, she walked like a queen in her own right, a woman who expected the world to bend to her will.

When she stopped before him, she inclined her head ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than submission. “Lord Stark,” she said, her voice smooth and strong, carrying the faintest hint of the Valyrian accent that lingered in her family’s tongue. “I have come as promised.”

Cregan blinked, forcing himself to regain his composure. “Princess,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual, betraying the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. “Winterfell welcomes you.”

Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, though it was hard to tell whether it was one of amusement or mere politeness. “I am honored to be here, to fulfill the promise made between my house and yours.”

He nodded, his gaze locked on hers. “I did not expect—” His words caught in his throat for a moment, and he shook his head, cursing himself for his loss of composure. “I did not expect such… splendor.”

The smile deepened, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps amusement, or perhaps something more dangerous. “I am not what you expected then, my lord?”

Cregan met her gaze evenly. “No, princess. You are far more.”

Behind them, Vaetrix rumbled, a deep sound that reverberated through the stone walls of Winterfell. His men shifted nervously, glancing at the beast with wide eyes, but Cregan paid them no mind. His focus was entirely on her.

The princess tilted her head, studying him with those sharp, knowing eyes. “I have heard much of the North, of its strength, its honor,” she said softly, her voice carrying on the wind. “It is a land of fierce men and harsher winters. I hope that I will find my place here, as your wife.”

There was something in the way she said it, a subtle challenge, as if she were testing him, seeing if he was the man she had been promised. And for the first time, Cregan understood that this marriage was not just a bond of convenience. She was not some southern lady to be tamed or coddled. She was a dragon, and if he were to claim her, he would have to prove himself worthy.

“You will,” he said, his voice steady now, conviction settling in his chest. “You will find your place here, with me.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval, and she nodded once, a gesture as regal as any queen’s. Then, without another word, she turned her gaze back to Vaetrix, who stirred at her silent command, lifting her massive head.

Cregan watched her walk away, feeling a mixture of awe and excitement. The North had never seen a woman like this, and he knew, in that moment, that his life—Winterfell itself—was about to change forever.

[killerpancakeburger]

Being Ghost's BFF Headcanons

(while also dating Soap cause you deserve the best of both worlds)

If you told anyone that Ghost was your favorite person to see in the morning, they'd write you off as clinically insane. Or laugh in your face. It didn't make it any less true though. When you don't want anyone speaking to you before you had your coffee, the Ghost feels heaven-sent. Others might see it as rude, but you're content with him acknowledging your presence with a nod of head or by raising his mug of tea in your direction.

You've never been afraid of him - more like displaying a healthy apprehension towards a guy exceeding 1m90, weighing over 100kg, and hiding his face.

After spending a couple hours with him, you quickly came up to a new conclusion about him: he just had a resting bitch face. Just because he had a deep voice and a monotonous tone didn't mean he was angry 24/7. He treated people how he wanted to be treated. He had high expectations for himself and for others/teammates. All in all, a pretty reasonable guy.

You like to think he started to respect you for your combat skills and experience, but evidence pointed to the fact that he began to look at you differently after seeing you decisively slap Soap in the face to wake him up after he passed out from blood loss.

There had been a few milestones in your relationship: when he told you a bad joke for the first time (you briefly thought you were having an aneurysm), when he told you to call him Simon (in private), when he awkwardly tried to cheer you up by patting you on the shoulder (first time he touched you outside of combat/training).

Outside of missions, the time you spent together was divided between shooting matches on the training grounds and hanging out with a smoke at night when both of you struggled to sleep. He was one of the rare men not pulling any punches against you, allowing to enjoy the competition freely. Soap tried time and time again to stay awake to join you two, but failed systematically.

Acting like a divorced couple with Soap as the kid you have shared custody of. "Yer man escaped medical again" "Before 6 a.m he is YOUR man, Lieutenant"

Frequently finding yourselves shouting both at the same time: "English, MacTavish!" In the same exasperated tone.

You can handle yourself, and Ghost is perfectly aware of that. That doesn't stop him from standing behind you menacingly like the Grim reaper himself when he thinks someone's taking too many liberties with you.

If Soap's a golden retriever when he's in a good mood, Ghost reminds of your parents' cat: silent, deadly, and shows affection by deigning to occasionally hang out in the same room as you.

You always carry a spare mask for him; and he wears spare hair ties on the wrist - plain, black ones. Cannot mess with his vibe.

People keeps asking how you managed to have a relationship with "The Ghost", and your answer is very simple: "learn when to shut the fuck up".

A/N:

Me in the beginning: I'm only gonna write Soap content

Ghost:

Me: Oh FFS

BONUS:

When Ghost told you a bad joke for the first time:

You still remembered the joke incident vividly: you were on a mission together, just the two of you, and as you were focusing more than usual, anxious to disappoint him or to be a liability, you suddenly heard in your com: "Ye heard the rumour 'bout butter?"

If Ghost's voice hadn't been unmistakable, you would have thought he had been killed and replaced by someone else.

"What (the fuck)", you exhaled, not because you wanted to know about butter, but because you had no idea what the hell was happening. The fact that his tone was exactly the same as usual - deadpan, flat - contributed to making you feel insane.

"Nah, I shouldn't be spreadin' it". was the answer. Torn between demanding explanations and not wanting to commit a faux pas, you replied the way you replied to your parents' bad jokes:

"Ha. Ha. Haha...?" 

The seasoned killer on the other side of the mic didn't seem to mind, but you texted Soap in panic as soon as your butt touched the helicopter's seat.

“JOHNNY”

"Sup hen"

"Cannae go wan mission without missing me, ae? ;)"

"Did Ghost hit his head recently??"

"Negative Ma'am" "Why? Did something happen??"

"He told me a dad joke. A fucking dad joke."

"😂 Thats kinda his thing"

"thought I was losing it"

"Congrats, ye can consider yerself stamped wit The Ghost seal of approval"

"Ok? Cool???"

"Mah too favourite people gittin along" *trails of smiling emojis and hearts*

[lozchi]

KNOCKDOWN

Masterlist Pairing(s):Sukuna x F!Reader, Modern AU

Themes: Suggestive content, profanity, mild violence, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, OOC, fluff, angst(ish)

Prologue: 1.7k words

The kindergarten playground was a battleground of tiny tempers and unfiltered emotions.

“THE GIRAFFE IS MINE! AHHHGHHHHH!”

 And no one exemplified this more than Ryomen Sukuna.

Even as a youngster, Sukuna was a formidable presence. He constantly found himself in trouble, getting into conflicts with peers and receiving harsh rebukes from teachers who were unable to tame his unruly nature.

"I apologize for hitting Tanaka's balls, I will do it again…"He trails off.

"Sukuna!"

"Alright! I won't! Tsk, adults."

In the sandbox one day, Sukuna noticed two boys your age standing near you, whose names he didn't care to remember. Their pushing and teasing was causing you to cower in fear from their cruel words. You hastily use your arm to wipe away your tears and snot, wishing they'd go away.

“I juz wan’ play here! I was here first! Lemme be!” You yell. 

“You're a girl! You can't tell us what to do!” Sukuna's usual urge for fights found a new purpose. 

“I'm not a bad boy if I'm helping someone, heh.” He thinks to himself. 

With a determined glare, Sukuna marched over, fists clenched. "Hey, you dummies!" he yelled, his voice carrying an authority that belied his age. 

The bullies turned, sneers plastered on their faces. "What's it to you, poopy head?" one of them taunted. 

Before the boy could react, Sukuna's fist collided with his nose causing a horrifying sound. The boy fell back, holding his face while blood streamed down. Sukuna dodged the swing from the other bully with quick reflexes. He responded by delivering a quick punch to the bully's abdomen, leaving him breathless. The bully bent over in half, struggling to breathe before falling to the ground.

 “Mommy! Mommy! Help me!” The boys cried in unison.

 "Had enough?" Sukuna spat, standing protectively in front of you as the bullies scrambled away in tears. 

You looked up at your savior with wide, grateful eyes, wiping your tears away.  Boy, was he in so much trouble that day. 

“Ff-thank you, ‘K-Kuna.” You sobbed. 

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just don't cry about it." 

From that moment on, you were drawn to Sukuna like a magnet. At first, he found your constant presence irritating. You would trail behind him, mimicking his every step. If he ran, you ran; if he stopped, you stopped. When he sat on the swings, you’d sit beside him, your small legs dangling in the air. During snack time, you’d offer him your favorite treats, hoping to win his approval. Sukuna often rolled his eyes at your antics. 

"Why are you always following me?" he grumbled one day as you trailed behind him.

"Because you’re my hero," you replied with a bright smile, holding out a piece of candy.

"Want some?"Sukuna's scowl softened just a fraction as he took the candy. 

"Fine, but stop being so annoying."

 He found himself looking forward to the treats you brought and the way you cheered for him after his fights.

You would defend him to the other kids, proclaiming proudly;

 "Sukuna's the strongest! No one can beat him!" 

Even when he found your declarations embarrassing, a part of him enjoyed the attention. Slowly, your  loyalty began to chip away at his tough exterior. Without realizing it, Sukuna began to appreciate having you around. 

The dynamic between you and Sukuna only deepened as you both entered high school. Sukuna’s reputation as a fierce fighter had followed him, and it wasn't long before other delinquent students sought to challenge him, either to prove themselves or settle old scores. You often found yourself waiting near the school gates or in the secluded corners where these fights typically occurred. 

The aftermath was always the same: Sukuna standing victorious, his opponents nursing bruises and pride. You would rush to his side, your bag already prepared with a first aid kit.

"Hold still," you would command softly, dabbing at a cut on his cheek with antiseptic.

"I don't need your help," Sukuna would grumble, though he never pulled away.

"Stop being stubborn," you’d reply, focusing on cleaning his wounds. "If you keep this up, you’re going to have more scars than I can count."

Sometimes, it would be other delinquent students wanting to mess with each other, using Sukuna as their proving ground. But no matter how many tried, Sukuna remained undefeated. His skill and ferocity in battle were unmatched, and you were always there to patch him up afterward.

One evening, after a particularly brutal fight, you were carefully bandaging Sukuna’s knuckles. 

"You really should find a less violent hobby," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He chuckled, wincing slightly as you tightened the bandage.

"And what would that be? Knitting? Horseback riding? Ooh, what about pottery?"

You smiled, shaking your head. "I just worry about you, that's all."

He looked at you, a rare softness in his eyes. "I know. Thanks.”

Once you turned eighteen, the news hit you like a freight train: Sukuna had to leave for another country. The weight of his departure was heavy, pressing down on your chest as you tried to process it. His last day arrived all too quickly, and you found yourselves standing in the empty school courtyard, the familiar surroundings now filled with a profound sense of finality.

"I can't believe you're leaving," you said, your voice shaky with emotion. "I'll miss you so much."

Sukuna's usual bravado was absent, replaced by a quiet resignation. He met your eyes, his own filled with a sadness. 

"I don't really have a choice," he murmured, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "But you have to promise me something."

"Anything," you replied instantly, desperate to hold onto any part of him.

"Stay safe for me, got it?" His voice was firm, but you could hear the underlying plea.

"I will," you promised, your throat tightening as you fought back tears. "You too, Sukuna. Stay safe."

He gave a small nod, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. "I mean it. Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," you assured him, though you wished you could say more, do more to make him stay.

As he turned to leave, you felt an ache in your heart, a deep, gnawing sense of loss.

 "Sukuna," you called out, your voice breaking slightly. "I'll miss you."

