#i could have wept in the streets

[potato-jem]

i think a little part of me is healed every time i see a bubbly, pastel pink girl with a goth girlfriend

[sainzproductions]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳

THE OTHER WOMAN / SEQUEL !

where you acclimate to the current dating scene after eight years of being with carlos...

liked by lewishamilton, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername life lately 🩷

username mother😩😩😩

username GLOWING!!

username come home, the kids miss you 😞

lilymhe convulsing from the ethereal vibes✨

lilymhe let me take you out on a date!

yourusername anytime anywhere!!

alex_albon hello?

lilymhe go away. can't u see me trying to score a baddie?

lilymhe i'll wine and dine u baby yourusername 🍝🍷

alex_albon can i atleast get some takeout? 🤲

blancasainz95 que mujer más guapa💗😚

username it's the sainz siblings still liking and commenting for me🤭

username media did claim they had an amicable breakup!

username favorite wag by a mile!!

username ex f1 wag you mean?

username op is not wrong! she's still a wag... just with a different sport now🫣

username who?!?!?!!!! 👁️👄👁️

username streets saying jimmy garoppolo😌😌

username JIMMY???

username carlossainz55 come get mother real quick! 😭😭😭

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

You felt like you had done a good job all by yourself. You took your sweet time getting used to being alone again, having spent the better part of the past decade accompanying carlos and living together with him.

As embarassing as it was to admit, there were days where you'd wake up abruptly as if hearing his footsteps, or the faint rumble of his voice lulling you to sleep. There were moments where you'd break down crying upon seeing an article of clothing belonging to carlos, or seeing pictures when you were still happily together.

It wasn't easy to forget an eight year relationship. You soon realized. He was all you've ever known and adored... You dreamt a life with the guy for crying out out loud!

You wanted all the permanent things, the domestic future, him.

But the reality was that you were different people who wanted starkly different things in life. Carlos was set on his career while you had the burden of being a woman. You didn't have forever to waste away, and you didn't want to spend it waiting for a future that could never be in the stars for you and him.

You had accepted it. It wasn't all tears, and tearful reminiscing anyways. Your life had picked up after a couple of weeks. It was a lie. You spent a month and a half being pathetic. But who was counting?

You were having the time of your life. Your singleness provided a way for you to realize new and old hobbies.

You finally went back to your hometown, despite your fears of facing your parents' knowing looks and getting an ill timed i told you so's from their ever skeptic way of seeing life. Especially your relationship with Carlos..

But your mother took one look at you; in your deshieveled and devastated form, wordlessly opening her arms and craddling your pathetic self as you wept about your broken heart.

You found peace in the tranquility of your childhood home. Reacquainting yourself with your horse, champion whom you had been neglecting— you realize belatedly. The help couldn't take the horses out that much, where you formerly took the stallion out for most of the day. You made sure to make up for lost time however.

You were also able to rekindle old friendships, quickly becoming fast friends once again as if no time had passed at all. You traipsed all over Madrid, enjoying the thrill of meeting new people, of learning new things... And how forward the current dating scene seemed to be in regards to matters concerning...

"Wait, wait." You press a hand towards his broad chest, breathing roughly. Your chest rose and fell with excitement as you tried to come down from how fast the things had quickly become heated between the two of you. "We're going a bit too fast, don't you think?" You whine under your breath, as his face came down to press open mouthed kisses on your neck, easily finding your most sensitive spot as he expertly manouvers your body, backing you up against the wall.

"Relax. We won't do anything you don't want." He says, softening his tone, "I'm not a hooligan." He tuts, pressing a feather like kiss on the side of your lips.

"Says the man who pulled me into a dark room to play tonsil tennis." You retort amusedly, stroking your fingers on his neck. You couldn't help but close your eyes at the sensation of his lips against your skin, his fingers making quick work of slipping under your skirt, and you hissed from the sensation of his cold rings against your thighs, "You're cold!"

"Warm me up then, love." He was evidently amused by your reactions and the way your cheeks flushed at his crude remark. He wiped away every other thought from your mind, as he kisses you wantonly. He made sure to hold your gaze as he pulls away, sinking down to his knees... and kissing your thighs softly. "Beautiful. So fucking beautiful. I couldn't think of anything else when you walked into the room. Nobody else mattered but you... you're bad for my business, darling."

You could hardly register anything else after that

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

The breakup came with the long forgotten territory of male attention. Sure, there were some bold and uncaring lads few and far between, but Carlos had quickly shut down every attempt with a swift glare and a possesive hand over you. You didn't mind. You only needed him and his attention and everyone else were merely annoying backnoise.

As it is, your breakup was made public through the urging of Carlos' management and his public relations team. You cooperated seamlessly despite being civil, to the point of rudeness, to their every demand.

How ironic was it that through his blatant act of wanting to separate himself from you and everything else that had to do with you; he made a declaration to the world that you were readily available.

Your dms were sure packed to the brim when you'd later had the energy to do anything asides from the basic tasks of taking care of yourself. You couldn't laugh nor cry upon seeing several of carlos' work acquaintances making their presence known in your dms. You even saw his former (and possibly current) teammates taking their shot.

You couldn't help but wonder for how long has he been... Non committal towards his best mates about your real score. They couldn't possibly muster up the courage had it been the true duration of your separation. Men aren't that proactive. They atleast had some base sense of loyalty.

Then again, it didn't take very long for him to be spotted with some model on his arm. He looked happy, invigorated... Annoyingly handsome. Fuck him and his perfect face. You wished you atleast threw a heel at him for being a dickwad.

Were you seeing other people out of spite or trying to prove yourself to him? You wouldn't exactly say so. You'd had an agreement with the well established, and good looking gentleman who had made you tremble and writhe under his tongue. He was incredibly lax and cool, and great company in every sense of the word. He made you laugh, he also made you cry just now.

And so while you made yourselves look presentable, you were first out the door while he waited a few minutes to make his entrance into the party again. You gratefully took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, wetting your parched throat as you looked around as normally as you could. Blending in with the fancy people in their cocktail dresses and designers.

You heard footsteps approaching after a few moments. Another man spotted him, and he grinned in recognition upon the sight of the ever famous....

"Sir Hamilton!"

[bumblesimagines]

With Fire and Blood

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Unable to deal with his mother's indifference to his worries any longer, Jace turns his anger onto the dragonseeds

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, classism?, bastardphobia lmao, Jace is an angry lil hypocritical twink, suggestive content, era typical insults and such, spoilers for s2

