#But you have to understand words have power and people use those words on purpose

[theultimateultimateweapon]

Guys, if there's any fandom drama I'm going to get into, once again, let it be this:

"Proshipper" is a pedophilia/incest/abuse term now.

It doesn't matter if you use it for good. It doesn't matter if it's supposed to mean "ship supporting". It doesn't matter if you try to reclaim it.

As long as you tell people the term is harmless, people will use it to get away with engaging in pedophilia, incest, abuse, and more. They will use it to disguise their behavior as something misunderstood under the assumption it's "fandom freedom". It's not, it's wrong. Don't help provide a safe space for these types of people. Clear them out of our fandoms.

[nightingale-prompts]

Demoted-DCxDP prompt

Another day another hero coming into Danny's space. Danny's R&R pocket dimension has been host to heroes coming and going as they please and at this point he has surrendered to it. The only real issue he has is them asking for help or advice. Sure he's on the level of a multidimensional God but that doesn't mean he actually wants to interfere with the world. He sees the bigger picture and the movements of the universes and knows the full extent of his powers effects on it. Simply put. He helps them in a wrong way and it will mean the aftershocks will ripple across all reality.

Sure it's enough to make a believer to reject all gods when they realize that he has to power to do whatever but chooses not to. But listen Danny is not a god. It's their job to manage their creations. Not his. He didn't make any sentient being.

Still, they come asking for help, and Danny does what little he can/wants to do(which is little). He makes artifacts. Small and useful things to help like a magical gadget to assist them.

He expects payment of course but that another thing.

Right now he was being badgered for advice by...um what's his face? Umm, green guy? The one with the uh...ring. Yeah him not the other green one with the stupid beard. Danny thought he was cool dude. Not like the other one from that other dimension, ugh. He was an edgy asshole, no wonder no one cared when he died. Danny didn't went want him so he booted him into a new dimension and life almost instantly.

Always the green guy was asking for advice about something.

"The red lanterns have their own reason to exist but is that right? To live in hate? Of course, they are evil but if their leader was vanquished could they turn to better purpose?" Hal asked the floating teen who was half listening as he observed the universe from inside his observatory.

Danny sighed as he adjusted his telescope. The view instantly focused on Atrocitus.

"The question is if anger could be put to good use. Atrocitus wants revenge but you seek him and his lanterns to avenge. One is done in vindictiveness and the other in righteous justice. Righteous, anger, justice, resentment, malice, and desire. These are all just words to me created to describe abstract excuses you make for yourselves. Right or wrong it doesn't matter." Danny sighed.

"Right and wrong does matter." Hal frowned.

"Oh, so you are telling me? The way I see it, it a petty concern because rage will always exist. Who are you to say it's wrong Green." Danny laughed at him like he was talking to a child.

"There is a wrong way to express anger. When you hurt innocent people to get your revenge. And there is a fair way to get retribution so that other people do not get hurt. You should only hold those who have done wrong accountable but punishment should be fair. It should be done to prevent more pain. Even if no one is happy with the results you shouldn't torture someone because you are hurt. There is a right way and anger isn't always the answer....but it is a part of healing. I won't condemn them for being angry because I understand where it comes from. But their way as it is now is not the answer."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Great, so you have your answer. Didn't need me to help you did you?" Danny said shifting the viewfinder again back to his previous task "Seriously, if you need validation on whether you are doing the right thing get a sidekick."

Hal got a weird look in his eyes.

"No way. I'd have to demote myself back to a solid corporeal form." Danny crossed his arms.

"But you are still a kid. A teenager at that. I'll take good care of you and everything. What's wrong with going back to being a human.'

"Half-human." Danny corrected "and stop talking before the other ancients overhear and agree."

"Actually, I agree. You need to stay connected to sentient life while you're still young. And you have been rude lately. I think the lanterns will suit you."

****

Hal:So this is my new sidekick the Grey Lantern.

Danny:*crewing off his fingers to get rid of the fused black and white Lantern ring he has been fused with*

Bruce: Isn't he the god we have been using as a contact?

Diana: Ancient actually.

Barry: I think he's trying to kill himself.

Hal: Don't worry, he can't. His rings unique oath is about forming a cycle of life and death. He can't die or be revived. He's just stressed, like how a parrot plucks it's feathers.

[antiwhores]

Bakugou seems to have an entitlement to you.

Even though you verbally express how much you hate his guts, he still tells other people that you’re his. It pisses you off more than anything.

He’s been like this since middle school. He bullied you but when someone else tried to do the same he’d loose his shit. He would corner you and dump out your entire book bag. Then you’d have to scramble to pick up the items on the floor. He would even kick some stuff away as you reached for it. Your teeth clenched at his laughter from your frustration because apparently knowing you couldn’t do anything about the treatment was so fucking hilarious to him.

That wasn’t even the worst thing you’d have to deal with from him. Even so, he’d still find a way to boast to everyone that you were his. He’d even walk you home, kicking stones in your path the entire time.

The bullying got slightly better in high school but the entitlement got worse.

He wasn’t insufferable with his treatment anymore but by then you’d hated him too much to care. He would purposely piss you off in the most casual ways. He wasn’t bullying you, he was just annoying you. It’s as if he needed you to remember of his existence.

He’d stand too close, stare relentlessly, use your stuff without asking, sit next to you uninvited, shoulder check you in the hallway, trip you, etc. It was such light treatment that you sounded absolutely crazy explaining how much you hated him for it.

You were talking to Mina about it one day and she wasn’t as understanding as you hoped.

“Wait… you think Bakugou is tormenting you because he’s showing interest in you?”

You sighed heavily,

“No, he’s not showing interest in me. Well, he’s always had interest in me… but the only thing he’s interested in is making my life terrible!”

She laughed,

“Maybe he just wants you to give him a chance. You know, he is telling everyone that you’re his wife.”

You spat out your water at that. Somehow you upgraded from girlfriend to fucking WIFE? He was surely trying to ruin your chances at teen romance just because of this stupid unwarranted grudge. You couldn’t let this happen!

You let it happen. You find yourself now, twenty years old, looking back at school with frustration. You never got a boyfriend (At least not one that you agreed to have). You hadn’t even had your first kiss! Even worse, you were still a virgin! Even worse x3, you still saw Bakugou way too often.

Somehow, whenever you were on patrol, he’d pop up. He was aggravating with his words as he followed you down the street. Your speed walking could never live up to his strides. He caught up to you easily, no matter how fast you paced.

“Why were you talking to that creep at the donut shop?”

It was so ridiculous of a question that you couldn’t hold back from answering.

“Because I wanted some fucking donuts. Also, he’s not a creep.”

Bakugou scoffed,

“I saw how he looked at you while he made those creme filled donuts. He was probably thinking about how he wanted to creme stuff my girlfriend too-“

Your face heated as you cut his vulgar comment off.

“If anything, you’re the creep for even insinuating that he was considering that! Also, I’m still not your girlfriend!”

He gave an annoyed sigh,

“When will you stop saying that? ‘I’m not your girlfriend’. We’ve been over this since middle school. You’re also my wife.”

You were too tired for this. You had hardly any sleep last night because of the mountain of reports you procrastinated and you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. You only had an hour left of your shift before you could go home and power off in your bed. You hoped that you could even drive in this condition.

“Stop following me. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“Watch your step dumb-“

When did you even get on the pavement? And why were you in an alley? Your eyes struggled to stay open as you were dragged up from the concrete.

“What the fuck? When’s the last time you slept?”

You didn’t even have the energy to argue with him. It felt good to lean against him after dragging your feet all day.

“I dunno.”

Everything went blank after that. Now you’ve found yourself in an unknown bed, in the middle of the night. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life, whether its from the comfortable mattress or the strong arms wrapped around you.

Wait… arms?

You spring up at the realization that you have no idea where you are. You quickly look around to find exits but it’s too dark.

“Fucking relax, its just me.”

Bakugou’s voice, and you just now realize, his smell too. Bakugou grabs you before you can fully jump out of the bed.

“Let go of me!”

“You can whine about this in the morning. I’m tired and I know you’re tired too. Sleep.”

He cradles you in his arms so securely that theres no chance of you getting out. Your panic switches to fatigue at his body heat. The way he begins to play with your hair and the sound of him breathing have you surrendering faster than you’d care to admit. Your eyes flutter shut against Bakugou’s chest.

Maybe you can be your bully’s girlfriend just for tonight.

[dinogoofymutated]

Hi there! I'm currently watching the original X men series to catch up to 97, and I'm in love with Gambit.

Would it be possible to ask for Remy and reader to be on a secret mission, and the Ole "make out so they don't suspect us" trope comes in, and gambit kinda (obviously) has feelings...?

It could be sfw or nsfw, either is perfect! Thank you for all that you do, I've been trying to find fics for the xmen for a while 🙏🙏

Kinda spicy! Gambit/GN!reader

YESS!! YESSSS!!! I legit had a dream about this situation with remy the day before you sent me this ask and I was cackling in joy when I saw this! I basically hyperfixated on it because I love this trope.

TWS: sexual themes n shit, no explicit smut. As always, reader written while picturing fem! but no specific pronouns mentioned. Semi-public making out and touching. Nipples be touched but size and type of breast not mentioned.

-Ps- reader can see heat signatures for plot purposes. I usually try to keep powers ambiguous but it was a NEED!

"In here, quick!" Remy's thick draw catches your attention, just before he yanks you into an alley. The two of you were in New Orleans, looking for a specific mutant Xavier wanted to talk to. The only downside was that Remy still had a warrant out for his arrest, and wanted posters plastered all over the city from bourbon Street to the garden district.

"Don't worry Cher. You said. NOPD 'dumber than a sack of rocks, you said!" You gripe at him. Remy laughs, tugging you around the corner. The alleyways on Burbon street are mostly private areas, owned and sealed off by the bars that line the storefronts- but Remy knew this city like the back of his hand. However, things had changed since he was here last. That became apperent when the two of you reach the end of the alleyway and there's a brand new brick wall, a dead end.

Remy curses and skids to a stop, causing you to slam into his back. You send him a dirty look as you whip around, eyes adjusting to the brick surroundings. It's hard to make out the figures of the cops through the walls of the busy bar in in front of you, too many people crowding the street for drinks even this late at night. You strain your eyes a bit, but are able to make out the stiff-shouldered men, heat signature slightly elevated from booking it after the two of you. Unfortunately, they're headed towards the mouth of the alleyway.