He paused, his back still turned to you. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but all he could manage was a low hum of acknowledgment. "Protect yourself for me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You watched him walk away, each step taking him further from you and deeper into an unknown future. As he disappeared from sight, you couldn't help but feel a pang of regret. He wished he had said it back, wished he had found the courage to tell you how much you meant to him. But for now, all he could do was carry the hope that one day, he would have the chance to make things right.

No way of contacting him, Sukuna gradually became a distant memory. The sharp, vivid images of your childhood together blurred as you got busier with your studies. The demands of school, extracurricular activities, and the push towards your future left little room for reminiscing. Each passing day added another layer of distance between you and the boy who had once been your closest friend.

Meanwhile, Sukuna was on a different path. He threw himself into intense training, honing his skills with a singular focus. His natural talent and relentless drive quickly propelled him to the top of the mixed martial arts world. As you buried yourself in textbooks and exams, Sukuna was making headlines, becoming a prodigal MMA fighter known for his unmatched ferocity and technique.

Years slipped by, and the memories of Sukuna became like old photographs, faded and tucked away in the back of your mind. Occasionally, something would trigger a fleeting recollection—a particular song, the scent of antiseptic from your first aid kit, or the distant sound of a playground. But these moments were rare and quickly overshadowed by the pressing concerns of the present.

Unbeknownst to you, Sukuna’s name began to rise in the sports world. Articles, interviews, and televised matches showcased his prowess, but in your bubble of academic pursuits, his fame went unnoticed. You had yet to discover the remarkable journey Sukuna had undertaken -- the one that had transformed him from the fierce protector of your childhood to a celebrated MMA prodigy.

Despite the cashflow and all the attention that came with his success, Sukuna felt a deep, gnawing emptiness. The trophies, accolades, and the roaring crowds failed to fill the void left by your absence. He would often find himself staring out at the arena from behind the scenes, lost in thought. 

Sukuna imagined what it would be like to see you in the crowd. He could almost hear your voice cheering for him, a familiar sound that had been a constant during his childhood fights. He pictured you there, standing amidst a sea of faces, your eyes bright with pride as you shouted his name. 

"YES! THAT'S SUKUNA! LET'S GO!" he would hear you say in his mind’s eye, your voice as clear and encouraging as it had been all those years ago.

He hoped that one day, you would see how far he had come, that you would recognize the man he had become and the battles he had fought. He longed for the moment when he could finally show you the success he had achieved and hear you say,

"I’m proud of you, Sukuna.”

But for now, those thoughts remained unspoken wishes he carried with him as he fought in the ring. Every success, every achievement was colored with the anticipation that one day you would be present to observe it, to witness his growth, and to take part in celebrating his achievements.

One day, though, the paths of your separate lives would cross again, and the faded memories would be brought back into sharp focus. But for now, you remained unaware,  while Sukuna continued to conquer arenas far away, all the while imagining your cheers in his heart.

Taglist:

just put it under this post or any of the chapters I'll release. I would be posting polls or asking readers about certain things sometimes that would possibly affect the story in a minor way so stay tuned. :)

[michanvalentine]

Things about Vincent Valentine that I read around and piss me off.

"Vincent should have done more!"

It is one of the most common observations. And I hate it! What he was supposed to do exactly? Ok, let's take a step back and pretend we're in the real world and not in a fantasy action video game. Vincent was a highly trained Turk and an excellent marksman. That's not enough to say that he was definitely also a cold piece of shit ready to do any job. In fact, I believe that Vincent was the exact opposite of this and that he was not cut out to be a Turk at all. Which is why he got into trouble. "Stern and upright" is how Square Enix describes him, so we're talking about a person who has great morals and a high sense of duty. And these two things don't always go together. To this we must add the naivety he had as a young man (evident in DoC) and his great empathy towards others (which FF VII Rebirth is highlighting a lot). So when Lucrecia decided to use the fetus as an experiment, Vincent found himself in an impossible situation, where morality and duty were at odds. Human experimentation disgusted him, but his role was as a bodyguard, nothing more. His duty was to watch and let the scientists do their work. Furthermore, at that moment no one could imagine what the result of such experiments would be and what Sephiroth would do in the future. So we're talking about a man torn by his own principles, full of doubts and, lest you forget, heartbroken. It is not easy to act in a situation like this. But he couldn't ignore his own morals, so despite his role he tried to reason with Lucrecia first and then he confronted Hojo, with the consequences we know. Did he have to kidnap Lucrecia? Did he have to kill Hojo? Did he have to burn the Shinra Mansion to the ground? Let's be honest, normal people don't act this way. And Vincent Valentine was the sanest one in the middle, so he paid for it. But even if Vincent had freaked out and gone down the path of violence, there would have been consequences and it would probably have ended the same way.

But let's go back to Lucrecia for a moment. Vincent's naivety and empathy did not allow him to notice the red flags. He only saw the best and deepest part of her, the fragile, kind and brilliant one. When she pushed him away, he still behaved as correctly as possible. He stepped aside, hoping that she would be happy. There is no selfishness, there is no possessiveness. This is called unconditional love, and it is very rare. Should he have claimed Lucrecia for himself even if she didn't want it? Fight the other man to get the woman back? Continue to chase her proclaiming his love like a crazy? These are some traits of toxic masculinity. Vincent left her absolute freedom, he respected her choices as a woman, as an adult and as a scientist, even if his sensitivity allowed him to understand some things before she could notice them herself. And that's why Vincent's question "are you sure this is what you really want" hurts so much. He knew it. He knew she would love that child.

The fact that Vincent feels like a failure who was unable to protect the woman he loved and her child is understandable. But this is only his feeling, his perception of himself in a situation way bigger than him. So no one will ever be able to get it out of my head: Vincent Valentine did everything a good man with his hands tied behind his back could have done. He went out of line for Lucrecia and Sephiroth, and was killed for it.

[hana-no-seiiki]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY

YANDERE! ACTOR OC x IDOL! READER x YANDERE! FAN OC

— inspired by oshi no ko & lana del ray’s pretty when you cry. ff: did you know i was gonna have my usernames in social medias be “akumarine” which mixes my two fixations att (oshi no ko & iruma)? no? well now you do!

tw/cw: yandere themes; mentions of seggs and substances but no smut. mentions of non-con. reader is a cold-hearted bastard. substance use. character death. murder. reader gets called pretty (but that’s a gn term so fite me). necrophillia.

this was inspired by uh… one of gen’s stories. let’s say. and mr. devil’s stoner reader.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

“I’ll wait for you babe, that’s all I do, babe.”

GENIUSES WERE BORN, NOT CREATED

That was the mindset Kahliel had. Some people were literally and figuratively born different. Only a select few were able to gaze into the intricacies of their craft and tune it to heights others could only imagine.

You were one such genius. It only took one gaze to understand that. You saw the set in ways even he didn’t account. The lighting, the blocking, and the subtle body language, the angles of which you thrived in. He only heard of your amazing work as an idol, how you manage to look entrancing in every shot and moment, how you are able to mesmerize even those that swore they hated you.

But genius, true geniuses also have one other trait Kahliel recognized. It was their heartless nature.

You two met on set years ago as young adults. It was one of his earlier works as the main actor. Not a film, but a musical. Even then he could see the void in your eyes. Your cold demeanor repelled the people around you. He could have never expected that kind of performance from a person who seemed to hate even the regular ground they walked on, much more the stage.

That musical launched him to stardom and led to you two having sex for the first time.

“All those special times I spent with you, my love. They don’t mean shit compared to all your drugsz”

It was embarrassing really. Kahliel had no time and therefore no prior experience on such things. But you just looked so pretty underneath the blue dim lighting of the club the afterparty was held in. A drink, maybe a couple of weed later and you found yourselfs in a dingy motel’s bedroom. Entangled in eachother’s bodies, the scent of sex, sweat and the strongest of all — puke wafting through the air.

He couldn’t believe it. He admired you for quite a bit. Sure you are stoic, standoffish. But there were times you’d defend him from other people on set. You weren’t cruel and unfair.

At least, he thought you were.

Kahliel was proud of his performance as an actor. So, as you left him that night. Without so much as a farewell. He does not cry.

He does not weep.

Even as his heart was shattering.

HE MEETS YOU AGAIN ON MUSIC VIDEO SET. YOUR MUSIC VIDEO’S SET.

And it took him everything not to run up to you. He had not heard about you at all after the musical. Too focused with his own career and distraught by the way you treated him and left, he threw himself into acting, partying, fucking other actors and actresses — heck even randos or fans who’d take his money and shut up about it. It was only by destiny’s design that you two cross paths again.

“[Y/N]?”

“Yes?”

Indifference. The same look you gave him way back then. Like he was just dirt underneath your shoe. You probably don’t even remember that you’ve slept with him once before. Much less the kindness you spared when everyone else looked down at him. The very reason he entrusted his virginity to you.

But then, there was also something else. Your eyes were blood-shot. Your countenance, despite being as heavenly as he remembered, showed signs of deterioration.

You were high.

“No, I just wanted to give you these. As a token of acting together once again.” He said as he presented a large bouquet of spider-lilies, practically blinding you with its reds.

“Thank you. Leave them over there.” You pointed to a corner with a grateful smile.

Later on, he saw you throwing his gift in the trash. Not a hint of emotion on your face.

“But I don’t really mind, I’ve got much more than that.”

Viné was a fan of yours from the very beginning. Under the pseudonym Grapevine, he’d post regular updates. Essentially he stalked you for a living. He had a day job of course. But his true passions lied with watching you on the daily

You’ve gotten sloppy lately. You almost never check your gifts from him. Accepting them eagerly. Not a care in the world if they were bugged or with a tracker.

He used to think that it was terrible how you got into substances. Worried how it’d impact your health and performance on stage and screen. But now, now he reveled in it.

Viné already knew where you lived of course. But there were times where you’d move all of sudden or where he wasn’t free to check on you.

Now, his hands trembled in ecstasy as he watched you in your room.

But you were with someone else.

Viné didn’t care for much aside from what you starred in, and even in those songs or films all he could focus on was you.

So who was this man standing in your room as you were drugged out? Pushing you unto your bed with a grin so wide it hurt just to look at it.

Viné stared as this man defiled you. He watched as he saw him squeezed you tight, smothering his filthy lips all over your body.

You . . .

You were betraying him.

How could you do this to him? He supported you all this this time but this is how he gets repaid? A free show to watching his god be with someone else?

He does not watch the rest of the live-show. Utterly disgusted by your behavior and cheating.

He quickly made his way through the mess and trash strewn all over his house and grabbed a dull knife from the kitchen. He sets off into the night.

He had to teach you a lesson.

The two men, despite your arms going limp, continued their actions. Unaware that you had choked on your own vomit a while ago.

A smile was etched on your face, pretty as it always was.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[blackest-soul]

A Short Girl’s Guide to Working at the BAU

I. Dealing with Morgan

Derek: How short are you?

Y/N: you mean how tall?

Derek: no, how short??? You can barely reach my shoulders!

Y/N, in a soft voice: not my fault i got the southeast asian genes and you are very aware that im only 4’9 so shut up ok.

Derek: fine fine fine. So, just out of curiosity…hmm can i, well, can i use you as a hand rest coz u are the perfect height!!!

Y/N: do that and you will die

II. Emily and her unwanted maternal instinct

*Y/N, walking around the bullpen without her ID, in a backpack*

Concerned Agent: hey, hey kid. Are you lost? Where’s your guardian? You cant just go walking around here…

Y/N, spotting Emily and pointing at her: Don’t worry, Agent. There’s my mom. I’ll just go and talk to her.

