#mighty can too i think. seems like one of his skills.

[borrelia]

at some point i mustve posted seat assignments for sonic characters but well i was thinking about it again. ive decided the best racing 8 you could make with sonics would be: tekno cox, shadow, espio, mighty, knuckles, amy, sticks, sonic, blaze

i was gonna say tails cox bc like. he's the strategist, OBVIOUSLY you put him in cox 🙄 but ermm no i dont think he has a cox temperment at all. the best coxswains are calm under pressure, good at multitasking, good at communicating, motivational, confident and can turn it on when it gets hot. tails is a little too in his own head to manage all that. i don't think he has what it takes. now tekno, she's good at keeping a level head and I think she'd get the right balance between motivational + sillay for her rowers vs bringing down the hammer when she needs them to pull.

shadow and espio stroke pair. shadow i think would just have a real good natural rhythm and espio would be able to match it well. mr perfectionist. i don't think theyd be the BEST company for a cox--any cox, tekno or no--but shadow could communicate well enough i think.

mighty and knuckles in the stern half of the engine room. just easy math.

amy has a perfect cox temperament i think so maybe on the side she could do that too but man i want her in the engine room so bad. bow half bc she seems like she'd want to enjoy the view and goof off a bit more. sticks as her pair partner bc honestly shes just the best match for amy and theyre good at hyping each other up. AND i think she could pull.

sonic HAS to be in bow pair. he's too much of a goofball to be near the cox and you just KNOW mr speed demon would rush the slide so he canNOT be allowed to stroke. BUT. goofball nature in mind, he cannot be sitting bow seat. uh uh, not enough control, not good enough at paying attention. now blaze is REALLY disciplined, i think she'd make an excellent bow seat. and as pair partners with sonic i think theyd bring the best out in each other. she gets to have a little fun back there with her friend and he gets pushed to really put in the effort.

[feyascorner]

Ok but what if tav is the hero of baldurs gate right, the god killer, slayer of the chosen three, savior of the emerald grove etc etc and after all that is told they had this incurable illness that the parasite had only slowed down. Now, with it gone, it’s progressing again and Tav can’t help but feel so stupid, weak even, that such a mighty hero could be struck by the weaknesses of their own body

Maybe pushes everyone away when they find out, too afraid to tell them that after everything they’ve been through after surviving all of that that they were going to die anyways

AND THEN ASTARIONS REACTION!!! Because surely he would not take that news sitting down (if he found out at all)

a/n. anon how did you know this type of prompt is exactly my cup of tea <33

It's not fair.

You did everything right. You saved the grove, the Tieflings, the Druids, the gnomes, the city, and even those who did not deserve saving, you always came to their aid. You've slayed gods, mind flayers, githyanki, even a bloody elder brain. And now, finally, after so long, with the brain having been defeated, and nothing but pure bliss occupying your headspace, you think you finally have time to relax.

Instead, you're reeled over the bathroom sink, eyes blurry from how much your body seems hellbent on making you miserable.

Ah, you remember. No matter what you've done for others, no matter what you've sacrificed, you're reduced to nothing but a sick patient. One that has no hope for a cure.

The months spent with little to do with your illness has left it to come back tenfold, and now all you can do is grovel on the bathroom floor, head in your hands as you understand that this is all you were meant to amount to. In the end, you were always destined to rot away by yourself and succumb to this gods forsaken disease. You are no hero. This is what you truly are---the pitiful remains of someone who longed for more.

The weeks following the defeat of the elder brain are filled with mournful streets for those who lost their lives and the joyous laughter of those who live on for them. Celebration--though it's difficult with half the taverns having collapsed in the battle--is not out of the ordinary. Strangers and friends alike come together every night, singing praises to whichever gods they worship. Your companions are no exception.

But each and every time, you deny their offers. You've become quite skilled at making up excuses about feeling tired, about having errands to run, or having loose ends to tie up. In reality, you're a coward. Despite the trust they put in you, you cannot provide it back--not in matters like this. Not when you've all been through so much, just for your own journey to amount to nothing.

It's not like you haven't known about this disease. You knew your death was imminent. But now, after experiencing just a fraction of what life has to offer, you no longer want to let go.

It's just not fair.

For what seems to be the millionth time this week, you hear someone knock at your door. Whichever one of your companions it is, you don't bother taking a step from your bed, face still planted into your sheets. You don't have the energy to move, and the useless healing herbs scattered across the room don't exactly hide your secret. So instead of standing, you bury your face deeper into your bed.

"You can't stay in there forever."

You flinch as you realize it's a voice you've dreaded hearing. One that invokes so much love yet fear as you remember that if you see him right now, it might be your last. And you don't want that. Not at all.

"I don't know what we've done to make you push us away like this," he says through the door, and your fist tightens in front of your chest. "But this is getting ridiculous, darling. You have to come out eventually."

You remain silent.

"Gods, just--" he stops, and you can hear the hesitance in his voice. You swear it almost cracks a little. "--Have I done something wrong?"

At this, you're suddenly on your feet, rushing to push yourself against the door, but unwilling to open in. "No, Astarion, you haven't done anything wrong. Don't you dare think that way."

You can hear him shift. "Then why do you avoid me? The others, I can understand, but me?...I mean, I thought we were more than that..."

"We are, it's just..."

"Just what?"

The final thread of your resolve snaps, and you reach toward your lock. Your hand falters for a moment, but you eventually open the door slowly. And if the way his face falls tells you anything, you must look absolutely dreadful.

"Oh, my sweet, what's happened to you?" he whispers, his eyes widening even more when he sees the mess of your home behind you. The clothes all over the floor, the blinds shut despite there being no sunlight to shield from, the healing potions and herbs messily tossed around...you'd feel ashamed if you weren't so tired already.

"...Are you sick?" he steps inside, taking his time to take in the state of what you call home. When you don't answer, he whips around to you, alarmed. "You're sick. Is it a cold? Flu?"

You shake your head, sick of having to lie to the one person you don't want to deceive. "It's a long story."

"I'm undead, darling. I have all the time in the world."

"It's not a very nice story."

"If I wanted a nice story, I'd be listening to a bard someplace else," he says, and you feel your eyes bubble with tears as he steps closer. "What's happened?"

The words spill out like vomit, and you're soon telling him what's been weighing on you for so long. You find yourself sliding down to the ground, and he goes with you, letting you grasp desperately at the sleeves of his shirt while you tell him everything. You can barely breathe with how fast your talking but you're afraid you won't say everything if you get any slower. The entire time, he just stares at you, his arms circled around you, and only when you're done does his gaze finally flicker.

"...Surely, there must be a cure." He's suddenly glancing around the entire room, at pieces of herbs. "Surely, at least one of these would--"

"None of them work, Astarion."

"Then we can find the finest healers in the city--we can even go back to that damn druid, and ask him."

"I've tried."

"Well, you haven't tried hard enough, obviously, if you haven't found a bloody cure!"

You give him one hard look--one with dark bags under your eyes and a weariness that stretches on for weeks--and his temper seems to cool. His shoulders slump, but he reaches for your hand, rubbing his thumb against your skin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just felt so weak," you whisper. "I didn't want you to think that too."

Immediately, his eyes harden, and he takes both sides of your face in his hands. "No. I don't think you're weak, and that's not going to change. You've proven yourself more than I can count, and I know you enough to know that you can't let it end like this, love. You can't leave like this."

"Astarion..."

He shakes his head. "I won't let this take you from me. There have been too many opportunities for us to lose each other, and we've overcome them all. We'll just do it again. We'll go to the most skilled healers in Faerun. We'll go to all of them if we have to, and we'll start tomorrow."

You can feel yourself tear up again, and he kisses your tears away while you sob in his arms.

"I'll save you," he mumbles against your temple. "Even if it's the last thing I do."

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

You teach Ghost a new skill

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader 

WARNINGS: smut || 18+ only MDNI ||

A/N: ...it's so horny...

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

____

It’s been a long evening, and you’re tired.   Wrung out.

And so your first instinct (governed solely by delirious tiredness at this point) is to laugh at Ghost’s words.  Not because they’re funny, but because they’re—quite literally—unbelievable.   You look from him to Johnny, and then back to him, before your smile falters and falls entirely.  Oh fuck, he’s serious.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never eaten pussy.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter.  “Lt…I’m finding that very hard to believe.”

“Believe what y’want, Sergeant.”

Usually, Johnny would intervene, ever the peace-maker between the two of you.  But not tonight.  Tonight he just watches the two of you, his baby blues brighter and wider than usual as they swing between the two of you as though he’s watching a tennis match. 

“So…what?  You want to try?”

“Mm.”

“You want me to…show you what I like.  While you’re going down on me.”

Ghost looks at you like you’re an idiot, which, in his defence, is how he looks at everyone.  

You’re not entirely sure what to do, so you look to Johnny for help.  What the fuck, you mouth at him, and only when you hear a rumble from Ghost do you turn back to him.      

“Okay…yeah.  Fine. Okay, fine.”  You giggle nervously.  “Can Johnny show you?  He knows what I like.”  When you glance over at Johnny, he’s helpful as ever—nodding sagely at your words.  

He does know what you like, after all.

Ghost only crosses his arms over his chest, and the whole thing makes him look bigger.  More intimidating.  He takes up more room like this, and you may have even called it posturing, except you know that it isn’t.  There is neither the need nor the expectation of posturing between the three of you. 

“Take your clothes off,” Ghost orders, and you scramble to obey immediately.  (Hours in the future from this moment, you’ll think about how they’re the last coherent words he says for a while.  What a man your mighty Lieutenant is, commendable in the absolute dedication and discipline he shows in learning a new craft.)

You watch them as they watch you strip.  You take your time with it—too awkward to make it sexy for them, but enjoying how their eyes greedily linger on the skin your fingertips brush.  They make you feel sexy with just their eyes on you, and at one point, you watch with a sly smile on your face as Johnny touches himself through his trousers.  Just the one hard tug, and his resultant raspy exhale has white-hot arousal coursing through your veins. 

They don’t undress, they don’t even move from their positions, really, and you suppose there are worse things than being the main course for the evening.  When you’re finally bare, Johnny seems to lurch out of his trance and reaches out to you, gently pulling you by your hand into the bed.  And finally, finally, when Johnny kisses you, you can relax into the whole thing.  A contradiction to be sure, but you’ve never felt as relaxed as you do when you pull away from him, gasping for air.  

Ghost is at your back, mask off, warm breath at the nape of your neck.  “Don’t stop on my account, Sergeants.”

It’s hardly a big ask, and you go back eagerly for seconds, latch on to Johnny’s lips while his hands roam the sides of your body.  There’s a comfort in the familiarity of his touch, and you’re left wondering when you’ll have that with both of them.    

So it does come as quite a surprise when (in almost a physical manifestation of your inner thoughts) you feel Ghost’s arms reach out and tug your own behind your back.  You think nothing of it, though, too mesmerised by being the world’s luckiest girl in that moment—trapped in between two men, one making love to your mouth, the other determined to make you flood your panties by just kissing the back of your neck.  

You only barely register Ghost’s movements behind you, hands on your shoulders tugging you backwards into him with care until you’re lying on your back.  The ease with which Johnny moves with you, using his elbows to support his body weight above you, makes you feel like they’ve planned something for you.

But you know that’s not true.  You know that you can’t plan a calamity.

Johnny’s attention moves from your lips to your cheeks to your jaw, while you’ve got your head in Ghost’s lap, who runs eager, gentle hands over your breasts, your belly, your arms—and you can’t help but sigh with how languid and loose you feel right now.  And, almost as if in response, the lizard part of your hind-brain whispers to you about how nice and safe and warm it feels between the two men, being taken care of by them, being spoiled by them.  

They don’t seem in any particular hurry, and so when you cheekily guide Ghost’s hand towards your pussy and he resists, you don’t think anything of it.  But of course, it makes Johnny look up at Ghost and freeze and all the action stops and you want to whine, protest, make your displeasure known in some way, but you don’t get the opportunity.  Ghost shifts, cradling your head before putting it gently down on the bed, leaning closer and closer and oh.  

Kissing Ghost is so different from kissing Johnny.  When Johnny kisses you, it feels like your spine melts, and you’re left a puddle under eager, enthusiastic fingers.  But Ghost is not Johnny.

No, kissing Ghost makes you feel like you’re a bee trying to hold your own against a hurricane.  Try as hard as you want, but the hurricane doesn’t care.  The hurricane barrels through, stopped by nothing and no one, not swayed in the slightest by your courage or endeared to your foolishness.      

Except Ghost isn’t just a hurricane.  

He’s your superior officer, he’s a man you work with, a man you work for, a man you trust in more ways than one, a man who's got both your arms pinned above you.  He coaxes you to let him explore your mouth, urges you to open up to him, and god do you let him.  

So engrossed are you that you don’t even notice the distinct sound of the locking zip ties on your wrists until your body jerks up, and you find that your arms have been bound above your head.  “Ghost!  Wh—”

“Shh,” he murmurs.   “I’ve got ya, yer’alright, pet.  Hush.”