"Damnit." You mutter, turning back to Remy. He understands what you mean just by looking at your face. He hums, thinking for a moment before he begins to take out a playing card. You grab his arm to stop him, trying to ignore how warm his skin is against your own.

"Don't. The explosion will just lead them to us." You say. Remy nodds, glancing at the corner before suddenly caging you against the wall of the alleyway. You try not to blush as he does so. Remy smirks at you, and you think your heart might just explode. You remind yourself that this is standard Remy behavior, but it doesn't stop your face from heating up. You can only hope it's too dark for him to see you properly.

"Well, there is another way we could fool those pigs." Remy says, quieter than before. You cock an eyebrow at him before looking back over in the direction of the alleyways opening, able to spot the cops as they begin to enter. In your peripheral, you see Remy running his fingers through his hair to flatten it. You open your mouth to ask him what he has in mind, but the sound of footsteps cut you off.

"-Well, if you're going to do something, you better do it quick!" You whisper back at him. Remy pushes you further against the cold brick, his hands drifting down to your waist as he leans over to wisper in your ear.

"Trust me, Cher. I'll take care of you." His words cause goosebumps to rise at the back of your neck, and you hardly have time to react before he's kissing you. Your eyes are blown wide, heart thumping wildly as you start to slowly relax into the kiss.

Unsurprisingly, Remy is a really, really good kisser. It's hard to focus while he's touching you like this, kissing you deeply like he loves you. He nips at your lip, and you gasp, having forgotten about everything else already. His tongue darts into you mouth, caressing the skin he finds there. You let out a small moan as one of his hands drifts lower, caressing your thigh and hiking your leg up just a bit. Your own hands slowly slide up his chest, drifting to his neck.

The heat in your chest is unbearable when Gambit separates from the kiss, a string of spit connecting your mouths before he wipes it away, nothing but affection on his eyes. You're panting for breath while he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, and then lower. Remy places wet kisses on your neck, sucking and biting as he tries to swallow you whole. You thread your hands through his soft hair as his does so, fully encouraging him to ravage you in whatever way he would like. One of his hands begins to slide under your shirt when a cough startles you out of your heated state.

Your first instinct is to turn towards the noise, but Gambit is quick to cup your cheek and pull you into another heated kiss before your head could move a centimeter. He keeps you occupied as his other hand fully caresses the skin beneath your shirt, squeezing and caressing your chest. You hear another exhausted sigh from the cops. You crack and eye open slightly, knowing they cant see you do so in the dark. One of them begins to raise his voice, but the other smacks him on the shoulder.

"Just another pair of drunks. We've got bigger things to worry about right now." The cop says. You could practically hear the other roll his eyes before they turn to and walk away. Gambit brings your attention back to him and only him when you feel a finger brush lightly against your nipple. You gasp, and Remy chuckles, playfully biting your lip as he pulls away. He's smirking as he looks at you, and you can only imagine what you look like right now.

"Looks like you enjoyed that." He teases, voice low and husky. You can't seem to pull your thought together properly when he's looking at you like that. You nervously look away, hands playing with his collar.

"And if I did?" You ask, glancing back at him to gage his reaction. He looks surprised at first, face morphing into a lovestruck smile before he tries to cover it up with a smirk. Didn't stop you from being able to see the heat rise to his cheeks, however.

"Then gambit thinks we should do this more often."

[etherealkissed88]

daydreaming vs visualization vs imagination

i was thinking about before i got into the law. you know when you imagine steamy scenarios before you go to bed for fun? i know you know what i mean. i used to do that every night in 2020 (even now) with the same scenario bc it was fun. keep in mind that i didnt know about the law at this point so i obviously didnt intend for it to "manifest". a year ago when i started to understand states, i used to think back to 2020 and wonder why those scenarios didnt manifest since i kept visualizing and imagining the same thing. last week i randomly remembered about how i used to wonder that and i immediately knew the answer: i wasnt changing self.

when i was visualizing/imagining, i wasnt becoming the person who actually knew i was experiencing it. i was not being someone who was experiencing those steamy scenarios. in order words, i was just daydreaming.

daydreaming

in my own words, i think daydreaming is visualizing something while being someone who knows they dont have it. for example: visualizing owning a car while knowing that you dont have it. so you are just visualizing it for fun, not for the purpose of changing self but for the purpose of just experiencing something in imagination (via visualization) just for your own enjoyment. daydreaming is like visualizing for fun, without changing states/self. this "knowing" i talk about is based on what state you are in, so if someone knows they dont have a car, they are in that state.

i think daydreaming is always visualization but visualization is not always daydreaming. daydreaming is for fun, without the intention of "manifesting" or changing states while visualization is changing states whether or not you intent to do so.

so i was visualizing my freaky scenes as the version of me who didnt identify with those freaky scenes (aka daydreaming). i wasnt identifying with it or using it to change self. same thing applies to when i used to repeat positive thoughts 100k times but i didnt identify with them. those are called vain repetitions and can be used to change self but if they just dont change self/states, then it is just daydreaming/vain repetitions. you can change self/states without realizing too which is why i think people put so much power onto techniques by thinking the techniques themselves are doing something, when its only self (imagination/you) that is changed by the techniques. those techniques were the things that consciously or unconsciously made you change self. regardless, self/you will always be the thing manifesting.

realize that regardless of everything, your state/version of you you are being, will always determine the "3d".

visualization ≠ imagination

visualization is a tool to change self / imagination. you can visualize things but that doesnt mean you are identifying with it or accepting it as true. i think of visualization as a smaller form of imagination but its very small compared to imagining/imagination itself.

imagination is what you are (aka self). imagination is not a tool like visualization because you always are operating in imagination since everything is self. you are always being a version of you. you arent always visualizing. visualizing can be daydreaming if you arent visualizing that thing to change self.

when you imagine something in a law of assumption context, imagining = what version of you you are being.

imagination is not limited to visualizing. there are some people in this community who have aphantasia and think they have no imagination and therefore "cant manifest", etc. but they just cant visualize. imagination is not equal to visualization. no matter what type of or stage of aphantasia you have, you will always already be manifesting.

visualizing and thinking without changing self means nothing. changing self means being a new version of you who knows they have (insert whatever desire).

self changes everything

so back to my story, i was just visualizing me and my imaginary bae, i wasnt being the person who was experiencing what i was visualizing. this is why it didnt manifest. i like this idea because that is just more proof that self changes everything, who ever you are being in imagination will express. it also means i have control bc i can daydream anything for fun and control whether or not it expresses bc i dont have to identify with that version of me who is experiencing whatever i am daydreaming.

i hope this makes sense and if it doesnt, dont stress. just focus on changing self, be the version of you that has whatever it is you want. i made this post because its been on my mind and hopefully it can help someone else realize that changing self is all you ever have to do.

kisses, jani ☆

[xndrexcruz]

When You Get Shipped With Another Player | FC BARCELONA

✮- summary: how they react to fans shipping you with another barca player

✮- warnings: none i don’t think

Requests are open

masterlist here

João Félix

“How come fans think you’re a better match with Marc Guiu than with me?” João grumbled, throwing his bag down by the door.

You glanced up at him from your book, raising an eyebrow. “Fans are just being fans, João. They see what they want to see, you know how it is.”

He walked over to you and plopped down besides you, a pout forming on his puffy lips. “Mas não é justo. Somos perfeitos juntos.” (“It’s not fair though. We’re perfect together.”)

You slightly chuckled, putting your book aside and leaning closer to your boyfriend. “We know that, but they don’t. They just enjoy making up different scenarios, nothing serious.”

“Yeah, but why Marc? I mean he’s a pretty good guy and all, but he’s obviously not me,” João insisted, wrapping his arms around you possessively.

You pressed a kiss to his lips and then trailed a line of kisses along his jaw. “Maybe just maybe, they can’t handle how perfect we are together.” You whispered in between kisses, “They need some drama to entertain themselves.”

João signed, his body relaxing under your soft touch. “I just really hate seeing those comments. It makes me want to scream to the world that you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“One day, I promise. For now, let’s just enjoy what we have now,” you whispered, kissing him deeply.

“Yeah, you’re right, João murmured against your lips, his jealousy melting away. “As long as we know the truth right, that’s all that matters.”

Pablo Gavi

“I swear, if I see one more post shipping you with Héctor, i’m actually going to lose it,” Gavi fumed, pacing around the room.

You signed, shutting your laptop closed. “Pablo, it’s just fans having fun. They don’t mean any harm.”

He stopped pacing and looked at you, frustration evident when you looked at him in the eyes. “But it bothers me. They think you two would be a quote on quote amazing couple.”

You stood up and walked over to him, placing your hands on his chest. “Do you really I care about what they think? I’m with you because I’m head over heels for you.”

Gavin’s expression softened at your words, but he still seemed restless. "Es difícil ignorarlo, ¿sabes? Quiero que todos sepan que eres mi novia". (“It’s just hard to ignore, you know? I want everyone to know you’re my girlfriend.”)

You kissed his lips and then both his cheeks, feeling him shiver at the contact. “I know, trust me I know, but we had both agreed to keep things private in the meantime. We just have to trust that our love for one another is strong enough.”

He signed at your words, wrapping his arms around you and putting his head in the crook of your neck. “It is. I’m sorry for getting frustrated. It’s not on purpose.”

You smiled, leaning your head to kiss him. “It’s okay. I just want you to remember that you’re the one I choose every single day, just you.”

Pedri González

“I don’t understand why people think you and João would make such a power couple,” Pedri muttered, scrolling through his phone.

You rolled your eyes, setting you coffee mug down on the coffee table. “Because they don’t about the two of us, Pedri. They’re only speculating.”

He looked up at you, concern written across his face. “But it still bothers me. I want them to see how perfect I am for you.”

You walked over and sat next to him, taking his hands into yours. “I know it must be hard, but it’s just make believe, I’m with you not João. We know what’s actually real.”

Pedri only let out a huff, squeezing your hands. “Sinceramente, odio la idea de que alguien más que no sea yo pueda estar contigo”. (“I just honestly hate the thought of anyone else being with you who isn't me.”)

You leaned in, kissing him lovingly before moving to his neck. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m all yours Pedri.”

A smile started forming on his lips. “You’re right, of course you are. It only matters that you and I know the truth no one else matters.”

“Exactly,” you murmured, kissing his lips again.

Fermín López

“We could always let our relationship go public to stop the rumors about you and Lamine,” Fermín suggested, frustration evident in his voice.

You looked at him in surprise. “You do remember you were the one who wanted to keep our relationship hidden from the public to protect us, right?”