Concerned Agent: huh, didn’t know she has a child. Wait let me call her for you. SSA Prentiss!! Your daughter is here!!!!

Emily: WTF ARE YOU ON ABOUT?

Emily, seeing Y/N: STOP CALLING ME YOUR MOTHER YOU ARE 25 ffs!!!! WE DONT EVEN LOOK SIMILAR!!!

Y/N: not my fault he can’t remember me.

Y/N: so mom, what’s for lunch?

Emily: i packed you an extra sandwich. You should eat more.

Also, Emily: why the fuck am i mothering you!?? I can’t even take care of myself

III. A tired singlefather!Hotch

Hotch, reprimanding Y/N for all her choices in life: … and lastly, stop eating expired and dirty food! I saw you eating your sandwich after you dropped on the floor for lunch!!!! Am i not giving you enough allowance?

Y/N: the food barely touched the floor!!! Besides germs wait for the five second rule so i am going to be fine. And what allowance???!!!??

Hotch: you are giving me a migraine. Shut up and let me process the words that just came out of your mouth

Y/N: really???? maybe you should start eating dropped sandwiches more coz i do not get migraines

Hotch: one more sound and you will be grounded

Y/N: as if!!! What are you gonna do?

Hotch: no phone

Y/N: we need phones for work

Hotch: no internet for a week

Y/N: try again, I work with Penny.

*Reid, walking by to get another coffee*

Hotch: No Reid

Y/N: NO REEIIDD!!!!

Hotch: YES! NO REIDD

Y/N: you cant just do that!!!

Hotch: YES I CAN!!! NO REID TIL COLLEGE, YOUNG WOMAN!!

Y/N: TIL COLLEGE!!!!!!!! Rossi will hear about this

A few moments later

Reid, to Hotch: hey Hotch, can Y/N and I hang out later? I wanna invite her to watch a movie with me.

Hotch: No.

Reid: what do you mean NO.

Hotch: She’s grounded. NO REID TIL COLLEGE.

Reid: she has two PhDs already.

Hotch, unblinking: NO. REID. TIL COLLEGE.

IV. Rossi and the granddaughter he never asked for but clearly loves

Rossi: so tell me what ails you, bambino.

Y/N, pouting and whining: Hotch *hiccups* grounded *hiccups* me. He said *hiccups* I cannot see Reid. Til college *wails, while dramatically throwing herself to the sofa*

Rossi: don’t you cry now, cara. I will talk to your father about this. Here’s $100. Go buy yourself something nice for your date with Reid.

Y/N: it is not a date, nonno. Just a movie.

Rossi: Regardless, take it. I will talk to, Hotch.

V. Reid and his never ending explanations of “yes she is my girlfriend. no i am not a pedophile, we met when she’s 25. yes i am sure she is 25. And no i am not dating a high schooler”

*Reid and Y/N, finally on their movie date.*

Bouncer: hey young lady. Do you know this man?

Y/N: oh yes, sir. He is my boyfriend. If you will excuse us, we need to catch a movie.

Bouncer, suspiciously looking at Reid

Reid: SHE IS 25!!!!

Bouncer, suspicious stare intensifies

Reid: she is just short please we are adults

Bouncer:

Reid:

Y/N:

Y/N: here is my ID, sir. We work for the FBI. I am Asian and just really short.

Bouncer: oh okay. Sorry. You can never be sure these days.

Reid: thank you for looking out for other people, though

Bouncer, suspicious stare:

Reid, whispers: wtf

[yoredoesmore]

Hello yes me again 🫢, so how about this. Reader who has incredible sense of fashion like she dress gyaru (or smth similar). And when the 3rd division is fighting kaiju or having training she's always so serious and 'cold' (she's actually a sweetheart but she just has b12ch face). They go out cuz they celebrating something and they see reader but they are suprised that she has that kind of style? Like they thought that a person who is always neat and serious in her work would dress like 'plain' and not in bright colours and skirts? Expecially with those cute accessories hairclips, bracelets(I love them) Take your sweet time don't worry I will wait 💕💅

(I hope you understand what I just wrote cuz my mind was foggy writing this💀 Btw I love your work❤️)

a/n: if i could i would give you the biggest smooch!! your requests feel like a breath of fresh air, i had so much fun writing this! i apologize for the long wait tho ^^

pairing: Fem!Reader & Third Division

genre: fluff/comedy [wc: 2,2k ]

a/n: the third division has two vice captains in this ff ^^)

enjoy!

GAL is Mind! | Hoshina Soshiro

“Third Division!” Your voice echoed through the entire training room, ice cold and sharp. Everybody immediately halted in their movements, their bodies in perfect sync with your voice.

“Salute!” The sounds of boots clicking and body's straightening brought satisfaction to your ears. A smile, though short lived, formed on your lips as your eyes fell on the rows of cadets. One of them stepped forward, gaze lifted up high in the sky as she opened her mouth.

“Thank you for today's training, Vice Captain L/n!” She yelled out.

“Thank you for today's training!” Everybody followed her suit.

“Dismissed.” And with that said you stepped away from the front and began your journey to the dressing room.

“Vice Captain L/n really is something, huh?” Kafka sighed, hands reaching for his water bottle. Heavy puffs of air escaped his lips, the effects of the training still harsh on his body.

“Tell me about it. She's gotta be the third strongest on the base for sure.” Reno replied, copying his friend and reaching for his bottle as well. He too was trying to catch his breath. Whenever it was your turn to train the Platoon, even the strongest cadets would end up collapsing after the session. Yet you walked away unscratched, with no signs of exhaustion or weariness.

“I wonder what she is like off the field..in private, you know. Shinomiya's words caused a shift in atmosphere. Immediately all feelings of enervation were forgotten as the group tried to imagine you in a more casual setting.

“Off..the field?” Kafka's gaze fell on your disappearing form.

Most of the people at the base already had a set image of you in their mind. Your cold demeanor was engraved in their heads. The fearless Vice Captain who led every fight with precision and a cool head– that was the only version of you which they knew. But they knew better than to judge a person solely from what they decided to show to the public– and not to mention that most of the time, people were different in private than in their work life in general.

They wondered if that applied to you as well.

“Wouldn't Vice Captain Hoshina know? Or Captain Ashiro. As Captains they must spend lots of time together off field, I think.” Iharu suggested. His words made sense at first but upon consulting the other Vice Captain, it seemed that you were as isolated off field as at work.

“I never really interacted with L/n outside base grounds, besides out on the battlefield of course.” Hoshina admitted, surprising the entire group.

“No way! Ain't she your work partner? Don't tell me you never went out for a drink or two? Sir.” Iharu quickly added the sir after realizing that he was talking out of line.

He was quite shocked at the Vice Captain's words and it seemed like he wasn't the only one. The entire group stood in disbelief as Hoshina told him that you were as quiet and introverted as they came.

“No, because now I really want to know what Vice Captain L/n is like off duty!” A spark had been lit inside Shinomiya. Her determination was contagious, as the others soon started to feel the same way. Even Hoshina was starting to wonder what image laid behind your nonchalant facade.

Therefore they came up with a plan to get you to ease up around them without drawing any suspicion towards their real motives.

x

“You want to..hang out?” Your voice perfectly reflected the image on your face– you were confused.

“A little get together with the other cadets sounds nice, don't it? Allows the group to bond and stuff, get their mind off things.”

Hoshina was prepared for the rejection of his life. Despite sharing many great memories at the base together, neither he nor Ashiro knew you on a very personal level. You were a strong and dedicated fighter, that was a fact. Your skills were flawless and your performances during battles praiseworthy. Yet all they got to see so far was your work behavior. You were like a ghost, hovering around the base and gaining everyone's curiosity.

“Sure, why not.”

“But it would be– whaddya say?”

“I mean why not? Sounds nice, I'm down.” A cold gaze sat on your face as you arranged the files on your desk and even your voice sounded uninterested. It gave Hoshina the impression that you were forcing yourself to agree to this meeting. Five whole minutes were needed to convince him that you really stood by your words.

At the end he walked out of your office, carefully pulling the door shut behind himself. Only after you were sure that he had left the area surrounding your office did you manage to produce a small smile.

“Yay!”

x

“She said yes just like that?!” The squad could barely believe their ears. Hoshina simply shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what to say. He himself still had to process the fact that you willingly agreed to this, without arguing or rejecting him. But then again, you never made a ruckus when having to pick up an extra shift or taking care about some more paperwork, therefore who knew what truly went through your mind.

“Am I the only one who is getting nervous?” Kafka asked into the round.

It was such a silly discussion, the mystery behind your personality, yet everyone involved found themselves curious to seek the answer.

“Vice Captain probably dresses really well! Like elegant and modest.” Shinomiya chimed in, clapping her hands together.

“I can definitely see that too.” Aoi agreed. The group began to chat and talk about the event of the night and how you were going to appear in front of them. They talked and talked, just for a little bit longer, before they returned to work.

x

A couple hours later and the time for the rendezvous came closer and closer. Throughout the day, Hoshina managed to ask Captain Ashiro if she too wanted to join the festivities and to everyone's surprise she agreed as well.

“I too want to see the Vice Captain in her casual glory.” Ashiro said with a straight face and sparkles in her eyes.

Everyone arrived around the agreed on time, some earlier and some later, but at the end they all gathered in front of the fine establishment.

“Oh, L/n just texted me that she is already inside!” Ashiro had a soft smile sitting on her lips, happy about the fact that you had texted her.

“Am I the only one who feels excessively excited??” Iharu looked around the group for validation.

“Nah, I'm just as excited” Izumo placed a reassuring hand on the other one's shoulders. “But I do feel like we are totally doing too much. I mean, it's just the Vice Captain.” The group was unsure if Izumo's words were directed towards everyone else or just himself, as he had quite the distressed look on his face. Shinomiya, Hoshina and Reno on the other hand carried a blank look on their faces. Their excitement manifested itself in the form of silence.

“Does anybody see her?” Kafka asked.

The bar was of decent size. It was most likely on the more fancier side. Not too many guests sat seated at the tables and from their point of view they should have had a clear vision of the whole place. Yet you remained to be discovered.

All they saw was another group of businessmen, a handful of couples, a person who seemed to be having a stroke in the corner and some young college students who were being a little too noisy..

Ashiro was about to ask a staff member for help, when all of a sudden a stranger approached them.

“Guys? I have been waving at you for the past two minutes, didn't you see me?”

Silence

In front of the group stood a woman, who's stroke turned out to be her attempt of getting their attention. She was dressed in attire that did not fit the establishment's vibe.

l

Her long eyelashes were a perfect match for the dramatic makeup she had put on. Half of her hair was put into a high ponytail, with the ends strongly curled. Although her head lacked charms and accessories, many of those were found on her long, white nails. The clothes she wore perfectly reflected everything that was going on in her face.

A skirt so short sat around her hips that the group feared that it would only take her one bad step to reveal herself. They just hoped that the golden star belt she wore was good enough to hold everything in place. What truly topped everything off weren't the dark fur leg warmers or the thick golden chains hanging from both her belt and neck, but rather the bold, off shoulder cheetah print shirt.

To put everything in simpler words– she was a looker for sure.

“...L/n?” Shinomiya was the first one to open her mouth.

“Yes?”