All bro did was serve face and I cannot stop writing for him

~~~

Jace was well-aquatinted with the hot emotion that made his blood boil and hands curl into fists ready to swing at any moment.

The maesters claimed when he was born, he left his mother screaming and kicking wildly, nearly wriggling himself out of the maester and midwives' arms whilst they tried calming him enough to hand him off to his exhausted yet amused mother. He supposed it meant he'd always been short-tempered but he hardly found it to be his fault when he'd been brought into the world with looks that firmly branded him as Other. 

He'd been a child when it first dawned on him that there was a possibility he was not Laenor Velaryon's son, that neither of his little brothers were either. His mother never provided him with a full answer, only strained smiles and reassurances that he was a Targaryen.

Some nights, he'd stay up and stare at himself in the mirror, combing his fingers through his hair and imagining it was as silver as his uncles; poking at the area around his eyes and envisioning them to be lilac instead of mud brown. Jace tried ignoring it as best he could but the whispers and glances always tightened around him, reminding him he'd never be seen as anything but a bastard. 

Things grew easier in Dragonstone. Until the war broke and his mother took his idea of searching for kin to the filthy streets of King's Landing.

Truthfully, he nearly wept hot tears of anger when he first saw the army of bastards trekking into the castle. They were peasants, mongrels, filth who stole, lied, and betrayed for their own means, and they looked more like his family than he did. He despised it, despised the fact no one would ever question their parentage or blood when people would look puzzled or disgusted when they saw him.

It frightened him, too.

He'd grown uneasy when Rhaenyra fell with child soon after her marriage to Daemon, and the uneasiness grew when she bore him a little brother with those striking violet eyes and vibrant silver hair. A sister, he may have forgiven, but a brother? And one who looked more Targaryen than he did? Born to the power-seeking Daemon?

When four men stepped out from the blood and fire of the massacre with three dragons, Jace practically saw his future before his eyes; finding himself in his mother's spot, tearfully fighting against his own blood in desperate hope of claiming the birthright nobody believed to be his for the stain in his blood. He despised them, he decided. He'd already been distrustful of mere peasants so far below them entering the castle, but for those same mere peasants claiming dragons? 

That familiar flush of anger swept over him and he stared forward, his palms digging into the armrests below him. His mother had publicly chosen, right before him, to ride out with Addam of Hull over him, her own flesh and blood! Jace caught Baela's eye from across the table and she offered him a soft grimace followed by an empathic smile. 

"Well," One of the bastards broke the silence. Jace believed his name to be (Y/N), although he'd hardly been paying any attention when Rhaenyra brought the dragonseeds forth for everyone to become acquainted with. He only recalled the way his mother sucked in a sharp breath when the young man revealed himself to be the son of Daemon and a brothel worker. (Y/N) set his cup down on the table, swiping his tongue over his lips and rising. "I'm, uh, taking my leave, or whatever it is you're supposed to say." 

Baela blinked. "You have yet to finish your meal. You should finish." The softness in her voice made Jace's brows knit together. They were merely half-siblings through blood, not through any special means. A lady such as Baela had no need to speak so kindly to an unwanted pest from King's Landing.

"I have no desire to." (Y/N) responded, and Jace's fingers twitched when he left without bowing or acknowledging his prince. 

"More for me," Ulf said disgustingly through a mouthful of food, his hand scooping up the plate and scraping the remaining food onto his before he handed it off to a bewildered servant. Without his mother there, Jace allowed himself to scoff freely at the childish act, his eyes rolling as he cut into his meat and chewed on it.

By the time dinner ended and the dragonseeds slinked off to their newly given bedchambers, Jace still couldn't help but stew in his disappointment and bitter anger. He escorted Baela to her rooms, chewing her ear off with his complaints and growing insecurities on the way there, before bidding her a grumpy goodnight that she chuckled at.

Jace walked, or rather stomped, in the direction of his bedchambers but a figure standing in one of the balconies caught his eye, only fully capturing his attention when he noticed a dragon head peeking over the railing. Jace stopped and stared, marveling at the light gray coloring of the dragon, something akin to the glow of the moonlight. A soft, almost lavender color dusted the tips of the dragon's scales and horns and added to her beauty.

The Dragonkeepers claimed Chyrys had hatched from a clutch of eggs belonging to Silverwing just a year before his own dragon, Vermax, had hatched in his crib. After her failure and near-death at claiming Vermithor, Rhaena hoped the docile Chyrys would accept her as a rider, but the she-dragon refused to allow her on. Yet, she'd accepted a bastard as her rider. 

"Have you come to complain some more, Prince?" (Y/N)'s voice echoed in the silence of the night. His hand dragged over the snout of Chyrys, enticing a soft rumble of contentment from her. "I hear you've exchanged words with your dear mother over us." 

"You do not belong here." Jace told him before he could stop himself, the anger he'd tried desperately to entertain only in private moments spilling over. "You will never be one of us. You will never be a true Targaryen or a prince, no matter who your father is." He spat, lingering in the archway connecting the hallway. (Y/N)'s lips curled upward, and his amusement only made Jace's hands tremble with barely contained rage. How dare he laugh at a prince?

(Y/N) peered over his shoulder and retracted his hand from his dragon, the sound of rocks tumbling down the cliff toward the crashing waves below filling the air when Chyrys pushed herself away from the cliff and took off into the night sky. "You are aware that while my eyes may be (E/C), my hair is a color you'll only obtain when you've grown old and weary, no?" Jace's jaw clenched.

"Mind your tongue when you speak to me, you mongrel." Jace snarled, forgetting all about his desire to appease his mother by begrudgingly accepting the bastards' presence. It was unprincely of him to even be in the presence of someone of such low station, let alone bicker with one. His words struck his pride, however. "I am Rhaenyra Targaryen's son, I am her heir. You are the bastard of Daemon and the son of a whore."

He struck a nerve with the mention of his mother, he realized it when (Y/N)'s amused grin vanished into a scowl. His weak spot. "What? Are you not used to hearing the truth? I know your mother was a whore, and I am certain if it weren't for your silver hair, no one would believe you are the son of the late King's brother." Jace continued, eager to release his anger on someone deserving of it. 

"Just as no one believes you are the son of Ser Laenor Velaryon?" (Y/N)'s tone was edged with irritation, sharp enough to dip into Jace's gut painfully. He stepped forward toward him and Jace's hand instinctively flew to his side where his sword typically was, but for the sake of dinner, he'd left it in his bedchambers. Jace swallowed thickly when (Y/N) grew near, the smell of salt heavy on the bastard's skin from his time on the balcony. "Your brothers were never meant to rule Driftmark because your ancestral seat is in the very place Daemon Targaryen flew out to. You should have flown there first, treated with your family. I'm certain they would have welcomed you with such loving arms." 

"That is a vile accusation worthy of-"

"A vile accusation? Or the bitter truth you do not wish to hear?" (Y/N) arched a brow, the look of irritation he'd sported replaced with cruel amusement. He held eye contact as he stepped aside, his shoulder slamming into Jace's roughly enough to force the prince to stagger backward from the force, a hand raising to clutch it. Jace's features contorted. 

"You were born nothing, you will die nothing!" Jace called, his voice bouncing off the stone walls but (Y/N) paid him little to no heed, his indifference to Jace bringing him to his tipping point. 

A prisoner to the very anger that'd sent his true father away to his death, Jace's legs sprang into action and marched after him, his hands curling and uncurling. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, the flush of anger over his face, and the aching desire to dig his hands into something until it broke. His palm slammed against the door leading into (Y/N)'s bedchambers, throwing it open enough for Jace to step through before he tossed it shut, the wood vibrating from the force. 

"Someone ought to teach you animals some manners." Jace hissed when (Y/N) faced him, the dragonseed blatantly rolling his eyes at him and staring at him like an exasperated parent would their troublesome child. He stepped right up to him, their chest and noses bumping together from the proximity but Jace's hands remained pinned to his sides. His mother would surely scold him for laying a hand on him, and he refused to disobey her further no matter the temptation. 

"Careful now," (Y/N) said lowly, his breath fanning against Jace's face and drawing his attention down to his lips. "You should recall we're cut from the same cloth, as Ulf said." 

His blunt nails dug into the skin of his palms until they left deep imprints, sharply inhaling through his nose as his eyes darted back upward to meet (Y/N)'s. Jace stared at him, the tension in the room nearly beginning to suffocate him before he lunged forward, his hands grasping the collar of his shirt and lips slamming against his. A muffled noise of surprise left (Y/N) and the two staggered backward until (Y/N) collapsed back on his bed with Jace atop him. Jace pulled back with heavy pants, his hands still clutching the shirt and his brain beginning to process what exactly he'd do. 

Mortification slipped in ever so slowly, followed by guilt for having his first kiss be with anyone but his darling betrothed. (Y/N) stared up at him with widened eyes and parting lips that suddenly looked enticing to Jace. Gods be good. Jace squeezed his eyes shut, desperately reminding himself he was engaged and that laying with someone such as (Y/N) would be an utter stain on his royal title. His eyes tentatively parted to absorb (Y/N)'s reaction, but his features had softened instead of hardened. 

"I hate you." Jace exhaled quietly and released his shirt, his hands planting themselves on either side of (Y/N)'s head. "You are a commoner. The smallfolk have no place in court, no reason to even step within a castle unless it is to beg for our kindness. I wished for nothing more than to watch Chyrys burn you to crisp-"

"But alas, here I am." (Y/N)'s hands cautiously settled on Jace's hips. "And with or without my presence, you are and will always be a bastard." 

Jace huffed. "Shut your mouth."

"Make me, Lord Strong."

With little to no hesitance, Jace swooped down and delivered a rough kiss to his lips. He had no experience, as embarrassing as it was, and he hoped it was far from obvious as he pressed his mouth harder against (Y/N)'s. He resisted the urge to jerk back when (Y/N) licked into his mouth and focused on clumsily trying to rid himself of his clothing. His cheeks flared at the soft groan that felt him, his spinning mind edging him on to entice those noises out of (Y/N) rather than allow someone such as the dragonseed to elicit them from a prince. His teeth caught (Y/N)'s bottom lip and lightly bit down, satisfied when the hint of metallic hit his tongue.

(Y/N) only chuckled despite the blood sliding along his lip, his hand rising to cup the back of Jace's head and fingers slipping through his brown curls before he tugged. A sharp, whiny curse escaped Jace and humiliation filled the prince when he felt his breeches grow annoyingly tight against him from the act. (Y/N) laughed in response, his eyes bright with mischievous delight at the discovery that made Jace's skin warm further. 

"Bastard," Jace swore.

"I know I am," (Y/N) pushed himself up into a sitting position, his head burying itself in Jace's neck and teeth clamping down hard enough to leave a mark. He brushed his lips up along the side of his throat until he reached Jace's ear, his free hand pushing into Jace's hips and making their hips press together. Jace cursed again. "And so are you, My Prince."

[yrbladie]

♡ ﾟ˖ ॱ ▎WHEN THEY LOSE YOU ㅤ𝅄 🌿 ꒱

˖ ࣪ ayato, diluc, kaeya, neuvillette, zhongli

warnings ：angst, hurt no comfort, mentions of death and body (yours), sad bois, some have quite a comforting ending, others not so much, gn! reader, established relationship, implied marriage (ayato, diluc, zhongli), reader is called 'beautiful' (kaeya), spoiler free, non fluent writer

ㅤHe doesn't weep at first. Don't get him wrong, though, it's just that how could he ever fathom the thought of not having you by his side anymore?

ㅤYou were taken from his arms so suddenly that he wondered if you were ever real since the start, or only a fragment of his imagination, something that had always only belonged to his most beautiful dreams.

ㅤThe only way he knew you were indeed real was by the way people would talk behind his back when they thought he wasn't paying attention, talking about how sloppy he had become. Or the way he would still find small bits of you sprawled over his desk. Trinkets you gave him, and the letters you had sent to him the last time you went to visit your homeland for a week, knowing your lover would miss you too much.

ㅤIt suddenly dawns on him at that moment. How you were not there anymore, how he would never see you again, see your bright and beautiful smile or hear your giggle at his poor cooking skills.

ㅤAt that moment when he suddenly misses you, Ayato gets up and goes to visit you. In a place he never thought he would see you. Buried under the Sakura tree you planted with him last summer, the one where you both had wished for it to be as eternal as your love for each other.

ㅤHe sees your grave filled with flowers and gifts from the people you had known, and even finds the bouquet of flowers Thoma had sent under his name. And he kneels beside it, staring at your name written there.

ㅤHe still felt guilty, that he was not there for you when you needed him the most. That he was busy with work above anything else again. He could have protected you oh so easily, and he wasn't there.

ㅤ"I hope you can forgive this stupid lover of yours, my dear."

ㅤForgive him for everything. Forgive him for not loving you better, and for not being strong enough to be there when you died nor when you were buried.

ㅤAyato now knew, dreams are never meant to last.

ㅤWhen people saw you both together on the streets, with Diluc carefully holding your hand or touching the small of your back to guide you through the streets, like you were made of the finest porcelain, everyone thought they were going crazy.

ㅤThere was no way, the master Diluc Ragnvindr, the uncrowned king of Mondstadt, unmatched in every possible way, had gotten himself a lover.

ㅤWhen you arrived it was like a breath of fresh air for everyone who knew Diluc. You made him a different man, made people see a different side of him Diluc himself doubted existed.

ㅤAnd you were everything to him. Until the fateful day you were forcibly taken from him.

ㅤBut still, he couldn't hope to grieve, he had no time to let himself stop and rest, not even for a minute. In a minute so many things can happen, just like in a minute you were gone.

ㅤDiluc still had Mondstadt to protect, and he would focus solely on that for as long as there was still air in his lungs. Even if his torn heart still churned in pain everyday.

ㅤEven if in the darkest hours of the night, just before dawn, he would still sit alone in his dimly lit room, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a heavy shroud. The walls of his manor, once filled with laughter and love, now seemed to echo with the emptiness of his loss. The air was heavy with the scent of fading memories.

ㅤEverything in your shared room is a bittersweet reminder of the warmth that had once been, now slipping through the cracks of time.

ㅤOutside, the world moved on, without you. And Diluc couldn't understand it, for his world was you. Every moment without you felt like an eternity.

ㅤAnd in those short moments he wept. Letting the pain flow freely, as if by releasing it, he could somehow reach across the chasm that separated you both. And he still could somehow feel your presence in brief moments, a soft whisper in the breeze or a fleeting glimpse in a dream.

ㅤDiluc had experience in mourning, and he knew that one day, the sharpness of his pain might dull, but his love for you would remain eternally vibrant, a testament to the life you had shared.

ㅤIn his own way, he would carry on, honoring your memory with each step forward, holding you close in the chambers of his heart, as he navigated the path of grief, one tear and one memory at a time.

ㅤIn that way, Diluc could forever hold you close to his heart somehow. The idea that you would have liked that he kept protecting those you had come to love, gave him comfort as he got up for another day.

ㅤYou were his first, but also his last.

ㅤOh, to be loved by the Cavalry Captain, with his deceiving smiles and well thought words. People used to call him such a heartbreaker before you came along and showed to all that Kaeya Alberich could be so much more than that.

ㅤIt seemed like he always had a smile reserved only for you. Different from the grins and crooked smiles he gave for others. With you nothing was ever fake, you had managed to tear down the walls he built to keep himself safe each and every time, no matter how much he tried to keep you at an arm's length.

ㅤBefore Kaeya even noticed you had already made a home in his heart and had no plans of leaving.

ㅤBut of course, fate had always found its way to mock him. He could but only watch as your life slipped past his fingers like sand, no matter how much he held onto you and begged the skies not to take you. Not you too.

ㅤIn the end, Kaeya still had to carry back your lifeless body to Mondstadt, back to your home where you belonged.

ㅤBut did he still belong there now? He was once again reminded of his purpose, the destiny that hung heavily above his head, like a death sentence forever haunting and taunting him. A destiny he just couldn’t seem to escape.

ㅤCursed to loneliness, to destruction. He should have known he didn’t deserve all the happiness you had brought along with your love to his wretched life.

ㅤYou had slipped away, leaving behind a void that seemed insurmountable. In the beginning, Kaeya refused to acknowledge the cruel twist of fate. He clung to the hope that this was all a nightmare, a cruel illusion that would dissipate with the morning light.

ㅤDays turned into nights, and reality set in, stubborn and unyielding. The denial that had once shielded him from the harsh truth began to crumble like a fragile dam battered by the relentless waves of sorrow.

ㅤHe still remembered everything about you. While others would talk about how sweet you were to everyone, Kaeya would remember the laughter shared on lazy Sunday mornings, the whispered promises exchanged under a blanket of stars, and the simple joys of a life built together.

ㅤHe still had your portrait on his desk, a painful reminder of how beautiful you looked when you smiled up at him. And he still wondered how you were. Are you happy now, wherever you are? Are you safe?

ㅤOr do you miss him like he misses you?

ㅤKaeya only found solace on those lonely starry nights, where he laid by himself on the grassy field he always hated, saying the grass always got stuck at his hair as you laughed, calling him such a drama king.

ㅤAnd as the first rays of dawn began to set in, he smiled.

ㅤThe pain remained, a constant companion, but it transformed into a tribute—a testament to a love that transcended the boundaries of mortality. With a heavy heart, he got up, in a silent acknowledgment that life, though forever altered, would continue.