He let out a breath, running a hand through his combed hair. “Lo sé, pero es duro ver a los fans pensar que tú y él son más adecuados el uno para el otro”. (“I know, but it’s hard seeing fans think you and him are better suited for each other.”)

You laid your head on his chest before speaking. “It’s just rumors. They don’t mean anything.”

Fermín pulled you closer into him, kissing the top of your head. “It’s just annoying. I always see those type of comments.”

You tilted your head up to see him, kissing his adam’s apple. “It doesn’t matter what the fans think. We’re the ones together.”

He nodded his head, sighing as he relaxed his head on top of yours. “You’re right Y/n. I’m sorry for getting so worked up over that.”

You gave him a small smile. “It’s okay. As long as I’m with you.”

Héctor Fort

“Why do fans seem to think you’d be better with Pedri than you would be with me?” Héctor annoyingly grumbled, tossing his phone aside.

You looked up from the movie you had been watching. “Héctor they don’t know any better. The fans are just imagining things, they would think differently if they knew we were dating.”

He walked over and sat next to you, while wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I just want every person to know that you’re mine, not anybody else’s.”

You leaned against his shoulder, leaving a kiss on his cheek. “One day they all will. But for now, let’s enjoy our relationship as it is, okay?”

Héctor nodded, resting his head over yours to find comfort in your touch. "Bé. Em molesta tant veure comentaris com que m'irrita molt.” (“Okay. It just bothers me so much seeing comments like that it really irritates me.””

You moved off his shoulder, placing you hand on his defined jawline. “Just don’t let it get to you. Because nothing will change the fact that I’m your girlfriend Héctor.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly. “I won’t, not anymore.”

Lamine Yamal

"Of all the players, they think you'd go out with Fermín," Lamine muttered, scrolling through his phone.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Fans will ship anyone with anyone. It doesn't mean anything, you should know that."

He looked at you, concern clear in his eyes. "Doesn’t change the fact that it’s annoying. They should know I’m your boyfriend."

You walked over and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Maybe but at least we know that you are my incredible and loving boyfriend."

Lamine cracked a small smile, pulling you closer. "No puedo esperar hasta el día en que el mundo sepa que estamos juntos. Entonces, esto hará que dejemos de emparejarte con otras personas que no son tus novios.” (“I can’t wait till the day the world knows that we’re together. Then this will stop all the shipping you with other people who aren’t your boyfriend.")

You kissed his neck, feeling him relax. "Don’t let it get to you. Soon enough everyone will know, I promise Lamine."

He smiled, kissing you softly. "You better keep your promise"

Marc Guiu

"How am I supposed to ignore the fans shipping you with Gavi?" Marc exclaimed, frustration clear in his voice as he spoke.

You sighed, looking up from your phone. "It’s just rumors. They don’t know what they’re talking about half the time."

He looked at you, concern etched on his face. "Però em molesta molt. Sé que tu i en Gavi no esteu passant res, però només pensar-hi em molesta molt". ("But it really bothers me. I know that you and Gavi don’t have anything going on but just thinking about it annoys me so much.")

You walked over and wrapped your arms around his waist. "Exactly. So don’t worry about something that silly."

Marc sighed, pulling you closer. "I just hate seeing people think Gavi could do a better job at being your boyfriend than I can."

You kissed his neck, feeling his body starting to relax. "Don’t let it get to you. We know that you are the only boy for me."

"That you’re right about." He smirked, as he kissed your lips.

[cheeseceli]

How they'd describe your love

Pairing: ot5!TXT × gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, established relationships, scenarios

Prompt: "I've never known this feeling, but if I had to find a way to explain your love..." - Your Love, by Jisoo

Warnings: mentions of being an idol in taehyun and beomgyu's, mentions of trainee days at soobin's, not proofread.

A/n: can this be described as a very late valentine's gift? | Daily click

Yeonjun

"Your love feels like the rain"

Most people don't enjoy the rain. Yeonjun used to be like that.

You can't really blame those people. Sometimes you just want to go home after a tiring day but the rain makes you get stuck in traffic. It can make you get a cold. Thunder can be scary and it absolutely sucks when the power is off because of the storm.

But now Yeonjun likes when the grey clouds take over. Simply because it reminds himself of you.

The first time he realised he loved you, it was in the rain: how you'd smile even when the rain drops would annoyingly hit your skin. He noticed he really liked to see you smile.

Your first kiss was also in the rain, as cliche as it sounds. He fears he wouldn't have been able to have kissed you back then if it hadn't started to rain. Looking back, he's grateful that night wasn't one with a clean sky.

Sometimes it feels like the rain was purposely made for the two of you. It feels so intimate. All the times you tripped, ran and danced under the dark sky. Every time you would dry his hair after getting it wet and how he would always lend you his sweater to make you cozy. Maybe Yeonjun was going crazy, but he thinks that even the sound of the water falling into the window is starting to look like your laugh.

When he described his feelings toward you to be like the rain, people didn't get it. They thought it was something negative.

They simply don't understand: Yeonjun loves the rain. He loves you and everything that seems to come together with you.

Soobin

"Feels like a song I used to know"

Soobin hadn't known you for long before falling in love with you. But at the same time, it feels like he's known you for his entire life.

It's kind of complicated to describe. Something about you feels oddly familiar. He just doesn't understand how.

Maybe it's the way that your smile seems like the one everybody seemed to have during Christmas when he was a kid, before everyone was busy and grey. Or perhaps it was the way your touch was as gentle as his mother's every time she'd comfort him when he had a nightmare as a child. It could also be your eyes, that resembled the way the night sky would bring him peace during his trainee days.

Something about you was familiar. Comforting. Your essence screamed the word "love" to him. He couldn't understand how you, whom he knew for such a short time, seemed to have an impact on his entire existence.

He could say all of that and much more every time one of his friends asked whether he liked you. But he only replied with "they feel like a song I used to know." No one understood it, not like he did, but that was okay. If his words couldn't make people know if he liked you, the softness of his voice and the shy smile appearing in his face would be able to deliver the message.

Beomgyu

"And your love feels like the way there's only green lights driving home"

Someone once told Beomgyu that missing your partner is important for the relationship to grow.

He never really understood why. Maybe because then you'd desire them more? Or simply because it's important to be alone sometimes? He has no idea why it's so important to miss your partner.

He, personally, hates to miss you.

It sadly comes with the nature of his job, though. There are times he can't even see his own home, being outside the country or simply in the company for longer than 24 hours, so how would he be able to see you every day?

He sadly has to miss you. Every time you're sick but he's overseas, it painfully hurts him. And when he wants to celebrate something with you but he can't, it also stings. There are so many moments he wanted to be next to you but couldn't.

He doesn't understand why someone would willingly want to miss their love.

However, he can't deny the joy that it brings him when he finally gets to see you. When he's back from a long tour or when promotion ends and he can go back to you. If the way to your home takes hours, you better believe he'll be smiling through it all.

Maybe that's why he associates your love with all the green lights he sees when he's driving to you. It means one step closer to wherever you are.

And that makes him way happier than missing you.

Taehyun

"Your love feels like a Sunday when you got nowhere to go"

Taehyun has always enjoyed peace.

It's a feeling he rarely gets with how hectic his schedule is. He loves his job, of course, but he can't deny the joy he gets when he finally can simply rest.

So, because of that, he likes when he can't hear anything outside of his window. He likes when his phone isn't blowing up with messages and calls. He likes when it's the weekend and, for once, he has nowhere to go.

Some might find this boring and unpleasant. He loves it way more than he can explain.

One thing he finds odd, however, is how he wants to be in silence and in peace and alone, but he wants to do it with you.

Yeah, it doesn't make sense. But the more Taehyun gets to know you and the more he falls in love with you, the more he wants you around him. He wants you at his chaotic moments as much as he wants you in his tranquility. He wants you when he's going all over the place and when he's standing still at a single spot. He wants you when the entire world has its eyes on him and when it's just the two of you.

He wants you.

And, luckily to him, you also want him. You stay by his side all the time. But even then, he mostly associates you with what brings him peace. This feeling that used to be so rare, but became frequent once you entered his life.

Hueningkai

"I love your love"

Hueningkai doesn't know how to describe your love.

His friends asked once to tell them how he felt around you. When he couldn't reply, they asked what was being loved by you like. He couldn't answer that either.

And by no means does this happen because he doesn't know. It happens because how could he possibly explain this feeling into words?

He doesn't know how to. He could tell them that the world stops whenever he sees you. And, when you start talking to him, he feels like he could spend eternity like this. But then again, he could swear he would be young forever as long as you were by his side, no matter if an eternity has passed.

There are a lot of things he could say to try and explain your love. He could just straight up say something or he could try to be poetic about it. But it never felt enough.

He didn't know how to start replying to their questions. So many things he needed to say, how to be sure of what needed to be described first? And there wouldn't be enough time for him to talk about all the great things you make him feel. The answer would never be complete either, considering he always found something new about you every time he goes near you.

He felt bad for not being able to put his love into words. He should be able to express how much he adores you. Not because people expected him to, but because he wanted you to be sure that you were the one and only for him.

So, after many sleepless nights spent thinking about this, he comes up with something to say. He doesn't think it's appropriate yet, but it would do.

He'd always say that he loved your love. And, in his perspective, you were love itself.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: What love feels like (BTS version)

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @zzzzzwicked @yuyubeans @firstclassjaylee @sheraayasherrecs

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto | images 1, 2 and 3

[sossolei]

how i shifted realities accidentally on purpose .☘︎ ܁˖

“What does this even mean?” You may be asking yourself. Well, buckle the hell up because I’m still understanding it myself.

If you’ve never seen me before my introduction post is pinned, there I give an insight on myself and a little bit of my spiritual journey. In it I mentioned that the first time I shifted was random but completely purpose at the same time. Here I will explain how:

When I was around 17 going on 18, I came across a TikTok about a woman talking about this very specific manifesting method that completely altered her life in such a small way she didn’t realize for 6 years. To sum it up, she did this manifestion ritual for something I don’t remember and afterwards thought nothing of it, but then 6 years later she was catching up with an old friend and in their conversations she had mentioned a trip they went on together overseas 2 years prior. Her old friend had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. The woman tried to jog their memory but the friend said the two of them hadn’t seen each other in 6 years, so OP asked her mother if she remembered the two of them taking a trip and her mother said the same thing as the friend. Then OP remembered the manifesting ritual she did and realized that everything people had been saying about it was true and it had altered such a small thing in her life that she didn’t even realize until now.