“WHAT?!” Kafka could barely contain himself. Shock wasn't even expressive enough to describe the sheer disbelief he was currently feeling. His eyes were stuck on the countless bracelets you were wearing, trying to count them all. Meanwhile Izumo and Aoi still had to pick their jaws off the floor.

“Ya gotta be kiddin me..” Hoshina cursed under his breath, his eyes still drinking in the image of you.

From all he had expected, this would have been the last thing. Seeing you in such revealing and bold attire, it was out of character for you. Even Ashiro found herself speechless as she slowly started to recognize your face behind all the accessories and makeup.

And let's not get started on Shinomiya who almost fainted.

“Do..I have something on my face?” Your voice was genuine and filled with confusion.

“Everything!” Iharu blurted out, earning a slap from Reno.

“This..is just very unexpected.” The white haired man tried to explain in the best words available.

“Unexpected is puttin it lightly! Shit, you sure this is our Vice Captain??” Iharu barely finished his sentence before the second slap from Reno came flying towards the back of his head.

“Oh. Yeah, I figured you guys would be surprised. I tried to tone it down a little and left some accessories at home but once I get dressed I can barely hold myself back.” You smiled softly.

For some it was the first time seeing you present such a sweet smile. It melted their hearts in an instant and forced them to question everything about you that they knew.

As you showed the way to the table, the group of people behind you silently fought about who got to sit next to you. Both power and authority were abused, as Hoshina and Ashiro ended up by your side with Shinomiya getting the seat right in front of you.

There it was, the moment they all have been waiting for. The silence was so strong that it became one of the loudest things in the entire place.

Their gazes poked holes through your outfit but you simply sat there, enjoying their attention. Such close interactions did not exist at work, as all were too afraid of you. They did not go unnoticed by you, the comments and whispers about your unapproachable behavior. There were obviously no ill intentions in their words but it still hurt you a little that nobody tried to get to know you on a personal level.

Your shyness and professionalism were labeled off as coldness on your very first day and ever since you had found it quite difficult to build more skin deep relationships. That is why you were beyond happy when Hoshina asked you to join them today.

“Have you always been dressing like this?” Shinomiya asked the question that has been on everybody's mind. The sparkle in her gaze returned, her eyes shining with nothing but admiration for you.

“Yes, pretty much. My mother was a Rokku Gyaru and taught me everything I needed to know. Started off as a Kogal and slowly found my way into the world of Tsuyome.”

Everybody listened with great attention as you explained your sense of fashion. It was the most talkative they have ever experienced you in, it was a memory to cherish. It made you feel awfully happy, their kindness and acceptance, that you temporarily lost yourself.

“Sorry Vice Captain, but I really didn't take you for the kind who would dress like that. So bold and carefree..but now that I think about it it suits you quite well!”

“Thank you a lot, Kafka.” You both exchanged mutual smiles.

“Same here. I first thought that you were gonna come in all formal and shit but this really hits the spot.”

“Your head will swell if I hit you one more time, moron.” Reno shot the red head a deadly glare.

“I know that I come off as cold sometimes, but I can't help it. I like to express myself with my appearance and actions rather than words and not to mention– in this field of work I just cannot afford to be as silly and expressive as my clothes.’

“It is very impressive that you are able to have these different sides to you.” The woman next to you spoke.

Much more time was spent talking about certain fashion styles, life and work at the defense force. The night was long and who knew when the next time would come where you got to talk the way you did now? Therefore you talked and talked, until all troubles and thoughts were taken off your minds.

a/n: i literally threw up couple hours ago and i got so mad bc i really wanted to upload this fic today so i swallowed a pain killer, took a nap and got right to the editing after waking up 😭 don't play with me stupid migraine (ง'-̀̀'́)ง

btw, if you want to get a better image of tsuyome (the gyaru subculture) make sure to google it! It is sooo pretty!!

[casurlaub]

Can we please agree that liking a character doesn't mean you have to explain away their every bad call? And that disliking a character doesn't mean you have to overlook their good qualities to have them fit your narrative? No one is just this or that. It's always a range.

The lack of nuance in parts of this fandom annoys me so much. And let's please drop the double standards - finding excuses for every 'bad' thing character A does while demonizing character B.

Dumbledore is no super villain. Yes, he put defeating Voldemort over Harry's (emotional) needs. He isn't some supportive father figure, but he's not responsible for the war nor everyone's decision to join in. 'He raised an army of children' - um no? Because if so, he, the greatest wizard of the age, did a shitty job. In both wizarding wars it was just one group of friends joining the Order, not a huge number of former students. So either super-smart Dumbledore seriously sucked at recruiting, or maybe he didn't try all that hard?

James wasn't some prime example of social justice warrior from the very beginning. Yes, he had - to some extent - a set moral code, he hated the Dark Arts, and he certainly never used dark curses on others. But he found it entertaining to hex students at random. He was a classic bully; he did it because he could and because he found it funny. He enjoyed it. But that doesn't mean he had no good traits - he cared for his friends, befriended Remus (practically an outcast), and later he changed. I can't get over the people who find excuses for Snape's bullying of his students, of literal children when he's an adult, but seem to think James was the worst person to ever exist.

Sirius has a ton of good qualities; I could write an essay about it. But guess what, that doesn't make the prank thing okay (no matter if Remus cared about it). The same goes for the Snape bullying and his condescending (cruel) behavior towards Peter. And his treatment of Kreacher, who was oppressed, not the oppressor. And why do we applaud him for 'forgiving' Remus in PoA for not trying to get him out of Azkaban? What's there to applaud? He was in Azkaban because he thought Remus was the spy, did we forget that? How do we expect Remus to suss out that Sirius thought himself clever enough to outsmart not only Voldemort but also Dumbledore? Sirius isn't on some moral high ground here. He wasn't in Azkaban because of Remus but because of his own arrogance and lapse of judgement.

Remus isn't some impersonated moral code. He isn't 'the sensible one' by default. He makes a ton of shitty, truly awful decisions (roaming Hogsmeade while a werewolf, not telling Dumbledore about the secret passages or Sirius's animagus form in PoA even after Sirius, the alleged mass murderer with an agenda of killing Harry, broke into Harry's dorm, abandoning Tonks...). But he isn't some master manipulator with a hidden agenda either. He was driven by his self-loathing first and foremost. And when did it become worse to be a bystander than to participate in the actual bullying? (I'm not saying it's okay, but how can we find excuses for James and Sirius, but Remus is super evil for doing... nothing? When it's stated that Snape was following him and trying to uncover his secret to get him expelled? Shocking he didn't feel all that sympathetic.) Of course he is passive-aggressive, of course he was selfish/cowardish, I don't know, but he isn't evil? He's usually kind (ffs, he even felt pity for Greyback), and his issues are in the end all rooted in his endless self-loathing. That doesn't excuse it. It doesn't. But it doesn't mean he's acting like he does because he's an inherently bad person. This idea of inherently 'bad' or 'good' people is naive and harmful anyhow. Besides - I feel some standards imposed on him are impossible to meet, when the same people are quick to explain away James's/Sirius's/Snape's flaws. Remus is suffering from massive childhood trauma that he's forced to relive every month, he's stigmatized for it by society his whole life, but he himself is supposed to just 'let it go'? Without therapy or anything? Right...

And even Lily isn't a saint. She's fighting back a smile when James is bullying her (supposedly) best friend?

Snape is no tragic hero whose every wrong is justified because he turned around and sacrificed himself. Of course, he was brave. Of course, he had a shitty childhood. That doesn't give him a free pass. He was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts when he arrived at Hogwarts already, he invented curses like Sectumsempra while at Hogwarts, he sold the 'love of his life' to Voldemort. And even after he 'changed' and overcame his fascist views, he bullied children he was supposed to take care of - as a grown man. Not only Harry, but also Neville, Hermione, Ron, who knows how many others. So, yeah, cool, he protected their lives 'when it counted' - 'when it counted'??? You don't belittle your students, you don't insult them, you don't threaten to poison their pets no matter what happened to you when you were a kid. You're an adult, take responsibility. Easy as that. What happened to you may be an explanation, but not an excuse. And do we really think he didn't strike back at James and Sirius? That it was just James and Sirius and him taking it lying down without doing anything himself? I don't.

It's entirely natural to relate more to one character than another and to feel more sympathetic towards them. But let's move away from this 'all or nothing' way of thinking.

To me, they're all beautiful because they're flawed. It makes them real. I don't want them to be stripped of their flaws, not even my favorite characters.

Don't take Sirius's darkness away, don't turn Remus into the ever gentle voice of reason or the super selfish master manipulator (same goes for Dumbledore) and ffs don't excuse Snape's fascist views and bullying of children.

[keen-li]

Can you please write a jungkook ff based on the song ‘renegade’ by Aaryan Shah? And about the reference in the song. The ‘she’ in the song is the oc (the reader, female lead) and the ‘you‘ in the song be the other girls. Sad ending pleaseeeee!

I tried my best :) hope you like it. It was hard to think of a perfect sad ending, i hope this does.

I didn't want to rely on the song too much but instead just get the basic concept.

Not even the loud music playing or the bright lights flashing, some blue some red, could take jungkook's mind off you.

You're all he's been thinking about, he doesn't like to lose what's his. Even though you decided to leave on your own, he still took that as a loss cause he wasn't able to keep you by him.

You never liked jungkook's lifestyle and you told him this many times. He warned you though, he told you clearly before you got together what type of guy he was. But you thought he'd change because he loved you, atleast that's what he told you.

"You're the only one I like though." He'd tell you when you'd be angry after finding him with some other chick. Though they shouldn't have, those words always seemed to work on you. He knew all the right words to tell you to get you back in his arms and he'd always spit them out quickly like it was practiced. You didn't ponder on those situations for long just wanting to be in his arms again as soon as possible. You were a fool for jungkook.

This time it was different. You were sick and tired of living life like you were a teenager. You were both in your twenties almost nearing your thirties. You didn't want to live a life like this for long, if you were younger maybe you would stay, but you wanna get married, have children. You know that kind life and jungkook didn't look like he was ready for that.

And after figuring out he wouldn't be the one to give that to you, you left. He tried saying those sweet words of his, even though you almost gave in. You didn't, you stood your ground and left him. You were hurting but you had to, jungkook wasn't good for you.

But can you blame him he told you beforehand all that came with being with him, and you still said yes. Foolishly.

Jungkook grunts, not in pleasure but feeling uneasy by the girl bopping her head up and down his crotch. Maybe it's the club couches, he never liked them anyways. He always preferred the couches in the public area rather than the ones in the private rooms, where he spent most of his time when he was in the there.

But the couch has nothing to do with his uneasiness.

The girl continues to bop her head and he grows more frustrated. No one knew how to do it like you.

He takes a sip of his alcohol looking around the room at his high and drunk companions. Nothing seems to take his mind off you. Your thighs that he'd love to grip and kiss on, your lips that would be sealed with his or around his cock. His cock twitches thinking about you but the girl think its cause of her. She stares at jungkook feeling proud of herself but he simply pushes her off him, finally deciding she's not doing much for him.

She looks confused at him and he shoos her away with his hand. He can hear her cursing as she walks away but he couldn't care less. That's all those girls were good for, but ever since you left he couldn't seem to find pleasure in anything. Maybe the photos of you that he'd look at while in bed would help.

For the rest of the night he keeps up his drinking and intake of drugs thinking they'd blur the clear image of you in his mind but they never did only making you clearer and clearer.

