#may he come back greater than ever

[dannyriccloverrr]

Don’t mind me, just feeling physically sick at some of the replies underneath a tweet about Daniels physical struggles at McLaren.

It’s all about supporting mental health until a man, regardless of his position in society both socially and economically, lays out his struggles bare and vulnerable for u all to see that suddenly bc of career moves he made for himself (rightfully so) are the reason to and I quote ‘feel no sympathy for him’ and say that he ‘deserves it’ and he’s using his struggles as an ‘excuse’.

It takes a real type of nasty human to belittle and undermine a man’s struggles like that, especially when they involve a subject so sensitive and fragile. The fact people think it’s actually okay to comment and give their ‘opinion’ on Daniels struggles as if what they say has no weight and doesn’t comes across as nothing short of disgusting?

Daniel is so strong for even starting to talk about how he genuinely felt during his time at that team, and for ppl to throw it back in his face so easily and diminish how he felt makes me feel utterly ashamed that there are humans like that out there.

The way people have taken to kicking a man deeper to the ground when he is already down, really really burns any glimmer of hope I had for humanity to ashes. I sincerely hope with all my heart that Daniel does get his time again and he comes back stronger and bigger than ever and proves all of those nasty, weak, lonely men (surprise surprise) on twitter wrong.

Hearing Daniel talk about how much more himself he is already feeling is a testimony to all of us out there, that putting urself in the right environment and surrounding urself with the right people can do wonders to us as humans. Daniel deserves nothing short of the upmost admiration in my eyes, they didn’t call him the honey badger for nothing.

[princessbellecerise]

Unlikely Places

Summary ✩ The unusual place your hotd lover likes to fuck you

Warnings ✩ Smut, straight up blasphemy (Aegon), semi-public sex

Jacaerys Velaryon

As the King, it’s not exactly wrong for the two of you to do it, but it does feel taboo every time you ride him on the Iron Throne

Every time you climbed on his lap, mindful of all the sharp points and swords, you couldn’t help but think that you’re breaking some kind of rule that doesn’t exist. After all, Jacaerys is the King and technically it is his seat. As the most powerful man in the realm, there’s no one for you to answer to after doing such an act but it certainly feels like you should

The first time that he asked you to do it, you thought that he was crazy. It was so unlike Jacaerys to do something so…risky, that you genuinely thought it was a prank at first

Only when realized you that your husband was completely serious did you really start to consider it

And you had to admit, the rush of power that you got as you bounced on your husband’s cock, riding the most powerful man in the most powerful seat in the realm was nothing like you’d ever experienced before

It quickly became your guilty pleasure to do so, never minding when Jacaerys summoned you to the throne room at such late hours

For you knew what awaited you when you climbed those steps, and each time you were filled with delicious anticipation to do it all over again

Aemond Targaryen

Ever since he was a child, Aemond had been absolutely fascinated by dragons

His obsession with those beasts was almost unnatural as his mother used to say, and you were quite inclined to agree as one day, Aemond tried to convince you to let him fuck you on top of Vhagar

Of course, the request had been so ridiculous that you genuinely thought your husband to be ill at first, maybe having contracted some disease during his many travels

Only when you saw Aemond’s confident smirk did you realize that it was indeed not a jest, and your husband really did want you to ride him on top of a fucking dragon

So there you were, thousands of feet in the air and praying that you didn’t fall as you straddled Aemond’s lap

You held onto him tight as your cunt sank down, your hips moving with his in the large saddle

Every kiss, every touch was concealed within the clouds, Vhagar flying steady while you rode your husband. The sound of her wings masked the pathetic way you cried for Aemond, filthy praises and words of encouragement being whispered in your ears as you soared across the skies

Aegon Targaryen

Aegon figures that if he’s going to hell anyways, he may as well have a little fun in his mortal life

What’s life without a little risk anyways, he figures. This is why he has no problem fucking you in the Sept of Seven, having you on your knees, naked in front of the statue of the Mother

Instead of praying to her though, you worship him. You praise his cock and the way it makes you feel so good—better than praying, really

The absolute trill of someone coming in and getting caught is like no other. Sometimes, Aegon even hopes that you’ll be discovered—preferably by his mother or that cunt of Septa that’s always preaching about sin and virtue

He imagines their faces as he fucks you from behind, taunting you and making you look directly at the statue when you cum around him

Aegon’s never really believed in the Gods much, but the way your cunt feels wrapped around him is heavenly

And to him, there’s truly no greater tasting sin

Daemon Targaryen

Otto Hightower had once called Daemon brazen, irresponsible, violent, arrogant, reckless and a second Maegor

He supposed that it was true, but still, Otto Hightower was a cunt in Daemon’s mind, and the Prince would do anything to get back at him

…Including fucking in his bed

In Daemon’s very weak defense, he hasn’t meant to, really

When he pulled you in a for a kiss, intending to take you quickly before he had to attend a meeting later in the day, he hadn’t been paying attention to where he pulled you

He just wanted to feel you, to touch you before he had to leave for the day

And what do you know—the place that he ends up brining you to fufill your hurried tryst was the fucking Tower of the Hand

Neither of you realize it at first, too caught up in each other to notice the amount of green, grey and white around you

It isn’t until you stumble onto the actual bed, Daemon fumbling to get your clothing off do you finally look up and you’re greeted by a portrait of Otto fucking Hightower on the walls

Alarmed, you immediately tell Daemon and it takes only a second to realize where you’ve accidentally stumbled

Of course, Daemon thinks it’s hilarious and even if you want to leave, a little creeped out at the thought of being fucked on the same sheets the Hand of the King sleeps on, Daemon is entirely too thrilled to leave

Once the idea is in his brain, it won’t be going any time soon

A mischievous grin grows on your lover’s face, and somehow, Dameon convinces you to let him take on Otto’s clean, perfectly folded sheets, loving the way you mess them up with your messy fucking

Of course, he’ll just blame the servants for all the mess, but now every time he faces Otto there’s always a knowing smirk on Daemon’s face, smug that the Hand will never know the dirty things said and done on the very mattress he sleeps on

Cregan Stark

Cregan was the Lord of Winterfell, and because of that he was allowed to eat where he pleased, train where he pleased…and fuck where he pleased

It was this that he reminded you of as he took you in one of the hot springs the castle had to offer, water splashing as your husband’s hips thrust into yours

He had you on his lap, your tits pressed against his warm wet chest as you bounced on his cock

The both of you were well aware that this was a public place and that anyone could stumble upon you, but that only spurred you on more

Honestly, seeing your honorable and kind husband act so reckless was a turn on in itself, loving the way Cregan grunted and didn’t care who heard him

He was lost in the feel of your cunt and the warm water which only added to the sensations

Add that to the trill of getting caught, and neither of you really lasted long when you fucked in the springs

Still panting and filled with your husband’s seed, you grinned as you ran a hand through his tangled hair

“Another day without being caught,” You said, slightly disappointed

Cregan shrugged. “Well, maybe we’ll succeed next time.”

Benjicot Blackwood

“Ben, not here! Someone could see us!”

“Then let them see. Let those Bracken cunts see how a real man pleases his Lady wife,” Benji whispered, and you couldn’t even deny that fucking right on the Blackwood-Bracken boundary line didn’t bring a kind of fire to your veins that you craved

Your lover had always been more shy and sweet than anything else, but you knew just how deep his hatred for the Brackens ran when he threw all of that away and fucked you so close to their territory

Deep, satisfactory moans left his lips as he rutted into you, the thrill of getting caught edging you both on like no other

You pressed against Benji, panting as his cock drove in out of you and hit your sweet spots over and over

All you could think about, all you craved was cumming around your husband’s cock while his enemies watched; and you did

Benji was beyond proud of himself as you moaned and let the entirety of House Bracken know what was happening. Let them know how good he was making you feel

He felt bad for the wives of those smug cunts as surely they’d never know such pleasure, but at least Benji knew that you couldn’t relate

The Brackens could say whatever they wanted about his family, but at least the Blackwoods knew how to fuck

And who knows, if they were watching, then maybe they’d even learn a thing or two from Benji

tags 🏷️

@alyssa-dayne

[yandere-romanticaa]

"You know..." he trailed off, his voice gruff but cool. Two fingers danced across the countertop as you chopped the potatoes sloppily, as you were still not quite adept with handling a knife.

He continues. "... You would be a really nagging wife, did anyone ever tell you that?"

A scoff escapes you but even so, you chop. It's a little hard trying to focus on cooking all the while this idiot keeps trying to rile you up like crazy. Why was he even here, who even invited him? Yeah, he was popular around town and it wasn't uncommon for him to hop from place to place, regardless of what it may be. Be it someone's house, a bar, a club, a gaming center, it honestly didn't matter.

It just freaked you out how he was slowly morphing into the shadow you never wished to have.

"Is that so?" You ask him sarcastically, your face schooled into an unreadable expression. The smell of delicious spices enveloped the whole kitchen and it made you even hungrier. You were going to kill your friend for allowing this god awful fiend inside here. Refusing to turn to him, you still probed him.

"Don't marry me then, I never asked for your opinion to begin with."

He's stunned for a millisecond before regaining his composure, a booming laugh soon reverberated across the entire room. He clutched his chest a little, as if you had just told him the funniest joke in the whole wide world.

In a way, it was.

He, despite his bravado, wouldn't mind having such crummy a wife by his side.

He was living the good life and nothing could stop him. But there was just something about you, something that would always make him take a step back and think. It was so cute how you were trying to concentrate on making a tasty meal for himself, of course he was going to steal a little later.

He adored your cooking, even if it could get sloppy at times.

The "you'd be a bad/annoying/nagging wife" thing started off as something to humor him, and to piss you off naturally. Nothing brought him greater satisfaction than to see a scowl on your face and just straight up ruin your day. It was exhilarating to watch the light in your eyes crumble the moment he took a breath of air which came from your direction, let alone actually come to you.

It didn't hit him that he was actively interested in you.

He never even realized just how many of your dumb little habits he had picked up on, just how many times he had to stop himself from doing more than he already did because he didn't want to give you the wrong idea.

He doesn't like you, he thinks you're a fool. Plain and simple, just like that.

It doesn't matter that his heart beats so much faster at the mere thought of you, it doesn't matter that he started to fantasize how you would look like if you were his actual wife.... To come home to you, in your soft embrace as a meal was ready for him...

No matter. He'll trick, tease and steal from you as much as he possibly can.

🎀 Gilgamesh (Fate), Bakugo Katsuki, Dabi, Hawks (BNHA), Gojo Satoru (JJK), Guren Ichinose (Seraph of the End), Ayato Sakamaki, Laito Sakamaki (Diabolik Lovers), Satori Tendo (Haikyuu!), Aalto (Wuthering Waves)

[msfantasy-anime]

Sorry, I’m … married!

Monkey. D Luffy x Reader

Summary: An overly zealous marine by the name of Shimoi Zappa is enraptured by your beauty and just will not take no for an answer. Your final rejection comes in the form of a blow to his face which earns you a bounty and DoA wanted poster.

A/n: not my best, but I’m setting up the story to pushing Y/n into the straw hat crew for future adventures.

Part I • Part II • Part III •

It’s been long since you parted ways with your ‘husband’ and the straw hat pirates on the docks that day.

Despite his incessant pleas, to join the crew. You were adamant on having a your own adventure. You weren’t quite ready to give up your freedom to serve in a wanted pirate crew, the world government chasing you until you are caught.

Piracy was always a dream of Sabo, Luffy and Aces, but yours was just to explore the world.

Despite all your reasonings, the tearful parting left you feeling unsure if you made the right decision. The New World is far more dangerous than the redline ever could be, maybe joining a strong and rambunctious pirate crew would’ve actually led to even greater adventures.

You continued to contemplate, your eyes glazed off into the distance sunset horizons as the merchants ship that granted you passage is offloading supplies onto a marine base island.

The captain of the merchants ship encouraged you to explore the island, but the marines on an isolated training island is begging for trouble. All of the officers are hyped up on self-importance, they’re all itching to prove their self worth by dominate any and all around them regardless if it was warranted enough. You’ve traveled enough to know that there are just as many corrupt marines as there are good marines. But you have truely had your fill for a life time and avoid them where possible.

