#Regrettable incidents

[mapecl-stories]

[stil-lindigo]

sorry if this ask sent twice! What's it like when Ash becomes a princess? Is her personality explained by the "loss" she suffered during the carriage accident, or were there always people who suspected that something else must've happened that day?

A mix of a couple factors I think. The original princess who Ash replaced grew up in seclusion for most of her life due to a terminal sickness she'd been born with. She had been called for by the king (who wanted to see if her health had improved. it hadn't) and was on her way when the regrettable incident happened and she died.

When the search party came upon Ash in the wreckage, not enough people had known of the original princess's appearance well to notice if she looked different (the original corpse was burnt beyond recognition and discarded somewhere) and the king was selfishly pleased that the princess' affliction had seemingly been fully healed. Later on, when Ash's sadistic nature became more apparent, people were willing to turn a blind eye because of her royal status. And when war befell them, they were even more willing to excuse her behaviour when she proved herself to be a fearsome asset on the battlefield.

The remaining people who had known of the original princess definitely noticed the changes to her appearance/personality but were too scared to bring it up publically. So instead, rumours began circulating that a monster had been brought back in the princess's place.

Ash, for what it's worth, didn't do much to dissuade these rumours. In her opinion, they were pretty accurate.

[orgrimmar-archive]

🤔🧐

[aanews69]

Dodáváme příběhy. Dáme vám také návody, tipy a triky, jak si vytvořit svůj vlastní.Tento kanál je věnován náhodným věcem, které se objevují na našich stolech.

[novaursa]

Where Dragons Dare (1/3)

- Summary: After you are left greatly injured by a dragon riding accident, the small council puts pressure on your father, King Viserys I, to have another male heir.

- Paring: (male!targ) reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go all the way up for the last two parts)

- Word count: 9 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. ❤️ I hope you enjoy the first part. I've tried to fit into this one most of the information you've given me. The rest will be in the next two parts.

- Next part: 2

The council chamber buzzes with tension, thick as smoke, as the lords gathered around the long table cast uneasy glances at King Viserys. The king, grey hairs creeping into his Targaryen silver, wears the weight of the realm across his brow. His gaze is distant, fixed on the empty chair at the end of the table where you, his only son, should be sitting, were it not for the incident that left you bed-ridden, your ribs shattered and your leg mangled. The air is tight, a storm brewing beneath the grand stone arches and tapestries that adorn the walls.

Viserys lets out a weary sigh as Grand Maester Mellos, hunched and robed in the dull grays of his order, speaks. “Your Grace, the Prince’s injuries are… severe. His recovery remains uncertain, particularly with the damage sustained to his leg. There is concern that even if he does survive this ordeal, he may never ride Dallax again.” Mellos’ tone is cautious, as if picking each word with tweezers.

At that, Otto Hightower, ever poised and calculated, leans forward with his usual practiced air of concern. “It is regrettable, Your Grace, but these events could have been avoided had the young prince exercised more restraint. Dragonriding is no sport to be taken lightly, yet Prince Y/N chose to put himself and others at risk with those… dangerous maneuvers during Maiden’s Day celebrations.”

The jab is subtle, but the intent is sharp. Otto’s words are always carefully weighted, his voice smooth as oil yet edged like a blade. There’s a flicker of something behind Viserys’ eyes at the mention of your name, but it’s Corlys Velaryon who rises to your defense before your father can respond.

“Dangerous, you say, Lord Hightower? A dragonrider’s bond with his mount is not something to be dictated by the whims of others,” Corlys counters, his voice deep and resonant. “The Prince, young as he is, shares a bond with Dallax that most dragonriders would envy. To stifle that connection for fear of injury would be to deny what it means to be Targaryen.”

Tyland Lannister, ever opportunistic and sharp-eyed, cuts in with a smooth smile, “While that may be true, Lord Corlys, we cannot ignore the situation at hand. The heir is gravely injured, and we do not yet know the extent of his recovery. The Crown’s stability must be maintained, especially with Queen Aemma carrying another child. We all pray for a healthy son this time, as it would ensure—”

Viserys’ eyes narrow, cutting off Tyland mid-sentence. “You would dare place my son’s potential death before the birth of another heir?” There’s a warning in the king’s tone, though it lacks the sharpness it might have once had. He looks tired, older somehow, as if the weight of his crown presses down harder with each passing year. “Y/N will recover. He is strong, like his mother.”

Otto’s voice slices through the tension again, softer but no less cutting. “No one doubts the Prince’s strength, Your Grace. However, we must be practical. The realm must always have a clear line of succession. Given the uncertainty surrounding Prince Y/N’s condition, ensuring that the Crown is secure with another male heir is not an option to be taken lightly.”

Corlys shoots Otto a disdainful glance, his irritation evident. “It seems some here are quick to forget that Prince Y/N is still very much alive. Would you so easily cast him aside, Hightower?”

Otto doesn’t flinch. “I speak only of the reality we must face. The Prince’s injuries are a reminder of the dangers inherent to our lineage. Daemon Targaryen was much the same in his youth, reckless and bold. Look where that has led him. The realm cannot afford another… unsteady Targaryen to destabilize it.”

Viserys’ face hardens at the mention of Daemon, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. It’s no secret that Otto sees you as another Daemon-in-the-making—bold, fiery, and likely to cause as much chaos as your uncle once did. But Corlys, undeterred, presses forward.

“The Prince is no Daemon, and it is folly to compare the two. Y/N is his father’s son, and he carries his mother’s heart in him as well. You speak of him as though he were already lost, yet he fights even now to return to us.”

Mellos interjects, his voice soft yet firm. “We must consider all possibilities. Should the worst happen, the realm would be thrown into disarray if another male heir is not secured. Queen Aemma’s pregnancy provides an opportunity to ensure stability. No one wishes harm upon Prince Y/N, but the Crown must prepare for all outcomes.”

The chamber falls silent as Viserys leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His eyes flicker from one lord to the next, the weight of their words heavy upon him. It is clear that this is not just about your health, but about the fear that haunts every Targaryen king—the fragility of power, and the burden of legacy.

At last, Viserys speaks, his voice measured but lined with steel. “Y/N is my son, my heir. He will recover. We will not speak of replacing him while he yet breathes and fights. The Queen’s child—should it be a boy—will not supplant my son’s birthright.”

The lords exchange uneasy glances, but none dare press the matter further. Otto’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes calculating, already plotting his next move. Corlys gives a satisfied nod, as if some silent victory has been won in this battle of words.

“Let us end this meeting,” Viserys declares, standing abruptly. “My son needs me at his side, not in this chamber, bickering over shadows.” With that, the King strides from the room, leaving the lords in tense silence. 

The echoes of that discussion linger, the council divided, the seeds of doubt planted. But in the end, it is your fate, your strength, that will determine the realm’s future. Whether you rise again or fall will shape the course of House Targaryen’s history, and those who doubt you now will soon see just how much fire runs in your veins.

Alicent Hightower’s fingers work restlessly, picking at the skin around her nails until they redden, a nervous habit she can never seem to fully break. Her eyes, tinged with worry, flicker toward Rhaenyra, who paces before the hearth, her face a storm of emotions. The princess is rarely still, her movements a reflection of her restless energy. But today, there’s an undercurrent of unease in her steps.

Rhaenyra finally pauses, catching Alicent’s gaze, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re worried about him too, aren’t you?” Rhaenyra’s voice carries a note of exasperation, though it’s more for her brother than for Alicent. “Everyone is,” she adds, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection.

Alicent nods, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress as she carefully forms her next words. “I heard the fall was… grave. My brother, Gwayne, he’s been beside himself with worry. He asked after Prince Y/N’s condition, but I haven’t had the heart to tell him much, as I didn’t know the truth of it myself.” Her eyes search Rhaenyra’s for any sign of reassurance.