He's had bad days but today's been the worst. He can barely sit still. He keeps shifting in his seat visibly uncomfortable. He grunts catching the attention of one of his companions.

"Daddy are you alright? Do you need me to help you." The lady in a tiny silver dress says running her hands across his chest.

"Can you?" He asks looking in her eyes emotionless and tired. He knows there's nothing anyone can do to help him unless they bring you back to him. But he entertains her cause he needs to distract his mind.

She nods but before she can do anything, jungkook hears a voice speak. A voice he's been hearing everyday before bed or in his dreams.

"I see you haven't changed" you say standing in front of him and jungkook takes in all your glory. The tight dress you're wearing showing him all he's been missing.

"Baby" he says standing up and towering over you.

You can smell the toxins on him making you scrunch your nose. He reads your face wondering what you're doing here the girl behind him long gone in his mind.

"I need you talk to you" you look around the room. "In private " you say whilst eyeing the drinks on the table and you shake your head.

"Okay" he says then tells all the people in the room to leave, to your surprise cause you thought you'd just go talk to him outside. When Everyone leaves you take a sit cautiously, worrying you might be sitting on who-knows-what substances. He also takes a seat looking at you.

You decided to sit far from him not wanting any temptations and just get this conversation over with.

"I've missed you" he tries to move closer to you but you stop him with your hand.

"I haven't come here to reconcile." You say bluntly avoiding his very tempting eyes.

"Okay then tell me what you want baby" your heart reacts to the pet name he liked to call you.

You don't know how to say what you want to tell him. It's been a month since you and him have been apart and you've kept this to yourself. You couldn't keep this to yourself for any longer, he deserves to know.

You were happy when you found out but then who realised who it was for. He wasn't the type for this things and you knew that, so his reaction is very crucial. You dont know what he's gonna say but you hope he'll be happy with it cause you've always wanted this with jungkook but he was always the reason why you never did.

"I'm pregnant" you spit out deciding not to overthink it anymore. You can't tell the emotion on his face, so you only wait for his words to tell you what he thinks.

"Huh?"

If you're looking for the next one. Here

[valyrfia]

I've been on ff community since I was 12 years old (yeah I know, too soon, canonic event) and I'm now 25 so I know a thing or two about fanfics both fictional and RPF culture now. And I can confidently say, that 75% of people that act horrified and scandalized over these stats or make comments like "omg who's writing fanfics about-" are the first ones to have open tabs on their cellphones of the filthiest ff known to men that I wouldn't even read. And this I swear happens more than people realize. I lost count the amount of people that would judge me over reading fanfiction and then I would find them on fanfics spaces like hello there :)..

Oh you're absolutely correct. The people who are the most scandalised are always the ones partaking. It's just frustrating as hell for us on here or on ao3 who are doing our own thing in our own designated spaces only for someone on twitter to decide they want to get a few quick hits out of preaching how RPF is so wrong and tweeting out...screenshots of archive-locked RPF. I'm talking specifically about that Carlos/JV fic which was REMOVED FROM THE ARCHIVE because twitter decided they wanted to laugh at it and call the author weird, but I've seen loads of things about people calling romantic Lestappen weird only for their next tweet to be an almost word for word copy of a post that was doing numbers in the tumblr tag. I will say the age demographic on twitter tends to skew a lot younger (late teens) compared to tumblr (majority in our mid to late 20s) so you could argue it's just immaturity, but it's also frustrating as hell having our peace disturbed because someone is a. not entirely comfortable with the fact they enjoy RPF and wants to make themselves feel better by taking the moral high ground and b. has figured out that RPF discussions on twitter get hits and likes and interactions despite the fact that RPF does NOT belong on twitter in any way shape or form.

[skiiyoomin]

I feel like there isn't enough for Newt from The Maze Runner Series. Could you please write for him?

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Content: slight violence? swearing, gn reader! oblivious reader

Summary: You were a Runner who had the unfortunate luck of getting bitten by a Griever. You had assumed your death, but when you woke up, you were in a completely different Glade, surrounded by completely different people, by boys.

a/n I´m sooo sorry I took so long to answer but it´s finally here!! (ive been having huge writers block so i hope this is good enough) I totally think there's not enough tmr ff!! we have to revive the fandom 🥹 my friends helped think of the plot so props to them!! :D

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

ღFrom afar | Newt

Your feet pounded on the hard ground, your heavy pants echoing through the hard rock walls. You turned your head back every so often, the sound of screeching of metal on rock not much further behind you, forcing you to quicken your pace.

A mere few minutes ago, you were peacefully resting on one of the many walls inside the maze, you were unaware of the Griever close by until it was too late. You could have run straight back to the Glade, but you couldn't risk letting the Griever close to the doors and putting in danger the rest of the girls.

Your lungs burned, terribly so, but you didn't stop. You couldn't. It all backfired when you turned the corner and found yourself in a dead end. You heard the roar of the Griever too close for comfort and without thinking, you ran straight to the end wall, grabbing onto one of the many vines and pulling yourself upward.

You looked down when you deemed yourself to be high enough, a mistake really, because in a flash, the Griever snapped the vine you were holding onto. The fall felt like it went by in slow motion, and in those few seconds, you quickly assumed your death. You felt a sharp sting on your side. Did the Griever sting you? Well, you were a goner anyway, what did it matter. Your vision began to blur, black spots engulfing your sight until all you saw was pitch black, and then, unconsciousness.

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|

Minho ran around the maze, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, as per usual. When he turned a corner, his feet abruptly stopped.

"What the..."

A few steps in front of him laid a body, a female body. As he slowly stepped closer, he immediately took note of your sickly looking skin. His eyes landed on a spot on your arm, or rather a bite. There were dark protruding veins going up your arm, the sight bad enough to make anyone grimace.

That's when Minho snapped out of it and came to a quick realizations. You were stung by a Griever. But how did you get here? Where did you come from? Who are you?

Despite the thousands of questions flying through his mind, he knew if he didn't take you back to the Glade you'd be a goner. He gently lifted you in his arms and raced back as fast as he could.

As expected, he got a lot of stares and was asked many questions he simply could not answer.

"For the last time Alby, I don't know. I found her laying on the ground, what was i supposed to do, leave her there?"

Under all the sudden chaos, Newt, a natural diplomat in these situations, was uncharacteristically quiet. He simply did not know how to feel about any of it.

Eventually you recovered, gave your side of the story to Alby and began your new life in a new place. Undoubtedly it was hard. Recovering from the sting was a process filled with agony and confusing thoughts. Settling down in a place full of boys whose horomones skyrocketed was just as hard. Despite the uncomfortableness of it all, you began to befriend the right people and soon enough you had gained your place as a Runner.

Through all of this, Newt had made sure to stay far far away from you, watching you without making a move.

"You're gonna scare her off if you keep looking at her so much"

Frypans voice had startled him out of his daze, his eyes moving from you to him in bewilderment.

"What are you on about"

Frypan shrugs at this "You keep staring at her, if you like her that much you should just talk to her"

Now he was bewildered for sure, like you?? How is that even possible. He debated in his mind, Frypans words leaving him in a confused state. He was sure he didn't like you, yet why is your smile so heart warming, your hair looks especially nice today too.

Crap, maybe he does like you after all.

Little did he know, you were having a similar conversation in one of the many tables.

"He totally makes eyes at you, I don't know what you're talking about!"

Minho exclaims, rather loudly at that, making you slap your hands over his mouth to shut him up.

"Shut it you slinthead, he's gonna hear if you talk so loud"

Minho simply rolls his eyes before saying "Good, maybe that'll have you make a move"

You scoff "He probably doesn't even like me, he barely talks to me!!

And just like that, you were both in a never ending spiral of confusion and overthinking thoughts. And obviously, everyone noticed, with how obvious you two were how could they not?

And obviously Minho decided the best thing to do was to set up a plan.....for everyones sake.

Your days had started off normal. You got to work, went out to the Maze, came back and jotted down what you had seen. Nothing out of the ordinary.

As you were finishing up in the Map Room, Minho had bursted in, making you jump and look at him in surprise.

"I need you to help me, come quick"

Without much of a question, you followed him until you reached the Homestead. As you walked up the stairs, you stopped in front of a small unfamiliar room. Minho pushed open the door, holding on to the door knob and waving his hand, motioning you to walk inside. Before you even realized what was going on, he had slammed the door shut, locking you inside the room.

You whirled around to face the door, a look of perplexion on your face. You heard Minhos loud voice boom from the other side

"I´m not letting you out until you talk to each other!!"

If possible, your confusion only grew as you mumbled "Each other?"

"He means us"

You heard a voice from behind, the British accent all too familiar. Turning around, you were met with the sight of Newt sitting on the floor with an unimpressed look on his face. You felt the all too familiar feeling of your heart hammering in your chest. Taking a deep breathe, you sigh shakily as you sit down beside him.

You rest your head on the wall behind you, your thoughts wandering and your brows furrowing more and more.

"What do you think he meant by talking to each other?"

Newt glanced at you for a second, then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward and placed his thumb between your brows, gently rubbing the area until your frown completely disappeared.

"I don´t know but what I do know is that you´re gonna get wrinkles if you frown so much"

In a dazed like motion, he traced his thumb over your brow and down your temple until his entire hand was cupping your cheek. Your cheeks flushed under his hand, wide eyes staring deep into his brown ones.

However, as soon as the moment was there it was gone just as quickly as Newt backed away, apologies flying his mouth.

Your hands moved before you could even process what you were doing. You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Stop apologizing you idiot! I don´t mind..."

You mumbled the last part in embarrasement, your eyes trained on the floor underneath you. The feeling of his rough calloused hands pulling yours away from his cheeks made your eyes shoot back up at him in surprise. You thought he would push you away, instead, he pulled you close until your head was resting on his shoulder, his long arms wrapping around your waist.

"Then...do you mind if I do this?"

When he felt you shake your head, he breathed out a sigh of relief, his tense muscles relaxing, letting you nuzzle your face deeper against the crook of his neck. You were in that position for what felt like ages when Newt called out your name. Moving your head so you could look at him better, he took this as a sign to continue.

"I- I don´t know how to say this without making it awkward, but...well I always get this feeling around you, like my hearts going to fly out of my chest...or how I get all jittery"

As he rambles, you push your head back to fully look at him, your cheeks flaring up at his words.

"What I´m trying to say is I really really like you"

In a flash, you had cupped his face with your hands and slammed your lips to his. Whatever words he had were gone once he felt your soft lips on his. When air called, you pulled away, breathing deeply.

"I like you too Newt"

You´ve never seen someone smile as much as he did in that moment, dazzling smile taking your breath away. This time it was him who leaned in for a kiss, deeper this time and full of passion.

If you had known it would be like this you would have kissed him long long ago. Guess you have Minho to thank now.

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

BONUS!!

"You think he asked her out already?" Asked Minho.

"They´ve been in there for a while that´s for sure" Was Albys reply.

"Do you think they´re-"

"DON´T finish that sentence Minho"

"I don´t think I would´ve wanted to know anyway" He says with a grimace.

[novaursa]

To Kneel Before You (reader's choice)

- Summary: Defying the orders of your older brother, King Viserys I, you secretly join the battle for the Stepstones. After months of grueling conflict, a commander rushes to inform you of a captured agent of the Crabfeeder. But the prisoner isn’t an enemy spy—it’s your other brother, Daemon Targaryen, the infamous Rogue Prince. His face is smeared with mud and blood, his hair tangled and wild, and the fury in his eyes tells you everything. Your men have made a grave mistake. They’ve captured a dragon.