So, me being 17 and absolutely dyinggg to go shift realities, I read through a couple comments, watched other videos and did a quick Reddit search and they all pretty much said the same thing about how powerful the ritual is, but to be careful because it’ll alter things in your reality.

I did not give a damn about any of those warnings.

Not the best thing to do in hindsight but 🥸oh well.

So I did the manifestion ritual ( im gonna explain it later because I genuinely cannot remember the name of it but I sort of remember what I did so if anyone knows what I’m talking ab, pls enlighten me ) and afterwards I didn’t rlly think about it. I should also mention I was specific with what I wrote down because I ( thought ) know how the universe acts when you don’t spell everything out word for word lmao.

Now this is where you have to hold my hand cause this is going to sound so stupid right now but trust me it matters:

My whole life I’ve had a mole on my LEFT hand middle finger. I love her. I show it off to anyone I get the chance to show it off to. Why? I don’t know, I’ve genuinely just always shown people this mole just because I like it.

The summer of the end of high school, going onto college, I had a lil fling with a guy and again, I showed him the mole on my left hand middle finger. I vividly remember doing this because I do it to everyone.

Then in college around November - December, I get my first ever boyfriend ( not the same guy ). One day we’re hanging out and we’re talking about moles (?) and I instinctively hold out my RIGHT hand to show him the mole on middle finger and…there it is. On my right middle finger. I kid you not, in that exact moment I literally said, “huh, I thought this was on my left hand.” I look at my left hand and there’s no mole??? I brushed that off but when I went back to my dorm, I legit stared at my hands in confusion at how the fuck my mole switched sides.

MIND YOU it’s the exact same mole. Like it looks the exact same, there’s nothing different about the color or shape, it’s just…on the opposite hand???

But since I had absolutely no explanation for it, I just moved on 🤷🏽‍♀️

Life went on, both of my sisters got pregnant early in the year so we were prepping all things baby related whenever I came back to visit. During one of these breaks, my sister is showing me everything she got from her baby shower and one of those things is a bottle warmer. I told her I think a bottle warmer is kinda stupid when you can just use the microwave, especially with how expensive bottle warmers are. And she said to me “yeah why you do you think I’m not buying it with my own money?” You got that? Okay.

The relationship went on as well, and outwardly, the guy was everything I thought I wanted. Nothing against him but he was like the embodiment of everything I read on wattpad growing up and thought was sooo cute. Ex; He was mean to everybody but me, I thought this was so fun and dandy. Anyways, I gradually started to lose interest in astrology, tarot, shifting, manifesting, literally EVERYTHING. So much so to the point where I started to feel crazy because I felt like I was trying to fit into a mold for this guy that isn’t who I am??

But low and behold, THE DAY AFTER we break up, I get the strongest urge to do tarot. Over time I started to find myself in everything I loved and still love to this day.

HERE IS WHERE WE GET TO THE SHIFTING PART

During the summer of 2024, I’m brushing my teeth in my house when I randomly just look down at my left hand middle finger….and there’s no mole. I look at my right hand and what would you know, THE MOLE IS BACK.

I genuinely gasped in the moment and looked at both of my hands side by side to make sure I was seeing everything right. This sent me down a SPIRAL, I legit replayed every interaction I ever had trying to decipher whether or not I was crazy because okay, mole switching sides ONE time is something I can ignore, BUT TWICE??? You must thing I’m stupid.

Then I remember the manifestion ritual that I did soooo fucking long ago by that point. I remember all the stories people had about how small things changed in their reality and all that.

So basically…I had just shifted realities FOR MONTHS, and I did not realize.

But it wasn’t just the mole. Because once I remembered the ritual I did, I tried to look around my daily life and see if anything else had changed and I even asked the universe to show me what changed.

Guys.

I bring my sister a package she got and watch her unpack it…why does she pull out a bottle warmer🧍🏽‍♀️

I said, “girl what do you need two bottle warmers for?”

She said, “what do you mean two?”

I said, “didn’t somebody get you a bottle warmer from your baby registry?”

She says, “no girl, I bought this with my own money and it was expensive as hell, I wish somebody got this for me.”

Oh my god when I tell you, you could have knocked me over with a damn BREATH. I was truly…gagged. Like there’s no other word for it. Bewildered? I don’t even know.

I didn’t even say anything after that cause I just like wow, what is life? LMFAOOO

Now I know you may be wondering why the manifestion ritual didn’t work perfectly if I had specified what I wanted, which was “I want to shift to my desired reality” and I think it’s because before I did the ritual, I was debated whether or not I wanted to shift realities or manifest a SP ( specific person ) and I ultimately landed on reality shifting BUT CLEARLY, the universe had to double it.

Even to this day I’m still processing the shift because when people say reality shifting feels like your regular every day life…I AM PROOF THAT THAT IS TRUE. It didn’t even register that I was in an alternate reality because everything was almost perfect, genuinely, I had a great boyfriend, my friends were thriving, my family was even prospering ( my grades weren’t but let’s not talk about that ) like ??

Now that I’m writing this, I feel like I sound like the lamp starts looking weird story but I swear on everything I have ever loved and ever will love, this is 1000% true and something I’m still reeling from.

If you have any questions I’d be glad to answer but moving on!

TLDR; I have a mole on my left middle finger. I did a powerful manifestion ritual to shift to my desired reality when I was like 17. I got a boyfriend for the first time in college, he was everything I thought I wanted. I showed him my finger mole except it was on my right hand this time and I even said out loud how I thought it was on my left hand. Life goes on, we break up, one day I’m brushing my teeth and look at my left hand but there’s nothing there. I look at my right and BOOM there it is back where it was originally. There is more context pls just read the whole thing lmao.

ABOUT THE RITUAL: okay I don’t remember EXACTLY what I did so do NOT use this as a tutorial, I beg! Basically I had two or three cups of water (?), on a piece of paper I wrote down what I wanted aka “I will shift to my desired reality”, I think I switched the cups to be on top of the paper ? I don’t know y’all, and then I drank the water and kept both things beside me on my nightstand. If anyone knows the name of this manifesting technique, pleasseeee let me know. I’ve genuinely been too scared to look it up myself but ahh I guess it’s time to face it.

Thank you for reading, shifting is so incredibly real, manifesting is so incredibly real and your reality is whatever you want it to be, ritual or not. Thank you! <33

[niccolites]

can't stop thinking about that highlander art by @lurrlonde found here

highlander!soap who is the son of a laird. fiercely against the English, and with no time for politics. his father is at his wit's end with him, sick of the constant reports of his son firing up rebellion's wherever he goes, causing bother with English soldiers, making it difficult anyone in the clan to not be tarred with the same brush - troublemaker

his father tries to set up countless betrothals for his son. a wife would calm him, give him something in the centre of him. johnny shirks this off as well. the ladies are sweet things (and maybe he does charm a few of them into letting him slide his hands up their skirts), but they don't settle him. he is ravenous, an open maw in the shape of a man. these ladies with their practiced words would be swallowed up by him, dainty fingers that are snapped off to reveal delicate white bone

but, he does love his father, so in the light of the fifth attempted engagement that he spurns, he stays and helps his father out. meetings with other clansmen, the politics boring the shit out of him. but he does know his duty, even if he believes that he answers to a higher power than the pleasing of other lairds

you live in a small village of little consequence. at least you did, until some englishmen roll through and start up trouble. angered at the torching of a nearby fortress of theirs, and more than happy to let off that steam nearby. unluckily for you

and johnny, finally listening to the twitch of his hands and heading out to escape the counting of his father's rents, happens upon the scene of you shrieking in your burning field. held back by one soldier, another torching your crops. a third, trying to rip open your bodice as you scream, red in the face and crying

johnny, more broadsword than man, hasn't swung his arm out in a few weeks. your screams are a divine calling and he answers, barely half a thought of a plan before he is across the field, bloodletting until his muscles sing with it. a higher purpose, received and delivered.

he kills all three of the men, only gets a cut along his brow and a bayonet in his calf in return. lightwork, but it certainly seems a lot of blood to you

there is dead men in your field, but you drag the man who spared you the worst of it into your home after you manage to extinguish the fire before it ruins everything that you and your brother have managed to plant that spring

he really has been worse off, but he leans on you just a little more than he should. feels the buckle of your knees and eases up again, apologises for being a burden and basks in the the rush as you tell him that of course he's not, he's just at least 2 heads taller than you and it's more weight than you're used to carrying. he understands, angel, this all must be a lot for you

in your home, you let him slump in a chair and kneel down to dress the wound on his calf. his blood stains your skin and he watches, enraptured. red into the fine lines of your palms, like maybe it had been there even before you had stitched up the cut in his leg. stares down at you, struck silent with dark eyes that make the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up. something about him making you nervous even as you force that down, given he likely saved you from a fate worse than death from those soldiers

you stand up and now he's looking up at you instead, mouth parted as he watches every slight shift of movement that you do. you reach for his face, a damp flannel that you clean the cut on his brow with. his chest heaves, and you feel it, like a phantom ache in your own lungs

you ask if it hurts at all. drowned in the sweet cup of your hands on his face, he tells you that pain could not be further from his mind

you're why he's doing this, he realises. every fight he has been in has honed his body for this, for saving you. his father has been trying to convince him of his purpose, to be laird to his people, but he's found it here, in the clasp of your hands

you suddenly realise that you are treating a wounded animal, mistaking it for a tamed beast. you pull your hand back, but the teeth snap shut, caught

[growthhyp]

The Transforming Cum III

Zayne’s eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and ambition as he watched Jonathan flex his new muscles. The park was quiet now, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass. Chris stood beside him, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. Zayne could feel the power radiating from Jonathan—untapped potential waiting to be unleashed.

“Jonathan,” Zayne said, stepping closer, his voice smooth and commanding. “What you just experienced… it’s only the beginning. Your body has been reborn, but your mind? That needs to catch up.”

Jonathan blinked, his expression a mixture of awe and confusion. “What do you mean?”

Zayne placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, locking eyes with him. “You’re strong now. Stronger than most men could ever dream of being. But strength isn’t just about muscle. It’s about confidence. About understanding what you’re capable of.” His voice softened, almost hypnotic. “Close your eyes, Jon. Breathe in deeply. Feel the power coursing through you.”

Without hesitation, Jonathan obeyed. His chest rose and fell as he inhaled deeply, his massive frame relaxing under Zayne’s touch. Zayne’s voice continued, low and steady, weaving its way into Jonathan’s subconscious.