ㅤHe would carry your cherished memories with him into an uncertain tomorrow. With a newfound strength—a resilient ember burning in the ashes of loss, Kaeya had to carry on.

ㅤEven if his fate overtakes him once more one day, the whispers of your voice, urging him to embrace life would always remind him that there was something out there worth fighting for. And that one day, when his body and heart rests for one last time, he will meet you again.

ㅤThe skies of Fontaine have never been cloudier than since the day you died. The rain poured down, seeming endless. Like a mourning prayer for another loss the nation held.

ㅤYour funeral was quiet and quite lonely. You had not really been a person that went out each and everyday, or that easily befriended all that you met through your day. You were a common person, like any other in Fontaine, maybe just a little weird with your outlander ways.

ㅤBut Neuvillette still loved you anyway.

ㅤYour love for each other was nothing grand nor loud. It was almost timid, but shined brightly like an unwavering ember.

ㅤSo it didn't come as a surprise that no one knew about your relationship with each other. Neuvillette was, before anything, an important and key figure in Fontaine, his every move scrutinized under the city's gaze, yet whose true emotions remain hidden behind a mask of stoicism.

ㅤEven to the end, he couldn't even attend your funeral. Watching from the sidelines, like an outsider. He watched as your loved ones paid their respects, leaving their flowers and good wishes that you now may be safe, in the arms of the gods.

ㅤNeuvillette wanted to scoff at this. The gods were silent as their people suffered under their gaze. And most of all, there was no space for people like you on their golden mighty thrones.

ㅤWhen everyone parted and left only your lonely tombstone, did Neuvillette finally came to pay his own respects as the rain fell heavier, a reflection of how he felt inside. Like a storm that could never break free from the clutches of a well maintained facade of a composed judge.

ㅤYou made him so vulnerable as each time you touched his skin, his heart longed for more of you, with feelings he couldn't understand.

ㅤIf only he had noticed sooner, if only he had met you sooner.

ㅤIf only you were still here. To show him comfort once more.

ㅤBut as the calm and collected Iudex wept by the lonely grave, you were still gone.

ㅤAnd in the next day and even the next after that, every day became an act. An imperturbable, endless theatrical piece. Worthy of even being presented at the opera house.

ㅤAnd as Neuvillette still conducted each trial with unperturbed accuracy, the outside seemed to have forgotten about you. But not him, never.

ㅤHe still heard your voice, just outside his office, while you laughed with the Melusines. He still asked for two cups of tea to be prepared and people wondered who the other cup was for. And he still had the official documents where you accidentally doodled on and had apologized profusely for doing it, but Neuvillette had never held it against you.

ㅤAnd he still loved you. Each day when the rain started again, the pitter patter sound followed the judge as he disappeared through the corners of Fontaine to find you once again.

ㅤHis life was destined to be eternal, and so was his love for you, despite the fact you weren't by his side anymore.

ㅤAnd as Neuvillette still found small flowers and trinkets left on your grave, he knew he would not be the only one to forever remember about you.

ㅤThe God of Contracts was no stranger to loss and to mourning. He himself had buried more friends than he could count.

ㅤHe had an immortal soul and an unyielding memory. His friends were forever reminders on his everyday life, that he got to walk the places they never had a chance to see.

ㅤEvery time, he caught himself reminiscing about you, about your shared laughter under the bustling night time of Liyue, and the dreams over breakfast.

ㅤAnd how fate took you away from him.

ㅤThe town now seemed to be filled with a haunting silence, even if nothing much had changed. The vendors still called for him to eat and buy their products, he still watched the same plays and stories. But now every corner held a memory, a reminder.

ㅤDays turned to nights, and nights into days, but the pain persisted, insistently. Zhongli found solace in the shadows of the past, where memories of your happiness still lingered like a sweet melody.

ㅤHe never thought of himself as someone to be stuck in time. But your presence and your loss seemed to have made an ever deeper impact on his life than he initially thought.

ㅤAs the years went by, he would still wait for you. With the hope and the heartache that the skies would relent at his incessant prayers and return you to his arms, in another form, in another life, it didn't matter.

ㅤStill, he knew he was not alone. Hu Tao would pat him in the back gently in an almost nudging manner every day, encouraging him to go out again, to rest more. And slowly Zhongli felt like he could gather the shattered pieces of his heart again. Like his wounded soul still had a purpose.

ㅤEven if his body and mind eroded until there was nothing more left of him, he thought that all the memories of you would still be his most cherished treasures.

ㅤAnd so, in the quiet town where love once blossomed and sorrow cast its shadow, Zhongli would learn once more to carry the weight of loss with gentleness. The stars above forever witnesses of his eternal and enduring love for you.

ㅤIn the small shrine he built above your grave, where Zhongli could still feel your presence sometimes, through your pictures and the incense. His heart was finally at peace.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ《◇》

[moominsuki]

12 DAYS and 20 HOURS WITHOUT YOU w/c: 5.1k - ; NAGUMO YOICHI x F!READER

✎ᝰ he’s a nuisance & you should be glad to be rid of him… so why does your heart ache for him so much? OR the part two in which you finally address your feelings for your hanger on ex.

࿄ ! warnings — porn WITH plot, MINORS DNI, piv, very explicit smut, unprotected sex (wrap up ppl), cunnilingus, fingering, female reader, nagumo is sexy and you will fall in love so pls keep that in mind.

/ note. i should be revising for my exams but instead i wrote this for a man who is severely underrated. it’s gonna be a nagumo fall. enjoy this anywho :P (ps. can be read as a standalone fic)!!

13 days. that’s how long it had been since you had seen nagumo. you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t eating you up inside.

after your small spat (if you could even call it that) you wrongfully assumed he’d be somewhere in your bedroom the next day when you hadn’t seen him on your couch. you were just about ready to scold him for having his feet all over your satin pillowcases.

only when you trudged upstairs, your bedroom was exactly how you left it. the door ajar, a small breeze from the window. pillows not askew. your sleepy kitten lounging on the covers.

at first, you considered yourself relieved. “good riddance,” you grumbled to yourself, falling atop the blankets and sighing, hands brushing at your pet. the chirp of the cicadas eats at your eardrums. has your home always been this quiet?

“whatever. knowing that idiot, he’ll be back in a day or two… now what to do…”

unfortunately for you, nagumo’s unprecedented drop ins had become part of your daily routine. you don’t become aware of the fact until it’s been exactly 4 days and he still hasn’t shown his face. it had already struck you as odd on the second day, let alone the fourth.

“why do you even care?” you ask yourself, standing under the hum of a sweltering shower. why do you care that your ex hasn’t come around to lounge in your home and bother you? in fact, isn’t this a good thing? the first few times it happened, you were irritated beyond belief - telling the man to get lost, locking your windows and doors only for nagumo to show up despite your barrage of insults, whether that’d be in your kitchen or on your couch or even in the shower (the image of seeing a naked nagumo after all this time was truly something, though you’d never admit it to his face, instead opting to throw a hard bar of soap at him and to which you then had to tend to his aching back after he so called “wept in pain.”) so why did he now decide to just ghost you?

“typical,” is all you can think, drying your hair off, eyes lingering on the razor he left on top of the toilet.

day five comes around. a good day at work with a cute man asking you out renders nagumo forgettable. you’re glad your brain decides it’s high time to forget about him. day six, seven, eight, nine. it’s extremely bearable. you start to see him in your dreams on the seventh day - exactly a week since he just up and left. “that’s normal,” you muse. you dream about people that aren’t in your life all the time. he’s no different.

the night of day ten falls. you’re incredibly exhausted, and you’re regretting making plans on saturday with that somewhat attractive man who works across the street. “it’s no biggie. it’s just one day till the weekend and i can cancel.”

you’re nodding off into your dinner. the warm smell of char siu and noodles doesn’t do much to keep you awake.

then you see him. dark brown eyes and a goofy smile to match. it makes you jump so hard you spill half the content of your meal down your shirt. nobody’s there. your cat sits at the leg of your chair, licking the sodden mess off of the ground.

the gravity of the situation dawns on you. you really really miss nagumo.

ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ ᝰ

day eleven comes and goes and the twelfth drags, as do most fridays. that guy who asked you out the other day offers to drop you home when you’re standing outside. it’s warm out and you think a walk would be good for your head. you don’t decline his offer.

the man asks about you and confirms the details of your excursion, and you politely affirm, answering all his questions and asking them back just the same. “he’s not much of a talker,” you think. you’re not used to that.

by the time you’re home, you just want to pass out. you look around your kitchen, living room - heck, even the bathroom for safe measure, just in case you-know-who decided to drop by. the sound of metal clattering has you running to your bedroom, ventricles pumped. not that you cared… you’d act super cool and nonchalant if when nagumo drops by again. it’s all in vain, anyway. it was just your cat jumping onto your vanity. you shoo her away. your heart falls like a crescendo from loony tunes.

who exactly were you kidding? you had long dropped the facade that your heart wasn’t yearning for the idiot, and you wonder how he’s doing when you settle into bed. it would be unlike him to die in an unforeseeable accident, and he would never succumb to a death on the job. another looming realisation dawns on you.

he’s ignoring you.

you groan into your pillow. it’s not like you could really call him (you totally could, and it’s not because you noted down the digits of two of his burner phones, definitely not) without outing yourself. don’t forget the phone works two ways. forget it. you have a date tomorrow.

saturday comes. you get up relatively early. (un)fortunately for you, it’s a miserable day out, contrasting the beautiful weekdays that had passed.

your date texts you in teasing and sweet fashion and the pre-typed out message that consists of grovelling, apologies and more grovelling sits at your fingertips. fuck it. you can’t stay wound up over a man who probably didn’t want you in the first place.

you get ready very early, and you stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, all done up in a silk to do and the accessories to match. it’s been a while since you’ve had a proper date. a few flings here and there, sure, but this seemed real. like a sure thing. similar to when…

!creaakkk!

your cat meowing and dropping things around in your bedroom has you standing up right, casting aside your lipgloss and running to shoo her away.

“honestly, ponyo, you’re such a drama queen-”

the words die on your tongue at the sight before you. nagumo sits at the edge of your bed, kitten fidgeting in his arms. he looks you up and down, and then he sends you an earth shattering smile, eyes crinkled.

“hey stranger. long time no see!”

your mouth opens and closes as he gets up, and ponyo leaps up and away when he places her on the ground.

“do you think she missed me? i think so. with the stuff you feed her, it’s inevitable-”

“are you serious?!” is all you can say, exasperated, gasping. nagumo’s eyes widen, and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“don’t tell me you’re still mad at me? don’t make me get down on my knees and beg because-” the man gets cut off again as you all but throw your arms around his frame, face in his shirt, a little shaky. if nagumo feels the wobble of your body, he doesn’t mention it and a hand comes to rest at the small of your back.

“so can i assume that you’re not mad at me anymore?” you shake your head, and nagumo chuckles, nose pressed into your hair.

“i wasn’t mad at you,” you say, muffled into his shirt.

“oh? tell me more,” and you move your face slightly so your cheek is smushed against his shirt, eyes pointed away from him. though, you can already feel the expectant smile on the corner of his lips and you want to slap him. kiss him? both.

“i was mad at myself. and i was going to apologise for what i said but you basically ghosted me… for almost three weeks.”

it’s quiet for a moment until the man laughs, guffaws even and it emanates through his chest. you huff and step away from him, back turned away.

“ok, it’s not that funny. you can stop laughing now!”

“sorry, sorry. i’m done, i promise.” nagumo walks from behind you to step into your line of sight. “and technically, it’s only been… i wanna say 12 days and 20 hours.”

you deadpan. then you roll your eyes. “you were counting?! you’re unbelievable!” and he just pouts at you. eyes wide and shiny. you don’t admit to him that you’ve also been doing the same. that day’ll come.

“i mean, i would’ve come around sooner buttt! contrary to popular belief, i’m not so socially inept to not give you space. although, i was starting to think you were replacing me with that loser at that law firm. i want to say his name is hajime-”

“okay, not even close-”

“and what kind of idiot takes their woman out to a sushi bar on the first date. and he drives a toyota camri. he’s lame.”

“…first of all, i’m not his woman. how did you know i was going on a date tonight? and how do you even know what car he drives?”

“…let’s not sweat the details. that dress is new, right? haven’t seen it before. looks beautiful on you-”

“so not only were you spying on me but you were ignoring me?!” you fist the man by the collar of his coat and you just loll your head onto his chest. “were you always this crazy when we dated?” you hum and he laughs again. like he knows you’re addicted to the sound and how it makes your tummy ignite into something worse than flames. his hands find their way into his pocket and he shrugs.

“probably. but you liked it.” you don’t bother to contend. nagumo grabs you by the wrists, and takes a good look at you. his deep eyes follow the sliver of gold against your collarbones, all the way down to the hemming of your dress. it makes you feel hot under your heart shaped neckline.

“like the dress. like it a lot. wouldn’t waste it on some shitty sushi and cheap sake, though.”

“well it’s not you taking me out tonight though, is it? it’s…” you think for a second. you can feel the laughter blooming in his chest and you try to fight your way out of his grasp, though it’s in vain. nagumo laughs so hard that the pout on your face starts to pop into a smile and it’s infectious enough that you laugh too.

when the laughter inevitably dies down, you and the dark haired man share a look that you encompasses all the thoughts and emotions that have been swimming in your head the past long few days. he’s still holding you by the wrists, your fingers crinkling against the loose material of his shirt.

nagumo says your name, more so to himself as his tattooed hands stay wrapped from the width of your jewellery clad wrists down to your forearms.

“you’re being awfully touchy to a woman who’s supposed to being out on a date in a few hours,” you say, just above a whisper.

he hums at that, pulling you in further by the elbows. “i guess you’re right. you could always tell me to go away, though. wouldn’t be the first time.”

you groan audibly and he shoots you another grin that climbs its way into the wrinkles of your brain. “what do i have to do for you to not bring that up? and don’t make me get on my knees and beg-”

“damn, that was my first choice too!” you roll your eyes. he’s still holding you. your palms are flat against his chest. “i suppose i could call it even if…” nagumo pretends to ponder for a moment. you try to shove him with as much power as you can on the man.

“if you don’t just come out with it-”

“kiss me.”

the speed at which your eyebrows almost shoot into your hairline is unprecedented. you try to read his face for any sign of playful unfairness, but you’ve known him long enough to read the softness of his eyes.

your hands fist at his shirt again and it’s your turn to laugh at him, head thrown back. he pouts in response.

“you’re unbelievable,” and before he can retort, you lean up on your tip toes to do as he asked. he’s exactly how you remember, all those years ago. warm, sweet, slightly intoxicating. the sigh you release is shaky and he swallows it whole. the width of his palms immediately let go of your arms and find purchase on your waist and your hands travel all the same, resting on the planes of his face and neck.

the kiss is over before it started and you don’t even get a chance to breathe before nagumo is back on you, pulling you in by the hips, tongue slipping in comfortably like you’ve always been this way. and you give in, your body adapting to years old muscle memory. it’s like you’re almost a decade younger all over again, and your brain turns to mush when nagumo gropes you, grabbing all the parts he can to get impossibly closer to you.

you almost don’t notice the way he throws off his coat. and the fact that he’s trying to get you onto the bed. almost.

you protest in a breathy whine, breaking apart from locking lips. “we-i can’t. my date-”

“sucks. he sucks. i’ll take you wherever you want. buy you everything you want. just let me have you.”

you’re too out of it to even give a snarky answer, grabbing nagumo by the neck and pressing your lips to his own once more. he grunts, lightly pushing you both down onto the pillows.

he breaks apart from the kiss to lave more around your jaw, with one heavy hand resting on your cheek while he bruises on your neck, clavicle and the top of your breasts, all heavy and imposing. you writhe in his touch, and you can’t help the fact that your thighs start to rub against each other to soothe the heat arising in your core.

as perceptive as ever, nagumo quickly notices and makes fast work of placing his leg between your own, and you can’t help but breathe out a winded “yoichi.”

he groans, smirking against your collarbone. “missed hearing you say that.”

you huff, pushing his hands down the curves of your body. “don’t push your luck, nagumo.”

he chuckles, unfazed, and smooth, deft fingers climb under the hem of your satiny dress. he hikes your dress high enough to see a flash of damp cotton panties.

he presses a digit against your clothed clit and you can’t control the way your head falls against your pillows, mouth falling open as you whine out his name again.

nagumo halts all movement though, pushing himself backwards to lean further onto his knees off the bed. you practically jump up, confused and stupidly horny.

“strip for me.”

you narrow your eyes. he shoots you a saccharine smile, and you don’t bother to banter with him, getting on your haunches and pulling down a thin strap on either arm, and shimmying out of the garment. you can tell by the elated shock in nagumo’s eyes that he hadn’t expected you to comply but you throw the dress in his face, and he shakes it off faster than you can adjust yourself on top of the bed covers. he’s already crowding over you, face mere centimetres away.