- Paring: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The sound of your dragon, Serenix, beating her massive wings fills the air as you descend onto the beach, black sand and broken shells crunching beneath your boots. The sleek, obsidian scales of your mount shimmer like oil in the dying sun, her piercing ruby eyes surveying the land for any signs of remaining enemies. Her tail, long and sharp like a spear, coils behind her, the infamous weapon that has earned her the title The Night Spear. She's restless after battle, her breaths coming out in hot, misty puffs as if eager to return to the skies and hunt.

You run a hand along her neck, feeling the cool, smooth scales beneath your palm, grounding yourself after the high of combat. But something is off. The normally disciplined camp is abuzz with hushed whispers, soldiers exchanging furtive glances. Then, your commander, Ser Garren, rushes toward you, his face flushed with both excitement and panic.

“My lady, we’ve captured one of Crabfeeder’s agents,” he announces breathlessly, stopping just short of you, as if unsure how you’ll respond.

You raise a brow, dismounting from Serenix with grace. You’ve been hunting the Crabfeeder’s men for months now, your victories adding fuel to the wildfire of gossip surrounding the Targaryen princess who dares disobey her brother the king. But something in Garren’s voice makes you pause. There’s more to this than a mere enemy agent.

“Have you now?” you say with a smirk, adjusting the leather of your battle armor. “Show me.”

He hesitates, swallowing nervously. “You might want to brace yourself for this one.”

Curiosity piqued, you motion for him to lead the way. As you walk through the camp, soldiers straighten up, their eyes wide and full of anticipation, but no one dares to speak. The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore grow distant as you approach the makeshift prison tent.

Garren stops at the entrance, giving you a wary glance. “He’s… not exactly what we expected.”

“Oh?” You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.

With a deep breath, he pulls back the flap. Inside, you see a figure—mud-caked, blood-splattered, and bound at the wrists and ankles like a common animal. His silver hair, once unmistakably pristine, is matted with sand and grime. His violet eyes blaze with fury as he looks up at you. Daemon. Your older brother, the Rogue Prince.

Your amusement flickers like a flame in the wind as you step closer. “Commander Garren,” you say, biting back a smile. “This is not one of Crabfeeder’s agents.”

Daemon’s glare could melt Valyrian steel. “Do you find this amusing?” His voice is low and dangerous, but there’s a glint of something familiar in his eyes—something teasing.

You circle him slowly, hands behind your back, allowing the smirk you’ve been holding back to show. “A little, yes.”

Daemon scoffs, yanking at his bindings, though the ropes hold firm. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the one who ordered this.”

“I could only wish to claim such a victory.” You crouch down in front of him, inspecting the sorry state he’s in. His armor is dented, his tunic torn, and yet he still exudes that arrogant Targaryen charm. “How did they manage to capture you?”

Daemon tilts his head, the corners of his mouth twitching. “An unfortunate mix of arrogance, an ambush, and…” He glances at the guards outside the tent. “Incompetence.”

You lean back on your heels, stifling a laugh. “I’m sure it was all very tragic. Should I free you, or would you prefer to stay here for a while longer?”

He narrows his eyes, but there’s no real malice in them. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To parade me around the camp like a prized beast.”

The idea is tempting, but you shrug casually. “I don’t know… It could be entertaining for a few days. But then I’d have to explain to Viserys how I let his precious brother rot on the shores of the Stepstones.”

At the mention of Viserys, Daemon’s smirk fades slightly, replaced with something darker. “So the king does care about me after all?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you reply dryly, standing and motioning for Garren to untie him. “As much as I’d enjoy watching you struggle, we have more pressing matters than your wounded pride.”

As Garren cuts the ropes, Daemon stands, rolling his shoulders and flexing his wrists as if testing whether he’s still made of flesh and bone. He glances back at you, his violet eyes gleaming with that ever-present spark of mischief. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.”

You tilt your head, smiling slightly. “I was going to say the same to you.”

His lips curl into a familiar smirk, one that makes you wonder if he’s been plotting some sort of mischief all along. "You're always so predictable, little sister. Ever the wild one, pretending to ignore our brother's orders.”

“Someone has to make life interesting,” you reply with a wink, brushing past him. “Try not to get captured again, Daemon. It’s quite embarrassing for the both of us.”

He watches you walk away, and though you can’t see his face, you know that amusement has returned to his eyes. You call over your shoulder as you approach Serenix once more. “Next time, try not to look so much like one of the Crabfeeder’s men. You blend in too well with the mud.”

His laughter follows you, dark and rich. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll make sure to be clean the next time you capture me.”

You mount your dragon, shaking your head with a grin. Daemon may be the Rogue Prince, but at least he’ll never let you be bored.

A few days have passed since your last encounter with Daemon, and the air around the camp feels heavier. The men are in better spirits, of course; your forces, along with Corlys Velaryon’s fleet, have successfully pushed back Crabfeeder’s men, taking key positions along the coastline. But the victory feels uneasy, like a cloud that hangs just overhead, waiting to break.

You stand on a ridge overlooking the camp, the salty wind pulling at your hair as you gaze at the sea. Ships bearing the banner of House Velaryon rest in the distance, their sails barely moving as they bob on the waves. The alliance with Corlys is vital, yet you can’t shake the nagging suspicion that something more is happening beneath the surface.

And that something is your brother, Daemon.

It’s not uncommon for him to disappear after a battle, slinking off to who-knows-where to nurse his wounds or plot his next reckless move. But this time, his absence is more deliberate. You’ve seen the way he’s been speaking with Corlys, heads bent together in hushed conversation, eyes glinting with a shared secret. And you know Daemon well enough to recognize that look—he’s scheming.

The thought makes you clench your fists, your knuckles going white. If there’s one thing you know, it’s that Daemon never plots without a purpose. And whatever it is, it won’t be simple or without consequence.

You hear the crunch of boots on sand behind you, and you don’t need to turn to know who it is. His presence is as familiar to you as the wind.

“You always look so serious when you’re thinking,” Daemon says, his voice smooth and amused. He comes to stand beside you, arms crossed over his chest as he looks out at the horizon. “I’ve been meaning to ask what’s been keeping you so deep in thought, but you’re never easy to approach these days.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, taking in the relaxed way he stands, as if there isn’t a single care in the world. He’s cleaned up since you last saw him, his silver hair once again gleaming, his armor polished, though there’s still an edge of wildness to him—something untamed that no amount of grooming can erase.

“And yet, here you are, approaching me without a second thought,” you say, your tone lighter than you feel. “Why don’t you tell me what’s really been keeping you busy?”

Daemon’s eyes flicker with interest, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been spending a great deal of time with Lord Corlys,” you say, cutting to the point. “Whispering and plotting behind everyone’s back. Should I be concerned?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your sudden forwardness. “Concerned? About what? Do you think I’m conspiring against you?”

“I think you’re conspiring against something,” you reply, crossing your arms as you turn to face him fully. “And I think whatever it is, you haven’t seen fit to share it with me. Or with Viserys.”

The mention of your elder brother’s name causes a shift in Daemon’s expression. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something—frustration, perhaps—but it’s quickly replaced by his usual mask of indifference.

“Viserys would have a heart attack if he knew both you and I were here together,” Daemon says casually, though you can hear the underlying edge in his voice. “He’s always been too soft, too cautious. Someone has to be bold enough to win this war.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what’s your plan? To wage this war in secret? To cut out the very people who are fighting beside you?”

He steps closer, his eyes sharp, but his tone remains calm. “You think I’d keep something like that from you, Y/N? From my own sister?”

“I don’t know, Daemon,” you reply coolly, refusing to back down. “I’ve learned over the years that you only tell people what they need to know. And you’ve been far too quiet for my liking.”

Daemon’s lips twist into a half-smile, a mixture of admiration and amusement. “Maybe you know me too well.”

“I do know you,” you say, meeting his gaze, refusing to be intimidated by the intensity in his eyes. “So, tell me, brother—what are you and Corlys planning?”

For a moment, he says nothing, simply watching you with that infuriating, unreadable expression. Then, with a sigh, he relents, but not entirely.

“Corlys and I have been discussing… opportunities,” he says, carefully picking his words. “The Crabfeeder’s forces may be retreating for now, but they won’t stay gone for long. We need to press the advantage.”

“That’s not a plan,” you say, frowning. “That’s common sense. What aren’t you telling me?”

His smirk grows wider, more dangerous, and he leans in slightly, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “Perhaps I’ll tell you when the time is right. You always did enjoy a bit of intrigue.”

You let out a frustrated breath, knowing full well that pressing him further will get you nowhere. He’s always been like this—playing his cards close to his chest, reveling in the power of knowing more than everyone else. But there’s something different this time. The stakes feel higher, the risk sharper.

And the way Daemon’s eyes gleam in the dimming light makes you certain that whatever he’s planning, it’s something far greater than a mere skirmish.

You step back, shaking your head slightly. “Just remember, Daemon—whatever you’re planning, it won’t stay hidden forever. Viserys will find out.”

Daemon chuckles softly, the sound rich and dark. “Let him. By the time he does, it’ll be too late to stop me.”

You watch him for a moment longer, feeling a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite name. It’s the same feeling you always get when Daemon is involved—like standing too close to the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong step could send you both tumbling into the abyss.

Without another word, you turn and walk away, the wind pulling at your cloak as you head back toward the camp. Behind you, Daemon remains where he is, watching you go, a shadow against the fading light.

A month later, the battlefield unfolds beneath you, a chaos of flames, blood, and the frenzied cries of Crabfeeder’s men. The skies are yours, and Serenix moves with the precision of a spear thrust, her sleek black body cutting through the air like a shadow. Her ruby eyes gleam, hunting for targets as her tail, long and lethal, swipes down with terrifying accuracy, impaling soldiers who are too slow to retreat.

Below, the remnants of the Crabfeeder’s forces scatter toward the rocky caves dotting the coastline, hoping to disappear into the safety of the shadows. You grit your teeth as you watch them retreat. They’ve learned. After weeks of battle, they know now that they can’t face a dragon in the open. The caves are their last refuge.

“Dracarys!” you command, your voice cutting through the wind. Serenix roars in response, a torrent of fire spilling from her jaws, lighting the ground below in a blaze of heat and destruction. The flames consume the few unfortunate souls who didn’t make it to cover, but most of them are already deep in the caves, well out of the reach of dragonfire.

You curse under your breath. The caves again. Every time they retreat here, it’s as if they’ve found a way to vanish from the battlefield entirely. You hover above, frustrated, watching the dark mouths of the caves swallow the enemy whole. Your forces have pushed them back, but pushing them into hiding doesn’t mean victory.

You guide Serenix to the ground, her wings folding elegantly against her sides as her tail coils behind her, twitching in irritation. She, too, is frustrated by the lack of prey. The ground beneath her trembles as she lands, and you take a moment to survey the scene. Your forces are regrouping, but the mood is tense. This isn’t the first time the enemy has used the caves to avoid annihilation, and you know it won’t be the last.

“We’ll need a new strategy,” you mutter to yourself, staring at the dark crevices carved into the rock. Fire can’t reach them in there, and even if you were to send soldiers after them, the caves are a death trap. Narrow passageways, unknown terrain—any attack there would be suicide.

Before you can begin to formulate a plan, the sky darkens with the sound of beating wings, and a shadow passes over you. You know that sound. The deep, guttural screech of Caraxes.