Rhaenyra gives a small, mirthless laugh, though there’s fondness in her voice. “It was a bad fall, yes. Several broken ribs, a twisted leg… it was awful to see him like that, especially with all the blood. But you know my brother—his head’s still intact, and that’s all he seems to care about. He was already jesting the moment I rushed in to see him after it happened. Can you imagine?” She shakes her head, lips curving slightly. “The first thing he told me was that the dragon landing was all Dallax’s fault, as if the creature hadn’t been trying to save him mid-air.”

Alicent lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. The tension in her shoulders eases just a fraction, and despite herself, a soft smile graces her lips at Rhaenyra’s words. “That does sound like him,” she says quietly, her voice warm with a touch of relief. “He’s always been kind to me, even when others were not. I thought I might visit him, to see how he fares. But I didn’t want to intrude… especially with everything happening.”

Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes catch the shift in Alicent’s tone, the nervous edge behind her request. Her smirk returns, a knowing look that dances in her violet eyes. “Is that all, Alicent? You simply wish to return a kindness?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but it isn’t cruel—rather, it’s affectionate, as one might tease a younger sister.

Alicent’s cheeks flush a delicate shade of pink, and her fingers return to picking at the skin of her thumb. “I only thought it would be polite…” she trails off, clearly flustered under Rhaenyra’s knowing gaze.

“Polite,” Rhaenyra repeats, almost to herself, savoring the word like it’s some private joke. Then, with a mischievous glint, she steps closer and leans in as if sharing a secret. “Why don’t we visit him now, then?” she suggests, her voice both challenging and inviting. “I was planning to see him anyway, and I imagine he’s bored out of his mind. You’d be doing him a favor by distracting him from all the fussing Grand Maester Mellos has been doing.”

Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. “Now?” she echoes, her heart skipping a beat. She had been expecting to arrange a visit discreetly, perhaps later in the day, but to go now, with no time to compose herself or prepare… She hesitates, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering wildly. But then, she straightens her spine, smoothing out the folds of her dress. “Yes,” she replies with quiet resolve, the flush still faint on her cheeks. “Let’s go now.”

Rhaenyra’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “Good. He’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure of it.” She turns and leads the way, her stride confident and purposeful, and for a moment, Alicent is struck by how effortlessly her friend carries herself, a blend of grace and fire that draws everyone’s eyes.

Alicent hurries to match Rhaenyra’s pace, her thoughts racing as they walk down the long corridors of the Red Keep. She’s already imagining what she’ll say when she sees you, how she’ll carefully choose her words to avoid showing too much concern, or worse, revealing the affection she’s kept hidden for so long. It’s no secret that she and you share a certain awkwardness in each other’s presence, a tension that dances between propriety and something unspoken. But perhaps this visit will be different, she tells herself. Perhaps today she’ll find the courage to speak more freely, to let you see the care that lingers behind her usually composed exterior.

The clang of armor and the soft murmurs of passing courtiers fade into the background as the two young women make their way toward your chambers. The air seems heavier the closer they get, anticipation thickening with each step. Rhaenyra glances at Alicent from the corner of her eye, noting the way her friend’s hands twist together nervously. “You know,” Rhaenyra says casually, breaking the silence, “he’s probably expecting me to bring news of the council meeting. But I think he’ll be more interested in who I’ve brought along.”

Alicent’s breath hitches, but she quickly composes herself, offering a light, practiced smile. “I only hope I don’t disturb him.”

Rhaenyra chuckles softly. “Disturb him? You’re more likely to brighten his day, Alicent. He’s been locked away in that chamber long enough. I’d say he could use the company of someone with a gentle touch.”

As they near your chamber doors, the conversation fades, leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the dimly lit hallway. Alicent’s heart pounds in her chest, nerves battling with the quiet thrill of finally seeing you after days of anxious waiting. She takes a deep breath, her hand resting briefly over her stomach as if to steady herself, before glancing at Rhaenyra, who gives her an encouraging nod.

The heavy oak door creaks open, and the first thing Rhaenyra and Alicent see is Queen Aemma, heavily pregnant, perched on the edge of your bed, fussing over you with the care only a mother can give. Her hand smooths the unruly strands of silver hair from your forehead, her gaze filled with a mixture of sternness and deep worry.

“You should be resting more,” Aemma chides softly, adjusting the pillows behind you for the third time. “It’s a miracle you survived that fall. You push yourself too hard, my sweet boy.”

You chuckle, though the sound is edged with the discomfort you try to hide. “Mother, I’m hardly on death’s door,” you say, your voice light despite the tightness in your chest from the bruised ribs. “You’re embarrassing me, fussing like this in front of my guests. I’ve survived worse—remember the time Dallax nearly knocked me off during that storm over Dragonstone?”

Aemma gives you a look of mock disapproval, though her eyes glisten with affection. “That’s no reason for you to go risking your life every time you’re in the saddle. But I suppose I’ll leave you to your visitors. If you need anything, send for me at once.” She leans in, ignoring your protest, and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Behave yourself, and don’t be too stubborn,” she adds with a small smile, before gracefully rising from the bed.

As she turns, Aemma’s gaze softens when she sees Rhaenyra and Alicent by the door. “He’s in good hands now,” she says warmly, giving Rhaenyra a brief but knowing smile, before excusing herself from the room.

Once Aemma is gone, Rhaenyra moves closer, her usual air of confidence returning as she grins down at you. “So, how is my brave brother faring today? Still planning to be back in the saddle by week’s end, or has the council convinced you to take up a life of courtly entertainment with Mushroom?”

You chuckle again, though it comes out more like a wince. “Well, if I can’t fly, I suppose I can stand in the throne room and juggle while Mushroom tells his bawdy tales. It might be just what the court needs to liven things up.” Your eyes gleam with amusement, though there’s a hint of frustration beneath your humor, the kind only Rhaenyra would notice. You’ve never been one to take well to being bedridden.

Rhaenyra snorts in amusement, shaking her head. “I’d pay good coin to see that. Though I doubt our dear father would find it as amusing as the rest of us.”

Your gaze drifts then, catching sight of Alicent standing just a little behind Rhaenyra, her hands clasped together nervously. She gives you a small, polite curtsy, her cheeks tinged with a soft flush. “Prince Y/N,” she greets, her voice gentle, almost tentative. “I heard about your fall, and… I was worried. I hope I’m not intruding by coming here. I—”

“Alicent,” you interrupt, your tone softening as your expression shifts into one of genuine warmth. The playful banter fades, replaced by something quieter, more sincere. “You could never be a bother. I’m glad you’re here, truly.” Your words seem to ease some of the tension from her shoulders, and the corner of your mouth lifts into a reassuring smile.

Rhaenyra looks between the two of you, her smirk deepening, though she wisely stays silent for the moment, letting the exchange unfold.

Alicent takes a hesitant step closer, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she looks down at her hands. “I… I wanted to bring you something,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper as she reaches into the pocket of her gown and retrieves a small, delicately woven ribbon in shades of deep crimson and gold. “It’s just a token, to wish you a swift recovery. I know it’s nothing much, but I thought…” She trails off, the blush deepening on her cheeks as she holds it out to you.

You reach out to take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment—a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through you. The contact lingers in both of your thoughts longer than it physically lasts, and you catch the way her breath hitches slightly, the same way yours does. “Thank you, Alicent,” you say, your voice softer than before. “It means more than you know. I’ll keep it close—perhaps it’ll speed along this recovery of mine.” Your thumb brushes against the fabric of the ribbon, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

Alicent’s lips curl into a shy smile, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of relief and something else—something tender that neither of you have the words for yet. “I’m glad… if it helps even a little,” she murmurs.

Rhaenyra, ever perceptive, clears her throat pointedly, though there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well, now that you have such a fine token to aid in your recovery, brother, you’ll be back on your feet in no time. And if you do decide to take up juggling, I’ll make sure it’s the talk of the court.”