It’s better to just stay nice and close to the ship and leave as soon as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, your train of thought comes to a crashing holt when you feel the intense sensation of being watched.

Springing from your seat, you turn around quickly, to see the creeping figure of a marine, slinking up behind you.

“Oh dear, oh my, what a sight you are.” The tall creepy marine exclaims, his cheeks blushing. “I knew you’d look pretty considering how gorgeous you look with just your back turned! My name is Shimoi Zappa. May I have your name miss?” The marine swoons. His flirtations make your stomach sink.

“Errrrrrm… it’s Y/n.”

“Y/n?! What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He swoons yet again, making you wildly uncomfortable.

“Gee, thanks.” You dead pan, looking towards the merchants ship, begging silently for help escaping this weird encounter.

“Please Miss, my heart has never yearned for another like it has for you. Please do me the honour of becoming my wife!” With one knee to the ground, he snatches your hand and places a weirdly wet kiss along your knuckles.

“UGH! No, thanks anyway.” You try to add politely on the end, whipping the back of your hand.

Falling completely onto his hands and knees, he begins to sob hysterically into the ground. “No?! Why?!” He sobs once again, grabbing your hips pushing his teary eyes into your abdomen, making your squirm in discomfort.

“Sorry, you see I’m…” Your mind reels in search of the perfect answer that won’t offend the creep whilst also strongly reaffirming your unavailability. “Im married!”

“This cannot be, this can’t be! Where is this husband of yours.” He asks, looking around, as if a man would pop into immediate view. Your jaw clenches in irritation, why couldn’t he just believe your words?

“Well, he’s off exploring the world-“

“Without you?! What kind of husband abandons his wife like this?! He mustn’t be a good husband if he leaves you alone out in this world full of creeps.”

“Right…”

“Please reconsider leaving that useless husband of yours and marry me instead.” He begs once again, grabbing your hand once again and giving it a pleading squeeze.

“Listen buddie, shut up about my husband. He’s a great man. Someone as vile as you will never understand.” Your usual amicable nature goes flying out the window. The overbearing flirting was one thing, but no one will ever disrespect Luffy to your face and live to tell the tale.

All commonsense goes flying out the window as you hand a devastating heavy hit to his face, knocking him out instantly.

“Hey Luffy! Come and look! There’s a new pirate bounty out.” Brook exclaims excitedly.

Luffy launches himself with bountiful energy, keen to see his new bounty. Only to be faced with the non other than your bounty.

Monkey. Y/n 100,000,000 berries. Dead or Alive.

“Hahaha! She said she didn’t want to join because having a bounty would make it hard to travel- but the dumby went and got a bounty anyway! Hahaha!” Luffy cackles. “Huh? Hey, did you guys notice that Y/n has my last name? That’s weird- I wonder why they did that.” Luffy questions scratching his head.

“100,000,000 million berries! What did Y/n do?!” Nami asks Brook in horror.

“The article says that Y/n was visiting the marine training island on a merchants ship when she punched a marine after talking poorly of her husband Monkey. D Luffy.” Luffy’s cackle continues until it comes to an abrupt halt.

“What island was she on again? Let’s go pick her up on the way to Big Moms.” He announce with a wide toothy smile.

“Great, maybe we can also steal some food while we are at it.” Nami agrees, returning back to the helm.

[utterlyazriel]

love will unravel me (so please keep your hands held tight)

sorry if ur seeing this twice !! i am a finicky gal and was tooo sad it didn't appear in the tags so forgive me for the repost <3 it's good ol' hurt/comfort

It's unnerving.

To know something is somehow... wrong and yet, not be able to put your finger on it. Something being off.

There had been something off since your return from the Illyrian Mountains. Like a scar you hadn't ever remembered getting, like a lump in your bed that hadn't been there before.

You had returned to the Night Court only the night before, far later than expected. It had been near twilight, yourself kept late in the war-camps dealing with the unpleasant likes of Lord Devlon. All you wanted to do was to crawl into your waiting bed.

But your bed wasn't empty.

The perfect shape of your mate, tucked beneath the blankets, is one you could recognize in the dark. Even then, you had felt the strange difference — a tickle along the nape of your neck, enough to make you shiver.

Drained of your energy, you carelessly ignore it. Chalk it up to the bad feeling you got every time you went back to those gods forsaken war-camps.

Beyond their terrible ways and nearly tyrannical leaders, your own mate's history there was enough to make you want to burn it to the ground. To scorch and salt the Earth so nothing could grow there for a hundred years as proof of the pain.

So, feeling weary, you crawl into your bed. Your eyes find Azriel sleeping beside you, silent as always, and you trace the delicate features of his face in the dark. Even in his sleep, his shadows, lazy and slow, greet you as a slumber begins to wash over you. The lull of dreams comes quick.

As does morning. But come morning, Azriel isn't there.

Not the most unexpected thing; there were early morning trainings frequently enough. However, Azriel loathed each time you were sent to monitor over those war-camps. He bristled silently each time you left and rejoiced in that quiet, tender way he did best when you came back home to him. A mission in Illyria usually guaranteed a morning in bed with your lover.

Today, the sheets are cold.

You frown as you push yourself up, the sheets pooling at your waist. Faintly, at the back of your neck, you feel it once again. The tickle. Frown deepening, you reached your hand up to scratch at the back of your neck absentmindedly. Your eyes fall on the door.

Like a mystical tug, you feel compelled to search for the Shadowsinger — slipping out of bed silently, the tiled floor is warm from the morning sun beneath your feet. You pull the door open an inch, wondering just where your mate has ambled off to this morning.

As you step through the door, drawn by your mysterious compulsion, you don't turn back to check behind you.

And even if you had, your eyes would glaze over the large Illyrian, still bundled up in your sheets, turning over in his sleep.

—

You find Azriel out on the balcony, not in training as you had suspected.

He's facing out towards the city, his hands braced on the marble, his strong wings held proudly behind him. Interestingly, his shadows have forgone him this morning. Not one of them is in sight. You sidle up to him, feeling more yourself already just seeing him.

"Abandoning me in bed this morning?" You begin, playfully. You reach out to loop a hand through his arm. "I thought you had promised me—"

Your words come to an abrupt halt as Azriel shifts before you can touch him, his arm pulled out of reach.

In fact, as he notices your presence and turns to you, he takes an entire step backward. His handsome face screws up, a frown set on his brow.

"Don't." He says severely.

Your chest pangs with hurt. Your eyebrows crowd together in your confusion, concern beginning to melt into your blood.

"Az?" You say tentatively. You want to step closer to him, to cradle his face in your hands like you do whenever he has that crushed expression on — but a greater part of you fears he may retreat from you again.

"Don't call me that." He say, voice lower. His head dips, turned away from you to hide his face. Your concern swells, a thousand alarms ringing inside your mind. The back of your neck tickles again.

"Azriel," You try again desperately, fighting to keep your voice even. "What happened? What's going on?"

Confusion paints every thought in your mind as it whirls and searches, hunting desperately for the cause of your mate's sudden iciness. Was it something you had done? Was it taking another mission to a place you knew he so despised you going to?

The Fae before you doesn't say a word.

"Azriel," His name comes out a plea, unable to help yourself. It only scratches deeper into your soul when he maneuvers again, quicker than you, purposefully evading your touch.

"Stop." He instructs, the word nearly a growl. His voice is alike to the bark he uses for talking down to unruly war-camp Lords. It's nothing like the soft, sweet tone you're so accustomed to. It makes his words sting even more. "Your touch disgusts me."

You reel back at his words, a sharp inhale shooting to your lungs. What? You could feel your mouth opening and closing, no words coming to fruition. Behind your eyes, you can feel the itch beginning. You will your tears away, confusion still the dominant emotion swirling inside.

"I—" You stammer. "I don't understand."

Azriel snorts, unamused. He crosses his arms across his broad chest, looking more intimidating than usual as he draws to his full height. He keeps his eyes on the ground but the expression on his face looks... bored.

"I've had a revelation."

Another ache resounds through your chest. Why is he being so cryptic? Since when... had disgust been something Azriel had ever associated with you? You shiver at the prickle that rolls down your neck. It's as though you had gone to bed and your mate had been switched in the night.

"Az, you're scaring—"

"Stop calling me that." He snarls, interrupting you. You jolt in surprise, your feet taking a step back. With the way he's leering over you, a hint of anger —anger you've never seen directed at you before— creeping into his face, something akin to fear grows within you.

Azriel is stronger than you and far more deadly. A fact that usually provides comfort, for the first time, only grows your unease.

"Don't you want to hear my revelation?" He asks, his growl barely reined in. He smiles down at you but it's not soft in the way you know. It's cruel.

You take a step back. Something is wrong— terribly, entirely and utterly wrong with the love of your life. Panic begins to bubble up, like waters rising in a sinking ship.

You need to find someone else. You need Cassian, need Rhys, need anyone else here to help because you are the worst person to help. Every word he says cuts deep to bone. You can feel your heart bleeding within your chest.

It has to be a trick.

That was all you could think. Your mind was stumbling over the sentence over and over, almost delirious in how it clung to the thought tightly. It must, it must —you hoped it was. Begged it to be.

You take another step back, ready to dash through the house and call for help — but Azriel takes another step toward you. Your fear spikes, looking up his snarled face, the power within him radiating off in waves.

"I came to realise that I don't—"

"—y/n?"

A voice cuts in. There's someone else on the balcony with you. Thank the Mother, you think to yourself, whipping around to find Cassian in the doorway. He's got a furrow in his brown, concern written all over his expression.

"Cassian," You breath his name in a sigh of relief. You step back again, hyper aware of how Azriel seems to take the exact same amount of steps as you, following you to the door. Your panic flares away, your breaths coming fast and short.

"Cassian, thank gods—" You begin.

"What's happening?" He interrupts urgently. His eyes are on you alone, never flickering across to Azriel out on the balcony. "Why are you— did you have another nightmare?"

"Nightmare?" You repeat, eyes wide as you stare at him in concerned bewilderment.

You're about to point out the very large intimidating Male staring you both down when Azriel speaks again.

"I said," He drawls out the word and your head snaps back to look at him. You fail to notice that Cassian doesn't even turn at all.

"I've had a revelation, my dear."

It all sounds so terribly sarcastic, such a far cry from your stoic, sincere mate. You cringe, already feeling how his next words will be made cut you down.

"I don't want you anymore."

"—what can you see?—" Cassian's voice speaks from beside you, fuzzy and out of focus. You stare at Azriel, your heart beginning to hum and fizzle, a thousand fissures breaking upon the surface.

An anguish so deep in your bones rattles through your body — and across the House of Wind, your real mate wakes up with a gasp at the feel of it.

"What?" You croak, unable to tear your eyes away from Azriel.

You can feel Cassian's hands on your shoulder, shaking you, but you can't— you won't look away. Something deep within you compels you to watch him break your heart and shred your soul. The back of your neck singes with heat.

"—What is it you're seeing?!—" Cassian's voice dips in and out. His hand sweeps your hair back, looking for any ailments causing this. He finds it in an instant. "Holy Cauldron, your neck. Oh, that's so not good. Rhys!"

He bellows for the Highlord right as Azriel, the real Azriel, bursts in through the door — following the taut agonizing pain in his chest, that connects you two together. His eyes snag on you and Cassian, out on the balcony, and his brother turns to him but you do not.

"Azriel," Cassian warns. "It's a Vesania Sigil."

Azriel pays him no heed, even as the words echo through him with a darkened dread. His stomach turns, bile threatening.

A Vesania Sigil— his knees nearly threaten to buckle beneath him.

A Vesania Sigil is a sinister curse, placed on people to drive them to the brink of insanity, minds scrambled to exhaustion.

In all the times Azriel has seen them in his long lifetime... they have all been on dead Fae, driven to the point of taking their own life. His shadows burst into a frenzied storm.