Your heart tightens slightly as you look up to see the blood-red dragon swooping down from the clouds, his serpentine body weaving through the air with predatory grace. Daemon. Of course.

Caraxes lands not far from Serenix, his long neck curling in curiosity as he approaches her, his massive maw pulling back to release a low growl. Serenix turns her head sharply, her ruby eyes narrowing at the intrusion, and she lets out a hiss in response, her tail snapping dangerously through the air. The tip of her tail, sharp and deadly, flicks in warning as she recoils slightly.

“Easy,” you murmur, placing a gloved hand on her neck, though you feel her tension thrumming beneath your fingertips. Serenix has never been fond of Caraxes, and it seems today is no exception.

Daemon dismounts, his boots sinking into the soft, charred sand, a smirk already playing on his lips as he watches the exchange between the dragons. “Serenix is still as charming as ever, I see,” he says, his tone amused.

“Charming isn’t the word I’d use,” you reply, eyes flicking to him as you dismount. “She doesn’t take well to being crowded.”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, casting a glance at Caraxes, who lets out another low rumble, clearly trying to get closer to Serenix. “You and your dragon are more alike than you’d admit.”

Serenix huffs in agreement, her wings flaring slightly as if to remind Caraxes to keep his distance. The red dragon seems amused by her defiance, but he takes a step back, circling away from her. You can feel Serenix relax slightly beneath your touch, though her tail continues to twitch with irritation.

“Do you always arrive just as things are about to fall apart?” you ask, turning your attention back to Daemon. His armor gleams in the faint light, his hair once again tied back, though it’s impossible to miss the glint in his eyes. He’s always too confident, too sure of himself, even when things aren’t in his control.

Daemon chuckles. “I like to think of it as arriving at the most interesting moments. What’s the problem now? Crabfeeder’s men hiding in their little holes again?”

“They’ve taken to the caves,” you say, your tone more bitter than you intended. “We can’t burn them out, and any attempt to chase them in there would be suicide. We’re stuck.”

Daemon surveys the battlefield for a moment, his gaze lingering on the rocky cliffs and the gaping mouths of the caves. His smirk fades, replaced by a more thoughtful expression, though there’s still an edge of mischief in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says after a beat, almost as if it surprises him to agree with you. “The caves are too narrow for dragons. They’re safe in there—for now.”

You shoot him a look. “That’s not helpful.”

“No,” he admits, rubbing his chin, “but it does give me an idea.”

You narrow your eyes. “What idea?”

He grins, that familiar dangerous spark lighting up in his eyes. “We don’t need to chase them into the caves, Y/N. We need to draw them out.”

“And how exactly do you plan to do that?” you ask, skeptical. “They’re like rats—they’ll only come out when they think it’s safe.”

“Which is why we make them think it’s safe,” Daemon says, his tone full of that irritating confidence. “They’ll come out eventually, hungry for revenge or supplies. But if we make it seem like we’re retreating, or better yet, fighting amongst ourselves…”

You frown, considering his words. “You think they’d be bold enough to come out if they thought we were at each other’s throats?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice slightly, the teasing edge still present. “We’ve given them reason enough to be terrified of us. Why not give them a reason to be overconfident instead? Let them think they’ve found a weakness, then strike.”

You stare at him, half-impressed, half-annoyed by his audacity. “You always did enjoy a good bit of theatrics, didn’t you?”

His smile widens. “Theatrics, strategy—it’s all the same, isn’t it?”

You glance back at the caves, then at Serenix, who’s now watching Caraxes with a wary eye. The idea isn’t without merit. It’s risky, but then again, most things are when Daemon’s involved.

“Fine,” you say after a moment. “But if this plan fails and we end up losing more men, I’ll make sure Serenix has a nice chat with Caraxes.”

Daemon laughs, his eyes gleaming. “I’m sure she’d enjoy that very much.”

As the two of you walk back toward your dragons, you can feel the agitation between the two beasts, though Serenix finally relents, allowing Caraxes to follow at a more respectful distance. You glance at Daemon one last time, wondering whether this alliance will be your saving grace—or the beginning of an even bigger disaster.

The plan was set. It was simple, almost too simple, and that was what made it clever. You stand on the beach once again, the wind tugging at your hair, your armor gleaming under the moonlight. The sea stretches endlessly beyond you, but it’s not the waves you’re focused on. It’s the dark mouths of the caves that lie scattered across the cliffs like wounds on the earth, hiding Crabfeeder’s men like rats in their burrows. Waiting for them to come out is no longer an option.

Tonight, you’re not hunting noble beasts; you’re luring rats.

Daemon stands across from you, a smirk playing on his lips, as if he’s already relishing the coming spectacle. You feel the tension in your muscles coil tighter, preparing for the mock battle you’re about to stage. Corlys’s forces are hidden, waiting for the signal to attack. The Sea Snake himself, always the strategist, has been overseeing the finer details, ensuring the timing will be perfect.

"You know this is going to be rather fun," Daemon says, pulling his sword from its sheath with a slow, deliberate motion. The Valyrian steel glints in the pale light, and he tilts his head toward you, eyes glinting with mischief.

“You have a strange idea of fun,” you mutter, adjusting your grip on your own sword. Serenix looms behind you, her eyes fixed on Caraxes, as if already irritated by his very presence. You can feel her unease, the subtle rumble in her chest vibrating up through your legs.

“Do try not to hit me too hard, Y/N,” Daemon teases, stepping closer. His movements are languid, almost lazy, but you know better. There’s nothing lazy about Daemon when he’s on the battlefield.

You roll your eyes. “I make no promises.”

Daemon chuckles, but the humor in his eyes is fleeting, replaced by something sharper, more serious. This mock fight, as ridiculous as it may seem, is crucial. If the Crabfeeder’s men believe you’re divided, they’ll be bold enough to come out of their hiding places. And once they do, Corlys’s men will be ready to strike.

You take a breath and raise your sword, giving a slight nod. The game begins.

With a burst of motion, Daemon lunges at you, his sword cutting through the air with practiced ease. You meet his blade with your own, the clash of steel ringing out across the beach. For a moment, it feels like a real fight—his strength behind each swing, your arms straining to parry. But this isn’t about victory. It’s about making a spectacle.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Daemon shouts, his voice loud enough to carry. Theatrics, as always.

You grit your teeth, pushing back against his blade. “You’re the one who can’t keep to a plan, Daemon!” You throw your weight into the next swing, knocking him back a step.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Shadows shifting among the rocks. The Crabfeeder’s men are watching. They’re biting the bait.

Daemon smirks, catching your next strike with ease. “I told you, little sister. I never play by the rules.”

The anger in your reply is only half-acted. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”

You force him back with a series of quick strikes, your movements fluid but fierce. The clash of your swords rings out again and again, and you can feel the eyes of your enemies watching, waiting. Crabfeeder’s men, likely believing the Targaryen siblings have turned on each other, will think this is the moment to strike. That you’re too distracted by your internal squabbles to see them coming.

“Enough of this!” Daemon growls, stepping back suddenly, his sword lowered but his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the performance. “You’ll never understand what needs to be done.”

You take a step forward, raising your sword again, but the moment has come. The first of Crabfeeder’s men begin to emerge from the caves, their ragged shapes moving in the darkness like insects crawling from the shadows. You can see them, just barely, slipping out onto the beach, weapons in hand. They think they have the upper hand.

Daemon’s gaze flickers to you for just a moment, a signal. It’s time.

With a final, exaggerated swing, you knock his sword to the side, sending him staggering back—pure performance, of course. He growls, pretending to nurse a wound, but you both know this is where the game ends and the real battle begins.

Crabfeeder’s men pour from the caves, emboldened by what they think is your weakness. Dozens of them, perhaps more, race toward the beach, their weapons raised. A foolish move.

And then, with a deafening roar, Corlys’s men strike.

The Sea Snake’s forces, hidden among the cliffs, rain down upon the Crabfeeder’s soldiers with brutal efficiency. Arrows fly, and men with spears rush forward, cutting off any chance of retreat. The tide turns in an instant, your enemies caught off-guard by the ambush.

You lower your sword slightly, taking in the scene with satisfaction as the chaos unfolds. Daemon, ever the opportunist, straightens with a smirk, watching as the Crabfeeder’s forces fall apart.

But not all of them. Amid the confusion, one figure remains standing, surveying the battlefield with cold, calculating eyes. The Crabfeeder himself. His strange mask gleams in the firelight, and though he does not flee, you can sense his mind racing, searching for an escape.

Daemon notices him too. His smirk disappears, replaced by something far darker. Without a word, he sheaths his sword and moves toward Caraxes, his eyes locked on the Crabfeeder.

“I’ll handle this,” he says, his voice low, almost dangerous.

You watch as he mounts his dragon, the tension between you suddenly thick. You know that look. Daemon is a man who hunts his prey with the same ruthlessness as the dragons you both ride.

As Caraxes rises into the air, Daemon casts one final glance back at you, and there’s something unspoken in his eyes. Determination. Fury. Something personal.

You step back as the ground trembles beneath you, watching as Caraxes takes to the skies with a screech that sends a shiver down your spine. The Crabfeeder is his target now, and you know Daemon won’t stop until the man is ashes beneath his feet.

And so, as the battle rages around you, you can only watch as Daemon disappears into the night, chasing his prey.

The camp is quiet as you sit by the fire, the aftermath of the battle leaving a strange stillness in the air. The faint crackle of flames is the only sound, the usual chatter of your men subdued after the ambush’s success. They’re recovering, both physically and mentally, from the day’s bloodshed. Yet, something nags at you, a tension beneath your skin, a sense that it isn’t quite over. Not yet.

You’re sharpening your sword, the rhythmic scrape of stone against steel keeping you grounded, when you hear the distinct, heavy footfalls approaching. You know without looking who it is. Daemon always makes his presence known, whether intentionally or not. There’s a swagger in his step that you could recognize anywhere.

But it isn’t the sound of his boots that stops your hands—it’s the sound of something heavy hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

You look up, your breath catching for a brief second. Before you, lying in the dirt at your feet, is the charred, bloody head of Craghas Drahar. The once-feared Crabfeeder, his mask still melted to the remains of his face, his neck a ragged stump, dripping red onto the sand.

For a moment, the entire camp falls silent, the eyes of your commanders widening in horror as they take in the sight. Some of them recoil, looking anywhere but at the grotesque trophy Daemon has so casually discarded at your feet. The firelight flickers over the mutilated head, casting deep shadows that only make it more monstrous.

Daemon stands there, utterly unbothered, his armor still splattered with dried blood, his expression one of calm satisfaction. He meets your gaze with that same smirk, the one that always makes you want to hit him—or laugh. In this moment, you’re not sure which.

“How charming,” you mutter dryly, trying to suppress the strange mix of emotions rising in your chest. Amusement, disbelief, and something like disgust all tangled together.

Daemon wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a streak of blood across his cheek, though he doesn’t seem to care. 

“A marriage gift,” he declares, his voice carrying across the camp like a whip crack. “For you, Y/N.”

Your commanders exchange uneasy glances, clearly disturbed by both macabre trophy at your feet and Daemon’s audacity. But you keep your eyes on your brother, refusing to show any surprise, even though your heart skips a beat at his words. Daemon has always been reckless, but this is bold even for him.

You fold your arms, raising an eyebrow. “You already have a wife, Daemon. In the Vale. Or have you conveniently forgotten about her?”

Daemon laughs, low and dark, the sound sending a ripple of discomfort through the gathered soldiers. He steps closer, his smirk never faltering.