You hush.  When your eyes meet Johnny’s, he’s looking at you with the same steady gaze he gives you in the middle of the battlefield, a look that says it’s alright and you’ve got this and I won’t let anything happen to you.  So you relax and when Johnny climbs back up your body to kiss you again, you let your kiss sum up your trust in him.  He squeezes your right hip, something he’s done a thousand times before you remind you that you’re safe with him, and the final vestiges of apprehension drain out of you.

“Sitrep?” Johnny murmurs, and it makes you smile against his mouth.

“Living,” you answer immediately, and it makes Ghost exhale roughly.

But you know why, you think.  You can step outside of your body for a second, see what Ghost sees.  Your naked body in bed—in his bed—Johnny hovering over you, his clothed cock right over your pussy that throbs from the lack of attention.  

You break your kiss with Johnny and he turns to look at your Lieutenant.  “You ready for your lesson, Lt?”         

It always jars you, how quickly Ghost moves.  He’s surprisingly agile, even with how big he is, especially with how big he is, but he’s kneeling on the floor in a second, hands running over your calves, the back of your thighs and finally coming to a rest on your hips.  The whole time, though, his eyes haven’t left your pussy, and it makes you squirm.  You feel too warm just from his attention, and neither of them have even touched you between your legs yet.

“Now the first lesson is…” Soap uses his middle finger to touch your slit, and then immediately drops it, slides it over your completely, unbearably, slick, hot, neglected cunt.   

“Fuck,” Ghost spits and Johnny hums in approval.  You’re pretty sure you’re about to snap your jaw off its hinges from how tight you’ve got it clutched it shut.  “You hafta see how the bonnie lass is doin,’ alrate?  Check if you’ve been kissin’ her all nice and sweet, just how she likes it.”

Johnny continues to touch you, but warm fingers, bigger, rougher, more calloused, find your clit.  Ghost touches your clit in small, slow circles, and fuck.  You’re bucking your hips into it slightly because you can’t help yourself.  You close your eyes and squeeze them shut, because god, you can all hear how obscenely wet you are right now.  “See now how wet our lass is jus’ from hearin’ us talking about eatin’ that cunt?  That’s what you want, Lt,” Johnny instructs.

It makes you gasp raggedly, feeling like you’ve run a marathon but no.  All you’ve done is lay there, while they masturbate you with just two fingers but every coherent thought has already left your brain and you’re left wondering if you really will lose your mind and have a heart attack by the end of the night.  

“Now here’s a little tip, Ghost,” Johnny says hoarsely, and brings his finger still shiny-wet with your slick up to Ghost’s face.  There’s no hesitation as Ghost wraps his mouth around Johnny’s finger effortlessly.  You’re breathing hard with your mouth slightly open in apprehension, because if they say anything to you right now, you will literally pass out.  Johnny’s face lights up at the lack of thought Ghost seems to give in making out with Johnny’s finger, and he pushes in closer and closer to Ghost until they’re the ones kissing.  

And god.  You see the hint of tongues and they look so damn lost in each other, but they don’t stop touching you.  But goddammit you want their attention on you tonight.  You whine a little, squirm and pull against the zip ties that bind your wrists to the bedpost, but Ghost’s warm, steady hand on your thigh stops you.  Be good, it seems to say.  Be good and endure.  So you do.

When they break apart, Ghost’s quick smirk at you feels like your reward.  

“You…you can put your finger inside me, Ghost.  It’s—I’d really like that,” you say meekly.  You have not once in your life been meek with Ghost and Johnny chuckles slowly.

“Ach, I’m givin’ the instructions tonight, love.  Here,” he says, motioning so Ghostcan replace Johnny’s fingers on your slit with his own.  “Go on, then, Lt.”  His voice drops to a teasing whisper.  “It’s where she’s the warmest…wettest too.  And she’d like it,” he adds, only slightly mocking you, and you laugh breathily. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost croaks, and a tremor runs down your spine when he follows Johnny’s instructions.  It’s like your pussy hears him, floods his fingers, throbs a hot, wicked rhythm against them.   “Y’might be right, Johnny.”  Ghost diligently avoids our clit, running a curious finger over the length of your cunt, then feeling out the tight muscle there, pushing in slowly, slowly.  Gently enough to open you up on his finger.

“Good fuckin’ god, ain’t that a sight,” Johnny breathes, and you clench your fingers in a fist because you need something, anything to relieve the pressure you feel right now.  It hasn’t even been that long that Johnny fucked you, a few days, maybe, but the way you open up around Ghost’s finger, you’d have thought it was weeks.  

After all the build up that felt like torture, your eyes roll back into your head as you feel Ghost move his finger in and out of you, then feeling brave and adding a second.  His movements are precise, a military man through and through, and his eyes never once move from your cunt.  He watches the movement of his own fingers, the muscles in his bicep jumping from how controlled his movements are, and when he pulls them out and brushes them over Johnny’s lips, you can see that they’re absolutely drenched.  

But fuck, they don’t even give you a moment, because Johnny has his eyes closed, allows Ghost to sink his fingers in his mouth so deep, and he kind of…slumps a bit.  Relaxes into it entirely.   His face goes soft and his shoulders drop and Ghost watches him with keen, sharp eyes.  You’re almost convinced they’ve forgotten you’re in the room.   Almost, because, almost in perfect sync, their attention turns back to you.  They’re so in tune with each other, it’s ridiculous.  “Boys,” you gasp.  “Rude to keep a girl waiting, you know.”

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost insists, and pushes his fingers into your mouth instead.  You should bite him for the audacity, but the lingering taste of your own pussy has you weak, and you suck his fingers automatically.  “Be nice, pet.  Or class ends here, yeah?  You can be an outstanding student, while Johnny sucks my cock.”  His words expose the temporary nature of your bravado, and it rushes out of you, making your spine meet the bed again.  You hadn’t even realised how far you’d been arching off of it.

Johnny soothes you, though, shushing you, gentle murmurs of encouragement leaving his mouth effortlessly as two, thick fingers find their way inside you and keep you plugged.  He only turns to Ghost when you’re a gasping, moaning mess.  “Think you can guess wha’ comes next, Lt?”

Ghost adjusts so his face is right in front of your cunt and Johnny leans down to whisper in his ear.  “...like you’re parched, and the lass offers the last drink on Earth, ye?”

Johnny continues the rocking motion of his fingers inside you while Ghost brings his mouth closer to your cunt, and just breathes there.  Even that feels like too much stimulation and when Johnny uses that exact moment to curl his fingers into you in a come hither motion, your whine is loud and drawn out, eyes squeezed shut so tight, you feel a few errant tears leak out the sides.    

When Ghost’s tongue makes contact with you, he doesn’t immediately latch on to your clit like you’d expected, or hoped.  No, he uses his tongue to gently savour your wetness, and considering how much of it there is, you’re sure you’re feeding him mouthfuls of it, just from how close you are to coming.  He finally pulls you out of your misery, though, when his tongue makes the journey to your clit, and when your hips rock upwards, he groans and rises up to chase it.  The tip of his tongue swirls around your clit and down to your pussy, where Johnny’s fingers slide out slowly, so Ghost can suck them clean before they go back inside you and Ghost repeats the whole thing.

You’re only pulled out of the moment for a split second, when you notice Soap’s hand covering  the nape of Ghost’s neck, holding him there against your pussy, and how Ghost lets him.  It only catches your attention because of how submissive it is, how trusting, but you immediately forget why it even matters when his velvet tongue catches on your clit.       

You can hardly believe what’s happening to you right now.  Ghost is adjusting himself enough so your knees go effortlessly over his shoulder and you’re ludicrously exposed to him right now. The same Ghost who exercises restraint in every aspect of his life, is mean and sometimes a bully and strict and fucking scary, has got his nose grinding against your clit right now, while his tongue gathers your arousal from your slit, swallows it and goes back for more. 

You feel that deep, familiar swell in the pit of your belly, and your eyes pop open in panic, because your hands are tied and you can’t even grind into Ghost’s face without any leverage, but then Johnny adds a third finger into you while Ghost sucks on your clit with persistence, and you find that you don’t need that leverage after all.  You can grind into his face just fine.  You turn away and bite your lip hard, but Ghost’s hand shoots up and curls around your jaw, twisting it until you’re facing them again.  

You moan and Johnny coos at you in response. “Stay wi’ us, baby, stay right here,” he murmurs. 

And then, all at once, you’re coming, hard.  It’s almost painful, the pressure of it, the way it makes you want to kick and squeal and cry from how it makes your body curl up in on itself, your spine bowing in half.  Your cry is anguished and deep and rips its way out of your throat, and you think you hear a satisfied rumble from one of your boys, but you don’t know which one.  Your orgasm feels powerful and destructive and you claw at thin air, squirm and move but there’s no getting away from how encompassing it is, how fucking devastating it feels in it’s power. 

You may have drenched Johnny’s fingers and Ghost’s face but you couldn’t care less right now.  You hear one of them chuckle slowly, and you feel yourself gradually fall back onto the Earth.  Ghost has mercifully moved his attention to the insides of your thighs now and Johnny pets your other thigh, and though their touches, any touches feel too much right now, you don’t dare move away from them.  

This time, Ghost crawls up your body to kiss you, tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth, finally  murmurs against your lips.  “Sitrep, Sergeant?”

And you have to smile at that, because this man may hide under layers and layers, but he hides something inside him worth diving into the abyss for.  “Living, Lt.”  His teeth drag along the skin of your throat as he makes way for Johnny to check in on you.  

And oh.  Sweet Johnny’s just smiling at you, hands moving to brush back the sweaty hair at the crown of your head.  “Alright, love?”  

“Yeah,” you say softly, too blissed out to answer.  You float on a cloud, until Johnny speaks, the smirk and mischief in his voice making your eyes shoot open in a panic.

“Last lesson of the day, Lt.  Gotta clean our girl up.”   

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Thank you and happy reading.

PREVIEW TWO

ONE

The journey back to the Red Keep is silent. Aemond communicates only through impatient grunts whenever your hand slips from his waist or when a trot from his horse makes you sway closer to him. The truth is, you’re unsure how to hold onto his waist without practically merging with him. And he’s impatiently racing toward the castle. Your mind is restless. How are you supposed to claim a dragon for Prince Aemond? And what if you fail and end up dead?

"When we arrive at the Red Keep, follow me without further interaction. It’s crucial that your existence remains a secret. We’ll depart as soon as possible to find some use for you. However, your clothes, as well as your smell, betray your origins as a smallfolk. If I’m to endure this journey in your company, it’s better that you’re not reeking." Aemond’s first words directed at you cause discomfort. Not that being treated this way is new, but the discomfort comes from the reality that, once you head toward Dragonstone with Aemond.

"It seems that the mighty Prince Aemond is forgetting that the only safe way to reach Dragonstone without being recognized is by looking like someone like me. Without that fancy attire or that fresh scent, as if you’ve just bathed. Even your silky hair gives away your position. I know how to be invisible, my dear Prince; the question is whether you can be too." You speak, resisting a fleeting urge to lean against Prince Aemond’s back and rest your head on his shoulders.

"I don’t recall asking for your opinion on the matter. Allow me to offer you the opportunity to remain silent before I silence you for good." Prince Aemond could easily embody the arrogant prince. You glance over your shoulder and notice him slightly turning back, likely wanting to gauge your reaction to his threat. You stare at him without saying a word, and you can tell he’s proud of having silenced you.

A few moments later, you arrive at the Red Keep. In that first moment, you question how you’re supposed to dismount from the cursed horse. Aemond has no trouble at all, though he nearly knocks you off in the process of getting down himself. He then begins speaking with some of the King’s guards. Unsure of what to say, you remain silent, still on the horse. You think that if you were to risk a deadly escape, this would be the perfect moment—though lacking any real riding skills, you probably wouldn’t get far. Just then, something makes Prince Aemond notice your hesitation.

“Do you intend to stay on that horse all day? We have tasks to complete,” Prince Aemond snaps, his tone sharp and impatient—his usual demeanor. You look at him, embarrassed. Perhaps he expected a prostitute to know how to dismount a horse with ease. After all, riding cock it's part of what you do for a living.

"I do not intend to waste any more of your time, Your Highness. But I must point out that if I have no idea how to get on a horse, how am I supposed to get off?" You look at Prince Aemond with a certain boldness, wanting to laugh at the angry expression that hovers over his face. He says nothing, simply extends his hands toward you and immediately pulls you down, as if his impatience has reached its limit. His cold hands brush against your skin, indirectly touching your thigh as he yanks you off the horse. You let out a small groan, not as quiet as you would have liked but nothing too conspicuous. The feeling of his hands on you sends shivers down your spine. He however, slightly drops you on the floor as if you were an expendable utensil. You almost stagger but manage to balance yourself as you watch Prince Aemond turn away. You fix your ragged dress as he tries to compose himself, before following Aemond who is already entering the castle.

Aemond orders a few servants to assist you in bathing and changing out of your current attire. He instructs them to provide you with discreet clothing and a cloak. Then he turns to you and whispers near your face, "When you’re done bathing, come to my chambers." You’re not entirely sure why he wants this or if he realizes you have no idea where his chambers are. But you nod gently, confirming that you will go to him.