Your eyes are fixed somewhere out of the balcony, a glaze to them that tells Azriel you're seeing something different than he can. Softly, as gently as he can, he strides out and Cassian steps back to let him. Azriel steps down onto the balcony beside you, slowly, delicately reaching out to touch you.

You startle, head snapping around to see who's touched you. Except when you drag your gaze up and meet his face, you flinch hard. Azriel feels misery twist deep into his heart, some buried fear within him coming true before his eyes.

You take a step back, stumbling as you do. Then your head turns back out to the balcony—then back to him, back and forth.

"W—What?" You stammer out.

It takes Azriel only one second to realise why, and to feel the agony as he does; you're seeing double.

When you had said he's everything to you, you had truly meant it. He is both your greatest love and... your greatest fear.

Azriel can feel Rhys' arrival somewhere behind him, can even hear Cassian's concerned voice filling him in but his entire focus is locked onto you. You've stumbled back again, falling painfully on your backside, barely catching yourself on your hands but something— someone on the balcony keeps frightening you.

Something in Azriel screams; how can he fight an enemy he cannot see or touch?

He's on his knees before you in an instant. You're beginning to tremble, silent tears on your cheeks and Azriel's heart wails as you look upon him with a face for a fear. He can't tell what you're seeing but he just needs you to see him.

"My love," He says, voice quiet as to not spook you. You whimper at his words and something shrivels up inside Azriel's chest. He continues, noting how your eyes flick rapidly between his face and something over his shoulder. You shuffle back, too hesitant to trust him.

"My love, my moon," He murmurs, gently reaching out for you. His shadows zip forward, soothing along your skin. You flinch back again but Azriel holds strong, nudging forward until he's touching your skin.

You wince and screw your eyes closed and Azriel can feel the fear, the tormented pain that pours down the bond. He can see it now, this close, the seal that's burning against the skin of your neck. A fiercely protectiveness anger burns in his gut and he vows to tear apart whoever did this to you, limb by limb.

"I don't know what you can see," He say, soft as he can. He lifts his other hand and cradles the other side of your face. Your eyes peek open. "But it's not true. None of it."

Your lips are quivering, lashes sparkling with how they catch your tears. Azriel feels sick to his stomach again; he could do a thousand battles with countless weapons but this is something he's entirely powerless against.

"Azriel," Rhys speaks up from behind, voice cautious. Azriel ignores him, his thumbs stroking softly over your face.

"It's not real." He says with more urgency. Your eyes dart over his shoulder again and a whimper slips out your throat, your body tensing. Real, raw pain scratches it's way down the bond.

"Azriel, I can get it off her." Rhys voice again. "You just need to keep her still."

Azriel nods, but doesn't turn, doesn't take his eyes off you for a single moment. His heart squeezes and cracks, a thousand shards littered through his ribcage when you finally speak. Your glassy eyes have lost a little of their glaze, fixed on your mate in front of you with a desperate plea.

"He—" You begin, sucking in a harsh breath. Your breathing is too fast, your heartbeat too. "It- it fucking—it looks just like you."

"It's not." Azriel assures in an instant. He keeps his eyes fixed on yours, trying to be the picture of calm for you even as his heart warbles in agony at your pain. "It's not me."

Your eyes shift over his shoulder again and Azriel moves this time, blocking your view. "Don't. Keep your eyes on me. Look at me."

Silently, Rhys kneels at your side, his violet eyes blazing where they’re fixed on your neck. Undoubtedly, this was not such a personal attack but something to harm the inner circle. As darkness begins to swirl from Rhys' fingers, orbiting the sigil, you begin crying again, fresh tears spilling down your chests as little gasps wrack your frame.

"It—" You gasp, suddenly focusing desperately on Azriel now that you know who's who. "It— gods, it sounds so much like you."

"It might, but it isn't me." Azriel promises. He aches when your hands suddenly shoot up, eyes screwed shut as you clamp your hands down over your ears — like whatever you could hear was causing you physical pain. Rhys mutters something under his breath, his hands still working.

"Eyes on me.” Azriel urges, knowing you can hear him. You whimper and pitch forward, forehead bowing to your knees. His hands fall away as your head begins to give tiny shakes, side to side. His shadows swarm your shoulders, unsure how to help.

“Don’t—“ For the first time, Azriel’s voice falters with a wobble. He tries not to think of the countless warriors who have fallen beneath a sigil this strong and mentally roars at Rhys to move faster. “Listen to me, my love. Listen, listen to my voice, please.”

Your breathes are ragged, staggering inhales as you press your head between your knees. You entire body shakes and Azriel dares to steal a glimpse at the back of your neck — the intricate rune imprinted on your skin shimmering black as it slowly seals.

"Keep," Rhys grits out, his concentration still focused on his power. "her still."

Azriel's hands dart out, already apologising at how he has to force your head out of hiding. You gasp and sob, pulling back to resist but Azriel holds tight, his hands holding your face as tenderly as he can.

He pushes forward, crowding in, until his forehead rests against yours. He summons everything he can within himself, every ounce of devotion he holds for you and send its down the thread in his chest til everything burns white hot.

"Look at me, my love. Show me your eyes. Listen to my voice." Once the silent stoic type, Azriel lets everything that comes to mind fall out his mouth.

Your eyes crease open, flush with tears, and you shudder against him but Azriel feels it. The push back. The press of your skin against his, trying to get closer, trying to get to safety. Rhys curses for a moment, his dark magic still swirling and Azriel resists every urge to howl at him to hurry.

"Tellmetellmetellmetellme," You chant in a whisper, half delirious. You're flicking between his hazel eyes, your hands still half over your ears, body still wracked with quivers.

Tell me. Azriel's soul feels marred at the reveal of what is taunting you and he strokes his thumbs over your cheeks, drawing your attention to him.

"I love you," He says, voice sounding close to wrecked. "I love you and you're mine. I'm yours and you're mine."

You shudder violently, eyes crushing closed, right as Rhys pulls away with an exhausted sigh. It's gone. Azriel hears Rhys' voice in his mind but it's not even needed — not with the way you suddenly slump forward into him, like a puppet with its strings cut.

"It's okay, it's gone," Azriel murmurs lowly, gathering you up in his arms as much as he can. He can feel your body shaking against him, sobs still forcing their way up your throat. His wings wrap around you, an inky cocoon of safety, sealing you off from the world.

"It's gone," He repeats, his arms circling around you. He can feel the pitter-patter of your rabbiting heart, feel the remains of fear that hang around your system. Every cell in his body yearns at this injustice, the fabric of the mating bond sending his protectiveness into overdrive. But more than the urge to hunt and maim whoever harmed you is the overwhelming need to make sure you're safe.

"You're safe now, I swear. It wasn't real." His assurances continue softly, his body instinctively beginning a slow rock to soothe you. You sobs slow to cries, your hands twisted tightly into his sleep-shirt. "I love you. I love you."

By the time your breathing evens out and your hiccuping cries slow, it's some time later. Your face has been buried in Azriel's chest and when you finally dig it out, Azriel's heart disintegrates once more at your blotty skin, your tired eyes.

You don't even have to ask.

"Vesania Sigil." He says quietly, hazel eyes burning into your face.

You can feel his writhing worry through the bond, like a caged tiger, fiery hot and licking at your heels. You give a little sniffle. Open your mouth to speak and find not one word in your throat.

Azriel's moving deftly before you can think, his strong arm looping beneath your knees to scoop up you against his chest. You let yourself be coddled, thankful to the way he curls himself around you entirely, wings hiding your view — only a flash on the ceiling to be seen. You're not sure you can face the others just yet.

The door your bedroom opens as he nears and Azriel kneels on the edge of the bed, his strong thighs maneuvering you both up til he's rested up against the headboard. Pure exhaustion like nothing you've felt before creeps up from within you.

Yet even so, you feel your heart twinge. It's been chafed raw today. Your hands slither and squirm, til they're wrapped tight around Azriel's middle and he hums protectively, his wing draping over you like a blanket.

For a moment, there is only weary, tired silence.

"Tell me?" You ask in a whisper, your voice so, so small. Azriel aches at the pain in your voice, sending every assurance down the golden thread between you.

"You're mine," He says, voice hushed and yet doused in his love.

"I'm yours." You echo, voice a little stronger than before. He can feel the way you tug on the bond, as if checking its still secure— still unbreakable. "And you're mine?"

Azriel folds himself even closer and tugs back on the bond strongly. His scarred hand glides up to bury itself in your hair, massaging slow and sweet. His nose nuzzles in against your hairline, his lips pressing a kiss wherever they find skin.

"And I'm yours." He agrees.

[coreene]

When companions reject to do the love test with you...

... they are not pulling back any punches xD Here are the burns you can bestow upon Tav by asking someone with low approval to join you for the love test.

Shadowheart

Partnered - It can't hurt, I suppose - unless you embarrass me. Then you might find yourself hurting in a whole manner of ways. (half-joking warning to a lover.)

High Approval - Love, is it? I hadn't realised I'd bowled you over that much. Give it a try, then - impress me. (playful)

Positive Approval - I say you'd better start looking for your true love, because it's not me.

Negative Approval - What do I say? Melon... donkey... sunrise? Whichever words will get you to leave me out of this.

Lae'zel

Partnered - Yes. But be warned - I play to win.

High Approval - Chk. I don't see the harm.

Positive Approval - Not today. Or any other time, come to think of it.

Negative Approval - I'd sooner slice off both my hands and feed them to a rabid boar.

Karlach

Partnered - Yes, yes, yes! Let's do it!

High Approval - Hah! Absolutely. This is gonna be great fun.

Positive Approval - Mmm, I don't think so. Seems a little... I don't know. Just no.

Negative Approval - With you? Please. That story's written in stone, and it ends with you on one side of the world and me on the other.

Astarion

Partnered - Oh my love, how could I say no?

High Approval - Oh I'm the one you love? Well my dear, how could I say no?

Positive Approval - A sweet gesture, but all... this? It's not really for me. (refusing to take a 'love test' from a dryad.)

Negative Approval - Wait, I'm the one you love? Oh no - oh that's so sad. (shocked, laughing - someone he didn't like just asked Astarion to take a love test with them) But no, there's absolutely no way this is happening. (amused, but emphatically refusing to take a 'love test' from a dryad)

Wyll

Partnered - I'm more than game. Let's do it.

High Approval - Why not? Could be good for a laugh.

Positive Approval - I don't think so. But I appreciate the offer.

Negative Approval - No. Just no.

Minsc

Approval over 50 - Minsc is flattered, but surely you must know that his heart is already of the hamster shape. And twice as fuzzy. (player has just propositioned Minsc to have their prospects as lovers be estimated by a dryad - tone is affectionate)

Approval under 50 - ...Boo? Does our friend know another Minsc? One that they might be courting, perhaps? (player has just propositioned Minsc to have their prospects as lovers be estimated by a dryad - tone is dumbfounded, a stage whisper to Boo)

Jaheira

Approval over 50 - I'm flattered, but pick another. Watching the dryad make you cry will be entertainment enough.

Approval under 50 - Hm? Oh, the dryad is comely enough - but you? Don't poke at questions you don't want the answer to, cub.

Gale

Partnered - Thoroughly magical. Let's have at it. (enthusiastic)

High Approval - Well, if you insist... (slight hesitation)

Positive Approval - Perhaps you're overestimating my affection towards you a tad? You'd better seek a partner-in-embarrassment elsewhere. (unconvinced)

Negative Approval - No thank you. Sounds as appealing as milking cottage cheese directly from a geriatric cow. (ruthlessly disinterested)

Minthara

Partnered - I know my heart - and yours - better than this creature ever will. But we can indulge it if you wish.

High Approval - Fine. But if this creature can truly look into my heart, it best be careful what it reveals.

Positive Approval - The creature need not look into our hearts to see that I barely tolerate your existence.

Negative Approval - No. And if you refer to me as 'my dear' again, I will cut out your tongue.

Halsin

Partnered - Gladly. We each know the other's heart to the fullest - there is little to fear here.

Partnered (secondary) -  I thought you may have bestowed the honour on someone else. But if this is what you wish, so be it.