“Imagine yourself standing tall, not just physically, but mentally. You’re a force to be reckoned with. People look at you and they see a leader. Someone who can change lives. You have the ability to help others—to heal them, to make them stronger. Do you understand?”

Jonathan nodded slowly, his breathing even, his jaw set with determination. “Yes,” he murmured. “I can do that.”

“Good,” Zayne said, a sly smile curling his lips. “Now, listen carefully. Your body… it’s more than just muscle. There’s something inside you—something potent. A gift. When the time comes, you’ll know how to use it. You’ll spread this power to those who need it most. Those who are weak, sick, broken. You’ll give them a second chance.”

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, Zayne thought he saw a flash of doubt. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a steely resolve. “I get it,” Jonathan said, his voice firm. “I’ll make a difference.”

Chris chuckled, clapping Jonathan on the back. “That’s the spirit, big guy. Now go home. Get used to that new body of yours. And when you’re ready… you’ll know what to do.”

---

Jonathan walked home in a daze, his mind still buzzing with Zayne’s words. He felt like a different person—no, not just different. Better. Stronger. More alive than he’d ever been. His reflection in store windows caught his eye as he passed, and each time he stopped to admire himself. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a chest that seemed to defy gravity. Even his stride had changed, confident and purposeful.

When he finally reached his apartment, he barely recognized the man stepping through the door. The place felt smaller somehow, as if it couldn’t contain the enormity of who he’d become. He stripped off his shirt, the fabric clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, and stood in front of the mirror.

Monster. The word popped into his head unbidden, but he didn’t flinch. He liked it. His hands roamed over his body, tracing the ridges of his abs, the bulging curves of his biceps. Every inch of him was carved to perfection, hard and unyielding. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thicker than he remembered, and he couldn’t resist wrapping his fingers around it.

A low groan escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself, his other hand roaming over his chest, pinching a nipple, feeling the sheer mass of his pecs. His eyes never left the mirror, watching the way his muscles flexed and rippled with every movement. He’d never felt so… powerful.

“You’ll know what to do,” Zayne’s voice echoed in his mind.

Jonathan’s strokes grew faster, his breathing harsher. He could feel the pressure building, the heat coiling tight in his gut. His balls tightened, and with a guttural roar, he came, thick ropes of cum splattering against his chest and abs. He kept stroking, milking every last drop, until he was spent.

Panting, he looked down at himself, his cum glistening against his skin. Something stirred in him then—a primal urge, raw and undeniable. Without thinking, he dipped a finger into the mess, bringing it to his lips. The taste was salty, earthy, but there was something else too. Something electric.

He licked his fingers clean, then leaned down to lap up the rest directly from his skin. As he swallowed, a jolt ran through him, like a surge of pure energy. His cock twitched, swelling impossibly larger, thicker. He stumbled back, staring in disbelief as his erection stretched to 12 inches, veiny and throbbing with power.

But it wasn’t just his cock. His muscles bulged, expanding right before his eyes. His chest broadened, his shoulders widened, his arms thickened until they were like tree trunks. He could feel the density of his body increasing, every fiber of his being growing tighter, stronger. The mirror showed a titan, a god among men.

Jonathan laughed, a deep, resonant sound that filled the room. “Holy shit,” he muttered, flexing his arms again. “This is insane.”

And then it hit him—the realization of what had just happened. His seed… it wasn’t just a part of him. It was the key. The catalyst. He could share this power. He could transform others just as Zayne had transformed him.

His phone buzzed on the counter, snapping him out of his thoughts. He picked it up, glancing at the screen. A text from an unknown number: “You’ve got a gift, Jon. Use it wisely.”

Jonathan grinned, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

[lutorao]

Doffy 🦩

Doffy being jealous over Luffy, is my fav moment

let me explain okay?

here we go

Doffy knew every single thing about Law

how he survived, his backstory, his history, his goals(this is debatable cauz his goals changed after Cora's death) and etc.

Law was a traumatized child who had lost everyone and everything. He believed that he only had 3 years left to live, so he had to experience everything in those three years.

he lost his parents, his sister, his friends and everyone

Doffy was a man who had experienced hunger, the kind that gnawed at your bones and left you hollow. He had known the anguish of losing a parent, the primal fear of death stalking his every step, and the burning rage that only betrayal and abandonment could ignite. Doflamingo was no ordinary tyrant; he was a man molded by pain, and that pain had birthed his relentless hunger for power and control.

Law reminded himself of this truth every time he thought of the man who had once loomed over him like a god. He had seen that rage firsthand—the seething fury of someone who had lost everything and now sought to take everything from others in return. Doflamingo wasn’t just a warlord; he was a survivor who had clawed his way to the top, dragging anyone he could down into the depths with him

And then one day he finds out that Law created an alliance with who? with Luffy

Doffy had high hopes for him

But Law had walked away. He had chosen someone else.

Doffy couldn’t forgive that.

For all his power and charisma, Doffy was a man who demanded loyalty to the point of obsession. Law’s betrayal wasn’t just a practical blow; it was a personal insult, a rejection of the twisted connection they had once shared. And worse, Law had chosen him.

Monkey D. Luffy.

A man who embodied everything Doffy scorned. A fool with reckless dreams, an idealist who sought freedom in a world where freedom didn’t exist.

So yes he got mad,of course he got,he was confused. law isn't someone who trusts people that easily. he was confused because he chose luffy, why him? why luffy? why he trust him that much?

What could Law possibly see in him? Doflamingo had given Law purpose, power, and the means to enact his revenge. Luffy had given him… hope? Friendship? Law could almost hear Doflamingo’s sneer as he thought of it: "I made you. I saved you. And you abandoned me for him?"

Why did you choose him, Law?! I thought you were a smarter man than this!" The anger in these words isn’t simply about the alliance; it’s deeply personal. Doflamingo prides himself on understanding people, bending them to his will, and shaping them into extensions of his vision. Law choosing Luffy is, to Doflamingo, proof that he misjudged Law. Worse, it highlights Doflamingo’s own insecurities his inability to inspire true loyalty beyond fear or manipulation.

Doflamingo’s jealousy stems from this realization. Law’s choice wasn’t just about strategy, it was about rejecting Doflamingo’s way of life in favor of something he could never offer: trust, camaraderie, and a vision of a world not ruled by fear. For a man like Doflamingo, who thrives on dominance and sees relationships as tools, this rejection is both infuriating and incomprehensible.

he was still here, thinking about him, right?

"do you remember the first day we met law?"

imagine how annoying this was for him

Doffy was the man who taught Law how to fight. Doffy was the man who killed his own brother because his brother "betrayed" him. Now imagine how disappointed, angry, and hurt he must have been when he discovered that the person he had placed so much hope in—the one he thought would one day become his right-hand man, whether to exact revenge or fulfill his own ambitions—had chosen someone else. A pirate. Someone for whom Law had risked everything in the middle of a war to save his life. And if that wasn’t enough, now an alliance? Against him, no less. Many believe that Law used Luffy. Really?

Does this pannel really look like he was using him?

And as strange as it may seem, Law truly wasn’t opposed to the idea of Luffy using him instead.

How crazy must a person be?!

I mean look at is face

"using? who's using whom...?

As if that wasn’t enough, he also entrusted Luffy with his deepest secret—Corazon. He preferred to die alongside Luffy rather than live without him. And on top of that, he worried about him? Is the alliance over? What are you doing here?

Law, get a grip—you’re being far too obvious!

A man who had no faith, who trusted no one, suddenly shares his deepest secret with someone else? Oh, Law… And to place his hopes in him, of all people? Yet, look at how confident and happy he is every single time Luffy declares he’ll become the Pirate King. He was like, “That’s my boy.”

(from anime btw)

and I don’t know if it’s because of Cora, maybe even Luffy, but it’s clear that this character’s development is undeniable, right?

Thank u

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Gamer Boyfriend Scenarios

A collection of parodies to satisfy everyone’s desire for a happy ending. Warning: crackhead humor.

Content: gender neutral reader, yandere behavior, brief NSFW, time machine to Wattpad glory days

[First story] [More parodies original works]

Case 1: Third contender

Very few people know about your stepmother. You’d kept it a secret, even from the tentacle monster, who was understandably confused about your boyfriend’s nervousness upon hearing your idea of a family visit.

“Try not to kill each other, please.” You say with pleading eyes.

“I’m more worried about you, (Y/N). Will you be alright?”

You swallow dryly. The evil hag had summoned you earlier this week, and you dare not oppose her. A tear threatens to form in the corner of your eye, so you turn around with a dismissive wave. You’ll be fine.

“I see you already have a suitcase”, the older woman remarks, puffing on her cigarette. “Good. You’ll be leaving today.”

“What? I just got home!” You argue in confusion.

“This isn’t your home anymore. Times are difficult, you see. We’re low on funds.” She ponders her words, then continues. “We’ve sold you to a famous K-pop idol group.”

You can only gawk in shock. Almost simultaneously, you feel a tap on your shoulder and hesitantly look back.

“You must be (Y/N)! Wow, you’re even cuter in person. Those photos I received of you barely do you justice.”

A tall, handsome man with a beaming smile stands behind you. He flashes you a little heart gesture with his index and thumb, and winks.

Is this the power of idol charisma? You can feel the faintest tug at your heart, deep red blush heating up your cheeks.

“I couldn’t possibly…I’m already in a…in a relationship!”

“You’ll be much happier with me. I can offer you the world.”

What a ridiculous situation. You stumble on your words, partly afraid, partly curious about the potential life of luxury as the beloved partner of a famous idol. Can’t be that bad, you tell yourself. You shake your head aggressively. No! You have two people (well, one monster) waiting for you at home. You need to get out of here, but how?

Just as you evaluate escape routes, the door bursts open and you gasp at the sight: your gamer boyfriend, followed by the tentacled creature.

“How did you bypass my security?!” The idol shouts in disbelief. “I have the best engineers in the world working for me!”

The gamer boyfriend smirks defiantly.

“Heh. Wasn’t too hard to hack into your systems, all I needed was my PS5 controller. As for the physical obstacles…” he says, turning to the ancient beast. “You might want to call a cleaning crew for what’s left of your guards.”

You run towards them, and the young man gently guides you behind him.

“Since when do you two get along?” You ask with the sarcasm of a witty Marvel character.

“Let’s just say we figured out a common goal.”

The goal of keeping other people away from you. Any kind of pride he or the monster might've held has been swiftly discarded for this greater purpose. After all, two heads are better than one. Or whatever encephalic organ the creature possesses.

The cherry blossoms sway in the wind, scattering the frail petals across the riverbank.