You roll your eyes at Rhaenyra’s teasing, but there’s warmth in your gaze as you turn back to Alicent. “Next time, maybe you could bring Gwayne along. I’m sure he’s been worrying just as much as you have.”

Alicent nods, still holding that shy smile. “I’ll see if he can visit soon. He’s always asking after you.”

Rhaenyra steps back, giving Alicent a pointed look before quirking an eyebrow at you. “So, shall we sit and keep you company, or do you have other princely duties to attend to from your bed?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, wincing slightly as your ribs protest. “I think I’m due for a bit of entertainment. It’s been dreadfully dull in here with nothing but Mellos’ remedies and reports from the small council. Stay—both of you.”

With that invitation, Rhaenyra finally settles into a chair near your bed, while Alicent quietly takes the seat on your other side. For a moment, a comfortable silence settles in, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the quiet sounds of the Red Keep outside your window.

But beneath that surface calm, there’s a new feeling—not unpleasant, but charged with possibilities unspoken. You and Alicent exchange brief, sidelong glances, your minds both swirling with thoughts you’re not yet ready to give voice to. And though Rhaenyra pretends to be absorbed in adjusting her skirts, you know your twin far too well to miss the satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

The morning sun filters through the stone arches of the courtyard, casting crooked shadows as you make your way through the Red Keep. The steady thunk of your cane against the cobblestones marks each step, your gait still uneven from the injury. Though you’re no longer bedridden, the limp remains, a constant reminder of the fall that nearly cost you everything. Despite this, there’s a quiet determination in your stride—strength buried beneath the calm exterior.  The deaths of your mother and brother cloak your soul and heart with grief, but you continue to go on as months drag on. Because your mother would wish for you to stay strong, you know this in your bones.

You’re just about to reach the library when you hear the low, familiar drawl of your uncle, Daemon Targaryen. “Another council meeting, and once again, your name was left unspoken,” he says, stepping out from the shadows of a nearby pillar. His silver hair gleams in the light, and there’s a sharp edge to his eyes that matches the curve of his smile—part amusement, part disdain.

You pause, turning to meet his gaze, though you remain composed, unbothered by the subtle provocation. “I’m used to it by now, uncle,” you reply, your voice even, almost indifferent. It’s not a complaint, merely a fact, a truth you’ve come to accept. The small council rarely considers your presence necessary these days, not when Otto Hightower holds sway over your father and lords like Tyland Lannister whisper about the need for more ‘stability’ in the line of succession.

Daemon’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing. “Used to it?” he echoes, his voice dropping with barely contained irritation. “They push you aside as if you’re nothing more than an afterthought, a decoration. And you’ve grown comfortable with it?” He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze unmistakable. “You’re the king’s son, his heir, yet you let them treat you like some soft-spoken scribe, buried in books and songs while that leech Otto tightens his hold around your father’s neck.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the cane, though your expression remains calm. You meet his eyes steadily, unflinching in the face of his scorn. “I prefer to choose my battles, uncle,” you say quietly. “Like Dallax, I know when to show my teeth. There’s no sense in snapping them at shadows.”

Daemon scoffs, a mix of exasperation and grudging respect in his tone. “Spoken like a poet, not a dragon. You should be making them fear you, not waiting for the perfect moment that may never come. They should see fire in you, boy, not this... apathy.” His frustration is clear—he’s never had patience for subtleties or caution, preferring the boldness of action over waiting in the wings.

But you don’t flinch. You’ve long learned that the fire in your blood doesn’t need to be on display at every moment. “And where did being feared get you, uncle?” you ask with a hint of amusement in your voice. “You’ve been exiled twice, alienated half the court, and have more enemies than friends. If that’s the path you think I should follow, then perhaps I should throw more reckless tournaments and provoke the lords with tales of misrule.”

Daemon’s eyes flash, though there’s a hint of grudging admiration beneath the irritation. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes, but at least I act. I don’t hide behind patience while others pull the strings. You speak of showing your teeth when the time is right, but when will that time come? When Otto’s scheming has woven its webs so thick that there’s no air left to breathe?”

You give a small, knowing smile. “You mistake stillness for inaction. Even a dragon rests before it strikes.” Then, with a touch of humor, you add, “And besides, Dallax may have thrown me, but I landed well enough.”

That draws a snort from Daemon. “Landed, yes. With a leg that’ll remind you of it every day.” Despite his harsh words, there’s a glimmer of reluctant approval in his eyes. “But you’ve got a point—Dallax hasn’t eaten you yet, so perhaps you’ve earned a measure of respect. Just don’t think that quiet strategy will protect you forever. Sooner or later, you’ll need to show them who you are, nephew. And when you do, make sure they remember it.”

You nod slightly, letting the words hang between you for a moment before you turn away, your pace deliberate as you resume your walk. “I’ll keep that in mind, uncle,” you call over your shoulder, a hint of dry humor lacing your tone. “Perhaps one day, we’ll both show them our teeth together—when it truly matters.”

Daemon watches you go, his eyes lingering on your form as you disappear into the corridors. Despite the tension, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You both know that fire is not always meant to be unleashed at every provocation—it can burn hotter when contained, waiting for the moment to strike with devastating precision.

But for now, you choose patience, aware that when the time comes, it will be all the more powerful for having been held in check. As you leave your uncle behind, a small, satisfied smile touches your lips. You know your strength, and you’ll reveal it when it’s most needed—not before.

The fire crackles quietly in the small chamber as Alicent sits across from her father, Otto Hightower. The room is dimly lit by the glow of the hearth, and the air feels heavy with unspoken tension. Otto’s eyes are fixed on his daughter, sharp and calculating, as he recounts the events of the recent small council meeting.

“The council remains divided,” he begins, his tone measured. “The matter of succession is still a delicate topic, but it’s clear that the King will not remain unmarried for long. The realm demands stability, and he knows it.”

Alicent’s brow furrows, her head snapping up at the implication in her father’s words. “Father, you can’t possibly be suggesting—”

Otto’s gaze remains steady, unyielding. “I’m not suggesting, Alicent. I’m stating a reality. The King is vulnerable, grieving, and the pressure of the realm weighs heavily on him. It’s only a matter of time before he considers remarriage, and when he does, you must be ready.”

Alicent’s expression hardens, a rare defiance flickering in her eyes. “I won’t do it,” she says firmly, though there’s a tremor beneath her voice. “I won’t be used like this.”

Otto’s patience visibly thins, a tightness forming around his mouth. “Is this about the Prince?” he asks, his voice edged with irritation. “You’ve grown fond of him, haven’t you? You think that because he’s been kind to you, that he’s somehow different, somehow worthy of your loyalty?”

Alicent shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers twisting in her lap as she struggles to find the right words. “He is different,” she insists, though her voice is quieter now. “Y/N is the heir, Father. He’s kind, thoughtful, and gentle in ways that others aren’t. He doesn’t play these games like the rest of them do.”

Otto’s expression tightens, his frustration barely masked. “The boy is reckless,” he snaps, his tone cutting through her protest. “Too much like Daemon, whether you see it or not. He flies that dragon of his in dangerous stunts to impress the smallfolk, and he’s already alienated half the council with his indifference to their politics. You think kindness will make him a strong king? He’s more likely to lead the realm into chaos than rule it with a steady hand.”

Alicent’s chest tightens, anger flaring in her eyes. “He’s not Daemon!” she retorts, her voice stronger this time. “He’s nothing like him. Y/N has a heart that Daemon lacks, and he cares deeply for those close to him. You only see what you want to see because it fits your plans.”

Otto’s eyes narrow, his patience worn thin. “And you see him through the lens of a girl smitten by his gentle words and kind gestures. You think he’ll protect you from the harsh realities of court, but you’re wrong, Alicent. This isn’t about what you want—it’s about what the realm needs. The King’s decision must be guided carefully, and you will play your part.”