High Approval - I suppose we've braved greater dangers together than public embarrassment. Do as you wish.

Positive Approval - You flatter me... but also overestimate our bond, I think. Perhaps there is another you can turn to.

Negative Approval - Nature is my true love. You, I merely tolerate. (scornful)

[peachetteprice]

How it Should Be | Captain John Price

John, your husband of nine years - coming up on the big decade - who still grows pink in the face when you tap his arse and call him handsome.

He just can't quite believe it.

He knows he must be somewhat attractive because he landed you - and by God that was not an easy feat, concealing how ardently he pined for you in that dimly-lit Spoons in the centre of Hereford - despite how your brother, who joined you every time because it was the only way you could ever see John, and vice versa - had been his friend since John was twenty-five and your brother, twenty-two; he worked at the classic car garage in Leominster that John frequented to keep mint his Ford Cortina - but regardless of all of the strife he underwent to secure you as his beloved wife, he still finds himself biting back a form of childish embarrassment that forces his bottom lip between his teeth as you profess over a glass of wine just how gorgeous he is, right now, in his underwear, sipping that pitcher of beer because he ran out of Scotch.

In every other respect, he's the most stoic man you've ever met. But if you ever catch him in the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, even outside in the garden and coo extravagantly about how stunning he looks, whether he be elbow-deep in grease doing the dishes, fixing his belt around his jeans early in the morning, grooming his beard before the mirror or de-weeding the patio outside, he will undoubtedly become bashful to the extent of personal ridicule, rolling his eyes or slamming his palm on the sink to exclaim that he is not, in fact, as 'beautiful' as you seem to think he is.

It's only partly a joke, but the majority of one of those parts leans towards the serious truth, which is most disconcerting, and half the reason why you spend so much of your precious time trying to convince him that he is, in fact, the most beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, handsome man you've ever laid eyes upon.

And, yes, you may be biased, because you get this one all to yourself, and no other woman can say they frequently bed a man who puts as much effort into pistoning his cock deep within you or tongueing you until you're bone-dry in thirty-Celsius weather as he does - even if the sweat on the bedsheets is beginning to pool at an alarming rate - simply because he wants you to feel loved, irreverent of his own comfort.

Oftentimes, as he is, said, knee-deep within you, you'll take him by the scalp and guide him to your neck, urging him to press his weight against you - exactly as you know he loves - just so you have him in lock and key, knowing he's unable to go anywhere until he cums, and you can - finally - whine into his neck about how handsome he is, and watch as he can do nothing but soak it in, too busy panting, grunting and blushing to respond. His face, his body, his voice, his personality, his tact, his pubic hair rutting against your clit - his everything. It's all perfect. And you'd sooner die than live in a world where he doesn't believe so.

It's why you've since taken your dedication to greater heights, explicitly professing your love for your husband in front of his boys whenever they come around, so John (and them) can see it isn't just an elaborate plot to ensure he puts his empty cereal bowl away in the dishwasher as soon as he finishes his breakfast in the morning, or to get him to wipe the crumbs from the toaster when the crumb tray gets too full, or clean the cigar ash from the ashtray on the dining room table - that he says he'll 'get round to' after he finishes his mountain of paperwork, which you know is false because it would take him weeks to climb.

It's really to make way for a kiss and a ruffle of his hair here, a hug and a grope of his butt there - just enough to let him know that, regardless of company, you think he's the most irresistible hunk of man in the room.

And, sure, the first few times are a little awkward for all of you, the boys included, as they feel they've encroached on something that best be left behind closed doors, but Kyle and Johnny - never Simon - swiftly come around to the notion that you showing your affection openly to John is a wondrous thing (Kyle truly thought, prior to then, that there might have been marrital troubles; he'd never even seen you two so much as kiss) and Johnny goes so far, himself, as to 'awh', whenever you peck John's lips, pinch his beard and call him 'cute', even if Johnny does get a sturdy bollocking from your husband back at base - it's oh-so worth it to see his Captain still madly in love after nine (almost ten) years of marriage!

And it feels like you've carried to full-term and subsequently birthed a healthy baby when you wake up to the sound of gushing water from the bathroom, to see John pat beard oil into his facial hair, stop, assess himself in the mirror, then mutter 'yeah, not bad', because Christ, it'd finally paid off.

| Masterlist |

[gay-dorito-dust]

My mind is racing right now. I’m just imagining targ!reader who is Rhaenyra’s heir and maybe she’s a realms delight (very politically savvy maybe idk) like her mother was and everyone is trying so hard to get her attention but all she wants is Benjicot and he thinks that he doesn’t have a chance so he doesn’t even entertain the thought of it.

Am I Going Crazy?

No you’re not going crazy anon, I totally understand. I’m just shooting at the hip with with one, so it’s gonna be short and something

The moment you were born the realm fell in love with you just as your family did the second you opened your gorgeous eyes and smiled.

The realms delight was a title once given to your mother when she was younger, was a title now being passed down to you. Everyone from greater house, small houses and even the obscure ones wanted to witness you every smile and every laugh however they could, whether it be on your name day, tourneys or otherwise they all clambered to be in your presence.

‘You had the entire realm at your feet, you could convince the dumb cunt lords and their sons into stupidly plunging into depths of death, should you feel like it.’ is what Daemon says often as to remind you just how much of a hold you held over everyone whereas in a way that your mother didn’t. Or at least not anymore.

You lived relativity with more freedom and leniency then most of similar status, which may have less to you being the core envy for some, but in exchange you were taught by Daemon a plethora of things when came to playing your hand in this game of politics and power. He taught you how to wield a sword and how to keep your opponent guessing your next move, so much so that when training with the likes of Jace, Luke or either Baela and Rhaena you were always ten steps ahead.

Much like your mother, you were granted the privilege to seek out whom ever caught your eye when you were of an eligible age for marriage, so when the news that you offering up your hand in marriage the realm was quick to gather their finest men to speak upon why it is that you should choose them over the others. However none of them were to your taste as some were far too young and could barely pick up a sword, far too old and fat from gorging themselves on wine and food, or just didn’t give a good enough reason for you to marry them other then that they could satisfy you; A line that had them shoved out the door as quickly as they came as you tried to swallow down the bile that rose in your throat.

The Riverlands were beautiful but the reason you came to the Riverlands was for one man and one man only, The new lord of house Blackwood, Benjicot Blackwood. So when you didn’t see the stormy eyed man with the dark hair at the hall you couldn’t help but be a little upset, and so had no choice but to internalise the reasons why and forced yourself to listen to the rest of the men in attendance with a forced look of interest, repressing that restless feeling within your chest to go out and search for him yourself on dragon back if you must.

Soon enough you’ve decided to give yourself a break from it all and wander out to explore of the Riverlands, which was where your marriage tour was currently stationed at, and coming to adore all that you could see in their bright and vibrant colours in comparison to back home. There were Fields that stretched on for miles on end onto the horizon with grass a plenty to feed the cattle, small patches of trees where the birds sung and rested their aching wings and fed on the berries they produce.

Meanwhile with Benjicot he didn’t feel as though he had anything to give to you, the heir and delight of the realm. He was a Lord but there were men of far greater houses then his who could provide you more than he could, and in Benji’s mind he shouldn’t even bother to tempt the idea of you choosing him, not when he knew it was a fight he’ll never win from the beginning. So he didn’t and that hurt him far more then he thought as the idea of not trying, or bothering to try at all would become a regret he would be burdened with carrying for the rest of his life; left alone to ponder in his old age as to what could’ve been had he actually tried.

Oscar and Kermit had tried to convince him into doing something about it but even they couldn’t get his stubborn ass to move an inch, and now both Tully boys could only stand and watch as their friend take his frustrations out on a straw training dummy.

‘This is sad.’ Oscar said as Kermit made a noise of agreement.

‘Very sad.’ Kermit replied as Benjicot moved his attention to another dummy after violently disembowelling the previous training dummy as the straw insides spilled out. ‘He’s probably still wishing that Aeron Bracken was that dummy.’ Kermit then adds as he looks over at his brother, who was doing the exact same.

‘I mean the little twat deserved that pummelling earlier for even thinking he had a chance and now he can’t go because his injuries were too severe.’ Oscar snorted in disbelief before adding on, ‘his uncle knew that if he had let Aeron go in his current state, house Bracken would’ve become a laughing stock of the realm.’

Kermit gave a slight chuckle before looking back at Benjicot and his smile fell from his face. ‘He really likes her…’ he trails off as Oscar’s face now becomes crestfallen and sighs. ‘He does and it easts him up inside that even if he did bother to go, he’d just get rejected regardless.’ Kermit was about to add onto that, when something catches his eye, he spotted a figure emerging from the trees and his eyes widened up seeing it was you and proceeded to smack Oscar in the arm repeatedly.

‘Ow, ow, quit hitting me!’ Oscar said and as he went to hit his brother in the arm as retaliation, his eyes too went wide upon seeing you walking towards them casually.

‘It’s the princess!’ Kermit hissed.

‘Of course it’s the princess dipshit, I’ve got eyes that still see!’ Oscar hissed back.

‘Well obviously he doesn’t!’ Kermit barked as he pointed towards Benjicot, not realising that he just pointed you to the person you’ve been wanting to see most. Meanwhile the lord of house Blackwood was all the more obviously to everything happen, being stuck inside his own head and all, that he didn’t see Kermit and Oscar’s frantic looks over at him as he continued to destroy the third training dummy today nor does he know that you were behind him until you spoke up.

‘What did the training dummies do to deserve such anger?’

Benjicot froze up immediately as he looked out of his eyes at Kermit and Oscar, who were just as frozen to the scene before them as him, as he then took a deep breath and looked over to see that his mind hadn’t been playing him a fool and that you -the realms delight and heir to the iron throne- were actually here in the flesh but why?

You couldn’t help but smile at his shocked expression and tense body language, Benjicot was far more handsome up close than you remembered, all the while still being a shy and awkward but honourable nobleman. ‘Are you alright lord Blackwood? You’re looking a little flustered there.’ You said as you gestured to his cheeks which were burning bright red.

‘Princess, shouldn’t you be on your marriage tour?’ Benjicot asked and already he wanted the ground to swallow him for how stupid he sounded.

‘I am but I’ve decided to put it on hold as to stretch my legs.’ You told him and could see his shoulders deflated a little, ‘besides the person I wished to see most hadn’t shown up, and so I thought that since I am in the Riverlands I shall go seek him out myself instead, drag him back to Raventree hall if I must.’ You then added with a smile as Benjicot’s breath hitched in his throat.

‘And if I may ask princess, but who are you looking for?’ He asks as casually as he could but felt a little under pressure from the looks Oscar and Kermit were giving him as they silently routed for him from a few paces away, his heart elevating even quicker when you took a step towards him.

‘You of course.’ You told him straightforwardly. ‘You were the one person I was hoping to see today.’

‘Why?’ Benji found himself asking without second thought on how it came across. ‘Why me, I have nothing to offer you princess, wouldn’t it be better to have a suitor from a greater house to strengthen your own?’ He didn’t want to believe this was real but also he did want to believe that you had sought him out on your own accord. However this felt too good to be reality, it had to be a dream Benjicot was sure of it, for where else would it be plausible for the person you’ve been yearning after to activity search for him during your marriage tour of all things? It wasn’t something that was even remotely grounded in reality but instead a tale found straight out of an old book.

‘Does it matter as to why I sought you out other then the fact that I’d much rather take you a kind, honourable and honest man, as my husband over some fat cunt of a man?’ You replied as you reached for his hands, desperate to have him trust your words as truth while feeling every one of his calluses press into your hands perfectly, as though the gods made them to hold yours specifically. ‘Does it matter that all I wish to marry out of love and not duty as is expected of me? I am free to marry whoever I wish and I wish for you.’ You add, moving your head so that you could still be in Benjicot’s line of sight when he ducks his head to his chest, seeing you smile so sweetly at him and making his heart leap up into his throat.