"It's too much!" you whine, your hot lips brushing against the overgrown grass of the hill, privacy filled to the brim with appendages. "W-what if someone passes by?"

You can't even tilt your head back to look at your aggressors; the weight of the attempted kidnapping was too great for the pair to bear, and thus they were overwhelmed by the urge to reclaim you on the spot. Right there, in the fields, on the way back home.

"I couldn't...care less about that, (Y/N)", the gamer boyfriend manages to blurt out between exhausted, husky growls. His knuckles white from gripping imaginary sheets.

“You belong to us.”

(No slick folds were harmed in the process)

Case 2: Picture frame

The screech slowly dissipates, and the room is quiet again.

Finally. The gamer boyfriend gazes at his masterpiece, a satisfied smile on his face. Now that he's gotten rid of his rival, he can have you all for himself.

“I hope you enjoy the flatness. I didn’t.”

The fight might've lasted longer, had the beast not committed the ultimately fatal mistake of underestimating him. It realized much too late it wasn't dealing with the same human who disappeared months ago. That one was weak and easy to remove.

"Please, what are you-...What are you doing with my body?"

"Relax. I'm just...borrowing it. Permanently, maybe."

Oh, how long he waited for that moment, that instant in which he was guaranteed freedom from the 2D realm. How delicious it was to snatch the escape from the boyfriend who worked so hard for it. All those hours spent romancing the characters, repeating the same dialogue lines again, and again, until the love meter blinked in achievement. And then he stole it, just like that, with a snap of the fingers.

Two things immediately struck him once he made his way out:

First, the third dimension. He'd never experienced such depth before, and all the angles and perspectives sickened him terribly. He spent days bedridden and nauseous. Equally baffling was the fact that conversations were always spontaneous, random, one-of-a-kind and without any subtitles or dialogue box. He tried in vain to reset his response to you, or to replay something you told him. Thankfully, his secret was of such absurdity, that you couldn’t even begin to imagine its possibility. You took his suspicious gaffes with an amused chuckle, calling him a silly goose.

Second, you. He had no idea who you were, but upon laying his eyes on you, a wave of warmth and affection flooded his innards. Were you someone important for the boyfriend? Either way, whatever leftover feeling was left inside the vessel swiftly turned into obsession. You took such great care of him. Guided him through this new world with unconditional kindness. Whatever the boyfriend was to you before, he deserved it more. He was certain of it.

Only one obstacle stood in his way, and he just took care of it.

The entry door unlocks, and you walk in, unsure.

“It’s been days. It always lived here, why would it vanish now?” you sob, shaken by the sudden disappearance of the ancient creature.

“Oh, Darling. Come here”, the gamer boyfriend coos sweetly. “You have me now, don’t you? Am I not enough for you?”

“Of course you are, it’s just…”

You stop in your tracks.

“When did you get this?”

“Today. Do you like it?”

“It’s…nice.”

You stare at the new picture hung in the living room. The ornate frame contours what seems to be an oil painting of a sea monster, tentacles preying out of the water.

It almost looks like it wants to crawl out of the canvas.

“Maybe it just got tired of you.” The boyfriend whistles, approaching you. “But I’ll tell you a secret. I’ll never, ever abandon you.”

“I know, (B/N).” you throw yourself into your boyfriend’s arms.

“Who? Ah, right.”

Case 3: Hidden Ending

You sniff and wipe your tears again, filling your satchel with bread. At the very least, it’s good bread. You made the sourdough starter yourself, in the kitchen you renovated with your own hands.

Not anymore.

You button up your patchy peasant robe, glancing back at the couple one final time. Your gamer boyfriend…well, ex-boyfriend, is following your movement with melancholic eyes. The tentacle creature is holding him affectionately, its tendrils of darkness wrapped around his small shoulders. The same appendages that lewdly traced your body.

You have been cucked.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I…We never meant to hurt you. It’s just…we love each other.” He sheepishly lifts his hand, revealing a ring glowing with ancient, cursed energy of cosmic, long-forgotten springs. “We’re thinking of a tropical honeymoon.”

Your underbaked cinnamon orbs glisten with fresh tears, as thin streams caress your cheeks. No matter. You’ll find a new apartment. You’ll start again. You finish tying the bread satchel around the stick, and throw it over your shoulder.

“I wish you happiness”, you sigh, exiting the house.

[diejager]

My favourite type of people is those mfks that never give up and whenever they're in a bad situation they just end up going apeshit crazy. Now imagine reader, someone who actively fights against the government, versus Corrupt 141

Cw: DARKFIC, CORRUPT!141, corruption, abuse of power, mentioned death/murder, kidnapping, tell me if I missed any.

You can’t remember the time where powerful people weren’t corrupt, tempted by greed and self-empowerment, tempted by knowledge and influence. You can’t remember the time where all your heartfelt emotions, soft touches and deep connections meant something when it was all a ruse, hidden under embellished words and beautiful promises that worked wonders to silence you suspicion. Their smiles and tender affection drowned out every dark gleam in their eyes, covering the miasma that followed them everywhere they went, like a shadow of one’s sin. You wondered how naive you were. So willing to comply to be praised and rewarded with a soft pat on the head by your older teammates —ones you thought you could trust, ones you once thought were righteous and loving.

You were blinded by your optimism, your beliefs and their reputation. After all, who would believe that the famous Task Force 141 would be corrupt? Famously known for thwarting murders, terrorist and crime lords from accomplishing their goals, for saving countless lives from mass murder or potential death, and for being so wildly loved and sought after. They were a rare commodity to a low ranking soldier like you, but you’d somehow garnered their attention and interest, brought into their ranks believing that you’d be of use in their conquest to protect the world.

But you should have known better. The subtle glances back and forth, the purposeful wording and the hushed conversation in secrets. There was a plague of secrecy, hidden right under your nose until you caught them in a mumbled conversation, whispered words about taking away a man’s family and using it as leverage, only for you to watch them kill the man’s sons and daughters under the pretence of them being terrorists. You’d been so enraged that you hadn’t thought up a plan before you confronted Price about it.

“But they were innocent!”

“It was a means to an end,” he hadn’t reacted to your screech, neither the hateful glare you’d sent his way nor your erratic hand movement, “To drive our point.”

You scowled and stepped towards him, your name falling from his lips as a warning. He reminded you where you were standing, in his office, surrounded by the three other men and on your own. Laswell wouldn’t help you, she was the one who fed them information and helped plan these clandestine Ops. General Shepherd wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of you, he was the one who cleared them, who sent you on these Ops, and he would stop at nothing to keep his money and reputation. 

“What point, Price?” You scoffed, huffing at the mounting tension, the growing apprehension you felt when the others closed in on you, “That you’d do anything for power?”

He dared sigh at you, as if you were a misbehaving child he was exhausted by:

“No, but you wouldn’t understand, would you?”

His eyes filled with disappointment, the sudden frown that darkened his face when he bobbed his head, lips pulled in what seemed to be regret. You weren’t able to get another word, your world turning black in frightful struggle and looming danger.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part Four)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Original Female Character

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: None

Word count: 4.2k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

MONTHS LATER

The first signs of spring bloom from the city with the sun’s warmth—coaxing filth from the stone paths and mingling with the crispness of fresh life. Bright green stems wriggle free from the leftover snow as the Spring Princess does the same in her father’s arms. Aemond pets the fluffy black strands on her head. Her arms navigate out of the swaddle. She reaches up, and the innocence stings more than it soothes. Aemond does not meet her touch, leaving the babe to grasp empty air.

His hands ached beneath her, the bruises dully reminding him of Floris’ record 14-hour labor—fourteen hours of agony for both of them. At the ninth hour, the force of her squeeze shifted the bones in his hand as she abandoned all attempts at demure restraint. He screamed with her then with a shared raw voice, a rare harmony in their otherwise dissonant marriage.

The babe coughs on the capital’s sour air, and Aemond adjusts his hold, cradling her closer as his eye sweeps the cityscape. Exhaustion tugs at him. Yet these basic instincts of fatherhood keep him alert, preventing threats that will never come. It is why he hears boots on the floor and a faint scrape of metal against red stone bricks. “She’s beautiful.” Criston’s tone is low.

“Hmm.” He takes a long breath. “Yes.”

Eventually, Criston passes him. The sun sheens across one of his shoulder plates before he sits by him. His posture is stiff thanks to the armor, but he tries leaning in. “When was the last time you slept, my prince?”

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you think this is how my father felt, Cole? When he held Aegon for the first time?”

Criston stills.

His eye drifts down. She is scrawny and pink. Her little fingers stretch and reach for nothing all the same. “Did he feel like he was holding a stranger?”

“That is not fair, Aemond.”

“But it is a genuine question. His love for us went to mourning another. I thought I’d never understand it.”

“You love all your children, sons and daughters alike.”

He did not need to think twice about his sons. He always wanted daughters, but the birth of Baelon and Daeron engulfed him with fatherly pride. Both were a peak that crashed into him without warning; a wave taking him down from behind. Before, his children—all his Targaryen children—reminded him of his purpose, his power, and how those elements together would give them the world. The daughter in his arms, however, he sees it coming. The wave is consumed before it has a chance to wet his boots. It is there when she looks at him, her mother’s eyes deep and blue, but it falls flat when he thinks about it a moment longer.

Aemond wouldn’t be surprised if his father laughed at him now. He was likely with his own Baelon: the infamous Heir for a Day and forever five hours old.

“How could she have chosen that name?”

“It is a political spectacle, Aemond. Nothing more.” He puts a gloved hand on his shoulder and keeps him steady as his fingers dig into the leather. “Names are omens. The people need omens to carry on. With Baelon as heir to the Iron Throne…”

Aemond sniffles.

“It was not the deliberate choice you think it is.”

“No father should compare one child to another.”

The babe reaches out as she fusses.

“How am I supposed to avoid comparing, Cole?”

“You cannot stop yourself. You do your best afterward. But that is tomorrow. Today, you need sleep. Come.”

Aemond hesitates, then stands, cradling the babe with practiced care.

Inside, their bedroom was dim, lit only by slivers of sunlight cutting through the sheer green curtains. Floris lies propped against a mountain of pillows. The labor was three days ago, yet she is just as pale and swollen as she was halfway through pushing the babe out. Floris is also noticeably annoyed. Handmaidens flutter around her like skittish birds. Two massage her feet, and each hard press churns out a grunt from the pillows as others fan her face.

When spotting Aemond, they freeze, all hands mid-motion.