“sorry, you can’t be the only one having your fun,” you tease, leaning up to kiss his nose and it’s his turn to not take your bait, but maybe it’s because he’s too enamoured at the sight of your naked body after all this time. a tattooed hand reaches up to grab a handful of your boob, pinching slightly at your nipple and the other makes it descent down to the hemming of your panties. his fingertips dip into the front, pushing the material to the side and he groans when he can see the way your pussy clenches over nothing.

“you’re so pretty,” he sighs, and you watch the way he touches you, featherlight and it has you writhing, inching closer to feel more of his touch.

“patience, baby.” nagumo throws off his shirt, and you take in the expanse of his never ending tattoos. your hand reaches up to touch the one on his stomach and he smirks, albeit warm and slightly teasing.

“got a few new ones a couple months back,” he all but whispers and you hum.

“i like them,” you state, matter of factly and he pushes your hand away to lay on his stomach between your legs.

nagumo’s face presses into your belly, and you push a few fingers into the dense strands of his hair. he kisses you at the belly button, paving a wet path down to your moist underwear.

he noisily smooches on your panty clad clit and you wordlessly protest in embarrassment, groaning and whining while he smiles against you. though, you’re quick to stop complaining when he pushes your panties to the side and breathes you in, kissing your uncovered pubis. now you’re frantically trying to push him away instead.

“you’re so shameless,” you fuss and nagumo doesn’t say anything. he only pushes your legs further apart to accommodate him.

“can i eat you out?” he asks and you raise a brow, face flushing. he shrugs, “i wanna hear you say it.”

you want to insult him for trying to fluster you in his own weird way but you’re also stupidly, ridiculously turned on right now that you can’t be bothered to play this cat and mouse game.

your hands cover your face and you mumble ever so quietly, verbatim: “please eat me out.”

“can’t hear you, sweetheart. come on, you can’t possibly be acting all shy. my face is literally in your-”

“just please eat me out!” you say, exasperated and incensed by the burning desire to have his mouth on you.

nagumo doesn’t mess with you any further but he can’t help the snicker that escapes him. you’re also ready to call him names and berate him, unfortunately being the hot head that you are, but it’s a useless act because nagumo already has your pants down your legs and strewn across the room somewhere, and he’s immediately pressing a sloppy, wet kiss on your love button.

a strangled “yoichi!” escapes from your throat and you’re already helplessly weaving between the strands of his black hair. it only goads him on further, and your head struggles to keep itself up when he thumbs at the hood of your clit, lifting it up to suck at the bundle of nerves. you become one with the plush pillows beneath you once again.

nagumo’s tongue soothes and pokes around, sucking and kissing at all the sensitive parts of your flower. he lifts one leg up higher to allow him more access, and you lock your fingers on top of his hand that grips ardently at the tender skin of your thigh. you have no time to react when you feel two fingers press into your cunt hole, and you chant his name like a mantra, gasping and almost tearful from the way he feels.

you can feel his dark brown eyes on you, and he stops tasting you to bite your inner thigh. you yelp, and he lulls over where he indented you with his teeth.

“you’re close, right? want you to look at me when you cum,” is all he says, and you don’t get to reply when he’s back sucking your pearl into his mouth, pressing his fingers against a certain spot inside you that has your legs trying to close in on themselves around his head.

“f-fuck, ‘ichi, i’m gonna cum,” you moan, and per his request, your eyes stay on his own, and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, the applied pressure stopping you from falling back and losing it.

“say my name like that again,” he groans, and you don’t fail to notice the way he grinds against the bed ever so slightly. “come on, baby, you’re almost there-”

“hnngh, fuck, right there ‘ichi, ‘m cumming-,” you gasp and a flash of white behind your eyes renders you temporarily paralytic, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opened in an ‘o’, and the grip on nagumo’s hair tightens. he keeps a firm hand on your thigh, and your heart would burst at the romantic gesture of him interlocking your fingers together at literally any other time, but he doesn’t stop his assault on the spongey spot inside you until you go limp and you practically have to pry the man off of you.

nagumo’s no sadist (to you, at certain times) so he stops, pulling back and watching the way your chest heaves and the way you glisten between your upper thighs. you don’t register that he’s next to you again until you feel nimble fingers touching on your lower belly. you open your eyes to look at him, and the full blown lust in his eyes makes you choke a little bit.

you grab his hand off your stomach to kiss his fingertips, and then you’re clambering on top of him, palms splayed against his decorated chest. you feel the thickness of his hard cock pressed against your wet core, and you grind against the strained material of his trousers. nagumo grunts, head falling back slightly as he immediately finds purchase on your ass.

“you’re hard,” you assert, and he laughs a little breathlessly and it breaks off into a moan when you press down on him a little harder.

“i guess i am,” he rustles, squeezing your lower curves to push you against his stiffness. “you should let me put it in.”

“oh? is that so?” you say, taunting the man as you slide up and down his neglected cock that’s begging to be released from its confines.

“yeah… wanna fuck you, baby.” nagumo’s all heavy eyelids and suave lips as he gazes up at you, hands all touching all over you. you’re heating up from his languid touches, and you’re cursing yourself for already being so raring to go after he ate you to his heart’s content.

“okay,” is all you say, and you shimmy backwards to undo the man’s bottoms, unbuttoning his pants and helping him kick them off till he’s left in tight gray boxer briefs. your eyes find the damp patch on the front of his shorts, and you softly finger the head of his cock through the cloth. nagumo grunts, sighing your name when you waste no time pulling down his underwear to reveal him in all his glory.

“didn’t that hurt?” you wonder out loud, more to yourself if anything, and nagumo realises you’re referring to the tattoo above his pelvis, only shy of the dark trail that nests above his erection. he places a hand over your wandering one and he chuckles.

“a little. nothing i can’t handle.” you make a noise of something, and you lean down to kiss him very gently and so very close to where he wants. nagumo groans, and he reaches down to pet your hair.

“another time,” you wink, biting your lip. nagumo smiles, raising a brow and he looks like he wants to ask you what you mean but you’re ahead of the curve and you’re settling back up on his lower body, your soaked heat brushing and sliding against his cock. he’s putty after that, head in the clouds as he feels the drench of your lips rub against the hardness of his cock.

“tell me you want it,” you say, and you stop looking down to where you’re almost conjoined to meet nagumo’s eyes; his face contorted to something readable only to you. “or, you know, you could just cum like this.”

nagumo moans at that, and he sets a heavy handed grab on your ass. “don’t remember you being such a tease, baby, sh-shit.”

you croon at his words. you don’t stop the ministrations of your grinding and the raven haired man beneath you barely puts out until the slick of your cunt hole catches the mushroom shaped tip of his cock.

“fuck, i want it, baby, want you to cream on me-” and you don’t let him finish his vulgarity because you grab him at the base of his cock and settle yourself right on top of him, inch by inch.

nagumo hisses, and his iron grip on your hips doesn’t subside until he’s all the way inside you. you both simultaneously moan in relief when he’s by the hilt, and you can practically feel him all the way in your throat.

“fucking missed this so much,” he keens, and you feel him raise his knees to accommodate to you better. you slowly get the rhythm going, grinding and gently bouncing on his dick and you’re delirious at the way his pubic hair brushes against your swollen clit, and how you can feel the slap of his weighted balls against your ass.

nagumo plants his feet on the bed, refusing to loosen his grip on you and you can’t even bring yourself to care about the bruises that’ll stay depressed into your skin. you move one of his number decorated hands to grab at your chest, which he complies with and the other stabilises you against him so that he can thrust into you at a steady pace.

“so, so good,” you whine, almost falling forward by the jolt of nagumo’s body. you plant both arms on either side of his head, tits bouncing in his face, going back and forth against his open mouth that tries to catch a pebbling nipple.

taunting words leave his mouth as he watches you try to keep up. “feel good, baby? shit. tell me how it feels, y-yeah? you like it when i fuck you like this, huh?”

you clench around him tighter. “hnnngh, so fuc-fucking good, ‘ichi.”

you lean down on your elbows, and while he bucks up into you, his eyes don’t stray, and when your lips follow the sharp lines of his jaw and press on his jugular, nagumo angles his head so you can sloppy kiss him on the mouth.

it’s like that for a few moments until he stops to throw you off of him, and you’re ready to whine and complain, but he’s already on you again, this time on top.

“gotta take my time with you,” he breathes, and he finds a new position, this time pulling your left leg over his shoulder and spreading the right one to fit around his hips.

“is that code for you were gonna cum too fast?” you giggle, and nagumo doesn’t grace your playful ribbing because he slips back into you and your once teasing laughter breaks off into a deep moan of pleasure.

“don’t make fun of me,” he says, feeding his cock into you at an achingly slow rate, “hurts my feelings.” and you want to call him embarrassing and silly, you really do, but your heart is on your tongue and nagumo overcrowds every part of your senses.

nagumo leans over you, and grinds himself inside your compact walls. his face is in the crook of your neck and he teethes at the tender skin. you throw a callous hand in hand to satiate the hunger in your belly.

the unrelenting pace in which he fucks you is downright insane: all you can think about is him, all you can smell and taste is him. when you open your eyes, he’s looking down at you, holding and stretching you open, spitting not-so-sweet nothings at you. you worship him all the same, crying out his name, begging him to take you harder and faster, nails raking across the width of his back.

“you’re s-so, hah, shit, you’re so gorgeous,” he moans, “not gonna last, f-fuck.”

you’re almost there, teetering on the finish line, so nagumo ever so slightly adjusts his position, and he presses his cock head against that point inside you. you’re weightless in his hold, writhing when he reaches down to rub taut circles against your puffy pearl. it’s enough to make you sob, gasp and cry out a throaty “‘ichi!”, back arching, toes curling.

nagumo takes a hardened nipple into his mouth, bruising against the creamy flesh of your tits. his speed and movement becomes sloppy, rushing to the edge, the echoes of skin slapping against each other. your tearful face and your short winded begging (“cum inside me, yoichi” and “want you to fill me up”) in the midst of your intra-climatic hue are enough to get him to empty out hot inside of you, his eyebrows furrowed and an o-shape taking over the soft shine of his mouth.

you pull yourself up by the hand on the back of his scruff to kiss him wetly, tongue and all and he takes it, moaning and cursing out your name while pushing his seed deep inside you.

it’s quiet except for mingling, heavy breaths and the creak of your bed when nagumo falls on top of you. you squeak in protest, trying to push the lug of a man off.

“get off me you big idiot!” you squeal, and you feel his body shaking while he’s closed in on you.

“you’re nice and warm,” he sighs, “think i could stay like this for a good, couple of hours.”

you scoff. your hand reaches up to pet at his damp hair. nagumo smiles against your clavicle.

“do you think i still have time to go on that date?” you say, all forlorn and nagumo’s head shoots up, in which you laugh at the way his face contorts. he grumbles, and he eases out of you slowly. you hiss, but the grin on your face stays all the same.

“you think you’re so funny,” nagumo dryly contends and you sit up, kissing him on the nose.

“what can i say? learnt from the best,” you reply, just to the point where only he can hear you.

you think he’s so ridiculously easy (you won’t ever tell him that) when he returns your grin, and grabs your face to kiss you, all over you cheeks and lips.

“damn right, baby, damn right.”

EXTRA, EXTRA - read all about it:

“by the way, what did you mean when you said i owed you one?”

nagumo pulls his head from your chest, tv blaring and illuminating his puzzled, adorable expression, a piece of popcorn dangling from his mouth. his face turns blank as he ponders. then it’s like a lightbulb switches on above his head.

“oh, i fed ponyo and let her out onto the balcony but that old man saw me and i convinced him that he was seeing things so he wouldn’t call the cops… you’re welcome!”

“you did WHAT?!”

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © MOOMINSUKI 2024. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[kakushino]

Hiiiii Desikinnnsss~~ Could I pretty please have number 10, hurt/comfort with Gyutaro? SFW preferably with a fem reader?

𝕷𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖒𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖞𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖎𝖙 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓

𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱

AN: Gendered terms aren't really used but I guess it's implied considering reader is ex-geisha-to-be. I hope this motivates you to work on Fixation~

kenban = office of a red light district (they set prices for services etc) | ageya = meetings between clients and geisha with entertainment | okiya = geisha house | hanamachi = geisha district (~red light district in this) | okaa-san = woman in charge of an okiya (literally mother) | oiran = high ranking geisha (sex is included in the list of services)

The red light district was alive and thriving; music, songs, and the courtesans inviting men into their establishments created a masterful symphony no artist could capture - save you, Gyuutaro would say. 

Since meeting him properly, you’d risen from the ranks of prostitutes-to-be into the House’s artist, creating artworks to be sold at ageya organised by the kenban. This, of course, led to jealousy from the side of the other women of your okiya and overall hanamachi.

However, the freedom to pursue your passion and spend time with Gyuutaro made you happy, too happy to notice the discontent.

You carried your purchases in a straw basket on your back as you walked through the street, nodding to regulars and waving at a friendly okaa-san from another House. The entrance to your okiya was crowded, likely because Warabihime deigned to show her charm in the main hall, letting customers take a peek at her beauty. The tetchy oiran shot you a look as you tip-toed by, as if telling you something, but you couldn’t decipher the message.

Your room was located in the very back, and the second you entered it was the moment you understood.

Your most beautiful kimono, the one your lover had gifted you, laid in tatters on the floor. 

Your heart broke at seeing the destruction of your precious property, second only to the hair ornament you received from Warabihime’s collection. 

Who could have done that? Who would dare?

Your basket fell to the side, art supplies spilling out, forgotten. 

“What is this?” a raspy voice rang through the hallway before you could truly process what you were seeing. You hadn’t moved from the door of your room. Your muscles tensed. If he saw what happened-

But you couldn’t exactly hide it from him, especially since he walked up to you - and he towered over everyone, it wasn’t hard to see over your shoulder.

“Someone-” your voice broke, overwhelmed with feelings, “destroyed the kimono you gave me,” you finished in a wispy whisper. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you shut your mouth, well aware if you gave names, they would not be alive to see the sunrise again.

Silence reigned for a few seconds. “You know who did it.” Of course he could tell. 

You walked up to the carnage, kneeling by the heap of silk, mourning it, and mourning the lives as good as lost. “...no.” 

“Look me in the eye and say it again,” Gyuutaro demanded roughly. Despite his tone, he was nothing but gentle turning your head to look up at him as he stood over you. He looked angry, you hadn’t ever seen him as angry as he was now. 

“Please…” you nearly wept, softening the demon in front of you. 

Gyuutaro quickly lowered himself to your level, pulling you into his arms. Now was not the time for murder, he reminded himself. Your warm body was shivering in his embrace, a transgression even greater than the ruined kimono in his eyes. 

He’d get to the bottom of this, and then it was over for those bitches. He was willing to bet Daki would help, if only because the fabric was too pretty to be ruined over jealousy.

They would pay.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Promise of Rubies - A John Shelby/Reader One Shot Story.

This kind of just happened last night, a bit of dark, a lot of fluff. Enjoy, besties.

(GIF credit - @peakystitches)

Words - 2,956

Warnings - Fluff! Mentions of violence, too.

The horizon bleeds pink into orange, swirling in watercolour as the ink of night begins to dominate, saturating into all that is warm with her cool darkness. The clouds of fluffy white smoke into grey, the evening arriving, the chill whipping against your skin as you stand outside your home, idly smoking a cigarette. No smoking in the house, as per your sister’s rules.  

It’s been just you and her looking after your brood of younger siblings since your mother died and your father hung. A hard life marred with tragedy, but you make no complaint. There are certain ways a poor woman with little in the way of opportunity can make her life better, yours perhaps the most sought after within the slums of Small Heath.

Shagging a Shelby. Many women covert it; few attain.  

It isn’t just sex between you and John any longer, though. At least, you don’t think it is. Surely if it were, you wouldn’t be the refuge he sought in times of crisis, in times where he needs someone to give him the care he usually provides to you. Surely, he’d go elsewhere if you meant so little to him as to solely be a warm hole in which to bury his cock.  

“John?” 

He staggers, his path zig zagging as he moves through the street, hitting the house besides yours, his features scrunched as he grunts in effort. Your heart skips on a beat, realising that he’s hurt beyond a mild beating. “John, Jesus bloody wept, what happened?” 

Casting your cigarette into the gutter, you reach for him, and he slumps against you, his body moulding soft yet heavy against yours.  

“The fucking...” he grits, pulling himself up, face contorted in agony. “The fucking wops. Jumped me, couldn’t get home. Yours was quicker. Fucking... those fucking...” 

Assertiveness kicks in, the same as when you’re dealing with split elbows and grazed knees suffered by your younger brothers and sisters, the protective instinct within your stirred to action. “Okay, don’t talk right now. Let’s get you inside. Come on.” 