‘Tis I where your heart lies princess?’ Benjicot asked softly, not trusting to raise his voice more than a whisper, waiting to wake up from this seamlessly perfect dream. Your smile grew bigger as you pressed your forehead against his own to look him deeper into his stormy eyes that bore an expression of vulnerability and uncertainty. ‘Along with my soul and my mind for countless day, yes, you are where my heart lies Benjicot Blackwood.’ You reassured him, watching the internal conflict within him war against one another for a while before there was nothing but a sweet gleam in his eye.

‘You are where my heart lies too princess,’ Benjicot confessed, pressing his head further against yours with a smile, ‘I’d be more than honoured to be yours.’

You were absolutely glowing upon hearing this as you laughed with pure joy and happiness. your search was over, you had found the one you wanted even though you had to find him first, but that didn’t matter as later that day your marriage tour came to an end as your hand happily secured by one Benjicot Blackwood.

[bhaalble]

Back on my Wyll script doctor because I was talking about it with a friend. Specifically imagining a version of Wyll's big Character Choice that felt like it had some actual teeth.

Imagine a world where instead of a cartoon evil hot lady Mizora and Wyll's relationship actually had some complexity to it and like. some genuine push and pull which gives him temptation to stay. I just keep thinking about this 17 year old who his whole life wanted more than anything to be a hero, who got his chance to do something heroic and selfless and save the city from certain doom, and his reward is getting kicked out because he did it the "wrong way".

Imagine if instead of forcing his silence, Mizora instead comforted him. How unbelievably cruel of your father! Well...since you've nowhere else to go, why not stick with me? We make a pretty good team, as it turns out, and I can get you a whole list of monsters who need killing. Plenty of devils and demons loose in your world targetting all sorts of innocents. Our interests can keep aligning, and you get a place to sleep when you need it.

Wyll makes his peace with it, because he has nothing and no one. And Mizora's not GOOD maybe, not by Ulder Ravengard's definition. But she's fun. She delights in his growth. And she does certainly keep direct him at greater evils, devils who really do need killing. And if she spies on his every waking moment, well, she worries. If she sends him after the occasional innocent, well, she had people who she has to answer to as well. She's a devil, how much can he fault her for her nature? She's always seemed like she knew where the line was...

Karlach (and the player) express their doubts, of course, but for act one at least he's defensive. Yes, she punished him and he hates it and its miserable but....he was in breach of contract! She's NEVER gone outside its bounds, she's always stuck very closely to their agreement. Wyll, who wants so badly to trust others and believe everyone has the chance for good, can't find it in him to believe the worst even of a devil.

And Mizora is FOND of Wyll, loves him even in her way. As a cherished pet, as a trusted tool, as a best-laid plan. Never enough to choose his own well-being over her own agenda, never enough to see him as his own person. He's her little project, the long shot noble brat she gambled on when Tiamat decided to get too big for her britches. And it paid off! Wyll always pays off, currying her all the favor from Zariel she so desperately craves. And who are you, or anyone, to come between them? She's treated him well. As she's quick to remind him, she wanted him when no one else did, aided him while the rest of his city slept snug in their beds. And if Ulder Ravengard didn't want a son with a whiff of infernal, then do you REALLY think he'd want you with lovely horns and Avernus in your blood?

You discover his father's been taken. Beyond igniting a lot of old feelings, it brings up a question of succession. Of course, Florrick isnt giving up on him, but if not...there aren't currently any likely candidates to take over the Flaming Fists. Not trustworthy ones. Florrick will take the position, but everyone knows in the back of his mind Ulder never really stopped planning for it to be Wyll. With the city in chaos and a cult army on the rise, they may need an answer sooner rather than later. Wyll feels the call of the Gate, but knows just as well that Mizora wouldn't want him to return in such an official capacity.

For the first time ever the leash starts to chafe in a way he can't keep pushing through.

Act 2 rolls around. Mizora sends up the Warlock signal. After potentially some encouragement from the player, Wyll (NOT THE PLAYER. I DONT KNOW WHY ITS THE PLAYER IN THE GAME ITS WEIRD) hesitantly proposes that maybe, if he does this....they can do a renegotiation of his contract. Not break it, he assures her quickly! Just....reopen the terms, take a looks at the agreement. Maybe discuss an exit ramp? After all....I mean, neither of us truly thought I'd be doing this forever, did we?

Based on Mizora's reaction. Yeah she did.

But fine. She agrees. And Wyll's not mad that it turns out you're rescuing her, not a nameless "operative" for Zariel. He would've done that on his own had she asked. Its the fact that she apparently didn't feel like being honest, that she let him fret and worry about potentially handing Zariel back some runaway for basically no reason. Its the fact that she came here to check in on the cult that abducted his FATHER just to see if Zariel could make any use of them. And its the fact that she seems surprised and annoyed that ANY of this bothers him.

All this builds, of course, to the final confrontation. The basic elements are the same. Mizora outside the coronation (this time needling at Wyll, "I'll be at camp if you're not too high and mighty to consort with the likes of me anymore"), Ulder tadpoled and fighting it. Mizora makes her offer. I can end the contract now, and you're free to go running after daddy (who won't want you btw! not like I do!). You'll lose all your powers, all my aid, all those juicy quests to chase down the greatest monsters in the hells. Take on your father's job and settle in for a life of misery and compromise and only doing as much good as the nobles will let you. Or: pledge yourself to me, eternally. I'll give you a boatload of new powers and eternal life to boot, so long as you serve as my sword and shield.

From there I think three endings branch out, and with it three classes for Wyll. If he stays with Mizora, accepts a relationship where he will never be an equal or a free agent in exchange for the affirmation he wants so badly from his father, he remains a Warlock, with some juiced stats and extra spell slots, along with shiny new gear. If he pledges to follow in his father's footsteps, he instead becomes an Oath of Devotion paladin, pledging himself in service to Tyr, if with a sense of doomed finality. The Blade of Frontiers is officially retired, and along with it any identity he has outside of being his father's son. Or the third path, break the contract without taking his father's role. He will look for his father, yes, but whether or not you find him he's going back to his roots, travelling around to do some good in the world (as the Blade of Frontiers) or kicking ass in the Hells with Karlach (as the Blade of Avernus). In this timeline he becomes a fighter, with a default preference for Eldritch Knight.

What's important: if he breaks his contract then Mizora is NOT hanging around camp. She will leave in a fury, accidentally bound by her own word to withdraw her influence completely if he breaks his contract. She may still approach the player some night to sleep with the player, framed for high approval/romanced players and her trying to take something back from Wyll. But Wyll will have to learn how to define himself without her breathing down his neck, without keeping her happy dominating his every thought. Its nervewracking, and even lonesome at times...but its freedom. And, perhaps, that's worth a little bit of lonesomeness.

[sorcerous-caress]

Early morning cuddling

[Fluff, wholesome, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Lae'zel, Karlach, Minthara]

Part Two

Wyll

The feeling of soft warm breath against your chest is soothing, Wyll's arms are wrapped around your waist with his curled back horns below your neck, safely out of reach.

A quiet squeaking sounds just outside your window, wandering and tapping their beaks gently against the glass, the adoring feathery fans coming to say hello to the prince charming, sleeping in your arms. After all, Wyll has been making a habit of feeding the two mourning doves who made a nest just outside your shared bedroom. It's a good omen, he claims.

But he's sleeping so peacefully in your embrace, it almost feels like a crime to wake him up. Despite how adorable his morning grumpiness can be, sometimes blue blood just never washes off no matter how much Wyll claims he is a humble man of the blade.

The pure cotton sheets and featherly pillows below you say otherwise, but who are you to argue with Wyll-can't sleep unless it's on a 2000 thread count sheets-Ravengard

Calling his name, you cup his face in your hand as he leans into it. Nuzzling into the warmth of your balm as you tell him it's time to wake up. His lips meet the soft skin on inside of your hand and gently give it a small kiss. Mismatched eyes fluttering open with difficulty as he battles through the sleepiness, finally meeting your gaze.

You let him cuddle up to you, the lazy morning weather is really mellowing out your mind and making all the responsibilities awaiting you pale in comparison to staying here on this soft bed, wrapped in your beloved's arms.

Wyll seems to share a similar idea, the hero of frontier happily indulging in the sin of sloth so openly, if only you had a necklace of pearls to clutch right now. Alas, you let this handsome devil lure you back into taking a nap together, ignore the calling of the sun outside your curtains, for the world can await.

♡

Lae'zel

She's awake much before you, only when the sound of running water stirs you awake do you realise the empty spot on the bed besides you.

Lae'zel took her morning training very seriously, slipping away before the sun was up to keep both her body and mind in shape. When the fading stars in the sky are her only companions through her long jogs, a reminder of a home she once knew.

A test of self-will to resist the allure of sleep each morning.

To resist the allure of you on her bed.

Which is why she feels entitled to your touch the second she's finished with her shower, you're the prize she has rightfully earned. Drying off her damp skin as she watches you with keen eyes, noticing the way your eyes linger on each droplet she wipes off of her body.

Finishing drying her hair, Lae'zel finally joins you on the bed after what felt like long hours of torture that realistically only amounted to ten minutes tops.

She smells absolutely divine, her hair is so soft as you run your fingers through it, using it to guide her face closer to yours. Her lips taste just as sweet as her scent, with a hint of toothpaste.

But a kiss is all that you have the stamina for. You can't make it to the second kiss before dozzing off again, mind clouded by the comfort her presence brings. The unspeakable safety you feel in her arms, knowing that she would let nothing in this world ever lay a finger on you.

Even after so many years, she still keeps her sword sharp, just so your fingertips may grow softer each day. Because you at this moment, dozzing off in her arms in the early morning, is what she's fights for everyday.

The two of you stay under the warm blanket, Lae'zel has never felt a greater sense of belonging than in your embrace.

♡

Karlach

Her beloved teddy bear, Clive, is squished between the two of you.

Karlach decided that your arms were at the safest place for the second most treasured thing in her life. Whilst she got to hold you in her own arms, it's a win-win deal.

Wearing very little clothes while sleeping, her engine hums with a soft night-light red glow. Since fixing it, it's become much easier to fall asleep by her side without its blazing light and loud churning, now it's more akin to a glowing amber beneath her skin that you could easily miss in the morning light.

You still grew fond of that hum, the low metallic melody that spelled a promise of a second chance at life to her, to return back what was stolen. Rewind the time and tend to the wounds.

As far as Karlach was concerned, she was living the dream. Sure, fighting had its merits, but nothing could compare to the steady sway of a mundane life. As safe as a baby in a cradle, she relished in every peaceful sleep she was granted by your side.

Her horn was growing in again, the broken one, you noticed that when it started lightly scratching the side of your neck in the early morning. You made a mental note to have a talk with Karlach about changing the sleeping arrangements, after throwing a small celebration for her horn.

Maybe you'll get her a pie from that bakery she likes, it's only a few houses away from where you lived in this small community. And the flower lady did say she got a new batch of sunflowers coming in today, it looks like lady fortune was smiling your way today.

Her strong arms made you feel safe, protected, and loved. Her legs tangled with yours under the cover as she held you tighter.

Peppering small kisses down face, you started with her forhead, just below her horns, and then moved to her closed eyelids, below her eyes, on her cute nose and cheeks.

Finally meeting her lips, just before you could pull away from what was supposed to be a gentle quick smooch, Karlach pushed you on your back and pressed her lips against yours, deepening the kiss and not allowing you the chance to slip away from her hold.

Greedily eating up all of the small noises slipping out of you, her firey eyes met yours as the kiss kept going for a minute before she finally pulled back breathless.

"Damn that's the best way to wake up." She let out with a smug grin, arms roaming your body while her lips meet your neck, a kiss after another.

But they were too light, sleep still clouded her mind as what was supposed to be passionate, neck kissing, turned into a tickling sensation against your neck that made you chuckle.

Karlach seemed a bit embarrassed by her clumsy skills, but she took it in stride and laughed it off, settling for one final taste to your lips before laying on her back and pulling you on top of her. Manhandling you so early in the morning as if you were her personal teddy bear to cuddle up with in whatever position she wished to.

♡

Minthara

It's peaceful, too peaceful for her liking. Not that she ever falls asleep to begin with.