Alicent’s heart races, her throat tightening with a mixture of fear and resentment. She knows there’s little room for argument when her father takes this tone. “I won’t betray him,” she whispers, her resolve wavering under the weight of her father’s expectations.

Otto leans forward, his gaze intense. “You’re not betraying him, you’re securing your future—and the future of our house. You will do what’s necessary when the time comes. The King’s affections can be swayed, and when they are, you must be there. You’re a clever girl, Alicent. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Remember, loyalty to your house comes first.”

She lowers her gaze, the firelight casting shadows across her face. The thought of maneuvering against someone she’s grown to care for—a young man who has only ever shown her kindness—makes her stomach twist with guilt. But Otto’s expectations press down like a vice, and she knows all too well the consequences of disobedience.

“Prepare yourself,” Otto says, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “When I give the word, you must be ready to act.”

Alicent swallows, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her father’s will. She nods, unable to muster more than that, her mind churning with conflicted thoughts as she tries to reconcile the path being laid out before her. Her heart aches with the burden of what she knows may come—sacrificing her desires for the sake of duty.

As the conversation falls into a tense silence, the crackling of the fire is the only sound that remains.

The Red Keep is quiet in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting shadows through the stone corridors. You walk with only a slight hitch in your step now, the limp almost entirely gone after months of healing. It’s a small victory, but one that fills you with a new sense of freedom, a reminder that you’ve come through the worst of it. Yet, as you round the corner into one of the smaller courtyards, the sight that meets you sends a jolt of concern straight through your chest.

Alicent is seated on a stone bench beneath a tall tree, her shoulders trembling with barely contained sobs. Her hands cover her face, and even from a distance, you can hear the quiet, heart-wrenching sounds of her crying. It’s a rare thing to see her like this; Alicent is usually so composed, so careful in maintaining the image of poise that’s expected of her. But here, alone—or so she thought—she’s unraveling.

Without a second thought, you approach her, the concern plain in your eyes. “Alicent,” you call softly, your voice gentle, almost hesitant as you close the distance between you. She startles slightly at the sound of your voice, quickly wiping at her tears in a futile attempt to regain her composure. But it’s clear that the floodgates have already opened, and there’s no hiding the raw emotion in her eyes.

“Y/N,” she manages, her voice catching as she forces a tremulous smile. “I didn’t think anyone would be here…”

You kneel down in front of her, ignoring the twinge of discomfort in your leg. “What’s happened?” you ask, your voice full of warmth and concern. “You’re crying, Alicent. Talk to me. What’s troubling you?”

For a moment, she can’t meet your eyes, her hands clenching in her lap as she struggles to hold back more tears. But when she finally looks at you, the anguish in her gaze cuts straight to your heart. “It’s my father,” she whispers, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession. “He’s… he’s been instructing me, pushing me to get close to the King. He… he wants me to…” Her words trail off as a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks. “I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be a pawn in his games.”

Your expression softens even further as you take in the depth of her distress. Without hesitation, you reach out and gently cup her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of your thumb. “You’re not a pawn,” you murmur, your voice low and steady, infused with a tenderness that you reserve only for her. “You’re Alicent��kind, thoughtful, more than any of these schemes or plots.”

She closes her eyes at your touch, leaning into the comfort you offer, as if drawing strength from your presence. “But what choice do I have?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “He’s my father. If I don’t do as he asks, I’ll be seen as disobedient… or worse. I feel trapped, Y/N, and I hate it. I hate how helpless I feel.”

The fierce protectiveness that surges through you is almost overwhelming. You lean in closer, your other hand finding hers and holding it firmly, grounding her. “You’re not helpless,” you say with quiet determination. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You have my word, Alicent. No matter what schemes your father or anyone else tries to weave, I’ll be there. You’re not alone in this.”

Her eyes snap open at your words, searching your face for any hint of doubt, but all she finds is unwavering sincerity. There’s a softness in your gaze that she’s come to rely on, a steadiness that offers her a sense of safety she’s found nowhere else. “But how can you protect me from all of this?” she asks, her voice laced with desperation. “You can’t control what the King decides, or what my father pushes me to do.”

You smile, a gentle curve of your lips that holds both reassurance and quiet confidence. “Perhaps I can’t change everything,” you admit, your thumb still brushing away her tears. “But I can stand by you. I can make sure you don’t have to face any of this alone. And if they try to force your hand, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

Her breath catches at the intensity of your words, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the weight of courtly duties and schemes fading into the background. She clings to your hand, drawing strength from the way your fingers entwine with hers. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much it means to hear that.”

You squeeze her hand gently, offering a small but genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy, Alicent, not burdened with all these games. Whatever happens, you have a choice—and I’ll be here, no matter what.”

There’s a long pause as she looks at you, her heart in her eyes. It’s a look that speaks of more than just gratitude; it’s a mixture of emotions that neither of you can quite name yet, a deepening connection that lingers just beneath the surface. “I believe you,” she says softly, her voice steadying at last.

For a moment longer, you stay there, kneeling in front of her, your presence a quiet but steadfast comfort. The world outside the courtyard feels distant, irrelevant. Here, in this quiet corner of the Red Keep, the schemes and pressures of power seem to hold no sway.

As you help her rise to her feet, your hand still holding hers, you can see a spark of resolve returning to her eyes. “You are not alone,” you tell her, a promise wrapped in those simple words.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, Alicent allows herself to hope that she won’t be swallowed by the games of court—that, with you by her side, she might find a way to reclaim her own path amidst the chaos.

The council chamber is as it always is—filled with tension and the murmur of hushed conversations as lords and advisors deliberate the future of the realm. The lords gathered around the table speak in low voices, with Otto Hightower presiding over the meeting with his usual composed authority. Viserys, looking more weary than ever, listens half-heartedly as discussions about trade routes and tax levies dominate the conversation. Rhaenyra stands off to the side, holding the wine jug as she fulfills her role as cupbearer, her expression one of faint boredom—until the door suddenly creaks open.

All heads turn as you stride into the chamber, unannounced, your cane in hand though you walk with almost no noticeable limp. The lords freeze in surprise, the very air growing still as you make your way directly to your seat at the council table. Your presence is commanding, purposeful, as if you’ve planned this moment down to the finest detail. Rhaenyra’s eyes gleam with amusement as she watches from the sidelines, a smirk curling her lips—she’s the only one in the room not taken aback by your unexpected arrival.

The council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, unsure how to respond. Otto Hightower is the first to speak, his voice laced with thinly veiled irritation. “Your Grace, this is most inappropriate. You were not summoned—”

You cut him off sharply, your gaze piercing as it sweeps across the table. “And it is most inappropriate that I have not been summoned to these talks,” you say coolly, your tone brooking no argument. “I am the heir to the throne, yet it seems my presence is no longer deemed necessary while decisions are made that affect my future and that of this realm.”

Viserys opens his mouth to intercede, but you raise a hand, your eyes never leaving Otto’s. “Save your apologies, Father,” you continue, your voice growing firmer. “This is not a matter of oversight or courtesy. It’s a matter of respect—respect that has been slowly eroding while certain parties here conspire to keep me in the dark.”

Beesbury and Tyland exchange nervous glances, both lords visibly shifting in their seats. The weight of your accusation hangs in the air like a blade, unspoken but understood by all. Otto, however, remains collected, though there’s a glimmer of annoyance in his eyes. “No one seeks to replace you, Prince Y/N,” Viserys says, attempting to smooth over the tension. “You are my son, and my heir. There is no question about that.”

You scoff, your gaze now locked onto Otto with unyielding intensity. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice laced with challenge. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe when whispers circulate through the court, and when my own seat at this table has been deliberately left empty.” Your gaze flickers briefly to Beesbury and Tyland, who both quickly avert their eyes, before returning to Otto. “I know about the talks. I know about the concerns for the continuation of the Targaryen bloodline. If that is what worries this council so deeply, then perhaps it is time I address it myself.”