Hauling his arm around your shoulders, you pull him towards your front door, burdened beneath his weight, turning to make sure there are no persons of the Italian persuasion around. Him being followed is the very last thing you need. You want to help him, such goes without saying, but if the Changretta’s knew where you lived... heaven help you.  

It isn’t like Jonh is currently in a fit state to assist in fighting them off right now either, and you could do without having to point a gun to anyone’s head. Being in a relationship of sorts with a Shelby means that wielding a weapon simply becomes par for the course. Trust you to fall for a man whose terms and conditions come with the kind of desensitising to violence you never expected to ever partake in.  

“Come on,” you grit, hauling him towards the kitchen table, John heavy against you as you steer him into a seat. “Right, let’s take a look at you. You ain’t been stabbed or shot, have you?” 

He straightens, wincing. “Slashed me, but nah, none of that.” 

You’re involving yourself in unbuttoning his waistcoat and tattered shirt when your sister walks in, the air thickening with immediate effect. “What the bloody hell went on here?” 

You turn your head, scoffing with soft incredulity. “Isn’t that obvious, Ethel?” 

“I don’t want his brand of trouble in my fucking house!” 

“S’alright, Ethel,” he groans, taking a deep breath, wincing again as you gasp upon revealing his banged up ribs. No wonder he can hardly breathe. “I weren’t followed. Wouldn’t have come if I was. Ain’t no fucking way I’m putting you, your sister or the nippers in danger.”  

“You better be sure on that, John Shelby. Because I’ll fucking hang before I let you endanger my family! We’ve already lost mom and dad, for the love of god, we don’t...” 

“Ethel!” you shout, turning to view her. “Leave it alone now. This isn’t the time, alright? Just go to work. The kids are in bed, we’re armed, and he wasn’t followed. It’s fine.”  

Ethel shakes her head, her lips pinching. “The things you’ll put up with for a shag.” 

“As would you if you saw the cock on him,” you fire back, John snorting with laughter despite his state. 

“And here was me thinking it was me raw charm you liked most,” he jokes, laughing all he can.  

“I’ll be back later.” Her frosty statement is followed by her swift exit, the front door slamming shut. You look at John, shaking your head with a soft smile. 

“I do like you for more than your cock, you know.” 

He grins, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up. Flouting Ethel's rules is one of his favourite pastimes. “Wouldn’t blame you if that was the only thing about me you did like, bab. It’s impressive.”  

Battered six ways to Sunday and still, he’s the cockiest, most arrogant shit of a man you’ve ever met. 

“And the rest of you does come with a certain barrage of shit.” 

A flicker of embarrassment gilds his face in shame, dropping his gaze. “I know, love.”  

Pulling his shirt from him, you study his wounds carefully. Bruised ribs, but his breathing isn’t laboured enough for them to be broken. Cuts and welts to his face, a slash across his upper pectoral leading to the side of his armpit. It could have been a hell of a lot worse.  

Thank fuck Small Heath lads can take a bloody good kicking.  

Stroking his face, your heart flutters when he leans into the cup of your palm, turning his head to kiss the heel of your hand. “Let me get some stuff together, and I’ll get you sorted.”  

His gratitude is delivered in the soft gaze from his steel blue eyes, halting you as you stand, pulling you close. “I’d fucking be lost without you.”  

Of course, he would. It takes a special kind to be with a Shelby, a woman who knows the harder side of life by nature rather than infliction, a woman who accepts that smooth sailing will never come without regular choppy seas, a woman who sees beyond the black clouds for the rays of sunshine.

You think of all of that and more while boiling some water, pouring a splash of TCP into the bowl, a little cold water to follow, taking it back to the table with some cotton to begin cleaning his war wounds.  

“Fucking hell!” he hisses sharply, the sting of the antiseptic meeting the open chest wound too great to merely offer grumbles in response.  

You study the wound closely, knowing that bandaging across his chest will keep it clean, but two places at least are much too deep for the skin to knit together without assistance. “I’ll have to stitch you, John.” Your face is full of lament, squeezing his hand. “Sorry.”  

He sniffs, his shoulders twitching in shrug. “I thought you might. It's alright.”  

A cotton reel and needle are fetched, as well as a bottle of cheap brandy and a couple of glasses. You half fill his, John knocking it back immediately, causing you to reconsider your stance on anything vaguely resembling etiquette and pushing the bottle towards him instead. “Ta, bab.”  

He knocks back the brandy like it's some kind of elixir, and you cannot blame him at all, having to endure the pain of stitches administered by a semi-unskilled hand. Hems and turnups you are adept with; flesh wounds, not so much.  

Pushing the needle into his pale flesh, he hisses a grumble, prompting your lips to press a kiss into the centre of his chest before you continue. Nine stitches close the first of the deepest part of the gash, four to the second, John knocking back the brandy as you knot the thread, cutting the cotton with a sharp knife.  

“There,” you say, sitting back to admire your handiwork. “All sorted.” You notice his skin beaded in sweat, the blood trails bleeding into it, pink pearls of fluid trickling over his chest. “Do you want me to prep you a bath?” 

He shakes his head, placing the brandy bottle down. “Nah, love. You’ve done enough.” He stands slowly, taking the bowl and emptying it before filling it with the remainer of the hot water, washing himself down carefully. Standing, you tip the brandy within your glass down your throat, going to fetch a towel for him.  

“You look like you need to go to bed.”  

Taking the towel from you, he dries his face and chest, nodding. “Probably the best place for me.” Locking the front door, you walk along behind him, hands braced against the wide planes of his bare shoulders, moving to your tiny bedroom. There isn’t much in there, a double bed that takes up most of the room, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, the spaces between the furniture narrow, John kicking off his boots and the remainder of clothes, wincing in pain as he climbs beneath the covers.  

“I was just about to make some tea,” you state, seating yourself on the edge of the bed. “Only beans on toast, it’s about all we’ve got in. Do you want some?” 

He reaches for your arm, shaking his head. “No ta, sweetheart. I think I just need to sleep it off.” He stares up at you for a few moments and your heart flutters, half with the worry that the wounds that led him to your door could have all too easily been fatal, and half with the absolute beauty of his eyes. You never noticed before, how they exactly match the sunset, smoky blue irises gilded in the golden copper of his lashes, freckled lids that begin growing heavier with every blink.  

Leaning to him, you kiss his lips softly. “Just shout if you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”  

He’s asleep before you’ve even climbed off the bed, leaving you to wonder just how much he’d had to drink prior to him being jumped. You’ve seen John fight, he’s adept, savage, not the kind of man who would take a kicking lying down. There was bound to be more than one, though, this beating a clear message from the Italians. If they wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have turned up at all. Either that or you’d be walking to the phone box to call Tommy and inform him of John’s demise upon your doorstep, either of the two.  

Putting it to the back of your mind, you go downstairs, searching through your meagre pantry. No beans. Ahhh, yeah. You shared the last tin out between the kids before putting them to bed. You won’t receive your grocery delivery until the day after either, John putting in a standing order he pays for at the corner shop to be delivered twice weekly, so your family never go without.  

Ethel protests it, but often quietens when she sees a bottle of gin just for her there in the box when good ole’ Mr Williams knocks the door with your provisions. Say what you will about John, but he’s thoughtful and makes sure nobody within your household goes without, even if one of those people doesn’t like him much. 

Grabbing the loaf of bread, you think yourself lucky to at least have preserves and butter in good supply, slathering three slices, one plain butter, one with jam and the other with marmalade. You leave that slice until last, the comfort of your mother’s marmalade recipe you’ve finally managed to perfect making you feel warm inside as you sit at the hearth with a strong cup of tea, kicking off your shoes to warm your toes in front of the fire.  

“They’re dangerous lads, but they’re good lads, those Shelby boys.” That’s what she staunchly said of them, always welcoming John with open arms whenever he called to take you out. Him, Tommy and Arthur, they all tried to swing it the other way with the police when your dad was locked up, languishing within the damp, rat-infested surroundings of Winson Green prison. It was sadly to no avail, your father meeting the noose just two weeks after your mother died, her heart giving out on her after a lifetime of suffering with the illness.  

Your heart is now the one that lies damaged, effectively orphaned, caregiver to four small children when you feel like now is the time to be thinking about maybe beginning a family of your own. Your mind turns back to the guest within your bed, smiling as you think of him, wondering what your eventual children will look like.  

You spend a few hours at the fireside, reading a book between bouts of getting lost in thought, wondering if this new trouble with the Italians is going to only lead to further heartbreak for you. Loving a gangster is not an easy path, but you walk it with him all the same. Deciding to head upstairs rather than throw on more kindling, you seek the warmth of his body after you’ve stripped off, pulling your nightgown on and sliding into bed beside him. 

“What you bothered with this thing for?” he mutters, hand reaching to stroke against the winceyette covering your waist.  

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be fit for anything other than sleep, given the fact you turned up four hours ago beaten black and blue,” you state, John nodding. 

“I'm not, but I like the feel of your skin against mine. Get it off.”  

Rolling your eyes, the nightgown is abandoned, settling down at his side again, John grabbing your leg and gently resting it across his thighs. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “It’ll all be alright, you know. In the end. It ain’t alright at the moment, but that’s cos’ it ain’t the end, love.” 

You swear, he can read your mind sometimes, all your little worries you manage to hide. You can never keep them shadowed from John, though. “I know, darling. I know. I accept it, I know I have to harden myself to it all, that it’s the price I pay to love someone as much as I do you. Doesn't make it easy, though.”  

His hand strokes idly at your back, another kiss pressed to your head. “It will be one day, bab. Promise.”  

As you fall asleep beside him, you don’t know if you truly can believe that or not, wondering if you’re cursed to love and lose forever. Many more nights of worry come and go, though, but he still turns up. Sometimes battered, most of the time absolutely fine. The Italian issue gets sorted, and life moves on, until one evening when he fails to turn up at all.  

It would be your birthday, wouldn’t it? He would go missing and thus curse the day forevermore, a day that should be marked with happiness forever blacked out as the day John Shelby failed to knock your front door. Someone else does, though.  

“Come with me, love,” Arthur states, his face blank, tone flat.  

“Why?” you ask, fetching your coat from behind the front door. “Arthur, what’s going on? Why do you look so serious?”  

Your heart begins pounding, the tall, eldest Shelby sibling giving nothing away. “Just come with me.” 

Is this it? Is this the day you’ve been dreading? Surely though, if something had happened, Arthur would just come out and say it, wouldn’t he?  

He would, wouldn’t he?  

You pester him all the way along the walk, out of your street and around the corner, coming onto Watery Lane, the heat from the blast furnaces warming the chill in your cheeks as you pass them by, Okay, so you passed John’s house, too. Can’t be that bad, can it? Surely if he was dead, Arthur would have taken you there to explain?  

“After you.” Holding the door open, he makes a gesture for you to head into The Garrison first, your heart still thumping wildly with nerves, stepping in to the almightiest cheer that makes you jump about a foot out of your skin. Banners and streamers decorate the entire pub, your friends and family all present, John beaming as he walks away from the group of smiling people.  

“Happy birthday, sweetheart” he speaks warmly, pulling you into a huge hug. “Aw, look at her face! Proper got ya, didn’t I?” 

“I thought you were dead! I thought, I though Arthur was bringing me here to give me bad news, and you didn’t turn up, and...” you babble, turning to see Arthur grin. He receives a smack in the chest for his talents in delivering a completely deadpan facade. “You bugger!” 

“I know,” he chuckles, winding his arm around your shoulders and kissing your head. “I’m a fucking rotter, but I was under orders.”  

Your eyes turn back to he who gave the orders, shaking your head. “You’re a bugger too, John Shelby.” 

He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “I know. Hopefully you won’t think I’m one for very long, though.” He reaches into his pocket, removing a small box, taking your hand. Your mouth virtually hits the ground as you watch him lower to one knee before you. “I love you, (Y/N). Always have, always will. Will you marry me?” 

With tears in your eyes, you accept the proposal, and the beautiful ruby and diamond engagement ring, John slipping it onto your finger and kissing your hand as the crowd erupts with cheers, standing to kiss you.  

“Promised you it’d all be okay in the end, didn’t I?” 

Indeed, he did.  

[goldnsyren]

— Will it be enough? (m.) ⋆ pairing: gojo satoru/oc (noa hasegawa) ⋆ genre: angst, touch of fluff ⋆ wordcount: 𝟷920 ⋆ cw: JJK 261 SPOILERS

tags:

Note: Does it count as a comfort fic if all I comforted was myself?? Anyways, spoilers so don't read. Can be read as reader since technically no descriptions given.

“Why are you so upset?” “They’re talking about you like you’re dead!” “It’s just a backup plan. I'm fine. I’ll be fine, promise.”

“Satoru,” his name was like a prayer on her lips. A siren call he had no choice but to follow.  Gojo stopped and turned to appraise his wife. Noa’s brow was furrowed, and her bottom lip jutted forward disapprovingly as she stayed at the doorway. Oh. She was serious.

Doubt darkened her expression. “I don’t like it. What if-”

He grabbed her by the chin, silencing the rest of her argument with a kiss. “You worry too much.”

“Always.” She didn’t deny it. As far as she was concerned, someone had to look after the idiot— her idiot. He certainly wasn’t going to.

Gojo couldn’t help but smirk as he wiped away the streak of blood from her cheek.

His stupid smile, calm and confident even in the face of such overwhelming power, lulled her as it always did. She should have seen the mischievous-manic glint in his eye. Instead, she was distracted by the foolish promise she had desperately wanted to believe. “Have some faith. I’ll see you later.”

Those had been the last words he’d said to her.

There was no “goodbye” because that would be overdramatic. No false promise of “I’ll be careful!” - he never was.  And certainly no gut-wrenching sentimental  “I love you” - it wasn’t their style.

Just -

I’ll see you later.

He lied.

Noa stared unblinking into his eyes - a new emptiness to their once lively blue hues - searching for that glint once more. The vortex of calculated curse energy and cheeky mischief that swirled within them was gone. Dull and lifeless, it felt almost like a stranger starred back. 

She brushed the hair from his face, calm and steady - with the most delicate of pressure massaging his forehead and scalp. The same way she always did when he had a migraine and overworked himself. Again and again, her fingers comforted him. A soothing motion - if not for him than for her. The air vibrated in her chest, a song just for him, even if she had no voice left to hum.

With vivid imagination, she could picture them at home. Satoru would throw himself on the couch and drop his head in her lap like a spoiled cat. A tell-tale scrunch to his eyes, he’d pick up her hand and plop it on his head in wordless command.

No one does it like you, Gojo whined. It was the closest admission to ‘ I need you’ he’d ever make. Noa never made him ask after that. 

“Better?”

“Much.”

Noa continued anyway. His migraine would fade, his shoulders would ease, and the deep, steady breaths of sleep would slowly take him. 

She’d keep her hand in his hair as he softly exhaled, relishing in the soft rise and fall of his chest.

But this wasn’t home.

His head rested in her lap as she knelt on the dust and glass-strewn street. The hand that didn’t thread his hair cupped his face with a lover’s gentleness. Bowed over him, she silently wept. 

“Get down here before you fall on your head.”

“C’Mon, you’re telling me you don’t wanna try the Spider-Man kiss, not even a little?”

She didn’t care about the blood soaking her. Some hers, some his, and a lot of others spilled in there, too, she was sure. What did it matter anymore? Her thumb rubbed back and forth across the cold skin of his cheek. It smeared the congealed blood that hemorrhaged from his mouth. 

She regretted every kiss she didn’t take.

“Hasegawa-sensei,” Yuta’s voice seemed hollow.

She didn’t respond.

“Noa,” Shoko tried this time.

Her back and arms ached something fierce. A sharp pain seemed to weave between every joint and vein in her body, pulling taunt and beckoning her towards the ground. The exhaustion of overtaxed curse energy. 

The weight of grief. 

And yet, like an excellent little sorcerer, she persevered through the pain for the sake of the mission. The same mission she had dedicated her life to since she was tasked with it.

Protect Satoru from himself.

Noa may have been oblivious to the tension and strife of the sorcerers around her, but she was hyper-aware of every almost invisible pore on her husband’s face.

“Will you love me when I’m old and wrinkly and as ugly as those old farts?”

“Satoru-”

“Even if I looked like gramps-Gakuganji?”

“That’s just ridiculous.”

“...is that a no?”

The corner of her mouth twitched on its own accord at the memory. Her fingertips caressed the wrinkle-less forehead below her, her nails lightly scratching against the soft white strands of his temple as she pulled away to repeat the motion. Touch, oh, what a profound thing it was to be able to TOUCH him. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d turned off Infinity outside their home the past ten years. He hadn’t gone a day without it since -

“I’m here, Satoru. You can sleep; I’ll keep watch.” It was as much a promise then as it was now.

“Is she even listening to us?”

“Give her a minute-”

“We don’t have-!”

“Hasegawa-sensei,” Yuta’s voice broke through the back argument as he stepped closer. “we have to start-”

“ No.” Cold and firm, the croak was enough to still them all. What little curse energy she still had flared around her wildly in warning. No one dared move closer.

Protectively, possessively , Noa remained bowed over Gojo’s corpse. A renewed anger steeled her features as she kept her eyes on the vacant stare of his unseeing gaze. Aren’t you tired, Sato’?

Exhausted. But I suppose there are no days off for the strongest, he’d humbly bragged.

“Noa…” She felt Shoko more than saw her. The reverse-curse user kneeled beside her, a hand resting comfortingly on her shoulder. “It’s what he wanted.” 

“Don’t - “ Noa mouthed, the sound lost in her constricted throat. She flinched, forcing Shoko’s hand off her. A new set of heavy tears squeezed from her eyes. Don’t encourage it. Her initial lack of refusal to this plan had been enough of a betrayal already.