And yet she finds herself following you to bed, joining in this routine nightly as if it was her second nature to do so. Like a guard dog would see you to the front door of your house whenever you were getting ready to go out, waiting at the doorsteps until your arrival.

You don't think she'd appreciate this euphemism if you spoke it out loud, so you keep to yourself, even when you find her waiting for you in front of the house one day when you took a little too late to come home.

With a book in her hand and the reading glasses replacement number forty-six that she will surely misplace or break before the week ends, Minthara retires to her side of the bed next to you.

You'd be lying if you said that her presence didn't help ease your mind, that the sound of pages turning didn't help lull you into dreams. She doesn't meditate during those hours either, prefering to do it for a couple hours during the day when your wide awake.

Maybe it's for safety, why she is so keen on watching over your helpless form. An old habit that came from surviving drow society, making sure no one can ever catch both of you off guard at the same time.

She's in the same place when you wake up, her hair a bit more of a mess with her fingers flipping the book to its final pages, red eyes scanning the writing with care as she takes in the information. They were always in drow language, you wondered what kind did she read? Fiction or nonfiction? Novels or science books? History or biographies?

The only thing you could make out on the pages was the small scribble at the edges of stray pages, where Minthara marked where she last left off with a pen, rather than using the various bookmarks she's been gifted.

The more you focused on the scribble, the more it looked like a tiny spider with way too many legs, but your wife simply refuse to acknowledge that whenever you wondered about it aloud.

Stretching your arms above your head, your back weighted down comfortably on the silk sheets that Minthara insisted on getting. Bright lavender in colour and unbelievably smooth against your skin, like sleeping on top of a cloud.

Seeking attention, you moved closer to her until your head was on her lap, she was sitting with her back leaning against the headboard. Her hand quickly found your neck and softly traced her fingers down your skin, settling on the nape of your neck before giving it a comfortable squeeze to massage your sore muscles.

Her hands felt...heavenly, she always know where to touch you to get the exhumation out. What body points were the most prone to stress, even now her paladin training is still engraned into her soul.

Minthara's touches always held a clear declaration of possessiveness in them, a hunger that may never be sated to own you, body and soul. She embraces you as if you were her lovers in various past lives.

The sound of a pen clicking before a small scribble is added to the edge of the page in front of you is your sign to start the day. Minthara closes the book as her full attention is directed at you, a hungry look in her eyes.

Actual hunger, mind you. You see, princesses never learn how to cook, not to mention drow women nobility, and she has been waiting all night on an empty stomach so this is your sign to prepare breakfast, be it store-bought or homemade, she never makes a fuss.

Although she does make a mean cup of coffee, if you happened to like charcoal as a drink, that is. Drows had to improvise in the underdark with no coffee beans after all. Although what use would an elf have of an energy drink? You're not sure.

♡

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Aegon with barkeep reader—you aren't getting paid enough for this.

Yandere Aegon always escaped to Fleabottom to indulge in pleasures and escape painful memories. The weight of the crown on his head nearly snapped his neck every time he was forced to wear it. Yet here, in Dragon Breaths Tavern, he was simply another stranger within the crowd of thousands. He always chose to conceal his appearance, but his voice was always what gave him away.

He has a favorite barkeep: you.

You always listen to his ramblings. You make sure he has somewhere to sleep when he is far too intoxicated to escape back to the castle. You're irritable and snap at people. It's hot. You never let anyone get away with anything in the bar, not even him. 

Mhm.

He'd whine your name in the middle of the night when his mind was far too gone to care about the possible consequence.

Yandere Aegon is incredibly talkative while drunk. His depression, or known at that time as just an incurable sadness, was on full display. He'd ask for your strongest drink and order so many that he forgot his name and title. It was almost endearing. He'd babble on about what made him sad, and you'd listen attentively.

You didn't have to worry much about people realizing he was the king. The ones that did disappeared. They were murdered, most likely.

You may have no formal education, but that doesn't make you completely inept.

You could see the unhinged glint in his violet irises. You could tell he was getting attached. You just couldn't do much about it. You need the job, and he never forgets to give you a hefty tip for your service.

Yandere Aegon has propositioned you on multiple occasions. Most of the time he's plastered, a handful he's not. He always gives you a sly smile and some fleeting touches. You scolding him only makes him want you more. He's hard more than he's drunk.

Whether you agreed to it or not, the only difference is time. If you love him, then you get your freedom just a bit longer. If you're stubborn about your love, then he'll make sure there are chains around your hands, ankles, and most importantly, heart.

Yandere Aegon makes you take a job in the castle. You become the cupbearer. It's a job that doesn't bring much excitement, unless you count pompous nobles talking through their asses 'excitement'. You make a good amount of coin. Your social status rises faster than a dragon taking to air.

Your own room. A room near Aegon's.

It is as if he purposefully thinned the walls, much to your displeasure. You can hear the moans from whores and Aegon alike during the hours when everyone is given rest. It's an endless torture that slips into your dreams, making them wetter than you've ever dreamt before.

Yandere Aegon has many people thinking it is inappropriate to have a commoner suddenly peak the king's interest so blatantly. You are no longer the dirt on the bottom of the nobility's shoe. You are almost equal, if not greater, due to the protection you are afforded by the ruler.

Rumors aren't needed. They will say their peace to your face. They don't fluff it up with their frivolously sacchariferous words. Those who dare are crude and ruthless.

The next day they'll end up with their heads on pikes outside the castle.

Yandere Aegon wants you as a second spouse. He fucks other whores, but only because he can't have you all day and night. He'll stop after the both of you get married. He knows it's a pipdream. He's the king, though.

Who is going to stop him?

It's not going to be Alicent or Otto.

He's not letting Aemond fucking touch you. Asshole tried to char him once. He got out with multiple scars, but he is able to walk and is still quite a looker. Aemond won't steal you. He'll the gut the fucker before it comes to that.

Yandere Aegon just needs alcohol and you. It's the only two things that're keeping him securely tethered to this world. Your specialty is alcohol. It's a match made in the heavens.

tags: ( @kawaiicoffeedream ) & ( @littybeech )

[froggiewrites]

Possession

Pairing: Doflamingo x Reader

NSFW

Summary: Doflamingo wants you, and he has always been good at getting what he wants. Warnings: Smut, Possessiveness, Manipulation, Yandere (i think this counts?) Word Count: 1.8k Notes: This is pretty different in vibes from everything else I've posted here, but Doffy has bewitched me a little bit. I was trying to finish Dressrosa before writing about him but I just had to get this one out. Crossposted from Ao3

Doflamingo did not know exactly when you caught his eye.

It was small, at first, the instinct to seek you out. He didn’t indulge in it. He had far more important things to worry about. But as time went on, as you appeared again and again, he found himself more and more determined to have you.

You were a sweet thing, innocent and uncomplicated, ripe and ready for the taking. It took very little effort to endear himself to you. A few well timed words and well placed smiles and you were falling at his feet. It was adorable, really, the way you fell apart when he came around. He expected the passing fancy to end at that, a short dalliance that would end in you being thrown to the side as his ambitions led him somewhere far greater than here, somewhere you couldn’t and shouldn’t follow.

But he found himself enjoying you more and more. Your wide eyes and gentle smiles, your soft hands and thighs, your plush lips and warm mouth. You may not be an asset to the family, ignorant to his work and his purpose, but you were…useful, in your own way.

The nightmares didn't stop, but it was a little easier to come back to reality with someone beside him, not that he would admit that. And if some days he awoke with his hands primed around your throat, ready to squeeze, well. Nobody had to know. That was the risk you took, you naive little thing, when you followed him home. When you accepted his invitation into his bed, into his arms. If you noticed the bruises when you woke up, you never mentioned them. He doesn’t know if it’s ignorance or pity that keeps your mouth shut. He doesn’t know which is worse.

It turns his stomach to think you would pity him, dare to see him as small enough to deserve anything less than utter devotion, than worship. But the idea of you leaving if you truly knew him, knew better…it’s worse than revolting. It makes every one of his muscles tense, his chest tighten, his teeth clench. Every part of him primed to chase you down, hold you tight, ensure that you would not and cannot leave him.

Once he had a hold of the thought of you leaving, it stayed buried beneath his skin, a constant nagging feeling he couldn’t shake. He was haunted with the image of you sneaking away, catching a ride on a ship somewhere far out of his reach. In the days following, he holds you closer than ever before, grip strong enough to bruise. You cannot move an inch without his permission. As it should be.

He begins his careful construction of your cage soon after.

It begins slowly, with small gifts that earn him that soft smile. Then the next step, as you slowly start losing contact with old friends, start coming to him more and more as the only person in your life there and willing to listen. He keeps you coming back for companionship, for joy, for pleasure, ensuring that you can come to him and only him for such things.

When he takes you, he studies you, carefully plans each action to lead you further and further into this delusion you seem to have. That he loves you. That you’re safe in these arms. That you chose this. 

“Doffy!” You cry sweetly when his teeth find your neck, nipping at you gently, finding and latching onto your most sensitive parts. Tomorrow he will pretend the marks are an accident, that the small amount of blood he draws was simply due to an excess of enthusiasm, and not just him taking what he’s owed. Every part of you is his, including the blood in your veins. If he wants it, it is his to have. He savors the taste of iron on his tongue, the taste of your very life, your vital essence.

Doflamingo’s hands are calloused, and you gasp as you feel their roughness against your skin. He holds himself back, ensuring his touches are firm but not cruel, that his pace is steady but not brutal. His hands find your breasts first, pinching and prodding demandingly. He keeps his eyes on your face as his fingers find their place, teasing as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes on his, lashes fluttering. You keen sweetly as he rolls your chest in his hands, and he almost struggles to keep the smirk off of his face. You’re putty beneath him, ready for him to shape in whatever image he pleases.

His hand slips lower, fingers tracing slowly down to where he knows you want him. He carefully plans his steps in this dance, and he can see in your eyes that you’re following his lead without question. You shine with adoration, and when he intertwines his free hand with yours, you light up, a goofy, lovesick smile overtaking your lust for a moment. He grins, a sense of warmth blooming through him. Surely a sense of accomplishment, for continuing the charade successfully. For leading you further and further into your cage without a moment’s hesitation. You’re eating out of his hand, just as you were meant to.

His fingers push past your panties, and he begins by inserting only one, slowly sliding it into your hole as you moan. He keeps his pace slow even as you wiggle your hips in frustration, even as you begin to softly whine. He doesn’t give you what you want until you beg.

“Doflamingo, please, more!” Your voice is tinged with desperation, and he chuckles.

“I need you to be more specific, little bird.”

“Faster, please.”

He had planned to make you beg far more than that, until you were nearly crying for him, but the sweet little whimper in your voice makes it hard to deny you. “That’s all you had to say.”

He begins to thrust his finger at a significantly faster pace, then adds another, then another, prepping you well for the real show. As much as he would love to take you immediately, to take and take and take until you’re broken beneath him, he was sure you would leave for that. You wouldn’t look up at him with that sickening admiration in your doe eyes anymore, and he simply would not lose that. He attempts to take the hand intertwined with yours back, to rub at your clit as you clench around him, but you curl your fingers around him harder, and cry out, “No, stay, please!”

He allows you to keep the hand, for now.

He can feel you near your precipice, can see it in your eyes, and chooses the exact moment before you break to pull out his fingers. You sob as they leave, and he gives you a sympathetic smile, hoping you’re too far gone to realize it’s far closer to a predator’s smug grin. “I know, sweet thing, but you can’t have all the fun to yourself.”

He finally peels your panties off, leaving you bare and caged beneath him, where you belong. He lines himself up with your entrance, and he stares you dead in the eyes as he plunges his full length into you at once. You cry out, eyes closing, and he tuts quietly. “Eyes on me.”

You obey.

His pace is fast but not punishing, and he keeps his thrusts on the softer side of brutal. Another thing he will blame on his enthusiasm tomorrow, when you quietly whine that it hurts to walk and he shushes you and tells you you belong in his bed anyway. You’ll laugh like it’s a joke, and he’ll laugh at your ignorance. One day you’ll realize it was the truth, and you’ll willingly nest here at his side, ready and wanting whenever he asks. But that is the future, and right now he should be more focused on how deeply his cock is buried inside you, and how you cry and tighten around him, calling his name.