A servant leads you to a secluded area where there’s a communal bathing space, with other servants also bathing. The sensation of being seen by strangers while you’re naked is a familiar one. Murmurs fill the air, and everyone seems curious about you, though no one speaks to you directly. Not even the servant assisting you. You imagine they’re afraid of Aemond. After all, you are like them—a servant. Moments later, you find yourself dressed in different clothes, delicate and unlike anything you’re used to wearing. The servant finally speaks when she notices your confused gaze, searching for Prince Aemond’s chambers.

"Prince Aemond's chambers are just beyond that door. Knock before entering if you wish to remain alive." The servant speaks softly with unexpected delicacy. You look at her as if relieved to finally know where his chambers are. You want to thank her but imagine that she would rather pretend that this interaction between you two never happened. So you quickly head to Prince Aemond's chambers, silently and taken by nervousness. The servant's words are still clear in your mind as you knock on the door.

Despite knocking on the door, there was no response. You find yourself compelled to enter Aemond’s chambers without an invitation. You fear his anger for not following his order to come to him after bathing. You enter quietly, taking calm steps and making no noise. The first thing you notice is how spacious the room is and how warm it feels compared to the cold water you just bathed in. You immediately think that being a legitimate child of a King must have unimaginable advantages, and you wish you could one day enjoy such comfort for yourself.

"Since you so imprudently entered my chambers, perhaps you'd like to assist me…" Prince Aemond says, appearing suddenly in front of you, which startles you. But it’s not exactly his presence that frightens you. What frightens you is the fact that he is naked. Completely naked, just with his hair loose, even without the eyepatch. Immediately you turn around.

"Your Highness, what kind of assistance do you require from me?" You speak almost as clearly as you can. You have just seen Prince Aemond's cock. And despite your familiarity with cocks, you were not prepared. For a moment, you hope he doesn't misinterpret your reaction.

"I require your assistance to bathe. Do not let your imagination deceive you; I have no intention of having you as a woman in any situation, neither now nor in the future," he says, his tone dry, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. He truly seems to disdain you, yet he prefers your assistance over that of any other servant in the castle. You nod slightly, acknowledging that you understand he does not desire you, and then turn to approach the bathtub where Aemond has just entered. You need to crouch but manage to assist Prince Aemond as you take the sponge and begin to wash his body.

"Prince Aemond, do you really intend to leave your dragon here and come with me to claim another dragon?" you ask, trying to gently wash his body with the sponge while he seems lost in his own thoughts before your question interrupts him.

"Certainly, it is a risk. But leaving a prostitute I do not trust to seek out a precious asset like a dragon, whether alone or accompanied by one of the Kingsguard, seems foolish to me," Prince Aemond says, observing you with his remaining eye as you touch his back and neck with the sponge. The scent of flowers from the bathwater fills the air, creating a palpable tension between you and Aemond.

"If you do not trust anyone around you, your nights must be quite restless. I may not understand what it means to be a Prince, but it seems lonely not being able to count on someone to do what you expect of them. At least you seem to trust Vhagar, since you’re leaving her here," you say, turning to wash the front of Prince Aemond, positioning yourself face-to-face with him. He then grabs your wrist and pulls you closer to him. His remaining eye seems to bore into your soul as you face him, the scar over his other eye drawing even more attention. You don't understand the reason for his sudden proximity, though you can guess that you must have irritated him.

"Your curiosity about my feelings is an inconvenience. Whether my nights are restful or not is of no concern to you. Whether I trust or distrust those around me is irrelevant to you. The only matter you need to focus on at this moment is that you are to claim a dragon on behalf of the rightful King Aegon II. Now, you may leave my chambers. A servant will show you where you will be staying for the night. Tomorrow, we shall depart for Dragonstone," he says with a stern demeanor. You sense that you have touched upon something deeply personal. You set the sponge aside in the bath and, without further words, proceed to find your lodgings for the night.

The following morning, you are roused by a servant who informs you that Prince Aemond is awaiting your presence. Your body aches from having slept in a corner, far from the scrutiny of any significant figures in the castle, as per the Prince’s instructions to remain as inconspicuous as possible. You are provided with a piece of bread and a bit of water to refresh yourself, and then you are prepared for departure. A cloak is draped over you to aid in disguising your appearance.

You are then escorted to the castle’s exit, where you find Prince Aemond waiting with a stern expression. He is clad in a hooded cloak, his hair presumably secured out of sight, as no strands are visible. He briefly glance at you before looking away, as though there is something he wishes to convey but is unable to express, or perhaps it is merely an illusion of your mind.

"It appears you are appropriately attired for the occasion. However, there remains one item missing," Prince Aemond states as he assesses your appearance from head to toe. While you do not fully comprehend his intent, you infer that this might be his way of offering a compliment.

"Pray, Your Highness, what am I lacking?" you inquire, your tone tinged with irritation, which is understandable given the discomfort of your previous night’s rest. Prince Aemond responds with a faint smile and proceeds to grasp your hands, binding them together with a rope. The unexpected nature of this action leaves you momentarily stunned, and he appears to take a certain satisfaction in ensuring the rope is fastened securely, rendering escape impossible.

“Now, you are tied to me,” Prince Aemond declares as he secures the other end of the rope to his own waist. You cast him an angry look, fully aware that this must be an act of retaliation for the previous night. After a deep, frustrated sigh, you accept your predicament, realizing that this journey with Prince Aemond will test your limits in every conceivable way.

[lavendertales]

I don’t even know but for the love of god PLEASE more age gap/ dads best friend trope with Joel Miller 🥵

I got not one, not two, but THREE requests with age gap reader x Joel Miller, so here we go, this one's for you babes 😌

Not enough || Joel Miller x f!reader**

summary: Joel is not happy when your recklessness nearly puts your lives in danger.

word count: 1.8k

WARNINGS: age gap (Joel is in his 40s, reader is like late 20s), unprotected doggy, cum play, choking, enemies to fwb.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @azertyrobaz

Oh, he’s pissed. He’s pissed, alright. You can tell in the way he’s pacing around the room, hands on his hips, brows furrowed in sheer anger. Your negligence has been more than an inconvenience today; it could’ve risked a lot of people’s lives, including your own and Joel’s.

And Joel is not a man you wanna fuck around with.

Well. Not technically.

You just so happen to be in the same shift for the night watch, that’s all. And he just so happens to be Tommy’s brother, so you know from a solid source that he’s got a temper. Inexplicably enough, you find yourself gravitating around him quite often, and not just because duty calls. He’s got an attitude too, which makes him annoying more than anything. He makes your blood boil, makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs.

And yet, your eyes search for him in a crowd, eager to spot that bitter face you’ve grown to detest.

Usually, your disagreements are easily solved: he grunts, you mumble, both of you cuss out loud, maybe yell a little, and call it a truce. In many ways, he doesn’t think of you as equal, you believe; why should he? He’s a skilled hunter, gunsman, and you’re just some gal in her twenties, doing your duty towards Tommy and the people in Jackson.

But today, you’ve really done it. You know it; you just refuse to give Joel the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

He told you to wait for the group to return, then you can go check for clickers. You told him for hours on end that you’ve heard about clickers in the area, and yet Joel refused to believe you. “Till I see it with my own eyes, there ain’t nothing out there,” he said. “No reason to worry everyone”. But the group took too long, and you’ve grown more and more impatient, so you sneaked out the perimeter and went to check for yourself. Surely enough, your instinct and sources have been correct, and there you were, face to face with at least a dozen clickers. Just you and your shotgun against them all.

“Are you really this stupid?”

His question makes your forehead crease with anger as well.

“Well?” he pushes. “Are you?”

“I am far more capable than what you give me credit for.”

Joel snarls, the sound mocking in and of itself, and, weirdly enough or not, you relish into it. There’s something primal behind it, something that suggests care, and that has your undivided attention.

“You could’ve been killed,” he says. “Those fuckers could’ve come in here, have their way with us. All because of you.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Joel?! You wanna hear me beg for your forgiveness? Want me to beg, on my knees?”

He gulps. You see it, it’s undeniable. It’s not quite the reaction you had in mind, so it takes you aback for a moment.

Joel inches closer towards you, his face reading the same anger as before, eyes darkened by some emotion you couldn’t name at this very moment.

“Do you?” you boldly repeat.

“You’re on mighty thin ice here,” he warns, voice husky and intense. “Don’t push me.”

“Or what?”

Joel stares at you, half incredulously and half impressed. He’s always been impressed by your candor and your boldness, your uncanny ability to just face danger without a second thought and come to the others’ defense.

But today, less so. The thought of you getting infected, getting hurt in any way… he’d hate you forever if that were the case. He’d hate himself for it, too.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for here,” Joel seems to warn.

But you cock an eyebrow, causing him to gulp again and question his every moral, and every portion of his sanity.

“Give me some credit here, Joel,” you say in a ridiculously sultry voice. “I think I know what I’m looking for. If only you’d stop treating me like some kind of—“

Your words are cut abruptly by the harsh press of his mouth against yours in a surprisingly hot and needy kiss. On the one hand, you’re thankful he acted before he might’ve asked you to beg for it, like you cheekily said. You’re somewhat embarrassed that such a thing was insinuated, let alone acting upon it. The two of you do not get along, after all. He might actually hate you, simple as that.

But this right here, his calloused hands slipping underneath your shirt to feel your skin and his mouth clamping on yours, this is anything but easy. The amber light breaking through the window as the sun is setting allows you a final clear glimpse of what is happening, and your body shivers at the sight: Joel is hastily undressing you first, as if he’s in some sort of race to see you naked before you see him. You realize that yes, you do want to see him, all of him, just the way that he is, and feel him in this inappropriate moment.

It’s obvious it’s been a long time for both of you; all of the sloppy and rushed movements, getting right to it, suggest a desperation that can hardly be verbalized. Your hands drop to the hem of his shirt, tearing off some of the buttons that keep what’s underneath concealed. You take but a rushed moment to admire the scars covering his chest and belly, as well as the chest hair that you’d love nothing more but nuzzle in. nothing but a stolen moment, though. You wouldn’t want to ruin this moment with anything.

Your hands drop to his jeans, removing his belt and watching him shimmy his way out of them. Your eyes widen in surprise when you brush against him, feeling him rock hard in his boxers.

“Turn around,” he commands, and you obey.

You find yourself bent over the couch in his living room, a strong hand keeping you in place. Anticipation is killing you, the perverted thoughts soaking your mind and pussy alike. it’s ridiculous, really; how the fuck are you soaked when all you’ve done so far is argue with him? Him, Joel Miller, of all people. It feels wrong and forbidden in some way, but at the same time, it feels exactly right. Like this is what you’ve been missing all this time. Him, his arms, his eyes and mouth devouring you alike, and his cock slipping inside you.

Which is precisely what he does.

You can’t possibly control or prevent the wanton cry that comes out of your mouth when you feel his cock sliding inside of you. He pushes with ease, and in any other case it would’ve been alarming to acknowledge how soaked you are, but now, it feels oddly understandable.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” you hear him grunt. “Have you been wanting me to fuck you like this for too long, sweetheart?”

Motherf—

Again you moan when he pushes so far deep inside you, you think you’re gonna black out.

“Answer me,” he grunts.

“Screw you, Miller,” you smile.

He chuckles, because of course he does. “Isn’t it the other way around now?”

He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing it as hard as he can, and he drags his cock all the way out just to push back inside, burying himself in you to the hilt. Then, he just starts slamming his hips into yours, deeming that he’d given you enough time to adjust and all that. After all, this is rushed, needy, and far too agonizing to prolong. It doesn’t mean anything. Why should it?

Fuck, you wanna see him right now. You wanna see the crease on his forehead that betrays his intense concentration, the way a few locks of hair fall down and the way he’s working up a sweat just by staring at your ass brushing up against his cock with each additional thrust. All you can do is moan brokenly as your body is being used as leverage for him to propel himself into, but hell, you could not possibly complain.

Neither of you says much except the occasional cuss word or grunt. Those are the only sounds filling the dead air. It’s hard to focus on actually doing what you’re doing and saying something. Maybe you don’t need to; adding words to this already complicated situation would only make it more meaningful when it’s just about blowing off some steam.

Although you cannot ignore the waves of pleasure that rip through you when Joel’s hand curls around you from the very same position he’s fucking you. A cry leaves your throat, currently held by one of his calloused hands, and Joel smiles in some delirious ecstasy.

“That’s right,” he teases, almost breathless. “This is all you needed—isn’t it?”

If you couldn’t speak before, you certainly can’t now. Joel doesn’t tell you how good it feels to feel you this way. He doesn’t tell you how feral it makes him to have your body at his will, to fuck you this hard and fast from behind like you’re running out of time.

Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. All he knows is that the buildup in his belly is gonna erupt soon, but he needs to feel you first.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, leaning over and squeezing your throat just a little more. “Make it a good one for me, hm? How ‘bout that?”

It’s like he presses an automatic switch as he says that; within the next few seconds, you clamp down all around him, your body seizing up and soaking his cock with your juices as you reach the throes of ecstasy.