He takes another step closer and some shiver like he is holding a blade instead of a newborn. The reputation of being a fright to the Keep’s staff comes with more privileges than burdens; one of them being minimal communication. So by the time Aemond says, “My wife needs her rest,” the group curtsies in unison and file out the chamber doors.

Floris sighs, her eyes still closed. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate that.”

“May I sit?” He signals to the chair next to her.

She nods weakly.

He walks around the bed. Several bloody rags still hang off the back as Criston stays at the foot. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“The only help I’ll take now is from a maester with a jug of milk of the poppy.” Her laugh is brittle. It bleeds into huffs as she pushes herself up onto her elbows. “Which might be sooner than I wish.”

“You don’t have to sit up,” Aemond tells her. “She’s tired as well.”

Floris doesn’t listen. She shimmies herself upward at her own pace.

“I can help you.”

“You are not a maester.” She winces and braces herself upright. As a reward, she extends her arms, saying their daughter’s name like it is a numbing balm, following it with, “Come here.”

Aemond follows her command, unwrapping the swaddle first to place her on Floris’ chest. She murmured the babe’s name, tender. “Who’s eyes does she have?”

“Yours.”

She frowns, brushing her fingers over her head. “A shame. She won’t look like the boys at all.”

“Eye color can change over time.”

“Really?”

“Possibly.”

Criston clears his throat. “Princess, your husband needs sleep. With your leave, I was going to let him rest in the Tower of the Hand.”

Floris studies her husband. The pinkish whites of her eyes somehow make the blue more prominent. “You haven’t slept at all?”

He shakes his head.

“He’s right then. You need rest.”

“Yes.”

“She’s quiet, but I’ll try to feed her anyway.” She pulls at the edge of her robe while Criston politely makes way for the door.

Aemond shifts his weight and stands. “Do you want me to—”

“We’ve touched enough for some time.” Her voice is calm when she says it. Her eyes remain fixed on their daughter. She opens her robe, and the babe latches without fuss. Silence follows as Aemond departs.

Aemond no longer avoids sleep the way he once had. Each night had been a battle of will: laying his head down only to succumb to silence, closing his eye, and reliving the night he lost Alyssa. The memories turned rest into torment. He awoke so often from stirring in his sleep that a full night’s rest seemed like an impossible dream. Then, the stirrings happened to Floris.

The City Watch had uncovered little after finding Royce’s body. Witness testimonies were scarce. The lords at Chataya’s hid from the Gold Cloaks as if they carried a plague. The only accounts they had were from Chataya and Alayaya, who claimed Royce had staggered out of the building drunk and harassing a young girl. “She clearly escaped,” they both said.

Aemond paid rent early after that.

 Floris rarely spoke of Royce. Her tears, once frequent, hardened into a stoic mask as days morphed into weeks. Though Aemond slept better that first night after justice was served, Floris grieved during the dark hours. She trembled in her sleep, whimpering. Each time Aemond reached for her, she jolted awake, eventually seeking Daeron instead.

Their youngest son became her solace during her pregnancy. Barely five, Daeron seemed to sense her unspoken need, much like Aemond did with his own mother. He clung to her in the gardens, holding a finger as they walked or nestled in her lap whenever he could. With Aemond, the boy grew distant. He spoke less, but he never mentioned his dreams when he did. Nor did he cry for his father when awakened by nightmares.

If Aemond dreamt, he forgot by the time he rose from bed. But some dreams lingered in fragments: blood-soaked screams, his father’s dagger, the reminder of what forever means. The worst were cruel illusions where both his daughters lived and he still felt loved. Over time, his heart became unresponsive to all but the craving for sleep alone.

Their boots echo faintly as Aemond and Criston climb the stairs to the Tower of the Hand. Aemond moves deliberately, his eye fixed on the steps, his posture upright and projecting the composure of a well-rested man. Criston, always watching, is ready to catch him at the slightest stumble.

The door swings open, revealing a room steeped in shadow. A faint scent of parchment and dust lingered in the air, perfect for rest.

Once inside, Aemond sinks into the couch between Criston’s (Otto’s) bookshelves, piled high with scrolls and tomes. Stretching out his legs, he runs a hand through his hair, pulling the tie loose. The front strands fall to frame his face as he looks up, finding Criston standing nearby, a hand extended.

Aemond hands him the tie without a word, but Criston doesn’t retreat.

Aemond sighs. “I can sleep fine with it on, Cole.”

“But you’ll sleep better without it.”

Aemond hesitates, glancing at the door.

“No one will come in. You have my word.”

Finally, Aemond unties and hands his eyepatch over. Criston closes his hand around it and places them both on his cluttered desk, the only truly occupied space in the room. Scrolls and documents covered every corner, spilling to the floor in haphazard stacks. Sriston sits, unmoved by the disarray. He glances at Aemond, his brows raising with his command. “Sleep,” he tells him, a tone that brooked no argument.

And Aemond didn’t try arguing. His eye is already closed.

It was a dreamless sleep, but exhaustion still clung to him. The candles light the room as the moon reveals itself outside of the Tower’s thin windows. Aemond blinks the blur away slowly, degrading the candlelight from fuzzy circles to singular, pointed flames. He spots a raven on Criston’s desk as well. It caws at his side. That and the occasional rustle of parchment are the only sounds in the room. He’s focused, sifting through papers and unaware that Aemond is awake. He makes himself known, pushing aside the fatigue and standing. “I’m going to check on Floris.”

I checked on her. She’s resting.” Criston did not look up, quill in hand.

Aemond grabs his eyepatch first, then his hair tie. “Then I need to attend to at least some duties today.” He heads for the door.

“Aemond, stop.”

Aemond’s fingers brush the iron handle. It wasn’t his name, but the tone. Nothing firm, but paternal; something only he has the power to do now. Aemond straightened, and then turned, meeting Criston where he set his stack of papers aside.

“You asked earlier if your father felt the way you felt when you held your daughter.”

Aemond’s jaw shifts.

“I don’t think you are your father.”

“My father longed for a dead babe over the children who came after him. I don’t deny I feel the same.” Every word makes his throat tighter.

“Your father killed his wife for that babe. He made a choice, one that cost him more than he could ever gain.”

“And I nearly did the same.”

“Nearly,” Criston repeated with a nod. “But you didn’t. And that is the difference.”

The silence hangs heavy. Aemond does not see the difference, or Criston’s point. He does not explain, busy picking through his papers again and counting them under his breath until he pulls out the small scroll lost in between, still curled in from its travel.

Aemond glances at the raven. It caws at him when Criston hands over the paper.

He stretches out the scroll, flattening the ends with his thumbs. His eye trails across the messy handwriting; crooked letters and uncertain strokes. He clears his throat. “Sh-she can write now?”

Criston gave a small nod. “I hired a teacher through Chataya. Her penmanship is far from perfect, but improves with every scroll.”

“Every scroll? You’ve been communicating with her all this time?”

“Now and then. For her practice. And proof of life.”

Aemond returned his attention to the scroll. His head buzzes. He reads every word again and again. Not because of the handwriting itself, but because they are her words. He could see where the quill was pressed too hard into the paper, making the ink leak from certain letters and unintentionally connecting them to others, but he could still read them. The way she spells his name, Aemund, is an honor he did not know he desired. But he reads the final two sentences again, his name and all: As my dater gets older, I think it wuld be good for her to see her fater. Pleese tell Aemund as soon as you can.

Aemond gingerly handles the scroll, preserving the work. Then folds it gently before slipping it into his tunic. The buzzing has spread to the rest of his body. The joy, nerves, and fear all wreaking havoc inside him at once. Yet he stands still when Criston rises from his seat and hands over a cloak.

“You are not your father, Aemond. Because you have a chance at forgiveness. And I know you will take it.”

Winter’s bite clings to the capital after the sun disappears. The wind is sharp as it dives under Aemond’s cloak, but he barely feels it. He keeps his hood up, but the blood coursing through him makes him move swiftly. His breath curls in on itself before grazing his face, moist and warm before dissipating just as quickly. His heart pounds against the raven scroll in his breast pocket—the rolled paper scratching against itself with every beat. The sound zips up to his ears as he slides through small crowds and alleyways while finding his footing before slipping onto the frost-kissed streets.

The foyer is modest and warm; larger than most with extra couches for (particular) guests, and on top of heavy Dornish rugs. Days-old incense lingered in the air, thick and smokey with the hearth in the next room divided by a beaded curtain. Flickering candlelight softens the room and eases the ache in Aemond’s eye as the servants’ liquid shadows coordinate from one terracotta wall to the next. They do not meet his gaze, but they bow when he passes. Even here, he was still the One-Eyed Prince: the war hero whose name (and face) was the source of gasps and wary looks.

He walks through the curtains as the servants silently suggest. The tension coiled in him like a tight spring from the moment he read the misspelled name, making his heartbeat drumroll for this occasion he’d dreaded and longed for at the same time. He eagerly awaited spring’s jump upon seeing her splendor. Because he missed her. How could he not?

Aemond straightened his back when the strings finally slid off his shoulders, clicking together behind him. He took down his hood for a better scope of the place: hearth, more couches, pillows, rugs, a balcony supported by white columns, and a view of the fields outside of the city limits.

But she is not here.

The spring twists in on itself somehow even tighter in his core, like it was hunkering down and preparing for an ambush. But the soft squeak of iron hinges to his right releases it from hold and launches itself into Aemond’s throat; leaving him speechless upon hearing his name.

She strolls into the hallway with a slight correction in her posture, hands collected at her front when stepping more in view. She had replaced the dirty cotton nightgown with a thinly cut pink silk dress. It flows around her body rather than clinging to it. It is held up by a gold collar around her neck. Her copper curls pour down her back. Rebellious strands had long escaped to the front, framing her face, despite the way she tied it. Each one is shiny and defined, like her dress.

And Aemond knows he is staring. (He is still a man in some ways.) He eventually mumbles her name with a swallow, testing to see if the world did not still just now. She did not help with his guesses, as neither of them moved. It was like the room itself also held its breath, limiting the air around them. Aemond searches for words, remembering Westerosi and High Valyrian, but nothing that could form a sentence. But the sound of her bracelets dangling when she lifts her arm flushes them away too.

“Alisha’s in her room.”

Aemond’s mouth is still dry. He swallows again before following her. Aemond swears they are meandering. He cannot see much, but her body sways under the silk. She leans on the door with effortless grace, despite still being in pain from that damn cot.