Shoko folded her hands in her lap but did not break from Noa’s side. The raspiness of her breath gave away her stifled tears. Of course, she hadn’t objected to the plan. It was a fleeting idea, a one-in-a-million possibility that she never thought would come true.

Satoru Gojo - the Strongest sorcerer - was dead. 

“I’m sorry,” Shoko whispered. An apology for so much more than just silence. Her voice was lower than expected, burdened by what had occurred and the part she was about to play after.

“It’s our last chance.” Kusakabe reminded her.

Noa’s breathing stopped. The pulverized mass that was once her heart seemed to sink further. With every ounce of strength she had left, she raised her head to look into the eyes of Kusakabe in challenge.

“He’s my husband .” The word cracked and squeaked as it was forced from her choking throat. She stared the sorcerer down until he looked away, ashamed. Noa’s torment was clear as day as she looked at her students and peers with an undercurrent of anger and mistrust.

“Sometimes I think you forget I’m the strongest. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“They treat you like a god; someone needs to remind you you’re a man.”

“You humble me.”

“It’s my job.”

“But I’m your man, right?”

“Till death do us part, baby.”

Fuck Death. They’d have to pry him from her cold, dead hands.

Noa’s voice gained its strength as her anger rose. “He’s not some cursed object, you shit-head. He’s-he-” She couldn’t find it in her to finish. No word seemed apt.

Nonetheless, Yuta understood. “I know.” His mouth was set in a grim determination as he crouched before her. Haunted eyes showed his remorse, but the set of his jaw conveyed his determination. He was certain she would forgive him for his betrayal one day, even if he didn’t live to see it.

“Love’s the most twisted curse of all,” Gojo had once told them. It makes Monsters of us all.

“You don’t ,” Noa replied, just as a matter of fact. They had protected their students from so much... Their strength had been paid for in blood, and pain, and the destruction of youth. All for the sake of the children in their care. And now one such boy stood before her, waiting - begging - to be stolen away from his own youth and transferred into a man who’s soul was already shattered. Did Yuta know what it was like to watch a child beg you to let them die? No. “You wouldn’t ask me if you did.”

“I’m not asking you,” Yuta nodded to the corpse she still cradled so dearly. “ He is.”

Noa’s gaze fell on Gojo’s vacant one.

“What do I care what happens to my corpse?” His voice rang in her ears. “I’m dead!”

I care, she thought. I care so fucking much. Heavy tears spilled anew as she forced herself to be objective. 

She had never deluded herself into believing in some fairytale about retiring and starting a family in the countryside. The elders, the curses, the world wouldn’t allow it—not for someone like him, not for The Strongest. But there had been plans—so many plans …

“I’m so tired, Satoru. When will it be enough?”

“When we’re dead.”

Again, Satoru was wrong. Not even that freed him from his curse of strength. Was it too much to ask to be left alone in death? 

We are good people, and we’ve suffered enough.

“He knew what he was agreeing to.” Shoko’s glassy brown eyes shared her anguish. “He knew we  needed   him.”

“He didn’t know it was an option.” She thought aloud. Rest had always been a foreign thing to him. Her conflict was evident as her eyes darted across his face. She search for a sign, any at all, of what he truly wanted her to do. His once blue eyes, always a reminiscent twinkle of the boy he once was, were now dark and cold. They stared up at something - and yet nothing - above.

Who are you? , she wanted to ask the corpse. 

“If the option is a proper burial or you living ?” Shoko interrupted her dilemma. “I know which he’d take.”

The widow’s face twisted in new grief. Gojo had never been the type to say love , but there wasn’t a day that passed that she was sure of what he felt. 

Her right hand clawed desperately at the shoulders under the black T-shirt to anchor herself. It’s just flesh, she reminded herself. Heavy tears spilled anew, following the dried tracks of her previous silent bout.  She stifled the angry scream that threatened to tear from her.

He’s gone.

They don’t have to be.

With a wobbling lip, Nao could only find it in herself to refute the logic of her head with the anger in her heart. The only argument she could form in her grief-addled mind.

“You’re wrong-” Even defeated, Noa’s voice was steady. Her hooded gaze turned to Yuta. “He never wanted this. ”

Yuta Okkosu and Megumi Fushiguro would surpass Satoru Gojo as the strongest sorcerer. All it costed was their lives.

Noa released her death grip. She did not move, nor speak, as Gojo’s corpse was taken from her. All she could think was

When will it be enough?

“When we’re dead.”

Suguru had been right.

[charliesarchivee]

SPOILERS FOR CABARET 2024 I LITERALLY AM DESCRIBING THE ENTIRE SHOW

this is my initial rundown of cabaret scene by scene I just needed to get this off my chest then I can be normal again and have normal thoughts and be a cats fan on main

Willkommen: A celebration!!! Eddie redmayne is a delight on stage and Gayle rankin walking through the mezzanine is so cool

Train: the emcee freezes in a tableau of playing with a toy train on the rotating stage which is delightful. Also, I saw the understudy for Clifford Bradshaw (he was AMAZING.) and his hat fell off of his suitcase and kept rotating around and I think at one point somebody picked it up bcos it disappeared!

So what: Bebe Neuwirth is a legend. A legend. That is all. Also Frauline Kost was HILARIOUS

telephone song: yes I know it’s not REALLY the telephone song but emcee hanging off a pillar (there were four pillars around the round stage) and reaching for Cliff as the whole cast echoes (and I mean it they had echoes on their mics) WELCOME TO BERLIN… FAMOUS NOVELIST… sent chills down my spine and to my toes like I think that gave me more chills than Alan cumming standing on top of the set with his head up and his chest out as if he was possessed

Don’t tell Mama: at one point she flopped on her back and kicked her feet up and went WAA WAA I WANT MY MAMAAA and I wept this was so funny and some lucky gal in the front row got her stage cigarette that she threw into the audience. Also when she said the convent part she was like “yea i know right” and the France part she went “haugh haugh haugh” like French laughter

cliff and Sally telephone: cliff was like “and somejwere men are laughing and somewhere childrenshoutbutthereisnojoyinmudvillemightycaseyhasstruckout” which is SO canon and was SO funny. And Sally’s face dropping as she deadpans “oh you’re American.” elicited like lots of laugjter

mein herr: SLOW AND SCARY MEIN HERR SAVE ME SLOW AND SCARY MEIN HERR PLZZZ

outside the klub: Sally just undresses right in front of him which was funny. At my performance there was a laundry hamper behind her and she threw her don’t tell mama dress out behind her and it did not land in the basket which, planned or not, made everyone laugh. Also, when Bobby kissed cliff, someone in the opposite mezz screamed “YEAAAA!!” Which like truth

Perfectly marvelous: Sally came in with this GIANT pink floral suitcase which she pulls articles of clothing out to put on cliff which was rly funny and fresh. Also- WERE HER PRAIRIE OYSTERS REAL?? Her recacrion seemed so genuine omfg.. also she buried herself under his coat for “nearly invisible perfectly marvelous girl” which was so cute and yes canon. Also I noticed she hugs his knees a lot in this show so cute

Two ladies: YES!! and they invited everybody to jump out of Sally’s big suitcase and just love!! It was so good!! During the dance break everyone was rotating around just getting it up and Herman (there’s nothing funny about Herman) was just on stage with a deadpan look and a mop, going back and forth to the beat, literally going under people’s legs, etc. one of my fav moments that I noticed cos I was just mesmerized by his mop was that someone came around jacking off to a book and then they held out their hand to Herman and he just wiped it with the mop disgustedly. SO FUNNY. Also Eddie redmaynes tights had little eyes on them so even wjen his pants r pulled down you know he’s always watching eek. Also now would be a good time to mention that the people sitting at the tables near the stage had little tea lights that would turn on during the Kit Kat limbo stuff (like two ladies and if you could see her) and they would turn off if we were in the apartment or the street or whatnot. A lovely little touch that my dad noticed! Also also when he credits the Kit Kat girls he says “rose lulu frenchie texas fritzie and My Helga!!” And he seems to really take a liking to Helga which is so canon and yes

It couldn’t please me more: she has this little headband on that I love. And also, I was gauging how many people would be shocked after If You Could See Her in this number. My hypothesis was if many people were pleasantly surprised/laughed at the pineapple reveal, then many people would have the bomb dropped on them during if you could see her. So I was paying attention! Anyway at the end he gave her the bag to put the pineapple back in and I KNEW WHAT WAS COMING but he slowly licked his two fingers, opened the bag, and slowly placed the pineapple inside very smoothly. Then they went their separate ways but on the orchestta button they turned around, smiled at each other, and she reached out her hand and he gleefully ran and took it and they exited together. SO cute. I love this staging. It is SO fresh after watching so many sam mendes recreations (not to say those are bad I love those too!)

Tomorrow belongs to me: when Eddie redmayne came out and started singing my first thought was “this can’t be right!!” I had only been accustomed to emcees sitting over a record player, or writers in the klub bursting out in song. I’ve only seen one production of cabaret have the emcee sing tbtm, and even then they had literal strings attached to them being pulled by uniformed men. So this was completely different for me! And also the arrangement of the song was beautiful if the song wasn’t an in universe Nazi song I would suggest it in choir it was really good sonically! And the mic echoes ATE. And SPOILER the cast had little plastic figures up to my thigh of little blonde boys that they placed in a perfect circle around the emcee (who was on a raised platform) and they were rotating around as the emcee looked around at everybody like “yeah look at what happens now..” and he TAKES OFF HIS RED WIG and literal GOOSEBUMPS UNDER MY SILVER TIGHTS.

Cliff and Sally apartment: they are so intimate makes me happy! Also the delivery of “a horrid little German infant with a mustache ordering us around” was superb and got audience laughter

maybe this time: literallt in her head voice because she’s UP IN HER HEAD like YES SLOW AND INTIMATE MAYBE THIS TIME SAVE ME SLOW AND INTIMATE MAYBE THIS TIME PLZ

Money: I have been predisposed to the money choreo being about prostitution, but this felt way different to me. I think in this song (bear with me) the emcee IS money. He’s dressed very bedazzled, rhinestones on his coat, sparkly long nails, but also scary, with a helmet and stark makeup, because money can be scary! Also, all of the dancers, dressed in uniform rags, were constantly following the emcee around and reaching for him, and he would often lightly brush or peck them, which makes me think thag he represents money in that song specifically! I asked my dad about it on the way home and he said that money is just another reason people have to bury their head in the sand when important shifts are happening in their world. I agreed.

married: at one point in the sneaking around scene, Herr Shultz comes out wearing a floral cardigan and runs back going “oh this isn’t mine! This isn’t mine!” And frauline kost (and the ajdience) had a laugh. Also this song was so sweet and tender. Great job everyone!

engagement party: SCORE THING: the underscoring switch from the beginning of maybe this time to if you could see her as the party comes up was CHILLING. there was no scene in between married and the engagement party, so frauline Schneider had an impressive on stage quick change into a dress! Also, Herr Schultz getting tipsy on schnapps was hilarious. I had another hypothesis too here which was If a lot of people gasp at Herr Ludwig’s reveal, then a lot of people will have a bomb dropped on them at the end of If You Could See Her. And in fact, a lot of people did gasp! I literally felt a chill just descend on everybody as the weight of this sank in.

tomorrow belongs to me (reprise): SCARY. The emcee comes up at the end on a small raised platform in his money outfit (here I think he represents power) and he has a baton and he’s conducting everybody!!! Also he conducted correctly in 3/4 I was so warmed to notice that he wasn’t just flailing about like he did that right thank you Eddie redmayne for doing it right

—

Entracte: I need to make a seperate post about the prologue and entracte performances. Oh my lord. Words cannot describe. Just chills.

kick line: YES. I love any production that adds the German counting and I loved how they transitioned into the march in this one! Like they started by (in a ripple may I add) reaching out all inviting and then dramatically pivoting around to reach all inviting to the other side and then it slowly turned into a salute and a goose step!! And then the emcee comes out the center with a CLOWN COSTUME AND A COMIC ORANGE GUN with a little swastika flag in it and then he hands it to the last person on line who marches away with it. V scary. Props.

married reprise: there is a heartbreaking moment where Herr Schultz asks “how much time do we”- and then he breaks off and cries. Oh my gosh. Also the emcee is doing very slow magic tricks in the corner like producing an orange. And producing a glass. And then he stands up and shows the audience he’s putting the glass in a napkin like he’s about to release a dove and at first I’m thinking “oh instead of a dove he’s gonna throw a brick right?” But NO. He excitedly puts the glass down.. and at the very last minute HE REARS BACK AND STAMPS ON IT (like at Jewish weddings!) AND THE STAGE GOES DARK. Theres screaminf and when the lights come back up, the entire stage is covered in little triangles of white paper like broken glass. Those remain for the rest of the show. The emcee then goes to the middle of the stage, looks Herr Schultz in the eyes, and drops the glass and towel down this seemingly bottomless pit and then Herr Schultz gets really scared and runs away and then the emcee closes it up with a wave of his hand. I think in that moment Herr Schultz was face to face with the gravity of his situation.

if you could see her: chilling because the gorilla isn’t even a gorilla in a dress. It’s practically a real animal. It walks on all fours the whole number and sits and like picks at its fur or whatever gorillas do. And the emcee is tempting it with a banana the whole time. Now i seriously prepared myself for the last line here I was ready for very hesitant applause and maybe even gasps but NO Eddie redmayne delivered it like a punchline (not his fault the Nazis are getting more and more powerful so this would be a joke) SO a couple people around me LAUGHED before realizing snd they like cleared their throats. Also they used the rotating stage in this one and when it turned on he said “oh we’re moving my little one!” Which was a nice touch but is also this song so

Cliff and Sally apartment 2: cliff gets like visibly upset when Sally wants to go back to the klub he’s like leaning on furniture which is a nice touch! Also after what would you do when he said “you’re going a lot further than the Kit Kat klub you’re going home. My home. America,” somebody in the audience went “YES!”

what would you do: LEGEND. Bebe Neuwirth was phenomenal. The platform rose her up too it was amazing. What would you do hits something in me that I didn’t know was there.

I don’t care much: everybody knows this is my favorite song to ever come out of cabaret. I LOVE this song and it’s just dear to me. When Eddie redmayne came on stage in a suit and he was NEWLY BLONDE I cried I was like no way. And when he went WOORDS SOUND FALSE he frantically tied to get the pieces of glass I was just in shambles. And then he GRABBED SALLY BY HER WRISTS and practically spat the last “I don’t care” in her face and then SUFFOCATED HER IN A HUG and I feel like in that moment he was still a reflection of a changing Berlin, beating on people like Sally. I have a whole analysis of this

Outside the klub 2: the emcee is leaning on a pole and Sally starts to walk toward him to enter tne klub and then cliff walks in and is like “DONT GO NEAR HIM SALLY!!” And I don’t think the emcee is the emcee in that moment tbh I think he’s a pimp but anyway. When cliff gets beaten by Nazis Sally is sitting deadpan on the end of the stage with her back to everything. She doesn’t even flinch. She physically turns her back on everything

cabaret: no words in any language can describe how remarkable this was. That is all. Also when the emcee introduces her he comes up and poses and nobody clapped cos this was kind of a dark moment and he was like “…thank you..thank you..” all small and shaky and I think that nearly killed me it really did

Cliff and Sally apartment 3: when herr Schultz was like “I’m leaving” someone said “NO!” Which liek truth. This scene was just heartbreaking. Cliff like raised his hand to hit her and literally broke down and I BROKE DOWN JUST WEEPING ALL OVER MY SEAT

finale: YIKES. When cliff started singing wilkommen I also wanted to scream “NO!!” As well but I did not. The emcee yelled where are your troubles now? Forgotten? Right at cliff which scared me. And he had a baton and was conducting everybody again! Also also the entire cast mirrored the first ever tomorrow belongs to me and stood in a perfect circle all dressed in brown and at the drumroll hit the lights darkened immediately on the emcee but stayed dim on the rotating circle like saying “THIS IS YOU!!” Also the bows didn’t have music and were very solemn.

ok danke merci thanks!

[weaveandwood]

Midwinter in Waterdeep: Part Two

Gale/Tav | Angst & Pining | Read on AO3 | Read Part One | Read Part Three

Summary:

After the defeat of the Netherbrain, Gale Dekarios was a wizard of intentionally lesser renown, a respected professor at Blackstaff Academy, and engaged to the love of his life. His life was enchanted until he came home to an empty tower, and he has been seeing ghosts ever since.

He saw her ghost everywhere.  She haunted him the first day when he got home from teaching. The house was too quiet, and as he set his bag down in the entryway, he saw the ring. He saw the note. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. 

AN: There will be a Part 3 to conclude this and it will be out later this weekend. Thank you all so much for your support on what was supposed to be a one-shot that has taken over my brain completely.

He saw her ghost everywhere. 

She haunted him the first day when he got home from teaching. The house was too quiet, and as he set his bag down in the entryway, he saw the ring. He saw the note. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. He knew her leaving was inevitable the more their conversations became stilted, the more they floated in each other's orbits, the more foreign her touch became. But the tower still smelled like her, still felt like her presence was just around the corner. Still felt like they could have had a chance to fix things. He heard her in his head all night long as he wept in his study. 

It’s not real. She’s not here.  

She haunted him on his walk back from visiting his mother two weeks later, the first time he left his house. He had tried to lay low after she left him, but her name followed him like a poltergeist from the mouths of those he passed on the street, whispering to their friends about who he was, who she was. Wondering how it ended.

It's not real. She’s not here. 