“J-Joel—“you finally manage to get out.

He fucks you through your climax, only to pull out as abruptly as he entered you, stroking himself to completion right on your ass. Breathless, he can only stare at the hot, messy canvas he’d painted on your body. The image triggers something inside of him, something deep and primal, urging him for more.

But he can’t. He shouldn’t. There are about a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t, and yet, he just did.

A final smack over your ass lets you know that the exchange of bodily fluids and pleasure has come to an end. When your eyes lock, he doesn’t say a word to you, and neither do you. Instead, he grabs a towel to clean you gently with, a stark contrast between the feral man from mere moments ago and the current one.

“Don’t make me care about you,” he warns.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you say, highly doubting that sentence.

[nelkenbabe]

the conversations between solas and varric drive me to insanity, i think they might be the longest consecutive, interconnected pieces of dialogue between any companions.

there are so many layers and so much back and forth pushing, so much being said without saying it. they explain so much about solas’ current state of mind, but also show the effects of what happened in da2 on varric

Solas: I find the fall of the dwarven lands confusing.

Varric: What's so confusing about endless darkspawn?

Solas: A great deal, although that is a different matter. Dwarves control the flow of lyrium. They could tighten their grip on it.

Varric: It's hard to get the attention of the humans when the darkspawn aren't up here messing with their stuff.

Solas: You're active in the Carta. You know your people could tug the purse strings. You could claim sovereign land on the surface, or demand help restoring the dwarven kingdom, but you don't.

Varric: You're not saying anything I haven't said myself, Chuckles. Orzammar is what it is.

───────

Solas: Is there at least a movement to reunite Orzammar and Kal-Sharok?

Varric: What is it with you, Chuckles? Why do you care so much about the dwarves?

Solas: Once, in the Fade, I saw the memory of a man who lived alone on an island. Most of his tribe had fallen to beasts or disease. His wife had died in childbirth. He was the only one left. He could have struck out on his own to find a new land, new people. But he stayed. He spent every day catching fish in a little boat, every night drinking fermented fruit juice and watching the stars.

Varric: I can think of worse lives.

Solas: How can you be happy surrendering, knowing it will all end with you?  How can you not fight?

Varric: I suppose it depends on the quality of the fermented fruit juice.

Solas: So it seems.

Solas:: I am sorry to have bothered you with my questions about your people Varric. I see so much of this world in dreams. Humans, my own people, even qunari. Dwarves alone were lost to me, save scattered fragments of memory where some spirit cared to watch. Now I know why I see so little.

Varric: And why is that?

Solas:: Dwarves are the severed arm of a once mighty hero, lying in a pool of blood. Undirected. Whatever skill of arms it had, gone forever. Although it might twitch to give the appearance of life, it will never dream. 

Varric: I'd avoid mentioning that to any Carta, Chuckles. They might not take it the right way. 

───────

Varric: What's with you and the doom stuff? Are you always this cheery or is the hole in the sky getting to you?

Solas: I've no idea what you mean.

Varric: All the "fallen empire" crap you go on about. What's so great about empires anyway?

Varric: So we lost the Deep Roads, and Orzammar is too proud to ask for help. So what? We're not Orzammar and we're not our empire.

Varric: There are tens of thousands of us living up here in the sunlight now, and it's not that bad.

Varric: Life goes on. It's just different than it used to be.

Solas: And you have no concept of what that difference cost you.

Varric: I know what it didn't cost me. I'm still here, even after all those thaigs fell.

───────

Solas: You truly are content to sit in the sun, never wondering what you could've been, never fighting back.

Varric: Ha, you've got it all wrong, Chuckles. This is fighting back.

Solas: How does passively accepting your fate constitute a fight?

Varric: In that story of yours—-the fisherman watching the stars, dying alone. You thought he gave up, right?

Solas: Yes.

Varric: But he went on living. He lost everyone, but he still got up every morning. He made a life, even if it was alone.

Varric: That's the world. Everything you build, it tears down. Everything you've got, it takes. And it's gone forever.

Varric: The only choices you get are to lie down and die or keep going. He kept going. That's as close to beating the world as anyone gets.

Solas: Well said. Perhaps I was mistaken.

Varric: You know what I like about you, Chuckles? Your boundless optimism.

Solas: It's comforting that whatever qualities I lack, you'll invent for me, Varric.

Varric: No, really. Why else would an elven apostate help crazy Chantry folk close a hole in the sky?

Solas: When you put it like that, I must concede your point.

PLEASE

[guinevere-if]

Demo: TBA

Guinevere is a text-based interactive fiction that draws inspiration from the rich tapestry of Arthurian Legends.

You will play as Guinevere and witness the journey toward gaining power and the struggles to keep your reign secure in a kingdom filled with political intrigue and external threats.

In the future, I plan to make Guinevere gender-selectable, and also make Arthur the opposite gender of the MC. However, for the time being, I would like to keep the story as it is until I can better determine the direction in which the narrative is heading.

For many years, people believed that dragons were untamable creatures until one man proved them all wrong. Armed with a mighty sword and a formidable dragon by his side, Arthur set out with his army to conquer all of Britain and bring it under his rule. Unfortunately, your kingdom has found itself standing in the way of Arthur's quest for a united Britain.

Choose Guinevere's gender (Soon!)

Customize your MC’s physical appearance.

Make tough and important decisions that affect you and everyone around you.

Four romances that the story heavily focuses on.

Have a dragon by your side and fight Arthur in the skies!

Form a family.

The fate of the realm rests on a knife's edge - it can either flourish under your leadership or crumble to its ultimate demise.

"To achieve the greater good, one must first attain the power to make it a reality."

Arthur Pendragon: King of Camelot and the founder of the Round Table Order.

He is a man of few words, with a cold and aloof demeanor that can make him seem unapproachable. He prefers to keep to himself and often retreats into his own world. Despite his reserved nature, he is a strong leader who inspires loyalty and devotion in those around him.

His golden blonde hair and piercing grey eyes add to his air of regal authority and make him a striking figure. Though he may seem distant at times, he has a deep sense of honor and duty, and will stop at nothing to protect his people and his kingdom.

Will you be able to crack his armor and discover what hides beneath?

"Your ignorance is truly awe-inspiring. I can only hope to one day reach your level of blissful unawareness."

Morgana Le Fay: She is a mysterious and intriguing woman, known for her use of sarcasm to keep others at bay. Her sharp wit and biting comments often serve as a shield, protecting her from anyone getting too close.

Despite her sarcastic demeanor, Morgana is an intelligent and perceptive individual. She has a keen sense of observation and is quick to pick up on the nuances of the people around her. Her green eyes are piercing and seem to see right through anyone who tries to deceive her.

Morgana's inky black hair is often styled in loose waves that frame her pale skin. She has an ethereal beauty that can be both captivating and intimidating. Her presence commands attention, and it's clear that she is not someone to be trifled with.

She's been hurt in the past and is hesitant to let anyone get too close to her. But for those who are willing to take the time to get to know her, Morgana can be a true and loyal friend or even something more.

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I don't know what that means, but I, Sir Lancelot du Lac, never back down from a challenge."

Sir Lancelot du Lac: A knight is known for his charm, boldness, and impulsive nature. He has a reputation for being a ladies' man, with many admirers who swoon at his feet. Standing tall with a strong build and chiseled jaw, he is a man who commands attention wherever he goes. His dark brown hair and deep blue eyes add to his allure, making him a true heartthrob among the ladies.

Sir Lancelot is a skilled and dedicated knight who takes his duties seriously. He is fiercely loyal to his king and the Round Table and will stop at nothing to protect the people he cares about. His impulsive nature can sometimes get him into trouble, but his quick thinking and bravery always manage to save the day. His bravery and courage have earned him respect among many.

Before meeting you, he never found duty to be burdensome. Now he feels it weight more pressing every day.

"I hate you with every fiber of my being, but I can't seem to shake the strange pull you have on me."

Hey, just so you know, you could totally have a poly thing with both her and Arthur. Just throwing it out there. 🙈

Argante: Merlin's daughter and Arthur's childhood friend.

Argante is a complex and intriguing woman, born of the union between a fae and a half-human, she possesses unique abilities that she often uses to aid Arthur on his various journeys and battles. Her loyalty to Arthur is unwavering, and she is always ready to lend her formidable powers to his cause.

Despite her fierce loyalty, Argante can be possessive and quick to anger. Her emotions often run high, and she is not one to back down from a challenge. The complete opposite of her father, Merlin.

Argante's appearance is just as striking as her personality. Her snowy white hair and purple eyes create an otherworldly picture, the very air shimmering around her presence adding to the mirage. It's no wonder that many are drawn to her, be it out of fear or admiration.

Argante despises you with a fiery passion that burns deep through her every time she catches a glimpse of your face. In her eyes, you are the thief who stole the man of her dreams - the one she had loved for years.

And yet… there is another side to her that sometimes emerges whenever she catches glimpses of you. This side of her seems to yearn for your attention and affection, creating a peculiar dichotomy that is difficult to comprehend.

If you could somehow break through the wall of anger and resentment that Argante has built, and show her that you are not the enemy, there might be a chance to win her over. You might even be able to establish a relationship with both her and Arthur.

[rarityroo]

Goosebumps

Keigo Takami x Gn! Reader

Hi, I made this while listening to Goosebumps by Travis Scott & Kendrick very great song I 🫶🏻 Kendrick, unfortunately this is kinda long at least in my opinion. Reader and Keigo are in a barley situationship also the theres some sexual tension towards the end. Enjoy!

Your relationship wasn't anything serious, hell it wasn't even a relationship by most people's standards. Hawks was always painted as a player or a bad boy, with a big ego and the raw skill to prove it, if only they knew. I mean they wouldn't be wrong, he was talented and a good hero at least at the start. He puffed his chest acting like the biggest man in the room. In some ways he was, he was the number two hero after all.

But being popular and wearing a mask doesn't stop him from being vulnerable. Behind it all he wasn't Hawks, he was Keigo, and that's the part of him only you can see. Despite his act, you know he's completely smitten by you. But, you seem to effortlessly glide through life although not completely unfazed by his advances. Every interaction with you sends his heart aflutter, yet you remain unfazed, your demeanor never faltering. You know about guys like him, at least you thought you did. It's like a game of cat and mouse, with Hawks desperately trying to win your affection while you remain just out of reach.

He seems to go to great lengths to impress you, it's honestly embarrassing, in a cute way, whether it's showering you with gifts and compliments or acting cocky to impress. Yet, you always seem to brush it off with a nonchalant smile, leaving him both frustrated and captivated by you.

The Pro-hero gala was in full swing, a display of glamour that seemed to reflect Japan's admiration for its mighty protectors. Keigo, as expected, was the center of attention, effortlessly charming the crowd with his very presence. As you made your way through the bustling venue, you couldn't help but be amazed at the sight. It was rare for someone like you, who worked behind the scenes as a secretary at a pro-hero agency, to be invited to such an exclusive event. But tonight, you were ready to make the most of it. And then, amidst the sea of capes, masks, and hero’s partners, you spotted him—Keigo, looking every bit as striking as he did in the headlines. He was surrounded by admirers, his trademark smirk never faltering as he regaled them with tales of his latest exploits. "Yeah, but I can't take all the credit those little sidekicks put in the work." He says as his admirers look at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

You tried to walk by without catching too much attention especially not his, sadly that wasn't going to be an option for you. One of his fangirls pushed you trying to get closer to him, causing you to be chest-to-chest with Keigo. Damn it.

Hawks looked down at you in shock, his eyes lighting up with recognition. "Well, if it isn't [Your Name]," he said, his voice laced with a hint of surprise. "What's someone like you doing at a fancy shindig like this?"

You chuckled, feeling a surge of cockiness despite your earlier nerves. "Oh, you know, just thought I'd mingle with the heroes for a change," you replied casually, trying to keep your composure in the presence of the number two hero. To your surprise, the Hawks didn't seem to mind you bumping into him. Instead, he flashed you a charming grin. "Well, I'm glad you decided to grace us with your presence," he said, his tone playful. "I was starting to think tonight couldn't get any better, but here you are," he said, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful charm. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Hawks," you teased, feeling a warmth spreading through you at his words. He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne enveloping you. "Everywhere, you say? I might have to test that theory," he replied, his breath brushing against your ear in a way that sent shivers down your spine. Your heart raced at the suggestive tone in his voice, but you didn't back down, you couldn't. "Well, you'll have to catch me first," you shot back, a playful challenge in your tone. You couldn't let him win too easily.

Hawks grinned, his confidence never wavering. "Oh, I intend to," he said, his eyes locking with yours in a silent promise.

And with that, he extended his hand, "Care to dance?"

And just like that, you found yourself swept up in the gala, dancing the night away with Hawks by your side. No, not Hawks, Keigo, the night was shaping up to be far more than just another run-in with Keigo. Tonight, you weren't just a bystander in his world—you were a part of it, if only for a fleeting moment.