Orange light spills into the dark room, illuminating the intricate wood carvings along the rim of the cradle. Aemond follows the slender path, hesitant to step on any of her toys. (She better have toys.) Inside the cradle, Alisha stirs in her sleep, her body nestled under a cloth clumsily embroidered with flowers. She is smaller than he imagined. But her features are delicate, and her breaths are soft and even. He doesn’t want to wake her, but the need for touch—the proof of life—is imperative. Gently, he places a hand on her plump belly. Yet even in the joy, his eye searches for the traces himself—white strands amidst her fiery ginger curls.

“She’s growing into your nose.” Her voice comes from behind him, just as gentle. She lingers in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the torchlight.

“Indeed, she is,” Aemond murmurs. His lip quivers into a faint smile. There’s no bump on the bridge like her mother’s. “Is she grabbing yet?”

“Books, mainly.”

Aemond looks over his shoulder. “She’s reading already?”

“We learn together.”

Smiling, genuinely smiling, is something he hasn’t remembered doing in so long. Its natural form comes with his children, and it makes things almost feel normal. “Will she know me?” He asks aloud.

“Perhaps.”

“That’s something only you can answer.” Aemond’s gaze shifts back to her. She doesn’t respond but speaks volumes as she turns and walks out of the room.

Alone with Alisha, he watches her sleep. Her tiny chest still rises and falls in a peaceful rhythm. He aches to stay, to pull up a chair and spend the night memorizing every detail of her face, every wispy inhale. But he cannot. With one last touch, he presses his hand to her side, imprinting the feel of her to his memory. Then, reluctantly, he steps away, closing the door softly behind him.

In the light, he finds her on the balcony, her silhouette outlined against the city’s darkness. The faint glow catches the ripples of her dress and the peachy undertones of her skin. She looks out at the fields of King’s Landing, the ones Aemond wanted to take them to once (forever ago.)

He steps closer, lingering behind the columns. “Your letter,” he begins, “said you wanted me here for Alisha.”

She doesn’t turn. Her fingers only tighten on the wood banister as the wind tousles her hair. She flicks it back.

“You care to share the real reason?”

Her laugh is bitter, though barely more than a breath. “Your Prince Aemond. The Targaryen war hero who commanded hundreds of men and a dragon to fight for you.”

“Yes.”

“You killed thousands in the war. Some of them your own family. I know it haunted you once.”

“It still does.”

Her head spins and her eyes narrow. “Does it?”

“Darling—”

“Just explain it to me.” Her body pivots with her interruption, facing him fully. She leans back, but her fingers still dig into the banister. The wood creaks under her grip. “When did you stop caring about Alyssa?”

“I never stopped.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me her name, Aemond.”

“I’m not saying it.”

“She’s the Spring Princess. The world will remember her. You might as well get used to the taste of it.”

“My wife named her.”

“And you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree.”

“It wasn’t that simple. The maesters saw an omen. Something for the people to cling to, a symbol of hope alongside my son.”

“Don’t explain omens to me as if I wouldn’t understand.” Her voice cracks as it rises. “The truth is simple enough. You took our daughter’s name for yourself.”

“I would’ve never.”

“Then you let your wife take the last piece of her I had left without a fight.”

“What was I supposed to do then? Refuse and risk raising questions? Risk someone discovering you and Alisha? She would have looked into why I objected. She would have dug until she found you.”

“You fought bastards to be slaughtered, and you got what you wanted.”

“That’s not fair.”

“And this is where you gave up. Settling for a replacement.”

Aemond’s hands clench to his side. “You think I don’t carry the weight of my actions every day?”

“Claiming guilt and carrying it are not the same.”

“You haven’t seen me carry it!” The heat in his face picks up with his voice. “You’ve spoken to my Hand, but not once have you asked about me. You didn’t see how I mourned her, how I cried every night. The pyre Cole built for her. How I reached for her in my dreams.”

Her lips pressed together, disappearing behind her teeth.

He breathes, he swallows. “I won’t ask you what I can do to make it right. The answer is nothing. She’s gone. But don’t think for a moment that I didn’t want to refuse Floris when she named her. I thought of all three of you. The last thing I was going to do was draw suspicion. I tried to protect all of you before, and I failed. I refuse to lose you again.”

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she stares at the sky. The torchlight catches the tears clinging to her lashes like morning dew, and for a moment, Aemond wonders if she’s looking for her up there.

“You know I loved her.”

“I do.” Her voice is softer as she admits it, but no less pained. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

Aemond doesn’t move, his breath caught somewhere between hope and despair.

“The way you speak of her… the dark shadows under your eye. They weren’t there before. And Ser Criston told me about the pyre. Now she’s up there without me.” She shudders as her body folds.

Then Aemond catches her just in time. He doesn’t have the strength to hold both up, so he eases them down to the limestone, submitting to the weight together. Aemond holds her as she sobs into his chest. “She’ll never be within reach.”

“I know,” he whispers, voice croaking. “I know.”

“And I didn’t want to see you then. I blamed you for it all.”

“You were right to.”

“But when I heard her name at the Sept… I thought you were letting us go.”

“How could I do that?”

She doesn’t reply, gripping his tunic and weeping into the leather.

“No.” Aemond pulls her back, holding her red, wet face in his hands. “How could I possibly let you go? The woman who healed me, loved me, all of me? Gave me beautiful children on top of it all. I tried paying you back and I only destroyed us. You’d still have her if it weren’t for me.”

“I wouldn’t have either of them at all. I’d still be alone.”

“Oh, darling.”

She tries catching her breath, opening her mouth to speak more, but wraps a hand around his bare wrist, carefully. Aemond’s pulse quickens under it, her willing touch. He looks at her lips briefly, but plants a kiss on her cheek instead, fearing that he will not hold himself back if he seals them so close.

“I’m sorry,” she splutters out.

“I’m sorry,” he says back. He brushes back the stray curls as he lets out a breathless “And I love you.”

“I love you.” It’s choked out of her. Like she had been holding it down. She’s still overwhelmed, the calluses inside now tethered above her opened wounds. But she blesses Aemond by cupping his face with her other hand. He had been crying along with her. He just didn’t realize how much until her fingers stroked his chin, smearing the cooling single streak. “Don’t leave me here,” she tells him. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“Never.”

“Stay with me tonight.”

“I will.”

Her thumb rubs under the dark circle. “You need sleep.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

“Aemond.”

“Not yet.” He slips a hand to the back of her neck and pulls her in. He holds everything back and focuses on kissing alone, like their first days together only a year ago (yet somehow decades at the same time.) Except now, he worries he’s too much when she falls back into the balusters. But she brings him with her, sealing both their fates for the night; enveloped in hope and each other, finally.

Taglist: @paprikaquinn @immyowndefender @teal-anchor @dixie-elocin

A/N: Holy shit, we're finally done. It took soo long to get to this point. People died so we could get here. (People being Alyssa, Royce Baratheon, my cat, my dog, and my dad.) (Yeah, I'm serious 🤣🤣) Thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write a part two and enjoyed this little series while enduring the choices I made. I appreciate all of you and promise to write happier stories in the future 🤎

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

The Traveler captures the essence of Destiny’s humanistic and existential message with touching inspiration.

I’m coming out to say that the Traveler is my favorite character in Destiny by FAR and has been for years. I promise I’ll make a full thought dump on Cayde’s decision, but I just want to quickly talk about the absolute beauty of the narrative surrounding the Traveler that I have cried numerous rivers over. The Traveler’s philosophy and essence has touched my spirit so intimately, I cannot thank Destiny enough for blessing us with that beautiful white orb.

The Traveler is the most endearing thing ever to be conceived of to me because the idea of a creator who believes it should serve its creations in the best way it knows how is so refreshing. We as humans are so used to stories to about gods who we must respect because they contributed to the universe we live in; gods who believe they have jurisdiction over all and expect us to follow their word for they are wiser than any mortal. Free will is a heavy burden to bear and, as a result of humans wishing to alleviate the anxiety that comes with the knowledge that you must be responsible for all your directionless choices and the potential pain that comes with them, we create stories about deities who understand the things we don’t and will guide us in a universe that provides no instructions on how to live properly.

The Traveler is so respectable and inspiring because though it can bend the laws of physics with its paracasual abilities and was responsible for the birth of the universe, it doesn’t view itself as any higher than the life forms it fostered. Its devotion to free will and the love it has for all is heart throbbing, especially when sticking to its ideology is detrimental to its safety and well being. It’s so hopeful and believes in the good of sentient life, even if shown how awful beings can be. It has wishes and beliefs, but it will never impose them on anyone because it believes the universe is ours rather than the universe being entitled to it.

The Traveler could have been god and gave that up so we could have complexity and free will; so that we wouldn’t have a destiny. It is so mindful of people’s inclination to look beyond themselves for purpose in order to make their suffering more sensible and it chooses to not speak so that we may never hinder our ability to define our lives to be what we truly desire it to be. That choice, the choice to not be god because you believe so deeply in people’s self efficacy that you don’t see a god to be necessary, is one I hold dear to me.

Destiny is not a game about gods, it’s about powerful people who either realize that their powers do not mean they can enforce their will on others, leading them to enjoy the complex experience of being a living being, or become pseudo gods, meeting their end to godslayers who refuse to let anyone determine their fate. The Traveler is powerful and loving for it could have chosen servitude from all , but it chose to be of service instead, even if it would get hatred in return from those who did not understand the power it was granting them. It’s love is unconditional and it would suffer untold eons for anyone, even if the affection wasn’t returned.

Destiny asks the question “What do you do when you can’t force the universe to care about you?”

What do you do when the logic is sharp, the Winnower cuts away at the excess of reality, and you cry out prayers to get no response in turn?

It answers it with “Who cares if the universe thinks we matter or not, we decide if we matter and we can care for each other when the Winnower refuses to”.

I’ll forever thank the Traveler for allowing us to not only find that answer, but experience it with mouthfuls of the sweetness freedom bleeds when you breach the deterring sight of possibility.

Traveler, I love you more than you could understand and when I think there is no hope in my life, I think of you standing strong in the sky after eons of fear and torment and I get the courage to stand strong against the the tides of causality.

The universe may be unmoved by whether we suffer or not, but there will always be beings who will help us understand that this isn’t a problem to be solved, but a truth to embrace and free ourselves with.

Beings like the Traveler, who never understood why we looked up at it when we could have looked down at our own hands. We may want god, but what we really need is ourselves and each other. This is something we will struggle against for a long time, but the Traveler knows we will get there eventually.

It has patience and hope beyond infinity, traits I will forever think of when humanity stumbles over existential questions time and time again.

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326  @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.