The room goes utterly silent, every lord and advisor hanging onto your next words. Viserys looks puzzled, while Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, her eyes alight with curiosity and pride. “What are you saying?” Viserys asks, trying to understand where this is leading.

You straighten in your chair, your voice clear and decisive as you deliver your next statement. “I have decided that I will marry.”

The words drop like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock through the room. Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, while several of the lords exchange stunned looks. Even Rhaenyra, though aware of your intentions, seems momentarily caught off guard by how bluntly you’ve declared it. But the greatest reaction comes from Otto Hightower, who immediately tenses, his carefully constructed mask of composure slipping just slightly.

“Marry?” Otto repeats, disbelief tinging his voice. “Your Grace, this is a most sudden decision—”

“Sudden, perhaps,” you say, cutting him off again, “but necessary. If the continuation of the Targaryen line is such a concern, then I will see to it myself. And I already know who I intend to wed.”

The room waits with bated breath, every eye fixed on you as you pause for dramatic effect. Then, with absolute certainty, you deliver the bombshell: “I will marry Lady Alicent Hightower.”

A shocked silence follows, broken only by the sound of Otto’s breath catching in his throat. The lords gape, disbelief etched into their faces, and Viserys’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of confusion and relief crossing his features. But it is Otto whose reaction is most striking—his face blanches, a rare display of genuine shock. “This is…” he begins, clearly scrambling for control, “This is not—”

You turn to him, your expression hardening, your voice cold and edged. “Are you offended, Lord Hand?” you ask pointedly. “That your daughter would one day be Queen? Is this not the very opportunity you’ve sought?”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out as he searches for a response. You can see him weighing his options, assessing whether to push back or accept the twist of fate you’ve thrown at him. Before he can gather his wits, Corlys Velaryon’s deep voice rumbles through the chamber, breaking the silence.

“If Lord Hightower finds this match disagreeable, perhaps the Prince would consider my daughter, Laena, instead. The blood of Old Valyria would be preserved, and such a union would strengthen House Targaryen’s ties with the Velaryons.”

You hold back a smile at Corlys’s calculated offer, knowing full well that he’s taking advantage of Otto’s moment of hesitation. Otto’s eyes narrow at Corlys’s interjection, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he realizes he’s being cornered. Backing down would mean missing out on the very outcome he’s been subtly maneuvering toward, even if it wasn’t quite in the manner he’d intended.

After a long moment, Otto exhales slowly, carefully regaining his composure. “Of course, Your Grace,” he finally says, his tone clipped but respectful. “I… only wish for what is best for both you and the realm. If this is your decision, then I will see to it that the arrangements are made.”

You nod, satisfied, as you see the acceptance in his eyes. “Good,” you reply, your voice firm and unyielding. “Because I have no intention of letting anyone else dictate the future of this house. The realm needs strength, unity, and continuity, and I will see that it is achieved—on my terms.”

The council members exchange uneasy glances, realizing that they’ve just witnessed a pivotal shift in the dynamics of power within the Red Keep. Rhaenyra’s smirk remains, her eyes gleaming with admiration as she watches you assert your authority, while Viserys seems both relieved and unsettled by your newfound determination.

As the meeting continues, there’s no doubt left in anyone’s mind—you are no longer the sidelined prince. You are a force to be reckoned with, and the council now understands that you will not be ignored or underestimated.

The sun filters softly through the arched windows of the Red Keep, casting warm golden light over the ladies of the court as they gather in one of the sewing chambers. The room is filled with the gentle murmur of idle conversation, the sound of thread sliding through fabric, and the occasional soft laugh. Alicent sits among them, her focus on the delicate embroidery she’s working on. Her hands move with practiced grace, though her thoughts are distant, lingering on the conversation she had with her father and the weight of the expectations he’s placed on her.

She’s lost in her thoughts when a familiar figure bursts into the room with the energy of a brewing storm. Rhaenyra sweeps into the chamber, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Alicent. The princess’s expression is one of unbridled excitement, a grin wide and mischievous spreading across her face. “Alicent!” she calls out, her voice ringing with barely contained glee.

The ladies of the court look up from their work, startled by the princess’s sudden entrance. Alicent rises from her seat, her brow furrowing in confusion as she sets aside her embroidery. “Rhaenyra,” she says warmly, though with a hint of uncertainty. “What’s gotten into you? You look like a dragon who’s caught a sheep.”

Rhaenyra steps closer, her grin widening as she takes Alicent’s hands in her own. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” she says, her eyes alight with barely restrained amusement.

Alicent blinks, bewilderment etched across her delicate features. “Congratulate me?” she repeats, glancing around at the other ladies, who are now watching the exchange with rapt attention. “I don’t understand—what are you talking about?”

Rhaenyra leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, though loud enough for the other ladies to hear and exchange curious glances. “You don’t know? Oh, Alicent, you’re going to be married.”

The world seems to tilt for Alicent, her breath catching in her throat as her heart pounds wildly in her chest. “Married?” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. “What… what do you mean? To whom?”

Rhaenyra’s grin softens into something more sincere as she watches the realization dawn on Alicent’s face. “To my brother, of course. Y/N announced it himself in the council meeting not half an hour ago. He declared that he’s decided to marry you.”

For a moment, the room seems to spin, the words hitting Alicent like a physical blow. Her chest tightens, and she feels a flush rise up her neck as her mind races to catch up with what she’s just heard. “He… he said that?” she asks, her voice trembling with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something that makes her heart skip a beat.

Rhaenyra nods, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she squeezes Alicent’s hands. “He did. Right there in front of everyone. You should have seen the look on Father’s face—he was stunned, and Otto nearly choked on his own breath. And you know what’s even better? He said it with such certainty, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He’s chosen you, Alicent. You’re going to be a queen one day.”

Alicent’s legs feel weak beneath her as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her mind flashes back to the conversation with her father, to the pressure and expectations, to the fear that she would be forced into a match she had no say in. But this—this is something entirely different. Y/N chose her. Not because of Otto’s schemes or because it was expected, but because he decided it. The thought is overwhelming, both terrifying and thrilling all at once.

She struggles to find her voice, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of disbelief, gratitude, and apprehension. “I… I never imagined…” she stammers, unable to form a coherent sentence as she tries to process what this means for her.

Rhaenyra’s expression softens as she sees the turmoil in Alicent’s eyes. “You’re shaking,” she says gently, releasing one of Alicent’s hands to brush a stray tear from her friend’s cheek. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you should have seen the way he spoke about it. He was so resolute, so determined. And you—you deserve this happiness, Alicent. You deserve someone who sees you as more than just a tool in their schemes.”

Alicent’s breath shudders as she tries to regain control of her racing thoughts. “But what if… what if this is just another game? What if he’s being pushed into this?” she whispers, her voice laced with fear and doubt.

Rhaenyra shakes her head, her expression turning fierce. “No. This isn’t like that. My brother’s no fool, and he’s not one to be forced into anything he doesn’t want. This was his choice, and I think it’s about time someone reminded the court that he’s more than capable of making his own decisions.” Her grin returns, wry and full of pride. “And besides, I think you know him better than anyone else. You’ve seen how he looks at you.”

Alicent’s eyes widen, and a fresh flush colors her cheeks. She’s known for some time that there’s been an unspoken connection between her and Y/N, but she never dared to hope it would lead to something so monumental. The thought of being his wife, of standing beside him as queen—it’s as daunting as it is exhilarating.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she finally manages, her voice thick with emotion.

Rhaenyra’s smile softens into something more tender as she pulls Alicent into a warm embrace. “Then don’t say anything yet. Let it sink in. But know this—you’re not alone, Alicent. You have me, and you have him. And now, you have a future that’s yours to shape.”

As they part, the ladies of the court begin whispering excitedly among themselves, the news spreading like wildfire through the chamber. But Alicent barely notices, her mind still spinning as she tries to grasp the enormity of what’s just been revealed. For better or worse, everything has changed in the span of a single afternoon.