She haunted him when he was in the market four months after she left. He didn’t want to be there. Everything reminded him of her - the cart they would visit once a tenday to buy her favorite sweet rolls, the jewelry store he visited in secret to get her silver ring that was still on the entry table gathering dust. He saw a flash of her hair color and froze. When time regained its ability to move forward he strained his neck, pushing through the crowd searching for her, unable to breathe. Could it be her? Where had she been all these weeks? Was she okay? Had she moved on with someone else who was less tied down by routine? Was she even still alive? 

It wasn’t her, of course. He didn’t go to the market again after that. He still hasn’t.

It’s not real. She’s not here. 

Seasons passed. Festivals, new apprentices, weekly dinners with colleagues - life fell into a rhythm that helped him move forward. He saw her ghost less and less. It had been almost 6 months since the last haunting. He had finally tucked the silver ring into a drawer two tendays ago, an attempt to bury the what ifs and if onlys and begin to exorcize her from his memory at last. Midwinter in Waterdeep was upon him, and he was eager to engage in festivities that evening with colleagues, now friends. A few cups of wine and he felt like the old Gale, showing off a little by using his well-honed magic to create fireworks to fill the room with light and color.

As the illusion sparked and fizzled out to the delight and applause of the other partygoers, a familiar wisp settled itself in the peripheries of his mind. She always loved his illusions, from their first night together with the aurora and the sparkling stars to the smaller ones he created for her everyday in the beginning. If he had kept trying to make her happy, would she have left? If he had noticed her pulling away as he settled into the routine of his life, could he have brought her closer instead of making her feel like her only option was to run?

He set his cup down, the wine steering him toward paths his brain wasn’t ready to go back down yet, preferring to stay focused on the revelry at hand. The snow flurries caught his eye through the large picture window in the front room. He had always loved the snow and moved to the window to watch it in contemplative silence.

He froze, his eyes widened, breath caught in his throat.

Her ghost. Haunting him even here, even now, after all this time. Her hair, her eyes, everything just as he remembered from the morning she left him, standing across the street looking into the window he was currently occupying. Looking at him. He saw the ghost’s eyes widen, saw her quickly turn to walk away, to escape discovery. He wanted to hesitate. He wanted to accept it was just another vision brought on by too many cups of wine, another falsehood of his imagination...but one tiny spark of hope pulled at his mind. 

The ghost had never reacted to him like that before. 

He didn’t remember moving. He didn’t remember running out of the door, the rest of the partygoers gasping as the usually reserved Gale Dekarios knocked over a chair and pushed people out of his way. He didn’t remember the bite of the cold air. He didn’t remember yelling “Stop!” as the ghost moved quickly away, trying to toy with him, as always. He didn’t remember running down the street to catch up to the ghost, preparing himself for it to disappear as usual. He didn’t remember the desperation on his face or in his voice as he reached for her.

He remembered grabbing on to the ghost’s hand, feeling it solid in his. His heart pounded.

“Wait. Please,” he said, panting. The ghost turned around, but it wasn’t a ghost at all. 

She was real.  She was here.  

“Gale,” she whispered, tears in her eyes.

“You’re real. You’re here,” he whispered back, wrapping her in his arms, committing to memory how she felt as he held her tightly for the first time in over a year. It was only then he realized that her absence had permeated every facet of his being and he felt like he could finally breathe again. His lips crashed against hers, time standing still for the two of them as he tangled his fingers in her hair.

She took a step back, breaking their contact, looking down at the ground.

He knew. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Tomorrow,” she nodded, a tear falling down her cheek. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He placed his hands on both sides of her face, brushing away her sadness before kissing her deeply one more time.

Real. Here. 

“Then let me have tonight.”

[mrm0rgansw0man]

Can I request something real quick?

Arthur founds out he has a daughter but she’s living in the streets type orphan…

i got WAYY too into this story lol i hope you enjoyy!! Xx

i took a little bit of creative liberty with this one and it was just a blast to write

Daughter of Legend

"She looks just like you, Arthur!" Dutch said, elbowing Arthur arm and wiggling his eyebrows.

"There's no way..." Arthur mumbled, his voice sounded distant. His mind was somewhere else.

"Arthur! We need to go talk to her at least. I mean, look at the girl!"

"Oh fine!" Arthur grumbled. There was no way. She couldn't be..unless... No... Wait... Oh god-

"Hey! Why don't you men jus' take a picture of me if yer' gonna keep starin'! Piss off!"

That voice pulled Arthur from his thoughts, and drew a laugh from Dutch.

"So sorry, little Miss!" Dutch said, raising his hands in the air. "We just-"

"No! Men like you only want one thing from a girl like me- and you can't have it! You friends with the men who came after me the other night? If you come any closer I'll scream!" The girl spat. And fucking god it just broke Arthur's heart. Was it really her?

"Honey.. we're not here to hurt you. Promise." Arthur said, looking the girl in the eyes. Icy blue, just like his. "I jus'..."

"You..." The girl started, cautiously making her way towards Arthur. The southern drawl of her voice sounding all too familiar. "Do I... Are you...?"

"Is your name Victoria...?" Arthur asked softly, his voice raw with emotion but also full of hope.

The girl's eyes welled up with tears, her mouth was agape. Dutch had taken a step back, watching in awe from a distance. Now he understood why Arthur had reacted the way he did.

The girl nodded viciously. She knew who she was talking too, but she couldn't dare believe it to be true. Because what if it wasn't him? Even though she knew it was.

"Victoria Morgan..? Is that your name?" Arthur breathed out. Was is real?

"Yes!" Victoria cried, covering her mouth with her palms. She shook her head viciously. This was real, this was happening. It wasn't just a hopeful daydream she allowed herself to indulge in anymore. Her whole body shook the fore of her sobs, she began to fall forawrd.

Arthur ran forward, catching his little girl in his arms.

"Daddy!" Victoria sobbed, she wrapped her arms around her father and sobbed into his chest. Not even his strong and secure arms wrapping around her could calm her. "Oh it's you it's you I thought you forgot about me! I thought you left! I couldn't find you! Dad!"

Victoria wailed. A sound so painful and raw, it was barley contained by Arthur chest. He silently wept, a steady stream of tears flowing down his face.

"Oh my sweet baby girl.." Arthur said shakily. He cradled Victoria's head in his hands. Just like when she was a baby. It quieted her down a bit, just like when she was a baby. "I looked so hard for you and yer' Mama.... So so hard baby.."

"She's dead daddy..." Victoria whispered. "I- I-"

"Shhh Shhh honey it's okay." Arthur said softly. "You don't need to tell me nothin' now. I'm with you now. I'm never lettin' you outta my sight again."

"I've been so scared.. I tried to find you, for years daddy. I needed you so bad." Victoria whispered.

"Look at me." Arthur said, pulling away from Victoria slightly and holding her face so he could look her in the eyes. "You will never leave my side again. I'm gon' protect you. 'M here now, you just try and forget everythin' that happened to you over all these years. I'm gonna take care of you now."

"Nothin' else matters now that I'm by your side?" Victoria said with a sad laugh. Arthur returned the laugh. He used to say that same thing to Victoria when he'd come back to visit her injured. To stop her from worrying.

"That's right baby, that's right." Arthur said, using his thumbs to wipe away Victoria's stray tears.

"Arthur.." Dutch started, not really sure what to say. "Go..go get your little girl back to camp. I'll finish everything up here. But we need to talk when I get back."

Arthur nodded gratefully. Victoria ignored anyone and anything that wasn't her father, feeling safe in his arms but still stuck in that constant mode of survival and terror.

"I never though I'd see your pretty face again." Arthur said with a light chuckle. "You've grown t'be such a beautiful young woman.. I'm s' sorry I couldn't have been here to watch it happen."

"It's okay." VIctoria said with a smile. "It wasn't by choice, on either of our parts."

"Mhm." Arthur nodded. He smoothed down the ruffled bits of his daughters honey blonde hair. "You're 15 now, god there's so much I need to tell you. S'much we need to talk about.. C'mon. Let's get you home."

Arthur scooped up Victoria in his arms, and made his way over to his horse. He got Victoria settled before climbing on behind her. Neither of them could believe this was real.

"I never thought I'd see you again..." Victoria said softly. Arthur took one arm off the reins and squeezed his daughter in a hug. "Your Arthur Morgan? The gunslinger? And was that Dutch Van Der Linde?"

"That's right honey." Arthur chuckled. "I forget last time I saw ya' you were too young to know I had a name other than 'daddy.' "

"I only knew your last name, cause I heard mama call you Mr. Morgan a few times." Victoria said with a sigh. "I never even knew her name...."

"Eliza." Arthur said softly. Victoria nodded, though she didn't speak. He understood, I mean, what was there to say?

"When she.. y'know. She knew the people were comin'. She sent me out the back door, told me to run straight into the woods near the house. To get in deep, and told me not 'to come back, to wait there for her. She never came to get me. I stayed hidden till the next mornin' before I went back to the house and found her."

Arthur let out a deep and heavy sigh. Sweet Eliza, murdered. Gone. Dead. Her last act was to protect their daughter. God the woman she was. Arthur could shoot himself in the foot, if only he had done things differently.

"Do you know who they were?" Arthur asked quietly. Victoria sighed, running her hands through her hair as she began to think back to that horrible day.

"I remember her sayin' something about a bunch of 'Irish bastards' but that's 'bout it." Victoria said, so casually. If only she knew the information she had just given to her father.

Arthur's head swam, he couldn't hear anything other than the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Irish bastards.

Irish fucking bastards.

O'Driscolls.

a/n: will definitly be doing a part two of this! i get wayyy to invested in these requests and drabbles lol Xx

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Best QL of 2023: Favorite Lines

Okay so I am slightly over my one year mark in the BL Fandom, and have watched over the past like...12-14 months a little under 100 shows, so I am forcing myself to stick to the shows that aired in 2023 or else I would never be able to finish this. But I saw @abstractelysium do this so I had to climb aboard:

Top Five Lines that Lived Rent-Free In My Brain This Year:

"Have you been well? Without me?" - Shin Ki Tae, Our Dating Sim, Ep 4

Y'ALL THIS FUCKING LINE. KNIFE. CHEST. EVERY TIME! This line sits on the same level of absolute and total emotional devastation for me as the "I just want things to be nice for him" link in Big Eden.

"Are you tired, Uncle Jim?" - Li Ming, Moonlight Chicken, Ep 8

Jim and Li Ming's relationship just makes me absolutely so fucking emotional. I love them individually, I love them together, and I love how much Jim does for his community. But no one ever asks him this. And it is so striking to me that Li Ming is finally the one to demonstrate how much he understands and appreciates everything Jim does not only for him but for the entire community when he ass him that question.

"My family is old fashioned. I kept everything in my heart and didn't want to tell anyone until I was 15. My family went to Europe with Wa's family. We saw two women kissing on the street. I saw her and wanted to talk to her. I want to know how she did it. I want to release it like them. But Wa's mother and I...You can probably imagine. A pair of old-fashioned women who think same-sex love is wrong...That's when I realized I wasn't the only one feeling terrible. When we got back that night she broke down and cried. No one knew why. I asked her if it was about the afternoon incident. She asked me if a kiss between two women was wrong. I said no. It's just like two men kissing. It's not wrong. On that night a 15 year old boy and a 13 year old girl held each other and cried." -Sailom, Wedding Plan, Ep. 6

Okay this isn't a line, it's a monologue but holy fucking shit this was such a beautiful speech, and I will quote @bengiyo here and say "I CAN'T BELIEVE PEOPLE HATED THIS MAN." He has spent so much of his life in the closet protecting not only himself but especially Yiwa. Sailom was going to go through with the wedding just to ensure that Yiwa and Marine could be together without anyone prying.

"This is as tender as I can be. Someone like me." -Mhok, Last Twilight, Ep. 4

Honestly you could replace the first sentence with whatever you want, the part that sticks in my brain the most is "someone like me" because I know that Mhok must have heard shit like that his entire life, and Day is here saying it in a way that I don't think Mhok takes as an actual insult or passing of judgement. I like that the line is used whenever Mhok does show who he truly is and how much tenderness or warmth he is actually capable of in a subversion of the expectations placed upon him.

"But you know, I already knew your preferences so well. When I go shopping with Kakei-san, he talks about you all the time...He says it with a smile" -Kayoko, What Did You Eat Yesterday?, Season 2 Episode 11

THE WEEP I WEPT WHEN KAYOKO TOLD KENJI HOW MUCH SHIRO TALKS ABOUT HIM. This entire second season of WDYEY Shiro has just continuously shown so much beautiful beautiful growth and my heart twists with pride every single time I see him looking more relaxed and smiley. WDYEY is the most perfect show to ever exist.

[just-jordie-things]

11 and 34 for satoru with happy ending???

11: "I Almost Lost You" Kiss 34: Returned From The Dead Kiss ** current manga spoilers but also i haven't read this part myself yet either so it's not totally accurate lmfao** also hope this is good enough bc it's not super specific to the prompts but it's the same idea, yeah? ___

it had been weeks since satoru had been sealed in that damn box.

the world around you had fallen into chaos in a matter of minutes since word got out that the great gojo satoru was in the prison realm. curses and curse users seemed to crawl out of the shadows and the depths of hell itself to celebrate his removal from this plane. every day there was a new strife, a new challenge, just to keep up with exorcising all the curses that came out of hiding.

not to mention the weight of fear you carried, not knowing of his well being.

was he even alive in there? you worried, your mind too occupied with anxiety for you to properly patrol the area you were asked to.

there weren't many jujutsu sorcerers left. so many retired. so many died.

was he okay? you wondered. time worked differently in the prison realm, but that was about all you knew of it. it was supposed to be a rare object, but geto suguru had found it and used it with ease. would he ever return?

as the reminder of suguru crossed your mind, your teeth grit together. your eyes focused on a rather rowdy group of teenagers on the street, distracted.

your feelings about the man who'd once been your friend were always complicated. after he'd reportedly killed his family and went on to slaughter hundreds of non-sorcerers, you struggled with the way you missed him. no matter what he seemed to do, what heinous acts he committed, some nights you'd still cry yourself to sleep because you wished things could go back to the way they were.

most of those nights, satoru sat awake with you, comforting you as you wept and reminisced over simpler times, happier memories. he'd spend hours combing his fingers through your hair and cooing to you softly about how he missed those days, too.

and now that you were here, now that sartoru was sealed away, and suguru was to blame, it was as though all of your feelings became crystal clear.

you hated geto suguru. you hated everything about him. you hated who he'd become. you hated that he'd let himself take such a dark path. you hated that he'd betrayed you, and satoru, and shoko, and jujutsu sorcerers everywhere. but right now, you mostly hated him for what he'd done to satoru.

and satoru, on the other hand...

you loved gojo satoru. you loved everything about him. you'd grown to love him over many years, but you'd known you'd fallen when he'd give up his free nights to console you, to ease your heart and mind, and helped you rest. you loved that he kept you close, after everything that happened. you loved the effort he'd made to always know what you were up to, and how you were doing. you loved him for loving you, in whatever way he did, you knew he did.

with a huff, you deemed the area safe for now, and made the trek back to your apartment. if you mustered up the energy you could have jogged there to make it to the comfort of your bed sooner, but you just couldn't bring yourself to do it.

so even in the dead of night, and even as you watched storm clouds rolling in, you walked yourself back home.

you've been trying to remain positive for so long, for the students, for the other sorcerers, you knew that your position as satoru's closest friend had meant you'd have to put on a brave face and ensure everyone that hope was not lost, that at the end of the day things would be okay and good would triumph because that's how it was supposed to be.

but you were feeling hopeless. and you'd carried that feeling since that day in shibuya when itadori had told you his sensei had been sealed away. you remember every second of the short interaction. his wide eyes, his shaky voice, the way he'd asked you what that meant, and then looked to you for guidance on how to help. you'd sent him off rather quickly to help at the bus station, but truthfully, you just needed him gone so he couldn't see your entire foundation crumbling.

and then the deaths of your friends, of your students, of people you'd fought alongside all your life, they all began piling up, and you couldn't help but feel hopeless. what else was there to feel?

the man who's mere existence was supposed to put all of this at ease was gone, and you were starting to think he'd never come back.

cold drops of rain begin to hit your face just as you make it to your apartment. you supposed you should consider yourself lucky that you'd made it home before the storm really started, but such positive emotion was squashed by the weight of your anguish.

it was only a matter of time before you were killed too, you thought bitterly, more irritated by the notion than afraid. you were getting reckless. running on little sleep and barely eating meant your energy was always on low battery. the last few curses you'd had to exorcize were low enough in grade that you considered yourself lucky, but you knew that if you ran into a grade one- or a special grade- that you'd be lucky if your death was quick.

"what am i going to do?" you mutter to no one and nothing in particular as you dig in your pocket for your keys.

the rain seemed to have stopped, as you realized you no longer felt the chilly wet drops hitting your head. i could have sworn the skies were overcast just a minute ago, you pondered, ignoring your door for a second longer to tilt your head back to check the night sky.

sure enough, the stars weren't visible, and the sprinkle had turned into a full on down pour. you even heard distant rumbles of thunder, now that you were paying attention.

but curiously, you remained dry. you remained untouched.