[ellieluvr420]

We meet again, darling pt.19 (detective Abby Anderson x criminal reader x detective Ellie Williams)

Synopsis: Abby Anderson is a skilled detective that's never let a criminal escape her grasp, until you. You've infiltrated every part of her life and she still can't get you. As she grows more and more intrigued by you she finds herself descending further into darkness until there's no way back. She takes your hand and follows you as if your presence is the only thing giving her life knowing that you are the most dangerous thing for her. Her life will never be hers again and she will stop at nothing to keep following you down your path of corruption.

7.32 PM

"I'd love to." You take a seat in the chair he's gesturing to and return his stony glare. "Tell me sweetheart. Who'd you have to fuck to get yourself here?"

You laugh at his comment more than you should and it leaves him confused.

"Well I could give you the list but it wouldn't do much, I'm here because I'm good at this. That's why you've never been able to beat me." His face turns to a scowl as he takes a drag of his cigar. He chuckles a little and then goes silent once again.

"You're arrogant. Didn't your parents teach you manners?"

"Nope."

"You must've been a very dislikeable little girl then. Nothing's changed I see."

"You seem to have a fascination with my childhood. Is there a question on your mind? or is that just your thing?" His head snaps up as he puts the cigar down.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing." His voice is low and gravelly as he says it and you can't hide your amusement at his frustration. "I am fascinated though as to what happened in your childhood to make you turn out this way. Were you an orphan?"

"Nope. One brother, my best friend, and two parents that were in a loving marriage and loved us both very much. Perfect, picturesque family. But what way have I turned out? Different from you? Because that would be a mighty high horse for you to be sitting on if that's what you're saying."

"I've heard stories about the things you've done, always vague and never any details about who was committing the heinous acts, but I heard about the acts."

"Yeah? Tell me the worst story you've heard."

"Tell me the worst thing you've done."

"You first." He stays still for a moment until he picks up his cigar again and begins to speak.

"What?"

"Hello to you too, jesus." Ellie scoffed at Abby's rude greeting as she answered the phone. "I don't know what to pack because I don't know if we're going somewhere hot or cold."

"You really think there won't be a whole new wardrobe waiting for us when we get there?"

"True... She'll probably have bought us matching wardrobes."

"Ha yeah I swear we're like dolls to her."

"I've never had someone take so much pleasure in dressing me up, usually the joy happens when the clothes come off." Abby can practically see the smirk on Ellie's face just as Ellie can see the eyeroll coming from Abby.

"Was that all?"

"No actually, I was wondering if you wanted me to grab food from Michael's and then come to yours, can wait for her together."

"Oh right yeah, sounds good, thanks."

"The usual?"

"Yeah please."

"Okay, cool." Ellie hangs up before Abby can even say bye.

"Rude." She mutters to herself but internally she finds Ellie's bluntness charming, she'd always laugh to herself when she'd observe a conversation between Ellie and someone at work that ended in Ellie walking away obliviously while the other person stormed off cursing her rudeness under their breath. Abby returns to packing while thinking about what you're doing right now.

"You first."

"Fine. I heard of you killing a man's wife when he failed to repay his debts to you."

"That's the worst you heard? God people must think I'm pathetic."

He grimaces at your words. "Your turn."

"I set fire to a home where a family, two parents and two kids, were sleeping peacefully inside, I left the daughter to burn and I took the son with me, I killed him separately after I made him live through the pain of losing his perfect family and his perfect life, he became a monster just like me and then I slaughtered him like one too."

"Why?"

"Because I felt like it. Because I needed to. Why does it matter? Doesn't change what I did, see this is what limits people, always trying to find a justification for someone's actions. Once you accept that your actions can't and shouldn't be justified, you're free."

"Is that what you are? Free?"

"Exactly."

8.07 PM

Abby turns her attention from the TV as a knock sounds on her door, she opens it to see Ellie standing outside with takeout and her comically small suitcase.

"Is that seriously all your bringing?"

"Leave me alone this is a regular sized suitcase." Abby stands aside to let her come in.

"Yeah for a two week holiday. Hate to break it to you but this is not that."

"Oh whatever. Can't believe I got you food."

"From Michael's as well? You're too cute."

"Shut up. Figured we should have it at least once more before we leave."

"Do you remember how much we used to go there when we were officers, makes me feel old thinking about it."

"That's because you are old."

"You're two years younger than me."

"Still..." They had both sat on the sofa and were ripping open the bag of food when Ellie paused. "Has she ever told you how old she is?"

Abby goes to reply back acerbically and then she realises you hadn't, you hadn't asked how old Abby was either though, she assumed you knew anyway but she realised she didn't know how old you are, she had always guessed you'd be a similar age to her because of the time it would take you to build your business to the level it is now but she didn't actually know. "Er no she hasn't. I'm ashamed to say I've never asked."

"Has there ever been time for small talk like that?" Ellie looks at Abby knowingly as they both chuckle.

"No I guess not."

"I wonder what it will be like, you know being with her just us 3 on our own, no business."

"I think there's a high likelihood of us driving her up the wall and ending up buried somewhere."

"Yeah that's a fair guess." They both waste no time in stuffing their faces with the huge burgers Ellie had bought as Abby presses play on the Family guy episode she was watching.

8.45 PM

You checked your watch to see that, provided everything went to plan, your men would be done seizing all of the Met's shipments, you wanted to wait until you knew everything had gone smoothly for them before you killed him and judging by the fact none of his guys had burst through the door to alert him of your plan you assumed everything went as it should have.

"Got somewhere to be sweetheart?" Your roll your eyes at the pet name and stand.

"Yes actually." You pull your gun from its holster and at the same time two huge men burst into the room and lunge at you. You manage to shoot one and he drops to the ground but the other made it to you before you could stop him. He lands a punch so forceful you hear your cheekbone crack. It disorients you so much you don't notice him grabbing you at first and when you do realise its too late as he has you held tightly to him with an arm around your waist trapping you hands by your sides and the other arm round your neck choking you slightly.

"Richter warned me you'd be paying me a visit, I was shocked to be contacted by him, you must've really pissed him off for him to side with me."

"I wouldn't be hasty to take his side, unless you want to end up like him."

"Yeah? And how has he ended up?"

"Dead." You smile through the throbbing in your cheek as he moves his face closer to yours.

"I'm giving you a chance here, I'll let you walk off unharmed if you beg for your life... and transfer everything you're worth over to me. You can run away to go hide in a hole somewhere and be thankful everyday for the rest of your life for my mercy." You chuckle at the man before you as you realise he is so similar to Richter, never misses an opportunity to assert his dominance over a woman and a complete pussy that can't do a job properly. He didn't even give you a chance to fear for your life before he offered you a chance to live, he doesn't understand the game the way you do, doesn't enjoy it like you, you like to play with your victims before you end them and he's making this no fun at all. The gutlessness of it all disgusts you, no one is ever willing to do what needs to be done and that's why you rose to the top so quick, that's why you'd rather die than beg this pathetic man for your life, you'll do what has to be done to die the way you lived.

"I'm not begging for shit." You spit in his face and he falls back yelling at your grotesque action. He wipes his face and storms back over to you so there is barely any space between your faces, his breath smells of cigars and bourbon, a smell you had grown familiar with after all these years that still never failed to make your nose scrunch up. A menacing smile grows on his face as he utters the words:

"I am going to enjoy killing you so much. Everything you have is mine now, sweetheart."

As he finishes his sentence he nods at the man holding you, you hear a shuffle behind you as his grip around your neck disappears for a moment, you keep eye contact with the victorious looking man in front of you until you feel a cold, solid object being slammed into your temple. The ringing in your ears starts immediately as does the spinning in your vision, your legs shake and everything around you turns sideways and rushes upwards. You don't realise you're falling to the floor until you hit it, the last thing you see before your vision goes black is the huge man standing over you clutching a brick spattered with blood in his hand.

psa: sorry this chapter is a little shorter but pt.20 will make up for it (i hope), finale next! Can't believe I've actually made it this close to finishing the story, i have never stuck with anything creative enough to finish it so this is crazy to me

[fanmoose12]

Hiya moose!

I am craving for some cozy levihan where Levi thinks to himself how lucky he is to have Hange besides him and him getting extra wuggly cuddly. Hehe.

Lazy mornings just like this are Levi's favorite.

The quietest moment of the quiet days when he knows he's not needed elsewhere - there is no meeting he has to attend, no report to write, no training to oversee, no expedition to prepare to.

The world outside fades to the background, ceases to exist altogether, and what's left is only Levi, his warm and cozy bed, the fluffy blanket that he spent half of his salary to purchase and since then not once regretted doing so, the rare rays of sunshine filtering through heavy curtains, and, most importantly, a person that he's sharing all of it with.

Levi slightly shifts, peeking at them beneath half-lidded eyes. He watches how the rhytmic raise and fall of their chest, listens to the quiet snores that at some nights seem obnoxious, but right now, he finds them utterly adorable, raises a hand to sweep away the bangs that get in their face.

Hange is beautiful, even if they haven't showered for days at end, even with eyes bloodshot and face pale from exhaustion, even covered in grime and blood, they're always beautiful to Levi. But this Hange - relaxed and at peace, and so warm in his hands - is the one he loves to look at the most.

He's probably the only one who had seen them like this. He's the sole bearer of the sacred knowledge that they sleep with their mouth slightly open, that they take up too much space in bed, that at nights they tuss and turn, but in the mornings always end up in his arms somehow.

It's in the mornings such as this that Levi lets himself wonder how he got so damn lucky.

Despite his mighty title of humanity's strongest soldier and his performance during expeditions, he knows he's not a match to Hange, not really. They're brilliant in ways he can't even comprehend, and they're kind in ways that always catch him off-guard.

And Hange is so many other things too. They're funny and sometimes sweet, they're strong and so, so brave, and it's in the moments like this one, where there is no danger, no threat looming over their future that Levi asks himself what they've found in him.

They must have found something, otherwise why would they be in his bed right now? Why would they pick him out of literally everybody else?

There must be a reason, a far deeper one than his fighting skills that Hange can gush about for hours on end, or his dry humor that seems to endlessly amuse them, or his face and body that, when they're alone, Hange can't stop complimenting.

There must be something unique about him, something that Hange's brilliant mind picked up on and their incredibly kind heart decided to embrace. But that, Levi decides, is a conversation meant for long and cold nights, not lazy and warm mornings.

"You're staring like a creep, you know?" Hange whispers, catching him off guard. He didn't even notice that they have woken up. "Can't get enough of my handsome face, eh?"

"Can't understand how I got involved with a nuisance like you," he retorts and instantly chastices himself for it. It's not what he meant to say, it's what he was thinking at all, but Hange - brilliant, kind Hange - sees right through him, knowing better than anyone that in moments such as this one - what his mouth says and he actually feels are two very different things.

They snuggle closer to him, placing a head onto his chest and mumble, still a bit sleepy and so, so cute, "And yet you love that nuisance."

Levi kisses the crown of their head and for once - makes an effort to be honest, "That I do," he confesses softly.

Hange looks up at him, meets his eyes and gives him a smile so gentle that it snatches all breath out of his lungs.

He pulls them closer, eager to taste that smile on his lips.

The kiss is soft at first, nearly chaste, but Levi knows it'll grow much more heated, that much more passionate soon.

Lazy morning like this one, after all, are only meant for love making and joy.

[esterzach]

On The Bond thingy....

I rewatched the scene with Ihvon today. Somehow I missed it the first time. Simple, slow, on point. And oh, so wrong of him. Almost poetically. Apparently, Ihvon thinks they are not supposed to be equal. He laughs at Lan and his offense to Moiraine's words. Without even considering the possibility that someone like the great mighty Aes Sedai could consider a mere mortal man an equal. Ihvon is definitely the more likable character for me, but somehow Maksim turns out to be closer with his ideas on relationships. Even the basic understanding is that no two marriages are the same, just as people are different. As if by accident he was correct. Yet, they have no idea. Who knows what they think of Lan and Moiraine as a couple - Aes Sedai and a Warder? That probably falls somewhere along the lines of "Poor Lan with this stuck-up, cold, emotionless, bitter bitch. He must be in hell." With little understanding of Moiraine as a person, let alone her mission and their relationship. A common goal, mission more important than their life or anything else, personal sacrifice. And Moiraine's (normally) gentle attitude toward Lan when they are alone, their little moments, a bubble no one can get into. The shared looks and half smile, and that deep understanding. Also the contrast here between Lan and Maksim's "I don't want anyone else in my head and Alanna doesn't like the company..." is brutal. That's a lack of trust, of willingness to carry the burden of someone else's emotions because they are too much and let someone else be too close. Only the good parts. Did you think we would be fighting a war against an army of kittens? Well.. no, but... yes? Essentially he is an enhanced soldier and a glorified sex toy? For the rest - welp you are on your own. Then again I imagine what is the emotional range of Alanna - hungry, horny, scared, horny... What she wants - The Light to triumph over the Shaddow and a dessert after. And that attitude of her Warder - we see their weakness, we remind them that they are not gods, yet... he seems to almost think that of them. There is something disturbing in this idea that there is no way a normal person, let alone a man can be equal to a woman with special skills. The thought that they might think highly of a simple man never even occurs to them... And this power even though it needs work to be harnessed and efforts to be honed, is just an accident, a random natural mutation, with no rhyme or reason. Like green eyes. Do these people worship an accidental whim of nature? This removes the importance of other traits of character and makes people like Liandrin and Moiraine, the same. Lan was angry at Moiraine because she masked the Bond even when he knew what she was up to and that she was safe. He was willing to share even those moments. He feels uncomfortable even for several hours, let alone months. He misses her. He misses her presence in his head. She has become a part of him. And after such a long time without her, he asks her to let him back in. There is something else in this episode that hits hard. Alanna explains to Lan how Moiraine was a different person before. Something happened, and after that, she changed. Drastically. "The way water becomes ice. You look at it and wonder how it was ever water before." Ouch. That metaphor is beautiful and the whole line carries such a weight. It suits Alanna to say something poetic like this and it seems to be the perfect description of Lady Damodred. Lan knows what changed. He is interested in something else: "Was she happier then?" Brutal. We know Moiraine is not exactly rays and sunshine, but damn... Imagine being in someone's head, feeling someone's emotions when this person is almost never happy. To know that there is little you can do about it. And that is Lan, who himself seems to have about two trucks of personal baggage to deal with. He seems genuinely sad. What was it? Duty is heavier than a mountain. And there is no dessert after.