“Rhea Royce?” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “That bronze bitch in the Vale means nothing to me. She’s no wife of mine. You know that, Y/N.”

You narrow your eyes, standing your ground even as he towers over you, his presence suffocating. “Viserys won’t approve of this. You know that.”

Daemon shrugs, entirely unbothered by the mention of your elder brother. “Viserys won’t have a say in this. He never did. Not about my life, and certainly not about my choice in wives.” His smirk widens, his voice lowering as he leans in slightly. “I’ve already given you a dragon’s gift, little sister. Will you really refuse me now?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, but you refuse to let him see it. This is Daemon—your brother, your equal, but also the most dangerous man in the realm. You’ve seen him like this before, drunk on victory, on blood, on the thrill of battle. He’s the kind of man who takes what he wants, consequences be damned.

But marriage? This wasn’t part of the game.

You glance down at the head, then back at him, raising your chin defiantly. “You think a charred skull and a declaration are enough to make me your wife? You’ve lost your mind, Daemon.”

His grin softens slightly, but the madness in his eyes remains. “Perhaps I have,” he admits. “But you and I—we belong together. Always have. You know it, Y/N.”

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy. Your commanders are still staring, clearly unsure whether to intervene or stay silent. This is between the two of you now—an unspoken battle of wills, like so many you’ve fought before.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head slightly. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

Daemon’s smirk returns, full of arrogant confidence. “I never do.”

You glance down at Craghas Drahar’s lifeless head one last time before looking back at Daemon, your gaze hard as steel. “We’ll talk about this when the war is over.”

Daemon’s laughter echoes through the camp, loud and rich. “Oh, sister, the war is never over.” He steps back, finally giving you some space, though his eyes remain locked on yours. “But we can certainly discuss it later.”

He turns on his heel and strides off into the camp, leaving the charred head of the Crabfeeder at your feet, a grim reminder of what he’s capable of.

Your commanders exchange nervous glances, and you can sense their unease in the air. You sigh, waving a hand to dismiss them.

“Clean that up,” you say to no one in particular, nodding toward the gruesome trophy. They move quickly, eager to rid the camp of the horror Daemon left behind.

As they work, you turn your gaze back toward the horizon, the weight of Daemon’s words heavy on your mind.

The skies over King’s Landing are bright and cloudless as you and Daemon approach the Red Keep, your dragons gliding through the air with an almost effortless grace. Serenix, usually prickly and on edge when near Caraxes, has grown calmer over the past few weeks. The animosity that once simmered between them seems to have eased. Serenix flies alongside Caraxes now with more ease, her long, spear-like tail swaying in rhythm with the Blood Wyrm’s serpentine form. The proximity of the two beasts has made Caraxes more chipper, his screeches less aggressive, and more… playful, if such a thing can be said of a dragon.

As you descend toward the Dragonpit, you take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what’s to come. Returning to King’s Landing always brings a knot of unease to your stomach, but today it is coiled tighter than ever. The last time you disobeyed Viserys’ orders, you had fled to battle on the Stepstones. Now, you return victorious, but what comes next will undoubtedly shake the realm.

You dismount Serenix with practiced ease, running a hand over her smooth, onyx scales before turning to see Daemon already striding toward the gates. His armor gleams, though the crown on his head—crafted from driftwood and bones—sits like a declaration of defiance. The so-called “King of the Stepstones” walks as though he already rules more than just a few rocky isles.

The throne room is packed with courtiers and lords when you and Daemon enter. Murmurs ripple through the crowd as they take in the sight of you both. Daemon’s presence always stirs unease, but today, it’s the crown perched atop his silver hair that commands the room’s attention. The driftwood crown, dark and weathered, stands in stark contrast to the golden grandeur of the Iron Throne behind Viserys.

Viserys sits on the Iron Throne, his face betraying a mix of relief and wariness. You’ve returned alive, but you can already see the conflict brewing behind his eyes. At his sides stand the usual council members—Ser Otto Hightower, his face drawn in disapproval, and Alicent, who watches with her hands tightly clasped before her. 

You and Daemon move together through the hall, each step echoing in the vast chamber. You feel the weight of a hundred eyes on you, but you keep your gaze forward, focused on Viserys. As you approach the dais, the murmurs grow louder, a ripple of unease passing through the assembled nobles.

Daemon, ever the provocateur, smirks at the whispering crowd, clearly enjoying the effect his crown has on them. He makes no effort to hide it, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief as he approaches the Iron Throne. You can feel the apprehension in the air, as thick as the heat of dragonfire.

“Welcome, brother,” Viserys says, his voice ringing through the hall as he rises from his throne. Despite his attempt at formality, you can hear the slight tremor in his words. “And sister.”

You both kneel before him, heads bowed in a gesture of respect, but there’s no mistaking the tension crackling between you. For a brief moment, all is silent. Then, Viserys lets out a relieved sigh. “You’ve returned victorious.”

Daemon glances up first, a slow, almost lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Victorious indeed, brother. The Stepstones are ours. And the men there saw fit to crown me their king.”

He rises, and without hesitation, removes the crown of driftwood from his head. He turns to you, his movements deliberate and slow, and before you can react, he places the crown upon your head. The weight of it feels heavier than you anticipated, though the material is light. The meaning behind the gesture is far from light, however.

The hall falls deathly silent as Daemon kneels again, this time at your feet. His violet eyes gleam as he looks up at you, amusement flickering in their depths. “I kneel not just before the King of the Seven Kingdoms,” he says, his voice clear and sharp, “but before my wife. We are wed, as per the ancient customs of our House.”

The air leaves the room, as if every person in the throne room has forgotten how to breathe. The shock is immediate, rippling through the courtiers like wildfire. Viserys’s face pales, his mouth opening and closing, utterly speechless. He looks as if he’s about to faint, his hand gripping the arm of the Iron Throne so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

For a heartbeat, no one moves. Viserys blinks rapidly, his mind clearly trying to process what has just been declared before the entire court. “W-Wed?” he finally manages to stammer, his voice weak, disbelieving. His eyes dart between you and Daemon, wide with shock.

Daemon, on the other hand, is entirely unbothered, his amusement barely contained. He glances at you as though daring you to deny it, his smile widening. “Yes, brother,” he says, rising to his feet again. “We are married, in the traditions of our House. Targaryen blood with Targaryen blood.”

You feel Viserys’s gaze burning into you, a mixture of shock, betrayal, and something like fear written across his face. He stumbles slightly, as if the weight of Daemon’s words has struck him physically. His lips move wordlessly for a moment, searching for something to say, but he’s at a loss.

Around you, the courtiers remain frozen in place, eyes wide with disbelief. Some look horrified, others utterly confused, while a few—those familiar with the old ways of your family—exchange knowing glances.

“You’ve… you’ve wed?” Viserys repeats, his voice strained as he looks directly at you now, searching for some explanation.

“Yes, brother,” you finally say, your voice steadier than you feel. “It is done.”

For a moment, Viserys sways, his hand gripping the throne harder as if he needs its support to stay upright. You can see the pulse throbbing at his temple, his pale face glistening with a sheen of sweat. He looks as though he might collapse right there in front of you.

Daemon, still wearing that maddening smirk, steps closer to Viserys, his voice dripping with amusement. “Are you not happy for us, Your Grace? Your brother and sister united—just as the blood of the dragon demands.”

Viserys stares at Daemon, his expression flickering between disbelief, anger, and something like heartbreak. “You’ve gone too far, Daemon,” he whispers, but it’s clear that whatever rage he feels is struggling to find its way to the surface.

Daemon’s eyes glitter with defiance, and he leans in slightly, his voice soft enough for only you and Viserys to hear. “Far? Brother, I’ve only just begun.”

[tototalks]

Next side story, The Training of Erasmus! 🩷✨

I really enjoyed the world-building in this, and I more so than ever want nice things for Erasmus (and Kallias!)🥰

- Starting off, it’s immediately clear to see the difference between the nature of pets in Vere and the nature of slaves in Akielos where submission is given willingly and cultivated in a very different, almost scholarly way. I like that Erasmus clearly takes pride in what he does and enjoys it.

- I also really appreciate the subtlety and class of Pacat’s writing, especially given the nature of the setting. It makes the whole thing much more alive, and thus palatable to read, because this pleasure slave training could easily sound like a terrible Wattpad “how tf did this get published?’ book, but it doesn’t. It’s immersive and believable as part of the Akielon culture.

- Erasmus is really just so keen to please, and has so much pressure on his shoulders given his training. Now he has his transition into adulthood and still feels like he cannot truly reciprocate the love shown him, even by his friends. Conceal don’t feel never did anyone any good. Let it go, Erasmus.

- Every time Akielos’ marble floors are mentioned I think about how hot it must be to walk barefoot on that in the sun. All the slaves hopping and skipping in fear of burning their feet. Like walking next to a swimming pool in summer cursing your scorched toes. 😂

- The training grounds give very convent vibes, peaceful and concealed… and everyone is a virgin.💀

- If I were one of the trainees, I’d be terrified that one tiny scar from falling is enough to render the years of training useless. I fell over a flat fuckin surface this week. Makes me wonder if jealous slaves trip each other on purpose to get ahead.

- So much emphasis is put on physical appearance and the notion of perceived purity. I find this interesting actually, and it makes a real change to see these kinds of expectations put on a male character.

- Iphigen’s name was a cool choice! The mythological character of Iphigenia was killed as a “maiden” (Iphigenia in Aulis) - however, in some versions of the story (Cypria) -Artemis, the goddess of maidenhood, saves her before her father, Agamemnon, can kill her as a sacrifice… yeah ain’t foreshadowing a bitch lol

- I love that there is absolutely not a mean bone in Erasmus’ body. He isn’t jealous of Kallias, and supports him wholeheartedly in his endeavours. Erasmus’ kind nature has proven time and time again to be one of his greatest strengths. You don’t have to be a warrior to have power.

- I’m glad Erasmus got to experience real affection before truly becoming a slave, even if he was prevented from manifesting it fully. He experienced love that wasn’t transactional. ♥️

- Aden on the other hand is turning green and sweetheart, that is NOT a good look for you. Being jealous of Erasmus is like hating a cotton ball.

- Poor Erasmus just wants to read his cute love poems and is forced to memorise the Iliad, Odyssey, and Bibliotheca because Damen has the literary tastes of a five year old who likes swords. 😭😭

- I also love the detail that there’s an Akielon Homer and everyone is like “ffs how do you have THAT MUCH to say about one war??” Because same honestly. Thank you very much for the tedious lists of boats and lineages. Very helpful. I feel you, Erasmus 😂

- I like the mention of how Damen’s eyes are known to roam, and this serves only to highlight how down bad he is for Laurent later on. That boy fell HARD.

- “I wish you could have been my first.” 🥺🥺🥺 Torveld better fuckin take Erasmus to see the world like he wanted.

- Erasmus must have felt so betrayed by that kiss, but it 100% saved his life, and he definitely had to acknowledge that privately some time later on. Kallias was also his first kiss.🥲

- There’s a certain brutality in itself that comes with training the slaves for “innocence”, and placing purity on a very high pedestal. Your value being entirely attached to your virginity. So much so that one touch can render you ‘useless’ and ‘tainted’.

- I like that Erasmus doesn’t violently resent Kallias for the kiss even immediately after it happens- he’s confused and upset, but he must have known there was a reason.

- And here’s my million dollar question: WHAT HAPPENED TO KALLIAS?? 😨