And somewhere deep in her heart, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a flicker of hope begins to bloom.

The sound of your boots echoes as you step into the Dragonpit, each footfall deliberate and heavy against the ancient stone floor. The cavernous space looms around you, darkened by shadows cast by the great arches above, yet the air hums with the presence of power—dragons and their keepers. You wear a deep, crimson coat embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of coiling dragons, the rich fabric tailored perfectly to your frame. Beneath it, your tunic is a dark charcoal, cinched at the waist by a wide leather belt, and black riding gloves encase your hands. Your hair, a cascade of silver, is tied back in a loose knot, allowing a few strands to catch the breeze. The light armor you wear, adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen, adds an edge of battle-readiness to your regal attire. Today is not merely for show—it’s a declaration of your return to the skies.

The Dragonkeepers, clad in leather armor and bearing the scars of long service to the dragons, bow slightly as you approach. Their deference is not out of fear, but out of respect for what is to come. With a silent nod from their leader, they move aside to reveal the imposing silhouette of your dragon.

Dallax emerges from the shadows, his massive form a study in sleek, predatory grace. His scales are a deep, inky black that gleams like polished obsidian under the faint light. Unlike most dragons, his eyes are not the usual shade of fire-yellow; they are a striking, luminescent green, gleaming with intelligence and an almost unsettling awareness. His pupils narrow to slits as he focuses on you, a low rumble vibrating through his chest. His body is built for agility and speed, lean but powerful, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. But it’s his teeth that make him most unique—when he’s calm, they are hidden away, retracting into his jaw, giving him a deceptively benign appearance. But you know better; when agitated or in the heat of battle, those teeth emerge like rows of daggers, sharp and menacing. It’s no wonder Rhaenyra affectionately calls him “Toothless” when she’s in a playful mood.

You take in the sight of him, a thrill running through your veins. It’s been months since you last mounted him, but the bond between you remains unshaken, as if it were a living thing forged in fire and blood. Dallax’s eyes meet yours, and in that moment, the unspoken understanding passes between dragon and rider. He has waited, patient but eager, for this moment as much as you have.

The Dragonkeepers pull back as you stride forward, your limp almost unnoticeable now, a testament to the months of recovery you’ve endured. With a firm hand, you reach up and grasp the saddle harness, your fingers gripping the familiar leather. In one smooth motion, you pull yourself up and swing your leg over Dallax’s back. You settle into the saddle, feeling the comforting weight of the straps as you secure yourself. Dallax shifts beneath you, his wings unfurling slightly, the dark membrane stretching wide, catching the breeze as if testing the air.

You take a deep breath, the scent of leather, smoke, and ancient stone filling your senses. “Fly,” you whisper in High Valyrian, a command and a plea all at once.

With a growl that vibrates through his entire frame, Dallax lowers himself briefly before launching into the air with a powerful surge of muscle. The ground falls away beneath you as his wings beat with precision, each stroke lifting you higher until the walls of the Dragonpit are a blur. The rush of wind tears at your hair, your coat billowing behind you like a banner as Dallax ascends into the open sky.

As you break free into the sunlight, the city of King’s Landing sprawls out below, the rooftops and winding streets glinting in the late afternoon light. Dallax roars—a sound both thrilling and terrifying—as he soars above the Red Keep, his shadow sweeping across the stone battlements like a predator stalking its prey.

From her chambers, Alicent stands by the window, her eyes fixed on the sky as she watches you fly. Her hands are clasped in front of her, a mixture of awe and fondness in her expression as she traces your flight path. You cut through the clouds with an effortless grace, Dallax responding to every shift of your body as if you are one being. For the first time in what feels like ages, there’s no tension in Alicent’s shoulders, only the quiet joy of seeing you in your element—free and commanding, a true Targaryen heir.

Behind her, Otto Hightower steps forward, his expression a mix of calculation and displeasure. He watches silently for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he observes the ease with which you handle your dragon, the majesty of it undeniable. “He’s just like his uncle,” Otto mutters, more to himself than to Alicent. “All fire and pride—reckless.”

Alicent doesn’t turn to face her father, but her smile lingers, soft and secret. “Perhaps,” she replies, her voice distant, her gaze still following your every move. “But there is more to him than you see, Father.”

Otto’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing more, turning away from the window. To him, dragons are dangerous, unpredictable forces that must be controlled. But to you, they are freedom itself—a reminder that no matter how thick the walls of the Red Keep or how intricate the webs of intrigue, you are a dragonrider first and foremost, and no one can cage that fire.

As you guide Dallax into a steep dive, pulling up at the last moment to skim over the rooftops of the city, you feel a deep, exhilarating rush. The wind in your face, the roar of your dragon, and the vast sky stretched out before you—it’s a sensation unmatched by anything else, a reminder that the world is yours to claim, one way or another.

You circle back toward the Red Keep, allowing Dallax to level out and glide effortlessly. From below, you see Alicent at the window, her face turned upward, her smile radiant and full of something unspoken—pride, affection, and hope. For a brief moment, you dip your wings in her direction, a silent acknowledgment that she sees you for who you are, beyond the politics and the expectations.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Ello!!

So this is for Quiet. Where after a smooth mission is over, Price decides it’s a good idea for the 141 to go to a bar and wind down. They all carpool (could you imagine how cramped that would be lol) and arrive, taking seats at the front.

Now they are all wearing normal clothing, aside from ghost, wearing that hoodie/jacket with the skull balaclava. And soon enough the drinks start rolling in.

I can literally see Quiet practically barricaded/sandwiched in between Ghost and Soap. Because they’re big guys and she’s small. So while the rest of the 141 are having their fun, Quiet leaves to go to the bathroom and when she starts to make her way back, some idiot tries to flirt with her and “take her home” if you know my meaning. She’s not having it and declines shaking her head but the guy is persistent and not leaving her be.

And ghost notices…

You always send me the best prompt for this series @thedevillovesflowers ❤️ SO sorry this took me forever, this is a little short just because I was struggling but I hope you like it

Hoping to slowly get back into this series I have a couple ideas

Quiet Series

You were persistent. It was in your job to be especially when you were someone who had to wait hours in the same spot for your target before you could do anything. But right now your patience was wearing thin by the second.

It was meant to be just a nice night out at the pub. It had been a long time since you and the 141 had the chance to relax, so Price offered to take everyone to the pub for a couple drinks and food.

It had been nice. You always loved hanging out with the boys, even if they got on your nerves, and doing it off the clock was nice since you didn't have to worry about getting shot at. They included you too, of course they did, because while Price had put you on the team just almost a year ago, it felt like you had been there since the beginning.

You had been stuck in between Soap and Ghost, smushed against Ghost more since Soap was so animated and enjoyed the company.

You blamed the warm fuzzy feeling on the few drinks you had rather than being pressed against your lieutenant, not having the energy to unpack those feelings at the moment. Eventually you had to use the bathroom and though you regrettably had to move away from his warmth, you didn't miss the way his dark eyes followed you.

But now you were here, unable to get back to him because a rather unattractive man stood in your way.

He was trying to get you to come home with him but after you had shook your head no multiple times he just didn't get it.

"You don't have to be shy, tell me why not." He said but you shook your head again.

You would try to sign to him but you don't think he knows ASL or that he would even realize you were mute. You wanted to just walk past him but there was limited space and you didn't want to be touched by any part of him.

"C'mon, I like a mysterious lady and you can tell me all about your scars-"

Your patience was gone.

You huffed, rolling your eyes and tried to step past him but he grabbed your arm. You nearly slapped him before you felt a familiar presence.

"She said no, mate. Leave it." Ghost's voice was rougher than usual but just as serious as always, maybe even more so like he was scolding a recruit.