[sitp-recs]

you got me hooked on harry x teddy !!! ive, hand on my heart, never before even considered that ship as a possibility and here i am now swiming in fresh waters of moral deprivity. much appreciated <33 a whole new batch of previously undiscovered fics just opened for me wohoo

on that note, could you please rec some of your favorite harry x teddy fics? thanks <33

ahhh I’m so very happy to hear this anon! I live to serve the small but mighty Hardy nation so I’m feeling very accomplished right now. hopefully I’ll convert even more readers into moral deprativity one fic at a time 😌 here are my top favorites, a special shoutout to LQT for their service as always 🫡 I also got a Tedrarry list if you’re interested :)))

grasp by onbeinganangel (E, 1k)

Teddy has wanted Harry forever. Of course he wants to be good for him.

Love is a Verb by @wolfpants (E, 1.7k)

The summer after Teddy graduates from Hogwarts, Harry takes him on a trip to the remote beaches of Land's End.

Coming Up for Air by @lqtraintracks (M, 2k)

I could have died of it, your tenderness toward me. Instead I decided to live.

so slide back down and close your eyes by lqtraintracks (E, 3k)

When the magic goes out at Harry’s place, and no one can get home, and it’s cold as a witch’s tit outside… well, what else are you going to do?

Beneath a Foreign Moon by lqtraintracks (E, 3k)

Harry visits Teddy in the middle of the night.

Simple As It Is, Complicated As You Need by lqtraintracks (E, 4k)

It's not something they do often, this whole 'Daddy' thing. But to be fair, they don't even have regular sex as often as Teddy would like either. It's not as though they've even admitted they're doing anything. One of the benefits and curses of both of them being Legilimens actually: Nobody ever has to talk.

Surface Texture by @the-starryknight (E, 5k)

I've drawn a hundred portraits, but none quite like Harry's. In the early hours of the morning, I lay him bare in charcoal and paper.

Waiting Under Vain by supergrover24 (E, 5k)

Teddy wants to know how sex really should be. Harry can't resist, no matter how much he tries.

When It Alteration Finds by lqtraintracks (E, 7k)

Teddy thinks this is the way to finally get what he wants. But there is more than one way to Harry's heart.

Holding Out for A Hero by @writcraft (E, 7k)

Even as he says no, Harry’s hands push into Teddy’s hair. Even as he protests, his lips connect with Teddy’s. Before Teddy can offer any reassurance his heart’s thumping wildly in his chest and Harry Potter’s kissing him as if there’s no tomorrow.

Seven Years Gone by suitesamba (E, 7k)

Seven years after his partner’s death, Harry has rebuilt his life with his friends’ help, but hasn’t managed to move forward romantically. Teddy Lupin, 28, is back in London for good after years of studying and working abroad. When he finds himself in need of some extra space at his new shop, he consults with Harry and Hermione, who have built a successful business around creating Wizarding Space.

Game, Set, Match by Writcraft (E, 13k)

Teddy is smitten, Harry is lonely and tennis seems like a great way to avoid dealing with this thing between them.

Putting Out Fires (with Gasoline) by lqtraintracks (E, 13k)

Teddy stays with Harry for a summer to help him figure out his life, or maybe to figure out his own, or to seduce his godfather, or maybe to fall in love.

Darling, Don’t Think Twice by @shiftylinguini (E, 18k)

Leaving the Aurors, and then England, after his divorce with Ginny was finalised was the best thing for Harry, and for Ginny, too ― but not for the godson who worshipped the ground he walked on. Now that he’s back, all Harry wants is to set up his own place, and to spend time with Teddy as he tries to fix their fractured relationship.

Bonus: a Drarry fic with some Hardy kissing

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?).

[howlingday]

Sorry to bother you with this but I have no writing skill and you're the first one I thought of when I had this idea so

Have you played or watched the ending for God of War Valhalla? If so do you think you could do the ending with Jaune?

No need to apologize. It's not bother at all. And the best advice I can give you about writing is to keep doing it and to draw inspiration from other works. That said, I hope you enjoy this work I am about to present. Now, that said, I did, in fact, see God of War: Ragnarök: Valhalla. And it was probably the most perfect DLC we could get for God of War story-wise, since it covered pretty much what was missing from the story, which is Kratos becoming the better man he should have been shown to be. And now, here we have it. Kratos becoming who he was meant to be. And now, I present to you,

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

JAUNE ARC, THE NEW GOD OF WAR

This battle, like all others before, had come to an end. Jaune Arc, the God of War from the Kingdom of Vale, lifted Winter, the War Maiden of Atlas, over his head and threw her to the ground. As she rolled across the floor, she found her way to her knees. Jaune closed in with his fist held high, ready to strike her down. However, her hand caught his. There was a bit of struggle on her end, and with heavy pants, she spoke.

"Enough, Jaune." She said. "I yield."

Jaune took a step back, then reached forward with his hand. Taking his hand, she was pulled to her feet. With a smile, he nodded.

"Well-fought."

"Let's see what the relic has to say about you." Winter brought forth the relic she was charged to protect, and it's blue mist began to swirl around the two. Once more, Jaune's past was revealed, beginning where it ended with Jaune's victory over the maddened Ozpin. "After you slew Ozpin, Beacon had fallen. The Maiden of Vale was dead by your hand, both of them, and yet you survived."

"Not without my own attempt on my life."

"No, but the question remains why you continued to fight." The image changed from the fallen Beacon to Jaune falling from the highest point of the tower. "Why did you continue to live, even when you were so committed to ending it all?"

"I had lost everything, but..." Jaune swallowed. "But there was something else for me. It was little, and it seemed useless, but it was all I had left."

"And what was it?"

"Hope."

"Mm, hope." Ozpin said, standing by Jaune's side. "Hope, however fleeting it may seem, can prove to be more powerful than any weapon on Remnant. It was all left within you, and you chose to bring hope back to Vale. To all of Remnant."

"And you have brought hope to Atlas, too." Winter gave a small smile.

"I should have died." Jaune said. "It would have been fitting. But it didn't happen."

"Because you still had hope, and that hope lived on through you. Since your attempt in Vale to your triumph in Atlas, you have brought hope to us all. Regardless of any relic, whatever magical power it may hold, anger and hatred and love and joy and hope all live in each and every one of us, whether we are meek and mortal or mighty and monstrous. And yet there is one last question you must ask; which will you choose to let guide your actions?" The mist fell, leaving Jaune face-to-face with the Winter Maiden. "Every decision we make shapes our world."

Jaune gave a grunt. All this time, all this struggle and pain and near endless pain had led to this moment, just as this moment would lead to the next one. Jaune Arc held onto his hope and had grown since his time as a God of War in Vale. Since his attempt to end his life. Since the beginning of his new life here, in Atlas.

"I understand now."

"And?" Winter asked.

"And I'm ready go inside."

Winter smiled. "Excellent."

Jaune walked up to the massive door, the same as he had before. Except it wouldn't be the same, would it? He had changed since the first time he entered, and he changed the last time he entered as well. As he pushed, the doors that once felt heavy suddenly became light and easy to push. Entering the dark room behind the doors, the world fell away, leaving only himself inside the darkness.

As he continued to walk forward, a little began to glow from above onto himself. Except, it wasn't himself. No, Jaune was staring at his younger self, who was sitting on an empty throne, clutching the same red bandana tied to his hip. Jaune stopped, expecting anything and everything he could, except for this.

"What... can I say to you?" Jaune began, speaking to the seated Jaune. "I remember the day I first took that throne. All that it meant. And all that it didn't. I... was the God of War. The God of Pain. Of Suffering. Of Destruction." He looked away. "Jinn said I would always chase a redemption I know I will never deserve. But what does that make me?" He glanced to his younger self. "A God of Fools. A God of...."

Suddenly, he found Pyrrha's sash in his hands. He turned it over, once more remembering how soft her hands felt in his. How sweet her breath smelled to him. How warm her blood felt as it fell from her cold body. Her final words to him were for him to trust destiny and to have...

"...Hope. When all else is lost..." He turned to his doppelganger once more. "You... lost everything. And everyone." He felt his body tense as his anger built the closer he got to the throne. "And you became..."

The younger Jaune shifted in his seat, blue eyes glaring at blue eyes. No... No, Jaune stared at Jaune. It didn't matter what kind of Jaune he was speaking to, whether they were younger, older, seated, standing- It didn't matter because he was still Jaune. Anger filled him at the realization.

"There is no excusing you and what you've done!" He shouted. "You became-!" Finally, Jaune's remaining words died in his throat. "I became." He turned away, realizing who he had been shouting at, who he had been fighting against since his ascension to godhood.

"What now?" He whispered. "Should I, the same Jaune Arc, sit down on this throne? Should I take? Yell out? Lead? Submit myself to service?" The final words danced on his tongue. "Service. In service." He looked once more to the sash in his hand. "If... If I lose everything and everyone, will there still be enough of me left so that I don't become you?" He shook his head. "I don't know." He nodded. "But I have hope."

"You..." He turned once more to the throne. "You are cruel, and arrogant, and selfish." His fury subsided. "But you are more than that. There was always more to you than what others saw. You are more than that."

With a deep breath, Jaune stepped forward once more. The once glorious throne of Vale had long withered away to it's barest stones. Seated upon the throne was a red sash, and taking it in hand, he touched the throne. He then turned and lowered himself to sit on the throne. With a shaky breath, he knew this was where he belonged.

Holding onto hope, he had become the new Atlas God of War... and of Hope.

[thewertsearch]

GA: Im Not Sure Which Depresses Me More GA: The Sabotage Of Our Session Or The Futility Of Theirs [...] CG: YOU'RE BEING REALLY WEIRD ABOUT THIS. GA: Well I Havent Asked What I Wanted To Ask [...] GA: Its About TentacleTherapist CG: YEAH. THAT'S THE ROSE HUMAN. CG: SHE'S APPARENTLY PRETTY SARCASTIC. CG: IT'S IN MY NOTES.

I love that Karkat prepared dossiers on the kids' personalities, presumably to harass them as efficiently as possible. We've never seen him talk to Rose, so I like to think he learned about her sarcasm from her passive-aggressive games with Mom.

GA: You Have Notes On Them [...] GA: Thats Why Youre Our Leader Karkat CG: NO, I'M YOUR LEADER BECAUSE OF MY INCREDIBLE TACTICAL SKILLS AND MY ABILITY TO MOBILIZE AND MOTIVATE A BUNCH OF USELESS PEOPLE TOWARD A COMMON GOAL, AND BECAUSE I'M EXTREMELY AMBITIOUS AND INTREPID. ALSO BECAUSE LEADERSHIP IS IN MY BLOOD. WE'VE BEEN OVER THIS.

I'm actually with Karkat on this. Uniting the trolls was an achievement, and he managed it better than most of his friends would have.

The only other trolls who might have had a shot were Terezi or Kanaya - but Kanaya was distracted by quadrant shenanigans, and Terezi likes causing problems on purpose. Plus, she wasn't interested in being the leader.

Karkat doesn't exactly give off 'inspiring leader' vibes, but he rose to the occasion magnificently. He got trolls like Vriska, Equius and Eridan to act as a unit, and it's frankly astounding that it worked as well as it did.

GA: Have You Talked To Her CG: WHO GA: The Rose Human GA: Also GA: Do We Really Have To Say Things Like The Rose Human CG: OF COURSE WE DO. CG: IT SOUNDS SUITABLY DISDAINFUL. CG: I MEAN, IF A BUNCH OF ALIENS STARTED HASSLING YOU, YOU WOULD EXPECT THEM TO ACT REALLY HIGH AND MIGHTY, AND SUPERIOR IN EVERY WAY, RIGHT?.

Humans are, basically, cousins to the trolls - and the first thing the trolls did was try to obfuscate that fact. I think Karkat's motive was to make them sound intimidating, but they ended up just sounding like cartoon characters. Not that I'm complaining.