you weren't under an awning, and you obviously didn't have an umbrella, so you weren't sure what caused this phenomena.

your brows furrowed as you stretched your hand out in front of you, reaching as far as you could, and to your surprise, you remained dry. when you brought your hand back to your chest again, you studied it curiously, wondering if this was somehow your doing.

experimenting again, you reached your hand upwards, but still, not matter what direction you lunged, the rain fell around you without touching you.

"what the hell?" you mumbled, checking the pavement below you now.

you could see a clear line before you, where the pavement had been pelted by raindrops, but it stopped just in front of your feet. this had to be the most peculiar thing you'd ever seen.

you turned in either direction, and just as you thought, to your left and right, there was a dry patch of pavement underneath you. an amused smile dares to creep on your lips as you turn your head to see just how far this dry patch stretched.

but as you turned to check the ground behind you, you find the dry patch stretched a few feet back, and clung around another figure.

the air is knocked out of your lungs as you saw that familiar shock of white hair, and you sputter for a second before you're gasping and tears are stinging your eyes.

you're running at full speed with abandon, and you don't slow down as you grow nearer, to until you've crashed into him and knocked the air out of him, too.

strong arms wrap around and you and hold you tightly against his chest, not that he needs to, you're clinging onto him with your arms around his neck and your legs wrapping around his hips to keep yourself in place.

for a moment, you just hold each other, wordlessly, too busy gasping for air and sharing breathless laughs of relief. your face is buried in the crook of his neck, and his is lost in your hair, breathing in your familiar scent he'd damn near forgotten.

when you do finally pull away, it's only for a split second, just long enough to see satoru's pretty face is unharmed, before your hands are grabbing the collar of his tee shirt and your tugging him against you so fast your lips slam together.

it's messy, your teeth clash and you're panting so hard that it's difficult to properly kiss him, but neither of you seem to mind one bit.

just a minute ago you were certain you'd never see him again, so you'll take any scrap of closeness that you can get.

he has one arm wrapped under your legs to help support you, but his free hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back while he gasps for breath.

he's not sure what he'd expected when he'd warped his way to your apartment, but he wasn't expecting this.

your teary eyes flicker between his as you finally find your voice.

"oh my god, you're real," you say through heavy breaths, your shock still not having worn off. "you're here- you're alive"

satoru chuckles, nodding back at you, pressing his forehead into yours to better look into your eyes. he's not sure how much time had passed exactly, but he knows he missed your eyes more than anything else.

"i'm alive," he assures you, his lips whispering against your own, before he gives you a longer, deeper kiss. when he pulls away again, he presses his lips into your cheek, next. "i'm here, i'm home"

"i thought-" you choke on your burning throat. "i thought you were gone, i thought- i thought I'd never see you again," you're tearing up again, the weight of your emotions confusing you, but you still muter a smile as you look at him. "i thought i lost you" you whimper out.

"oh, baby," he sighs, setting you down on your feet so that he could wipe our tears away. "you didn't lose me, i'm right here," he assures you, and you nod, leaning into the warmth of his palm. "and i'm not going anywhere, never again, okay?"

you nod back at him, shutting your eyes as you relished in the comfort of his presence. his thumb strokes your cheek as he finally takes you in. there's bags under your eyes, and you look skinner, maybe even more frail. he frowns at the state you're in, but decides to ignore it for now. there would be time later to get you both back on a healthy track. right now all either of you wanted was to be wrapped up in the other.

keeping his infinity on like an umbrella, the two of you embrace tightly. hands clinging desperately to one another, just to make sure there was nothing that could take either one of you away.

[sapphire-writes]

Choice ~ Aemond x Targaryen!Reader

request: The reader is daughter of Daemon and Laena and when her grandmother Rhaenys interrupts Aegon's coronation and it seems like she wants to burn The Greens alive it's her who jumps in front of Meleys not Alicent, because she loves Aemond? And she obviously chooses The Greens over her own family? 😊🐲 ~ @eddiemadmunson note: I so enjoyed writing this, literally giggled & kicked my feet when I saw you requested, I love your work!! thank you so much for your kind words, I hope you enjoy friend 💚 warnings: spicy themes, nothing explicit word count 1.4k masterlist

The dragon must always have three heads. 

You supposed the gods must believe that as well, as the Stranger claimed your mother’s life and that of your youngest sibling. Baela, Rhaena, and yourself. Those would be the only children spawned from the union of Laena Velaryon and Daemon Targaryen. 

Your father Daemon had held you and your sisters as you wept into his chest, guttural sobs filling the early morning sky. You had just woken from sleep to the sound of silence. 

Vhagar lamented loudly on the journey to Driftmark. 

Your grandmother Rhaenys held you tightly to her side as you laid your mother to rest in the sea. 

“Let me stay with you,” you had begged, clinging to her skirts. She will take Baela but not me, where is the fairness in that? 

“Who shall keep your father company?” she had argued, stroking the tears from your cheeks. 

The dragon must always have three heads. 

That is what your stepmother said when she betrothed your elder sisters Baela and Rhaena to her sons Jacaerys and Lucerys. 

“And you shall marry Joffrey, when he comes of age,” Rhaenyra had told you, stroking the hair on your head, and smiling fondly.

You remembered looking at the small babe who had yet to toddle. You would be much older than him when you married, well past the years of your maidenhood. You could not help but feel bitter, as your elder sisters rejoiced in their matches to the handsome Velaryons. 

Your father wanted little to do with you or Rhaena, not out of anger but out of grief. He saw your mother’s face in yours with every breath you took, every word you spoke. 

You left for the Red Keep when you first bled. You remembered walking into Rhaenyra’s room with bloodied sheets and a trembling upper lip. 

“You are a woman now,” she had crooned, as tears filled your eyes, “you shall be brave, yes?”

Rhaenrya hoped your presence would placate Queen Alicent. Rhaena and you were very much alike, calm and collected, a juxtaposition to Alicent's sons. It was easy enough to live at court. You befriended your cousin Helaena rather easily, spending the majority of days in her company. 

You enjoyed Aegon’s presence as well, he was fond of card games and wine and easy to trick when he had a bit too much to drink. You’d swindled him out of several gold dragons. Aegon was good for a laugh and did not mind you trailing along when he visited the taverns of King’s Landing for dancing and spirits. Only when he visited the brothels of Silk Street did he demand you stay behind.

It was Aemond’s company that pleased you the most. You spent endless hours with him cooped up in the library, legs sprawled across his lap as you both read. You enjoyed watching him in the training yard as well, your cheers were always the loudest when he bested Ser Criston. 

It was hard to deny your attraction for the one-eyed prince, and his affections for you were apparent as well. He had heard you speak of missing Vhagar, and the days you joined your mother on dragonback. Ever since, Aemond would take you to the skies daily, reveling in laughter that spilled from your lips. 

The first time he ever kissed you was on dragonback. 

You knew you should not, that it was a disservice to your betrothed. But you could not stop the feelings in your heart, the blush that crept to your cheeks every time Aemond entered a room. How you shared this secret between you, telling no one not even Rhaena. Aemond would walk by you, letting his long fingers stretch to caress yours before continuing by.

The thrill was erotic and addicting. You gifted him your maidenhead; if he could not have your hand he would have that. You soon had him in every corner of the castle.

“I am yours,” you told him, threading your fingers through his silver hair, “and you are mine.”

Your appetite for him was insatiable, no matter how many times you had him it was never enough. You felt as though your very soul was desperate to tangle itself with his. 

Tensions rise when your family arrives from Dragonstone, as the succession of Driftmark is challenged. Dinner is a battlefield and you play peacekeeper between both sides of your family.

“Y/N, come,” your father Daemon calls, staring down Aemond as he does so. 

You hesitate a moment between the two Targaryen men. 

Helplessly, you move to that side of the room, hearing Aemond grunt before leaving. Your father loops an arm around your shoulders, pressing a sweet kiss into your hair. 

The following week is chaotic.

You awake to a locked door, and to the news, the King has passed. You wait in agony, clawing at the door, and attempting more than once to lower yourself from your balcony onto the cobblestone path below.

Aemond eventually comes for you, to escort you to the coronation.

“What of my grandmother?” you inquire.

“She is to remain here, for safeguarding,” he tells you and you stop in your tracks. 

“As a prisoner, you mean,” you accuse and Aemond takes your hands in his. 

“She is no prisoner, I assure you, my love,” he says, staring deeply into your eyes. 

The coronation is a somber affair, Aegon lowers his head as though the crown is an executioner’s block. You stand off to the side, keeping your eyes on your prince. You know this is wrong in your bones. Rhaenyra was the heir, and she is being betrayed. 

The dragonpit implodes, rocks and debris flying everywhere, dust appearing as though the smoke. The sound of panicked screams fills the air along with the call of a dragon. A call you have known all your life. 

Lifting your head, you watch as Meleys appears, red like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Your grandmother rests on her back, a look of calm fury on her face. She always had that look about her, like the sky before a storm. 

Meleys steps forward, crimson head rearing with vengeance. She opens her mouth, letting loose a terrifying wail. Aegon’s eyes are wide, tears beginning to stream down his face. Aemond has stepped in front of Helaena, in a protective stance. Alicent stands frozen, eyes wide with terror. 

No. 

No this cannot be happening. 

Meleys continues to creep forward and you watch your grandmother’s lip curl, as though readying to speak the word that will scorch the green side of the family tree. This has to be done. In order for Rhaenyra to come into power, her siblings cannot live. This has to be done.

You say this over and over to yourself, but it is as though your heart and body have stopped listening. 

This is a duty, this has to be done.

Your feet propel you forward. 

This is necessary for Rhaenyra’s reign. 

You step in front of Aegon. 

He cannot be allowed to live. 

Meleys face is inches from your own, she looks at you as though she recognizes you. Your grandmother’s expression is one of grief and rage. You hold your hands out to her, a prayer, a plea. Meleys screams, the smell of burnt flesh and dragonfire wafting over you. The sound of her wail pierces your heart, breaking it. You close your eyes prepared for the agonizing feeling of dragonflame.

It does not come. 

You open your eyes and stare back into your grandmother’s, watching as the tears stream down her cheeks. You could have joined her, ran forward, and climbed on Meleys back. But you stay put in front of Aegon. Blocking him, protecting them. 

Rhaenys’ expression says it all.

You have chosen your side. 

As she flees the dragonpit you feel the warmth of Aemond’s hand against your own. You lean back into him, and he stays standing. The steadying force that holds you to the earth. 

You watch the red wings disappear over the horizon, as though she is the sun bidding the world goodnight.

Aemond takes your hand, you feel his fingers interlace with yours. Aegon, who still stands behind your protective stance lowers his forehead to your back in relief. You can feel the weight of the conqueror's crown on your back. 

You turn your head towards Aemond, his violet eye is wide.

You have chosen your side.

[goodqueenaly]

Do you think Cersei is cognizant of the similarity between her own punishment and that of her grandfather's mistress? Or is she too myopic to see even that?

Oh, the comparison is clear, pointed, and deliberate. Cersei herself details the punishment mandated for her grandfather's mistress just before her own walk begins:

Septa Scolera finished. “So now this sinner comes before you with a humble heart, shorn of secrets and concealments, naked before the eyes of gods and men, to make her walk of atonement.” Cersei had been a year old when her grandfather died. The first thing her father had done on his ascension was to expel his own father’s grasping, lowborn mistress from Casterly Rock. The silks and velvets Lord Tytos had lavished on her and the jewelry she had taken for herself had been stripped from her, and she had been sent forth naked to walk through the streets of Lannisport, so the west could see her for what she was. Though she had been too young to witness the spectacle herself, Cersei had heard the stories growing up from the mouths of washerwomen and guardsmen who had been there. They spoke of how the woman had wept and begged, of the desperate way she clung to her garments when she was commanded to disrobe, of her futile efforts to cover her breasts and her sex with her hands as she hobbled barefoot and naked through the streets to exile. “Vain and proud she was, before,” she remembered one guard saying, “so haughty you’d think she’d forgot she come from dirt. Once we got her clothes off her, though, she was just another whore.”

And lest anyone think Cersei is not internally comparing herself in this moment to that unnamed mistress and their respective punishments, she adds these thoughts:

If Ser Kevan and the High Sparrow thought that it would be the same with her, they were very much mistaken. Lord Tywin’s blood was in her. I am a lioness. I will not cringe for them. The queen shrugged off her robe. She bared herself in one smooth, unhurried motion, as if she were back in her own chambers disrobing for her bath with no one but her bedmaids looking on. When the cold wind touched her skin, she shivered violently. It took all her strength of will not to try and hide herself with her hands, as her grandfather’s whore had done.

Now, Cersei doesn't explicitly think about the candlemaker's daughter again, but I believe the above is more than sufficient to say that Cersei has the historical memory of her grandfather's mistress' punishment front and center in her mind during her own walk (not the least reason because Cersei ends her walk, as that woman was said to have done, by "hobbl[ing] bareful and naked" while making "futile efforts to cover her breasts and her sex with her hands").

Nor does the comparison have to have ended merely because Cersei is no longer literally walking the streets naked. Tywin punished his father's mistress explicitly for sex: as she had been "scarcely one step above a whore", in the words of Kevan, so Tywin would have her "paraded naked through the streets of Lannisport, to confess to every man she met that she was a thief and a harlot". Likewise, Cersei's crime, for which the walk ostensibly served as atonement, was sex, plain and simple - not sex which Westeros considers treasonous or abominable in its own right (that is, her relationship with Jaime, which Cersei maintained to the High Septon did not happen), but sex which her accusers and onlookers considered consensual (put aside the fact that we as readers know that she raped Lancel and that she obviously did not desire a physical relationship with Osney Kettleblack); it's no coincidence, in turn, that her punishment specifically weaponizes her sexuality against her - literally parading her naked for everyone to jeer, taunt, and assault - nor that virtually every insult aimed at Cersei during this walk is sexual in nature. The aim, for both, was not simply to humiliate them but to eliminate them as power figures in their own right, by portraying their sexuality as shameful and criminal: just as Tytos' mistress "walk spelled the end of her power" because "[o]nce we got her clothes off her ... she was just another whore", so Kevan thinks that "Cersei was soiled goods now, her power at an end", because "[e]very baker’s boy and beggar in the city had seen her in her shame and every tart and tanner from Flea Bottom to Pisswater Bend had gazed upon her nakedness". Too, just as Tytos' mistress was marched to the docks after her walk, presumably either to go into exile or to be confined to a likely area for sex work (either way, away from the home she had found with Tytos at the Rock), so Kevan plans to "return [Cersei] to Casterly Rock after the trial and see that she remains there”, with "no further voice in the governance of the realm, nor in Tommen’s education" - exiled, in other words, from King's Landing, to serve her dynastic role as Lady of Casterly Rock instead of her personal (and personally political) role as the king's mother and regent.

[kit-williams]

Barn Anon. The funniest thing of if a Primarch for whatever reason were to turn up in our world, is if they bond with a human, the human would have to deal with the fact that their house is now a gathering hotspot for the Primarch’s legion.

I just have the mental image of that scene in the first Michael Bay Transformers movie where the Autobots are causing a mess in the garden. Cause that’s what I’m picturing whenever a bunch of astartes start gathering and the poor human was not informed.

My brained jumped to Sanguinius immediately

You looked up at the angelic looking man as you couldn't stop the way his charming smile warmed your heart. Your Astarte was twitching wildly in the background utterly terrified at the fact that a Primarch was there... the second part being that he was a Chaos Astarte... he watched the large fingers gently cup his humans' face as he cooed and talked to her in Gothic.

A scream of pain calls out from across the street as you look at your Neighbors Chaos Blood Angel Breed.

Sanguinius looked at his chaos twisted son but they look to him with such pain, "Father? Father is that you?" He whimpered getting closer looking at his father. Sanguinius tilted his head confused as a part of him wanted to destroy his erstwhile son who fell to Chaos but...

He smiled holding open his arms as he felt the chaos bound son of his. "Shhh son... You don't look exactly like one of my Blood Angels."

"N-no Father... I am from a later founding chapter... I was a Flesh Eater."

Sanguinius tilted his head as he looked at him with pity before he just held him tightly as the Space Marine just held the angel tightly and wept.

------

It didn't last long before you could hold some conversation with this Sanguinius. He felt the need to stick around and watch over her.... he didn't know why but talking with the traitor marine with the mortal his connection to her wasn't as intensely as the traitor marine felt.

"Sanguinius..." You said softly looking up at the angel. "More of your sons are here. Listen if this keeps up a Company is going to form and I can't handle that." You whined.

Sanguinius cooed softly, "Of course my dear my son and I shall figure something out. I'll be back." He couldn't help give her a forehead kiss.

You sigh and as soon as the angel left, "Onus? He's gone." You smiled as your normally boisterous Astarte was suddenly very skittish around the 'Primarch'