He glared at the man and pushed himself in between the two of you. He didn't need to do anything else as the man grumbled and scurried off, leaving the pub without further incident.

"Alright?" Ghost turned to you and you gave him a small smile.

"Yeah..." You signed, trying not to let the interaction ruin your night.

"Let's take a walk."

You gladly followed him out of the pub and once you were outside, you couldn't help but lean against him. You expected him to pull away but he instead he gently pulled you closer.

That warm fuzzy feeling came back when he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you began your walk and it was hard to ignore it or place the blame on anything else.

At least out here you could lean on him without worrying what the others or anyone else would think.

"You should've told him off." Ghost grumbled. "Bastard would've ran if he knew how scary you are."

You snorted but shook your head.

"It's not like he would've understood anyway" You signed and you saw the annoyance in his eyes, not at you but at the man. "Don't let it bother you, he's unimportant."

"Should be saying that to you." He signed back and you smiled.

"It's okay. No sense in getting mad at what I can't control, right?"

You know he's smiling under his mask when you see the corner of his eyes crinkle. Your face heats up when he tightens his hold around your shoulders.

"Atta girl."

A/n: slowly getting back into this hopefully Ghost isn't ooc, he's a little different that roommate!simon here atm but he'll get there

[girlkisser13]

ADDRESSING THE ACCUSATIONS

if you haven’t read the post by @valsverse, you can read it here.

i want to clear the air regarding the accusations being made against me. i understand that this situation has caused a lot of concern, but i need to be very clear: besides the situation that happened months ago (that had already been resolved) i did not engage in any plagiarism. i have also never harassed anyone. the claims being made are false, and it’s disheartening to see someone spreading misinformation about me in the community. i value the tumblr space and have always worked to contribute positively.

The Original Incident + The Resolution of that Incident

as many of you may know, approximately four to five months ago, i was caught plagiarizing the work of a well-known writer in the pjo fandom. when searching for "pjo dating headcanons," @valsverse's posts consistently appear among the top results. after reading her content, i made the regrettable decision to extract her writing from multiple posts and consolidate it into a single post for each character. this choice was both unethical and misguided, and i take full responsibility for my actions.

on june 3, 2024, after being contacted about the plagiarism accusation, i did block the user— not out of malice, but because i was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to handle the situation. this was a mistake, and i apologize for how it may have come across. however, once we reconnected, we did resolve things privately, and I took responsibility for my actions. i never should’ve copied anyone’s work.

regarding the request to take down the post, it wasn’t an attempt to avoid accountability, but rather an effort to move on from the situation. the backlash was intense, and it was emotionally challenging to cope with. it was to the point that i was receiving death threats and messages in my inbox telling me that "my parents should have hit me harder as a child". i appreciate that the post remained up as a matter of principle for the other user, but i also felt that once we had come to an agreement, i was still facing more negativity than i knew how to handle.

since then, i’ve made a conscious effort to learn from this and be more respectful of others’ work. i’m committed to improving and being part of this community in a positive way.

MultifandomBisexual13

with the permission of this account, i have added screenshots of the conversations between their account and @valsverse.

@valsverse has claimed that @multifandombisexual13 and i are the same person. this argument hinges on circumstantial evidence, but it doesn’t actually prove that we are the same person. similar usernames, reposting content, or replying within a short time frame can easily be coincidences, especially within fandom spaces where people often support similar creators and engage with their content closely.

while it’s true that both of our accounts include the number "13," this does not imply we are the same person. as many of you may know, i’m a swiftie, and the number "13" holds significant meaning within that fandom. furthermore, suggesting that i am behind the other account simply because it includes "multifandom" in its username, and i happen to write for multiple fandoms, is unfounded. by that logic, would every account featuring "multifandom" also be attributed to me? such an assumption is both unreasonable and baseless.

she also claims that we share the same "writing style." if using all lowercase is what defines having the same "writing style," then sure, we share that. but by that logic, i also share the same style with the majority of the pjo fandom. does that mean i’m secretly running every single pjo account? of course not— that’s an absurd assumption.

furthermore, i do not know why @multifandombisexual13 only reblogs my posts and why my account is the only one featured in the "check out these accounts" section. however, i want to stress that @valsverse doesn’t have any credible evidence to support the claim that we are the same person. it’s important to avoid jumping to conclusions without solid proof, and I hope this helps clear up any misunderstandings. i understand that @valsverse feels harassed, and it’s fair to address that. however, accusing someone of operating multiple accounts without solid evidence is wrong.

The Anonymous Messages + My Brother's Involvement

so, when i received the screenshot sent to my account, i genuinely didn’t know what to expect. honestly, the reaction i got was a bit overwhelming. yes, i told @valsverse that my brother sent that message. for anyone with younger siblings, you know how it is—sometimes they grab your phone without you realizing it, and things can get messy. it’s not unusual for a sibling to get involved, especially if they’re curious about what you’re up to online.

but instead of understanding that, i was met with accusations and skepticism. suddenly, it felt like i was being scrutinized for having family access to my account, and they implied that it was ridiculous for my brother to have any involvement at all.

the absurdity of the situation was hard to digest. i was just trying to explain what happened, but instead, it felt like i was being painted as a liar. it’s disheartening to see my honest intentions twisted into something malicious. i was being transparent, but all i got in return were assumptions about my character.

and when i tried to apologize after being caught off guard, it only seemed to add fuel to the fire. i felt like my attempts to clear the air were dismissed, and i wish you could all see it from my perspective. i’m just a person navigating a complicated situation with a younger sibling who sometimes doesn’t understand the implications of their actions.

in the first screenshot, @valsverse asserted that i should "either deactivate my account or admit the truth." while i cannot definitively ascertain whether this statement was intended as a threat, it nonetheless raised concerns for me. i want to emphasize that throughout this situation, my intention has always been to convey the truth. i believe in the importance of honesty and integrity, and i hope this clarification sheds light on my perspective. my goal is not to evade responsibility, but rather to communicate openly about my actions and the circumstances surrounding them.

as i write this, i am acutely aware of how absurd it may sound. the assertion that "my brother sent that message" might seem implausible at first glance, yet i invite you to consider that it could, in fact, be true. my brother, who is twelve years old and actively engaged in the pjo fandom, has a keen awareness of the ongoing "drama" between myself and @valsverse. from his perspective, the message he sent to her was intended as a harmless "joke".

furthermore, it's important to note that my brother has adhd, which contributes to his tendency toward impulsive behavior. this characteristic can lead him to act without fully considering the consequences of his actions. given his familiarity with the dynamics of the fandom and his impulsivity, it is entirely plausible that he may have sent the message in question without fully understanding the context or the potential ramifications.

in light of these factors, i hope you can appreciate the complexity of the situation and recognize that the possibility of my brother’s involvement deserves thoughtful consideration rather than outright dismissal.

Summary

to sum it all up, after the resolution of the initial plagiarism incident, i can confidently state that i have not engaged in the plagiarism of anyone's work. the only instances of plagiarism i have committed were specifically related to the pjo fandom. since that time, i have made a conscious effort to create original content that reflects my own ideas and creativity. for all other fandoms in which I participate, I take great pride in the fact that the work i produce is entirely my own. i believe in the importance of intellectual honesty and integrity in writing, and i am committed to upholding these values in all my future endeavors.

i would like to clarify that i harbor no animosity toward @valsverse. in fact, i hold her in high regard as both a writer and a creator, which is, regrettably, a factor in why i plagiarized her work in the first place. i would never condone or encourage anyone to harass her, and i take full responsibility for the circumstances surrounding this situation. furthermore, @multifandombisexual13 has engaged in harassment toward a mutual of mine and has unfoundedly accused her of plagiarizing my work. due to these actions, i blocked her. when @valsverse requested that i reach out to her, i had to unblock her in order to do so.