CG: DID YOU WANT TO TROLL HER? ARE YOU VOLUNTEERING? [...] GA: Im Not Sure If Ive Got It In Me Right Now CG: COME ON. YOU'LL BE GREAT AT IT. CG: PLEASE JUST DO THIS ONE THING FOR ME. WE'VE GOT TO STAY COORDINATED ON THIS. CG: TOO MANY OF THESE FUCKS ARE GOING ROGUE.

Karkat may have united the trolls, but I think his leadership died with the Black King. He said it himself - his strength was in motivating the trolls to a common goal. Out here in the Veil, there is no more goal, and things are rapidly unraveling.

CG: I'LL EXPECT A FULL REPORT SOON. GA: A Report About What [...] CG: HOW HASSLED YOU GOT HER TO BE CG: BUT LESS STUPID SOUNDING THAN THAT. GA: Is There A Metric For That Concept [...] CG: WE CAN GAUGE YOUR RESULTS WITH THE "FLIGHTY BROADS AND THEIR SNARKY HORSESHITOMETER".

And I don't think Project Trolling was just a way for Karkat to vent his frustrations, either. I mean, that's definitely what he thinks it is, but if it was just that, he'd be doing it alone.

GA: That Seems Just As Disparaging To Me As It Is To Her CG: YEAH WELL CG: USE IT AS MOTIVATION

He's doing it to motivate the other trolls. A part of him has realized that his team has lost direction, and he's subconsciously trying to provide them a new goal - something new to unite them.

Because what happens if the trolls aren't united?

Blood, mostly.

And Karkat hates blood.

[dearsnow]

SALT FARE, NORTH SEA

- when a dragon falls from the sky, decimating your ship and bringing a strange boy along for the ride, you begin to question if the some of the targaryens are really as bad as they seem. (aged up!lucerys velaryon x fem!reader, angst to fluff, ur burning hatred is quenched by time spent on the sea 🤞) MAJOR SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON! au where vhagar doesn’t kill luke, arrax just gets absolutely mauled and falls out of the sky. aged up luke because I didn’t realize he was that young when i started writing 💀. ⚠️ TW for death, suicidal thoughts, and trauma.

word count: 4,213 (jesus christ)

a/n - ohhhh my god guys i’m back!!!! this was certainly a labor of love. i don’t know if I’ll start writing consistently again, but i really hope i do. i love you guys so much and thank you for the continued support even when i’m on hiatus! also i’m sorry if luke is ooc because i choose to believe he’s quietly funny and a little bit of a menace 😭

As the waves batter the sides of your ship, you don’t feel seasick. You feel the spray, see the occasional silvery fish zip by under the water. The sun beats down on your exposed neck and the motion swirls your mind, but you are sick for an entirely different reason.

Betrothal. God, you hate how that word sits on your tongue like a hot piece of meat. You are to be sent off to the their of family, married into their lineage and forced to bear their children until your womb shrivels like a sun-dried date. Of  all of your options, the Targaryens are certainly the worst. 

Aemond, in particular. You’ve heard stories of his cold demeanor, how he could kill you with a look. With his hands, too. He is quite the skilled swordsman, not that you would ever wish to witness it. He is the one you are set to marry.

Oh, the misery. The horror. You can feel bile rising in your throat whenever someone mentions him or his mother, great Queen Alicent.

You figure, though, at least it isn’t his brother.

You come from a noble family. It was bound to happen anyways. Trade your Martell name for some haughty lord’s and become his sow for the rest of your life. Your short, miserable life. In some ways, you are a bit grateful. You will never want for food and you know you’ll bring great honor to your family by marrying into the Targaryens. 

You just wish you could marry for another reason, not just forging alliances and heating up old, cold ones. You could have a happy life with the person of your choosing. You could sell fish on the shores of the sea and pick flowers in a field.

You play with this notion in your head before you hear a mighty crash and the sound of splintering wood.

The screams come mere seconds later. They pierce the air as snapping bones and rending flesh ring out. You stumble back, nearly falling off the edge of the ship. Large chunks of meat have started raining from the sky, crushing everything in their path.

You feel your heart beat so fast it nearly leaps out of your chest as you scramble for friction. Fuck, what the hell?

With the meat there comes blood, great amounts of it. It trips the sailors up, sending them careening over the wooden edges and into the sea. 

You narrowly miss the giant dragon wing that splits the boat in two. The entire thing has started sinking, and your blood runs cold. 

The ship is tilted from the massive gash in the center. Water is mixing with blood, and your dress is soaked to the bone. You can’t help but think that the finest silks Dorne can offer will drag you to the bottom of the depths.

As you clamber to the top of the ship’s bow as another fast-moving figure falls into the water. You don’t notice it in the moment. 

A shove comes from behind, pushing you to the side. Your back aches where you were struck.

“M’lady, m'lady! The lifeboat, you must take the boat. Go, go! Right now, m'lady.”

It’s Finhard, the deck swabber. He has two missing fingers, a lame knee, and a million stories. He swabbed the deck of The Sandstorm from port to port, collecting any and all information he could along the way. You loved talking to him so much it made the trip almost worth it. He always helped you sneak food to the cat stowing away on board. The cat you’re sure is now dead.

“What about you?” You question, voice loud but shaky. You can’t just leave him here.

“I’m a dead man, m’lady. I don’t matter.”

“But you do!” You insist, tugging on his arm. The screams are still ringing like alarms, and your limbs feel locked and like jelly at the same time.

“No, no. I might sink it. Girl’s damaged already. Please go, girlie. Jus’ remember me when you eat your next fish, alright?”

A pit pools in your stomach as you whip around to look at the small lifeboat. He’s right. The boat wouldn’t be able to hold you and a grown man, at least not one of Finhard’s size.

“Get on. I’ll push ya off, and you better have a damn good time with that prince of yours.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes as you watch your trusted confidant steel his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Finhard. I’m so so sorry,” You sob, clutching his rough palms. “I promise I’ll think of you always.”

“Thas’ all I ask for.” His voice is rough and uncut, hardened yet soft, like a feather made of chainmail. He picks you up like a sack of potatoes and places you in the rickety boat with the gentleness of a father setting down his newborn. He gives you one final kiss on the forehead before untying the boat and shoving it into the roiling water. 

Small hairs cling to your forehead as the ship lights up in a blaze sure to be seen from the shore. Your face is so wet with tears you feel as though the ocean is the product of them.

You sob into your hands as the people who took care of you on your journey sink, their bawls leaving a scar in your memory.

It’s not even ten minutes after the foremast begins to sink that you see a dark shape bobbing along in the water next to you. You stifle a gasp, thinking it must surely be a shark or a dead man. The water around it was red and heavy. 

When it floats closer to you, you see for the first time that it’s a boy. A boy who must be around your age, maybe sixteen or seventeen. His wrist gives a little twitch, and you resolve that you must rescue him. 

He wasn’t on your ship unless he was stowing away in the barrels, as teenagers often do. No matter his situation, you grab his soaked shirt and give a hard tug. 

The effort almost tips your boat, nearly sending you spiraling into the water. You give a little huff. The waterlogged boy is definitely heavier than you expected.

You try again, managing to get his arm hooked around the side of the boat. From there, it’s just a game of strength- you pull him up, using his clothing as a sort of lever to shimmy him out of the water. You roll him over, the water streaming off of him re-splattering your already wet clothes with water and fresh blood. The boat dips a little with his weight, but it does not sink. You praise the Seven under your breath. He has a cut on the side of his head, one that requires medical care far past the simple fixes you’ve learned.

You try to dress it anyways. Ripping a long strip of cloth from the bottom of your underskirt, you wrap it up and pray he doesn’t lose much more blood. 

You can still hear the creaking of The Sandstorm, though any humans were sucked under long ago. It makes a melancholy sound, blending with the waves and the seabirds and the rain that has started pattering down. A lump forms in your throat as you gaze at the wreckage. Hot water slides down your face as you sit in your little lifeboat, waiting for death that will most certainly come for your throat. 

It’s about two hours of lonely drifting before the boy wakes up. He opens his eyes slowly, then they widen as he gives a gurgling shout.

“Augh!” You stifle a giggle, though your voice is still wobbly from sobs.

He notices you and sits up, bewildered. As he takes in his surroundings, you sit and watch.

“Who are you? Where am I? Where is Arrax?” 

“I am nobody now, and we are in the middle of the ocean,” You gesture to the water surrounding every inch of your sight. “And I don’t know who Arrax is.” He sure has a lot of questions, though you can’t fault him for it.

“Arrax, my dragon. I… I think he’s…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

You stare at him in shock.

“Your dragon? The dragon that fell out of the sky in twenty pieces?” You question, voice heated. “The one that just killed a crew of fifty-two men?”

He’s silent for a moment. “So he’s dead?”

“Of course he’s dead, you imbecile! Did you not hear what I just said? He killed them. All of them. I’m the only survivor.”

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. He brings his knees to his chest and hugs them. “It was never my fault. It was him that killed Arrax, so it is him that killed your crew.”

“Who is him?”

“That bastard of a prince, Aemond. He and his dragon, Vhagar, chased us across the skies and attacked us in the air.”

Your hands tighten into fists as your throat constricts like you swallowed a spiny rock. You regret ever saving the boy, and you regret not slitting your throat when you heard of your betrothal to the murderer. Everything you’ve heard about Aemond is true. Your rage boils into hatred, and you swear that if you ever see him you will die and take him with you.

“So that must mean you’re a Targaryen too?” You say, trying to keep your voice level. It’s a skill you had to learn as a noble lady, but the hate building in your chest is almost too violent to quiet.

“Lucerys Velaryon, my lady.” He eyes you, taking note of your expensive yet ruined dress. He must know you’re not a commoner either.

You know the Targaryens are the only ones with proper access to a dragon, but you should have known that only someone descended from one could cause such absolute and utter destruction. It’s not Lucerys’s fault, you tell yourself. Don’t put the blame on him. Put on a smile and become your best even-tempered and kind self. But gods, the way you want to wring his neck for an event he seemingly had no control over.

“Why did he do it?” You ask. The tears from earlier start creating a pressure behind your eyes again. 

“Because I took his eye.” Lucerys’s voice is weak, but it has the strum of nobility that you know like a well-oiled harp. “He wanted revenge, an eye for an eye. So I ran. He found me in the sky and bit my dragon in half. I never meant to kill anybody.” So they’re all the same, the princes. Hardened and cruel and psychopaths. “Did you save me?”

“I suppose I did.” You want so badly to say ‘but I shouldn’t have’, but you hold your tongue.

“That is a debt I can never repay. Thank you. I’m truly sorry.” You shake your head. It’s not his fault, you repeat. You still cannot find it in yourself to forgive him. “What’s your name?”

You think for a brief moment. It wouldn’t hurt, you think, to tell him your name. That way when you both die, at least the man you’re stuck with will know the name of the woman that hated his family the most out of anyone in the world.

You speak your name, including your Martell family name, and he looks at you, eyes widened so much you think they will pop out of his skull.

“Aemond’s betrothed?” You are marrying into the greens, and Lucerys feels as though he should hate you for it. Unluckily for his honor, he cannot despise the girl who pulled him from the sea.

“Yes, what sorry luck.” You spit. “I would rather drown than go through with it.” You think of the promise you made to Finhard. “No, I would put poison in his chalice and watch him drink it.”

He laughs a bit, his voice ringing out against the repetitive sound of waves. “And I will buy the poison.” You allow yourself to smile. You hate it, but you smile.

You’ve always been the weirder daughter, yet the one that tries to talk with the lords and ladies and puts on a shining performance. That’s where the smile comes from, from all the times you’ve had to put your pearly whites on display. The morals have gone to shit, but the reflex is still burned into your person.

“You needn’t call me ‘my lord’. We’re even here, out on the sea.” He says. You can feel that’s not the only reason. A spark of guilt shimmers in the corners of his eyes. “Just call me Luke.”

“And you may call me by my name, Luke.” He’s right. There are no titles, only salt water and spray.

You watch the moon in the sky as it shines its beams down on your face. It sees everything. Every deal in secret, every promise you’ve ever made. It’s a gentle reminder that every person sees the same thing every night. You and Luke sit in silence, staring up at it. You wonder if your mother sees it too, from her ship. Can Finhard and the other sailors see it, from their watery graves? Can they forgive you for not saving them? For saving the life of a boy, whose mass is just under the weight limit of the boat? You glance over at him.

He’s staring at you, at how the soft rays of the moon highlight the curves and edges of your face. He feels a pit in his stomach, one that is not from hunger. It’s a gnawing feeling, guilt. He hates that he had to trade his life for fifty sailors. He thinks he would rather be at the bottom of the sea than see more tear tracks on your face. Another feeling eats at him, though he’s not sure what it is. It makes his insides churn and scrambles his mind.

He averts his eyes and looks at the stars once more.

You spend another two days floating in the water. You’re both sunburned and salt dried, and his skin is red and peeling. The conversation between the both of you had been dry up until today.