His teeth long for your neck again, but he can’t bring himself to break your intoxicating eye contact. He can see himself reflected in your eyes, looking a far more innocent and giving man than he is. Is this how you see him? His hand finds your clit, willing to continue the charade. You nearly scream as you feel his finger rub against the nub, and he almost laughs. How easy you are to unravel. A few more thrusts and a few well practiced movements of his fingers and you come undone, squeezing around him tightly, eyes falling shut, back arching off the bed and pressing your chests together. He keeps moving, allows you to keep riding it out, burying you in your pleasure. He cums a few moments later, burying up to the hilt in you, filling you, marking you as his. He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to bleed, and after his orgasm subsides he licks the wound, lavishing in the taste of you.

He falls on top of you, pinning you to the bed, and you don’t complain. You bring your arm up to run your hands through his hair affectionately. With the hand still held to the bed, you gently run your thumb over his knuckles, memorizing the feeling of it. You lay in silence as Doflamingo begins to slowly ponder the next stages of your entrapment. You’ll stay tonight, of course, but likely still go home tomorrow. Perhaps the next step should be ensuring you stay here every night. Accessible, willing, waiting for him. After that, he’ll find you work to do in the family, find some busywork that keeps you here. You can have everything you’ll ever need in these walls, if he so chooses. And choose you he does.

“Doffy?” Your sweet voice breaks him out of his pondering, and he looks down to see you staring up at him with something resembling worry.

“Yes, little bird?”

“Are you alright? You were frowning. Did I do something?” Your tone is filled with anxiety, your eyes searching his face for answers.

He chuckles. He can’t deny the pleasure he finds in you looking at him for comfort, for reassurance. You trust him. “No, of course not. I was just thinking about some plans for the future. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.” To ensure the matter is laid to rest, he kisses you on the forehead, watching as you flush red, as your lips twitch into a smile and you hide your face in his shoulder. So sweet. So simple.

You fall asleep crushed beneath him, dreaming of a life shared. He falls asleep holding you close, dreaming of the next step in making you well and truly his.

[bridenore]

HD eight year fic recs : 20k to 30k words

Here are a few drarry eight year fic recs that are between 20k and 30k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always.

You can access my rec lists for eight year fics that have less than 10k words here and between 10k and 20k here.

12 Days of What The Fuck by @bixgirl1 [26k]

When Potter starts paying unusual amounts of attention to Draco as the holidays draw nearer, Draco can’t figure out where it’s coming from—possibly because he’s gone stupid from all the fantastic sex. But what happens when he finds out that there may be another motive behind Potter’s sudden interest? Or: A fic in which Potter is hotter than Draco ever let himself admit, Draco didn’t fill out that fucking form, and Pansy may or may not lose all of her hair.

1,000 Points From Gryffindor by @blithelybonny [25k]

The story of how Harry Potter single-handedly lost Gryffindor the House Cup while attempting to have a “normal” year at Hogwarts. Featuring Harry’s suspicious nature turned up to eleven again, a new DADA teacher who is so not here for Harry’s fame, multiple detentions, Slytherins being sneaky, Hufflepuffs being sneakier, and the mystery of Draco Malfoy’s hoodie because seriously Hermione who gave that to him and is he wearing it just to torment me? This is ridiculous!

Dear Diary by AWickedMemory [20k]

 // This can’t possibly go worse than the last time I kept a diary. // After the war, Harry picks up a journal to write in… and it writes back. Luckily, it’s not a Horcrux on the other end this time.

Don’t mind if I keep your tie (And your heart, babe) by Ingi [21k]

The Eighth year common room has a parrot in it, courtesy of McGonagall and her mad search for interhouse bonding. Most of the time, it’s just there, until one day it repeats “Potter has a damn fine arse.” And the Slytherins know exactly who the parrot’s mimicking… Draco is not amused.

Heartache by @bixgirl1 [25k]

 “Harry doesn’t think about Malfoy anymore.  Not really.  Not intentionally. What if the one person you least expect is the only one who really understands what you’ve gone through?

Hungry by birdsofshore [24k]

The first thing Harry knew about it was when he woke up lying on a bed in the hospital wing, with his arm firmly stuck to the scrawny, milk-white arm of Draco bloody Malfoy. 

Into You by @andithiel [28k]

There were many things that Harry had anticipated when arriving back at Hogwarts for his eighth year. Having his body switched with Draco Malfoy’s was not one of them.

An Issue of Consequence by @faith2wood [20k]

Draco has woken up in an alternate universe. Or he has woken up utterly insane. Nothing else can possibly explain why Harry Potter suddenly seems to think he’s Draco’s boyfriend.

It Takes a Village by Saras_Girl [25k]

Eighth year isn’t exactly going to plan. Harry is definitely not running away, Draco is definitely not impressed, and it’s almost definitely not going to stop raining.

Life is a Twice Written Scroll by lauren3210 [22k]

The new world order hasn’t been kind to Draco and his family, and he wishes it could all be different. So does Harry, although not for the same reasons. But as Draco works to fix the mistakes he made in the past, he finds his reasons for doing so changing in a way he never expected.

The Lip-Lock Jinx  by cassisluna [20k]

It’s a jinx that renders the victim mute, unless he/she serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It’s just Harry’s luck that he’s in love with Draco.

Love, Harry by Zzzara [26k]

Harry Potter keeps a huge secret: that scary thing he can’t tell anyone about. Until a mysterious penfriend changes his life, because he keeps a secret, too.

No Greater Victory by @dictacontrion​ [26k]

Back at Hogwarts after the war, a defeated Draco Malfoy is prepared to settle for life’s simpler pleasures: snark, sex, and Slytherin scheming. That is until Pansy, newly in possession of Malfoy Manor, offers to return his ancestral home. Just one condition: he has to win, and break, Harry Potter’s heart to get it. That’s no problem. Draco’s got this situation completely under control. Completely. At least until he doesn’t.

Pensieve For Your Thoughts by @fencer-x  [22k]

Ostracised from the more discerning social circles after the war, Draco decides to spend his final few months at Hogwarts attempting to ingratiate himself with the Boy Wonder in the hopes he might be able to salvage his reputation in the doing. But when has anything involving Draco trying to be Potter’s friend gone right, really?

Project (or Curse?) by venis_envy [21k]

In order to build trust and inter-house unity, the Ministry School Board has designed an obligatory N.E.W.T. project for the eighth year students. Paired off, each team will be assigned a Charmed puffskein and required to share a room with their “families” throughout the term. If they all survive that long.

Recalibrate by Saras_Girl [20k]

Sometimes, you need to step back and think about things from a new perspective. Other times, you’ve just got to open your eyes to what you needed all along. HPDM 8th-year FILTH

Sparks by @annanother-thing [20k]

“I’m sorry,” Draco turned to him, “are we boring you?” Greg looked up. “No, I’m just hungry, and you’re taking far too long to just tell them that you and Potter are soulmates. Do you have to be this dramatic?” There was a moment of silence, before all hell broke loose. Harry didn’t know soulmates existed until he was fourteen. He wasn’t sure what he imagined it would be like, but he knew it wasn’t this. But that’s not to say he didn’t like it.

Strange Bathfellows by @bixgirl1  [27k]

It started with a bath.  Or a potions accident.  Or maybe it started before that, but who can tell anymore.   Featuring: Uncomfortable wanking, more comfortable wanking, mutual wanking, bath sharing, inappropriate betting, secret shagging, those secrets at Hogwarts that everyone knows, and oblivious Harry who knows one thing: he’s falling in love.

Symbiosis by fireflavored [20k]

sym·bi·o·sis (sĩm'bē-ō'sĩs) n. Biology A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by @faith2wood [21k]

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that’s ever so cross.

The Ties That Bind Us by @faith2wood [27k]

An accident leaves Draco and Harry bound tightly together. Literally.

Two Wands Make a Right by dannyfranx [21k]

Harry’s wand is playing up and Hermione thinks she knows the answer, but why does she have to be right all the time, why does Draco Malfoy have to be so god damn difficult and why is he wearing his tie backwards?

Your Destiny, My Destination by valinorean [20k]

Life is a series of events that shape your past and determine your future. Ten years after the war, Head Auror Harry Potter accidentally travelled back in time where he met 18-year-old Draco Malfoy.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[xoxoemynn]

For OFMD Tumblr friends who want a S3 and are scared of Twitter

First, no judgment from me. I very much get it. I resisted Twitter for a long time, and even though I'm now a bit more comfortable on it, it's still not my Fandom Home. There are a TON of valid reasons not to be on Twitter, but if you REALLY want to keep OFMD visible right now and help its chances of returning for a third season, Twitter is the best place to do it. Like it or not, Twitter is still the best social media platform for raising awareness and for instant news updates.

Tumblr posts don't make headlines. Topics that have been trending on Twitter do. And if we want this show to come back, we need to make OFMD impossible to ignore.

By now you've probably seen just how close we came to a S3, and if you're like me, you are RAGING and donning your battle jacket. But I get it can be intimidating to get on Twitter for the first time, so I thought I'd address some common anxieties I see. I'll put below a cut because this got a bit long, but I promise it's a quick read.

I don't know what to say! Where do I even start? That's okay! You don't have to create your own tweets (although it's great if you do). Amplifying other people's posts is also important. Go ahead and like/retweet/reply to other people's posts. This may also help you get an idea of what you may like to say in your own tweets.

Hashtags...yes? Yes! Although don't use too many or you may get flagged as a bot. The biggest one that seems to be emerging is #SaveOFMD. Other popular ones are #RenewAsACrew, #RenewOurFlagMeansDeath, and of course, #OFMD and #OurFlagMeansDeath.

Should I just be tagging all the streaming services? Per @renewasacrew, no. It's counterproductive. You'll want to tag one streamer at a time and be specific. Below is an example of a tweet I made the other day -- use specific reasons why that that particular streamer may benefit from picking up OFMD.

I'm scared. People are mean. Yeah, people are mean. But I will say the vibes over at OFMD Twitter are currently the best I've ever seen them. People seem to have united for the greater good and are being overwhelmingly positive and just trying to do whatever we can to save the show. (That said, again, I already had a pretty curated feed, and was very liberal with blocking users/terms I didn't want to see, but I've been able to spend so much more time in the For You tab than I ever have without being jump scared by something.)

But I don't know anyone there! Wouldn't I just be shouting into the void? Not if you use the hashtags! Fans are being really good about following those and engaging with the tweets. Plus, [Stede voice], I'm your friend. I'm xoxoemynn over there as well, I'll follow you back and engage with any of your posts that I see. Plus, what's been REALLY lovely to see is that SO many lurkers have come out of lurkerdom to support the efforts, and they are being welcomed with open arms, so you will not be alone. Again, I am telling you, vibes? Best I've ever seen them.

I can't get sucked into another social media platform, I don't have the time. The beauty here is you don't need to spend a lot of time. I've been on Twitter more in the past week than I have in the entire year I've had an account, and I'm still only on for maybe an hour total the entire day? I open the app, I check a couple accounts, I engage with a handful of posts, and I close the app. It takes all of five minutes. It's an extremely small lift that can have a very big impact.

My bet is on Zaslav expecting us to be upset, and that there may be a day or two of outrage, but then we'd move on. I'm sure right now he's trying to convince everyone that this is a fluke, and that it'll blow over soon. Don't let him win. Keep OFMD in the news. Be loud (but polite) and make Max and other streamers take note of what a passionate, loyal fan base this show has. Make their stocks continue to drop. Make it clear this is NOT just a fluke, it is NOT business as usual. It's a BIG fuck up with lasting consequences.

Twitter, for all its sins, is the best place to do this.

Now let's get our damned show back.

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 and other stories . . . 〗 a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by angela carter's the bloody chamber and other stories. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust details as necessary.

dialogue :

are you sure you want to marry him?

oh! how you must want me!

soon.

i had never been vain until i met you.

anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

all the better to see you.

what is that key? the key to your heart?

every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife.

all is yours, everywhere is open to you.

but now... what shall i do now?

my darling, i cannot wait for the moment when you make me yours completely.

there is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.

you are in some great distress.

any bride brought to a castle should come ready dressed in mourning.

oh god. i can smell the blood.

i thought all these were old wives' tales, chattering of fools, spooks to scare bad children into good behavior!

can't it wait until morning, my darling?

who can say what i deserve or no?

i've done nothing; but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.

i have a place prepared for your exquisite corpse upon my display of flesh.

good fellow? i am no good fellow.

forgive me for robbing your garden!

all she wanted, in the whole world, was one white, perfect rose.

and what else was there to be done?

they are the death of any tender herbivore.

so late! you will want sleep.

you will come back to me? it will be lonely here, without you.

i will come back. soon, before the winter is over.

i am sick and i must die.

if you'll have me, i'll never leave you.

i think i might be able to manage a little breakfast today.

i have lost my pearl, my pearl beyond price.

if you are so careless of your treasure, you should expect them to be taken from you.

for all my pride, my heart is heavy.

if you wish to give me money, then i should be pleased to receive it.

i shall twist a noose out of my bed linen and hang myself with it.

you are a woman of honor.

nothing human lives here.

we have dispensed with servants.

take off my clothes for you, like a ballet girl? is that all you want of me?

all cats are cynics.

you read my thoughts, my love.

the woods enclose. the wood swallows you up.

all will fall still, all lapse.

it is easy to lose yourself in these woods.

i thought that nobody was in the wood but me.

there are some eyes can eat you.

sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord.

eat me, drink me.

dive in and fetch it for me.

now you are at the place of annihilation.

and she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.

can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?

beauty is a symptom of disorder, of soullessness.

a single kiss woke up the sleeping beauty in the wood.

be he alive or be he dead.

coffee. you must have coffee.

welcome. welcome to my chateau.

i rarely receive visitors and that's a misfortune since nothing animates me half as much as the presence of a stranger.

this place is so lonely.

now the village is deserted.

often i am so silent that i think i, too, will soon forget how to do so and nobody will ever talk any more.

i must apologize for the lack of light.

you have such a fine throat, like a column of marble.

i am condemned to solitude and dark.

i do not mean to hurt you.

i will be very gentle.

and could love free me from the shadows?

i've been waiting for you in my wedding dress, why have you delayed for so long.

you will feel no pain, my darling.

so delicate and damned, poor thing. quite damned.

the end of exile is the end of being.

it is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.

the devil is as real as you or i.

do not leave the path.

you are always in danger in the forest.

they are as unkind as plague.

fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.

besides, aren't you afraid of the wolves?

actions :

clasp. from behind, the sender places their hands over the receiver's eyes.

opera. through opera glasses, the sender watches the receiver.

choker. the sender fastens a gemstone necklace around the receiver's neck.

carriage. the sender locks the receiver in with them in their train compartment.

spine. the sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's bare neck.

cigar. the sender leans in and blows smoke in the receiver's face.

ermine. the sender wraps the furs around the receiver tighter as the snow falls.

keys. the sender silently enters the room and listens to the receiver play piano.

harem. the sender undresses the receiver before a collection of mirrors.

lazy. the sender brings the receiver breakfast in bed.

call. the sender calls the receiver and bursts into tears upon hearing their voice.

note. the sender discovers a love letter sent to the receiver from a previous lover.

death. the sender finds the receiver with the body of their latest victim.

hospitality. the sender watches from the shadows as the receiver take refuge from a storm in the sender's seemingly abandoned home.

servant. invisible, the sender feeds/washes/cares for the receiver.

hearth. the sender and the receiver talk past midnight by the fire's light.

hands. the sender falls to their knees before the receiver and kisses their hands.

bouquet. the sender has a hundred white roses sent to the receiver.

reunion. the sender lays eyes upon the receiver for the first time in an age.

bad luck. the sender hangs their head having lost a bet to the receiver.

voice. the sender sends their valet to speak their desires to the receiver.

powder. the sender dresses/makes up the receiver before an important night.

stallion. the sender grabs the reins of the receiver's horse and leads them away.

weep. the sender cries at the sight of the receiver in such a state.

dry. the sender brushes a tear from the receiver's cheek.

flush. the sender pinches the receiver's skin, watching it redden with blood.

prey. the sender guides the receiver's hands as together they skin a rabbit.

song. the sender sings and the receiver is spellbound, their feet following their song's command.

caught. the sender locks the receiver into a cage.

green. by the sender's command, the growth begins to take over the receiver.

tarot. the sender tells the receiver they are doomed to a sad fate.

stain. the sender touches the bloodstain on the receiver's white negligée.

wild. the sender rides hard through the night, chasing the receiver.

thirst. the sender sinks their teeth into the neck of the receiver.

china. the sender pours tea for the receiver and offers them biscuits.

blemish. the sender explores the receiver's skin and finds the mark of a witch.

wolf. the wolf reveals themself to be the sender before the receiver.

muzzle. the sender kisses the monstrous mouth of the receiver.

[nanaminokanojo]

Between 7:00pm and 8:31pm | gojo x you

TW/CW: mentions of death/dying | shibuya arc | misanthropic thoughts | just angst | strong language

"For the greater good? Fuck that."

Four pairs of eyes simultaneously darted towards you, devoid of judgment. More or less, they understood what you were getting at, but you knew what they meant without words. You weren't supposed to say that. Such was your duty and purpose as a jujutsu sorcerer. But you did anyway, giving a voice to the white elephant in the room, acknowledging what everyone was afraid to even give a single moment's thought.

The greater good? Who does it serve anyway? At whose expense? Your friends' lives? Why? Because you were stronger than the rest of humanity? The strongest for the preservation of the lives of the weak?

You were strong. That should be the end of the conversation. You didn't owe anyone for it. You chose to be strong, and those who were born like you weren't there to play the role of anyone's savior just because they have the means.

Fushiguro Megumi was right: you weren't heroes. You may choose whom you want to save. Your addition to that was the fact that you can choose whether to save others or not. That's the cold, hard truth you wanted to live by without having to apologize for it, but that would shake the very foundations the jujutsu society stood for.

You looked towards Gojo. You knew he was looking at you even with his blindfold on and the lack of physical indication that his attention was on you. And somehow, it seemed to weigh more than any of the looks every one else in the room gave you. It angered you that he was resigned to it all when he was the best out of all of you, the strongest, the honored one. He can do whatever the hell he wants and yet he was there with you, wholeheartedly accepting orders to deal with whatever was happening in Shibuya at the moment.

Alone.

"Now isn't the time to –" Nanami spoke, and you usually wouldn't dare with the degree of respect you held for him, but you interrupted him.

"No, seriously. What does this have to do with us?" you asked, stunning them further. You looked at Nanami who was able to escape this life but came back anyway, confusion and rage glimmering in your eyes despite your calm manner. He could have a good life away from everything, but what the hell was he doing there?

And now they're thinking of sending Gojo alone to play along with whatever schemes the enemies are brewing? They're letting him walk into something that – although he was possibly capable of putting an end to – was, by all means, a trap? You refused to stand for it.

You didn't understand. Ever since you were a child, you were taught and trained to become what you are: a jujutsu sorcerer before you were a human; a tool for this greater good – whatever that meant – before you're a feeling, living being. But as time passed by, watching all the people you knew, good ones, lose their lives for this one-track cause, the less you knew. Why do you have to save them? Lives begin and end. It's just there. Why should those people's lives matter more than yours did? Because they're good? On whose standards?

"Y/N," Yaga warned, evidently seeing the ghost of someone he thought he knew well from last year. "This has already been decided by the higher-ups."

"And nobody dared question it?"

"You're treading dangerous waters there," the principal stated, raising his voice. "This is what we do. It's what you chose to do. Have you come to resent it?"

"There lies my mistake."

Shoko placed a hand on your shoulder. "You don't mean that."

"Geto was right." There, you said it, distabilizing the very principles you all stood for.

"Don't go there –"

You gave everyone a sweeping glare, silencing even Yaga. "His methods will never be right, but he knew what he was talking about." You chuckled bitterly. "He always did. And now he's gone."

You started walking out of the room but paused by the bench where Gojo was seated, still looking unbothered. "I never cared that you were the strongest. To me, you're just Satoru."

You looked behind your shoulder. "That applies to you all."

"Where are you going?" Nanami asked.

"You will excuse me if I do not wish to have a hand in murdering my friends or myself for that matter."

**

"You underestimate me."

You blew the cigarette smoke you were holding in as you stared at the clear signs of veils laid out over the busy streets of Shibuya from where you stood on a building rooftop. Without acknowledging the presence behind you, you finished the last drag of smoke, the burn in your throat and lungs feeling better than all your bitter thoughts and feelings towards the world you've come to know.

"'Just Satoru', eh?"

"You're purposefully being an idiot if you didn't understand what I meant by that." You glanced at Gojo when he came close enough. "Even more so if you think I'll ever underestimate you."

He chuckled. "So, you don't want me to go?" he asked in that melodic, carefree voice, slightly bending down towards the side as if he needed that to take a better look at you. "You have so little faith –"

"Faith, I have too much in you, not because you're strong, but because you are you. What I don't have is sympathy or trust for anyone who thinks they can rely on you all the time to straighten things out."

"And proud?" You let out a humorless laugh. "There's nothing to be proud of in death. There's never any ounce of dignity in it whether you die saving others or if you get snuffed out meaninglessly. It all ends the same way."

His weirdly glossy lips protruded at your sentiment. "Aren't you proud that people are able rely on us?"

"This is wrong." Everything was conveyed in those three words you uttered without any need for elaboration. Gojo merely smiled.

"So, you're scared of dying?"

"No. Dying is easy. That's all where we're headed at one point. You know what's terrifying though?"

"What?"

You finally looked at him. "Giving your life to this cause knowing it changes nothing."

"How very nihilistic."

You shrugged. "A hundred years from now, curses will still be around, kept alive by the very beings we're fighting for at present. And for what? For future generations who will produce curses, stronger and harder to fathom and defeat? All because they can't accept they're just products of a chance in their search to have higher purpose and superiority in life.

We ourselves are cursed. We control that very form of energy to prevent it from evolving into monsters, but it eats us up for the very same reasons."

"Those reasons being...?"

"We're stronger so perhaps we should be responsible for protecting lives around us. Whoever thought of that was fucking cocky, but really, who are we kidding, Gojo?"

He snickered, no doubt thrilled by your unfiltered thoughts. After him, you were probably the biggest thorn on the higher-ups' side with your radical thoughts, at least by their standards. But he still wanted you to jump all the hoops. "Thus your belief that Suguru was right?"

"I'm worse than him. I just don't act on it. I'm super sold on the fact that humans are the scum of the earth, sorcerer or not."

"You're human and a sorcerer?" he pointed out, trying to vex you.

"Exactly."

Gojo patted your head. "And yet you're still here for the very purpose you dare spit on."

You smirked at him. "I don't want you to have to kill another one of your friends for insubordination and subscribing to the ideologies of our realm's Lord Voldemort."

"Suguru had hair and a nose though?"

"He's prettier, too, that cult-leading fucker, but not the point, dumbass."

It was both funny and sad how you speak of the fallen Geto Suguru so fondly as if he didn't kickstart the most massive chaos in recent jujutsu history. But like Gojo, to you, he was just Suguru.

Just then, Gojo pulled you into his long arms, giving you a bear hug that annoyed you more than anything. "You've always been our sweetest Y/N even if you act like Ryomen Sukuna's spawn."

You pushed Gojo off of you, straightening your hair out in irritation. "He's my ancestor after all."

You both made disgusted faces at that little detail about you, but as always, Gojo was quick to recover into his cheerful façade. "Don't worry. I'll be back."

He said that, but not even an hour later, you were hearing Itadori Yuuji screaming from the top of a building in the middle of the deserted Shibuya.

Gojo Satoru has been sealed by none other than the very person – or at least whatever now resides in him – whose beliefs you agreed were right.