“May I have the flask?” He asks. You hand it over. For two whole days, all you have had to eat and drink is two flasks of water, a packet of dried fish, and some bread that has gone mushy from the water slowly seeping into your boat. You have to bail it out every hour or so.

“Do you think we’ll ever get out of here?” Luke questions, his voice rough. “Is anyone coming for us?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. I would like to think there are boats out searching, but truly, they must expect us to be dead. Besides that, we have drifted so far away from the shipwreck that we might not be found even if they were searching.” He shakes his head, hair stiff from the salty spray.

“I would like to keep hope alive.”

“You are the only one.” You hear a small laugh from next to you. 

“You know, I could not ask for a better person to be stranded with.” He screws the cap back onto his flask carefully.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you certainly know how to ration supplies. And your optimism is inspiring.” A giggle bubbles up from beneath your buried feelings. 

“Is that sarcasm, my dear lord?”

He smiles. You can’t help but notice that his smile is contagious, the kind that reaches his eyes. The kind you found yourself dreaming about, and the kind you are certain your betrothed never wears. 

“Only if you make it out to be.” He pauses. “So, what was your life like in Dorne?”

Your eyes narrow. Small talk? It brings you back to your past. Talking to potential suitors and bearing their questions as they try to judge if you’re worth their money. It’s almost nice, the reminder. Before the wreck, you had been happy. Cheerful, even. You were nothing like you are now, hardened and weak and so close to putting sand in your pockets and drowning you can taste the seawater. 

“Why do you ask?”

“I figured it would be nice to know you. To really know you.” His words bring an odd sense of comfort to you.

“It was much nicer than this. I had friends and family, that was the best part. I never wanted for much of anything. I suppose I felt out of place sometimes, and I felt lonely like nothing else, but it helped to know that I could always have a home with the people I loved.” He nods, and the waves push against the boat. The sun is setting, condemning you to another sleepless night. “What about you?”

“I love my home, my people, and my family. I never felt up to the task of being lord of Driftmark, though,” He confesses, “and sometimes I still feel like a fraud. Gods, I don’t know why I told you that.” He knows. There’s something about your eyes, something that makes him want to spill every secret he has ever had. He wants to tell you about the time he stole Aemond’s knife, causing Aemond to pick a fight with Aegon. Or when he heard an argument between his mother and stepfather, or when his older brother snuck a frog into the pocket of a handmaiden. Your eyes burn with stifled anger and buried hopes and love.

You look at him with an odd expression. “It’s alright. Might as well get everything out while you can.” You know the feeling of not being enough well. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderfully when we get out of here.” You find yourself comforting him for god knows what reason. You should be angry, full of hatred and buzzing bees, but you can only feel sympathy for the boy across from you.

“When we get out of here? Where was that optimism earlier?” He teases, making you smile.

“It was killed and brought back to life. I have decided that I’m not going to die.” His laugh rings out, showering you in a feeling that makes you shiver.

“That’s a good thing to decide. I swear it too, we are not going to die. Aemond will never kill our spirit nor our bodies.” He takes your hands, palms rough and calloused. It makes your heart pound in a way you never expected. “We will be alright.”

You nod, hope blooming in your heart. Suddenly, the world seems just a little bit brighter. That’s when you see it; the seagull flying overhead.

You gasp, pointing up to the sky. It lets out a sharp cry as it circles around, and soon Luke is looking at it too. You’re so relieved that tears well up in your eyes.

Land must be near. It has to be. 

“Praise the gods.” He grins, dropping your hands to shield his eyes from the sun. “We will surely reach the shores soon.”

“I can only hope.” You whisper.

You spend another day on the water, your hopeful eyes searching for mountains or fields. All you can see is blue water, blue skies, and Lucerys Velaryon. You found that you’ve grown to like him, as fucked as your past self might have considered it. He actually treats you like a person. 

He squints into the distance. “I still don’t see anything. Maybe… maybe the bird was a fluke. A gull straying too far from the shore.”

You hit his shoulder lightly. “Don’t think like that.”

“It seems we’ve switched roles,” He smiles, “you’re the positive one now.”

“We certainly have rubbed off on each other.” The corners of your mouth lift into a little grin. Truth be told, your own hope is starting to fade, but you will never let him know. 

You’ve begun to notice things about the sea that you have never seen before. Schools of small fish darting below the surface, the pattern of the waves, even how chilly the water is. As the sun shines down, the water is peaceful. Maybe it’s a side effect of the trauma, or maybe it’s just you growing more comfortable with the idea of salt water. In any case, you suppose you need to look at its beauty to fan the dying flame of light burning inside you. It’s far easier to love than to keep hating. 

“The day is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” You whisper. 

“I suppose it is.” He says, but he’s not looking at the sky.

You are infatuating. The way the sun glints off your eyes enraptures him and keeps him in a state of lovely drunkenness. “Do you wish to marry my uncle?” There’s a hint of something more behind his voice. It’s almost desperate, and the thought makes you shiver.

You hesitate. “Not particularly. It would bring honor to my family, that I am sure of. So I will do it, but I will likely not enjoy it.”

“I understand that. I myself am betrothed to someone I can’t see myself loving.”

“The lady Rhaena Targaryen?” You know of her. The idea of him marrying the girl painted by the gods twists your heart in a way you can’t even comprehend.

He sighs. “Yes. It is my duty, but I cannot see her as anything but a sister. That’s all she’s been to me my entire life.”

“Duty is a wicked thing,” You muse, “pulling us away from opportunities to enrich our own lives.”

He nods. “If you could choose, is there anyone you would want to be married to?”

You think for a bit but eventually shake your head. “Do you have a special someone?”

“I am beginning to discover one.” He says. What does he mean by that?

When you look at him, staring far into the distance, you start to realize.

When the days grow dim, you huddle into each other for warmth. That’s why you fall asleep tonight, softened by his touch. Finally, you sleep for more than half an hour at a time. Luke’s arms are wrapped around you, as the lifeboat leaves little room for comfort, and the rock of the ship lulls you into a dream.

You wake to a jolt. You have no idea how long you’ve been asleep, but the moon is out and there is sand underneath your hull. Sand. Ground. You scramble to sit up, pulling Luke along with you. “Sand! Luke, it’s sand. We’ve made it! Gods be good, we have made it to land.” You grab at the wet grains, letting them clump and filter through your fingers. He lets out a loud cheer and pulls you in.

Out of nowhere, as you still have earth in your hands, he kisses you. His lips are rough and dry, but so are yours. He tastes like salt water and love.

When he finally pulls away, he is grinning like a lunatic. “We’ve made it, my lady. We survived.”

“What happened to our no titles agreement?” You tease, still flustered. Your cheeks are as hot as the surface of the sun.

“We’re on land now. The rules of society apply again, I’m afraid.” His whisper ghosts against your ear like he’s almost afraid to lose the closeness he gathered over the course of the last few days.

“Of course,” You say, pressing your lips to his cheek, “I would expect nothing different from such a high-ranking and strong man such as yourself.” 

He places a hand where you kissed him. Your skin may be chapped, but that damned kiss was sweeter and softer than spun sugar.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding, my lady.” A glint of humor dances in his eye.

He steps out of the boat and offers a hand to you. The ground wobbles under your feet and you almost fall, but he is there to steady you. “Wait, I know this beach!” He realizes as he gazes upon the scenery. “It’s the beach off Dragonstone. I’m… I’m home.”

“Really?” You feel hope bubbling through your body. “You know where we are?”

“I do. Dragonstone is there, above those cliffs. Come on, let’s go!” He tugs your arm just a bit too hard, sending you sprawling into the sand. You grab onto his sleeve and pull him down too, leaving you both in a fit of giggles. 

You’re both weak and tired and sore, but your flames grow brighter every second you’re on solid land. “Race me!” He yells, taking off from the ground on shaky feet. You dart after him, all your earlier burdens seemingly gone.

You probably won’t catch him, but it’s okay. Right now, your future is ahead of you, your rage is behind, the land pounds beneath your feet, and the boy with brown hair is calling for you to join him.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

Taglist (bolded means unable to tag): @mmmimilan @its-halleys-comet @savagemickey03 @persephonesportal @lovelyliliya @the-jess-life @spaceandstars @bbosica @hopelesswritergall @watercolorskyy

[heliosthegriffin]

Jaune makes some corrections

Jaune had liked to think he came a long way as he entered his third year at Beacon, at least compared to himself when he entered the academy, in terms of strength, speed, stamina, skill with his weapon, confidence, and leadership.

But, unfortunately, he found that his ability to get into involved in rumors had also improved.

He stood in front of the podium looking out among the crowd, trying to look as calm as Ren and as unimpressed as Weiss, to varying degrees of success. Because today, he had to correct some rumors going around.

"I don't run a sex cult, end of story." The leader said with all the finality and annoyance he could manifest into his voice before he then he turned around to walk out of the auditorium.

The gathered students, first through fourth years going wild behind him.

It made him want to cry as he heard behind him how civilizations mighty protectors were throwing tantrums like children.

He stopped and turned around. "What?!" Jaune yelled out into the crowd. "What is it?!" His throat flashing white briefly.

The sudden wave of sound from him, mixed with the frustrated bite to his amplified voice scared the crowed to stillness.

"Alright, it seems I didn't answer the question well enough, alright..." He pointed randomly into the crowd. "You!" He pointed at a short pink haired girl holding her hand up. "What is it?"

"Can we join the sex cult?"

"NO! I don't run a sex cult!"

"Then, why does the entire everyone say you lead a sex cult?"

"Because, I agreed to be a part of an Orgy," Jaune holds up a finger. "Once! Because my girlfriend tricked me to. And only once! I am in a perfectly happy relationship otherwise!" He points at a red head, androgynous looking faunus with a tanuki tail.

"You! What's your question."

"Then why does everyone want you have a sex cult?"

"I don't know?!" Jaune says as he throws up his hands. "I guess it's just one long joke at my expense! Also, no more questions about the sex cult, it doesn't exist!"

"Aw." The crowd sighed.

"Alright, any non-sex cult related questions? Yes, you, what is your question?" Jaune asks, pointing at a tall freshman with lavender hair.

"Yeah, is it true that you have infinite aura?" The freshman asked excitedly.

Jaune sighs. "No, that's just a rumor, I just learned to mix enhanced aura regeneration, something that anyone can do! With my semblance to refill mine back to full in a couple seconds, usually, this helps me refill my teams back to full in under a minute. Infinite is just a exaggeration." The same freshman looked at him with a slack jaw. "You mean you can refill your teammates, The Invincible Girl Pyrrha Nikos, The Berserker Nora Valkyrie, and Shadow Master Lie Ren in under a minute, along with your own?! How is that not infinite!"

"Because it's numerically finite! That's why! Next question!" He points a blue haired short sophomore.

"Is it true you have infinite stamina in which to satisfy your harem?"

Jaune's right eye then started to twitch. "Wow, that is a twofer of bullshit. First off, I do not have a harem! Where does that even come from?! Just because I am in a open relationship does not mean I have a harem!"

"But they're all women?!"

"Ren is a guy, I'm bi!"

"It's not gay if it's Ren!"

Jaune squinted out into the crowd. "Sun? What are you doing out there?"

"Uh, gotta go!"

"You didn't answer about the infinite stamina though!"

Jaune groaned. "No! I don't have infinite stamina, I get tired too!"

"But after how long thought?"

Jaune snapped closed his mouth.

"After how long?"

"Next question?"

"Answer the question! Answer the question!" The crowd chanted.

"Fine! Two days, but I was pretty tired afterwards, next question!" He pointed at a bunny eared fourth year- wait, Velvet?!

"Is it true you have a mammoth sized dick?!"

"The fuck?" Jaune mouthed. "No, just no, it's perfectly normal, average, and man-sized."

"HE LIES! THE BITCH TELLS LIES! IT THE SIZE OF THIS SODA CAN BUT WAY BIGGER!"

"NORA GET OUT OF HERE!" Jaune yelled. "ALSO, SIZE ISN'T THE DECIDING FACTOR IN SEX! EMOTIONAL INTIMACY AND EXPERIENCE ARE MORE IMPORTANT!

"YOU CAN SILENCE ME, BUT YOU CAN'T SILENCE THE TRUTH! HE LIES THE SEX CULT IS-" Nora yells in the middle of the crowd.

Bang.

Jaune puts away the tranquilizer gun, as Nora hits the ground. "So, uh any none sex related questions?"

"Is it true that your the strongest member of your team?"

"No, next question."

"But, you just took down-"

Bang.

Jaune put down the tranquiler gun again. "Alright, I think that's enough questions for today, none of you come around me or my team ever again."

Then he walked away pulling Nora with him.

Only for a hatch to open under the podium, Yang and Blake, plus Pyrrha coming out.

Yang taps the mic. "Yeah, he wasn't lying, he's not a part of the sex cult, and definitely not the leader."

Blake nods her head. "Yeah, he is the sex cult! Thanks to Saint Pyrrha's guidance, we have found the god of our Sex Cult."

Pyrrha blushes. "The cult of Jaune Arc's Penis is held on Wednesday in the Ruins inside the Emerald Forest from 5pm to 7pm, bring your own snacks."