@valsverse, if you’re reading this (and you likely are), i understand your desire to make this situation public. if i were in your position, i likely would have done the same thing. however, i want to clarify that the apologies i offered— those that you referred to as "pulled out of my ass"— were genuinely aimed at salvaging our relationship. at one point, we were mutuals, and i valued that connection. when you unfollowed me, i reciprocated by unfollowing you as well. i'm not sure why you unfollowed me, but i want to sincerely apologize for the impact my actions have had on your mental well-being. it pains me to know that i contributed to any distress or discomfort you have experienced. please understand that it was never my intention to cause you harm, and I am truly sorry for the damage I have inflicted.

i hope that the evidence i have provided in this post enables you all to draw your own conclusions about me. it is important to consider the context and nuances surrounding the situation, as well as my actions and intentions. i encourage you to reflect on the information presented and assess it critically. ultimately, i understand that perceptions can vary, and i respect your ability to form your own judgments based on the details i have shared. your understanding of my circumstances is valuable to me, and i appreciate your willingness to consider my perspective.

if anyone has questions or seeks clarification regarding any aspect of what i’ve wrote, please do not hesitate to reach out. i am more than willing to engage in a conversations and provide any additional information you may require. your understanding is of great importance to me, and i welcome the opportunity to address any concerns you might wish to raise.

[irkimatsu]

Husk eats his partner for breakfast (more precisely, his women's pussy and breasts~)

Let's let our man have what he wants 😉🔥

Mmmm what a delicious breakfast~

You wake up by Husk's side, both of you still nude from last night's passion. You still can't stop thinking about all the ways he touched you last night... his body pressing down on you, his fangs grazing your neck as he thrusts into you with all his power, his voice making the most delicious growls and moans every time he bottoms out... you cuddle up to his chest and close your eyes, happy to relive the memory for a while longer. Last night's cologne has mostly worn off of him, leaving you to breathe in the comforting familiarity of his natural scent.

"Mornin', babe," you hear from above you as he combs his claws through your hair. "Sleep well?"

You mumble an agreement. "Hard not to, after the way you wore me out last night."

He chuckles to himself before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You felt too damn good. I couldn't stop myself."

"Hey, I'm not complaining about it."

You lay in silence for a bit longer, enjoying the blanket over you, and more importantly, Husk's bare fur and skin pressed against your body. You could stay here in this peace forever...

"Mind if I have some breakfast?" he asks.

You nod as you pull away from him. It sucks to have to leave his comfort, but you know what a miserable wretch he can be if he doesn't get some coffee and food (and, regrettably, whiskey) in his system shortly after waking up. You expect him to hop out of bed, throw on some slacks, and head downstairs to see what Niffy's prepared this morning; whether or not he has a bath first depends on how loudly his stomach is protesting.

Instead, he rolls on top of you and kisses your lips until you're struggling for breath.

"Husk!" you gasp out when he finally breaks the kiss. "What are you doing?"

"Having breakfast," he says simply before kissing his way along your jaw, down to the side of your neck. "I'm in the mood for something sweet..."

You're not exactly prepared, appearance-wise. You haven't had a chance to shower yet, and you feel like you're still slick with sweat from the previous night.

Husk's purring as his rough tongue laps at your collarbone assures you that this is the opposite of a problem for him.

"If it's something sweet you want..." you say playfully as you grab his paw and drag it down your body. You press his palm against your clit, and you gasp.

"Mmm... sounds great," he says. "But you know I don't like jumping right for the main course. Gotta have a little appetizer first..."

Your breathing picks up as his mouth gently brushes the top of one of your breasts. He cups both of them in his paws and squeezes them as he circles his tongue around your nipple.

"Oh god, Husk..." You tangle your fingers in the hair between his ears and push slightly, encouraging him to feast as much as he wants. He immediately takes your offer, and you gasp in a high pitch as he starts suckling at your breast, his fangs lightly pinching the sensitive skin. After a few moments of light suckles, he gives you as hard of a suck as he can, before releasing your breast with a pop. He gives you no time to relax before his attention is on your other breast, lapping at your nipple before beginning to suckle. The cool air of the room chills the wet spot he's left behind on your now-neglected breast; as if sensing this, he presses his palm to your nipple and gently massages warm circles into it.

"You're so good to me, baby..." you moan.

He purrs and waves his tail at the compliment.

You know you won't be able to stay here with him forever; sooner or later, Charlie will be just outside the door to tell you that breakfast is ready. She'll be awkward about it, considering the time you accidentally, and very loudly, let her know exactly what was keeping you and Husk in bed so long... but not even that incident has stopped her from making sure that none of her guests miss breakfast and have to go hungry.

It can't last forever, but you'll both savor this until that interruption comes.

Your breathing calms down once he finally releases your breast from his mouth for the final time, and instead focuses his mouth's attention on your stomach. He's moving lower on your body, but slowly, so slowly, making sure the tension in your chest is agonizing before he finally grants you relief.

"Wanna make a bet with me?" he asks between kisses.

"It's always a bet with you," you say with a laugh. "What's the bet?"

You gasp and roll your head back as his tongue passes over your clit. "Fuck, you're wet..." he mutters to himself. After taking a few more tastes, he stops licking you so he can focus his eyes on you, his mouth growing into a smirk.

"Here's the bet... how many times do you think I can make you cum before Charlie shows up?"

[ridthewaste]

Based on THIS ask

I don’t post on Tumblr often but I felt like getting this out - funnily enough all because of a likely joke response. Ah well. I’ll continue the tradition of making elaborate backstories based on minimal information 💪

Anyway, here’s some background to Jax’s life and upbringing. Call it a headcanon or AU or whatever you feel is best

The purple rabbit individual later known as "Jax" to the circusgoers was born between 1973 and 1982 in Wabash, Indiana, to a Lutheran Protestant family of five, of which he was the middle child of two other brothers whom he got along well with. The family took only a nominal approach to religion to their children in terms of traditions passed down, something that their mother and father would, on occasion, regret doing whenever their sons got into trouble. The small family farm was agricultural in nature, rather than focused on livestock, producing mainly corn as well as carrots and other assorted produce. Due to Wabash’s town-city setting making for easy profit to farmers markets and other retailers, the family were decently well off, as far as single farm households went.

The “corn incident” as it is aptly called, refers to an instance in which the family dog - a Doberman Pinscher named “Bruno” - developed rabies, unbeknownst to the family. Jax and his brothers (ages 15, 17, and 19) stumbled upon the canine after it had killed a stray cat past the fencing. Upon seeing that their beloved pet had gone rabid, the three bolted in different directions through the family cornfield. The dog alternated between the three, causing a warped ironic twist on the game of cat and mouse - in which Jax had to hide from the beloved family dog-turned rabid mongrel, attempting to stifle his breathing over the sound of his pounding heart. For him, few things would terrify him more afterwards.

Though their father was able to regrettably put the dog down with relative ease once his boys eventually scampered out of the vegetative maze, the feeling of helplessness in the thick underbrush of the cornstalks never truly left Jax. Perhaps he developed a fear of mazes, rather than corn; but he never did go back into the cornfield again, much to the teasing of his brothers and chagrin of his folks, who were from then on one pair of hands short on that chore.

[riveroftales]

He might be a little OC and I’m really sorry. It’s my first time writing him (｡╥﹏╥｡)

Constructive criticism to help improve his character is greatly appreciated! (ˊ˘ˋ*)

ғᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

𝘾𝙒! 𝖵𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾

Bodyguard!Muzan who only accepted the job because he literally had nothing better to do.

Bodyguard!Muzan who, despite the suit being a little tight, didn’t complain because he looked good.

Bodyguard!Muzan who always did his job perfectly with a scowl on his face.

Bodyguard!Muzan who didn’t care about your status and refused to answer personal questions about himself.

Bodyguard!Muzan who regrettably learned that you were a singer because his curiosity killed the cat, resulting in him being dragged to one of your concerts as a VIP guest for free.

Bodyguard!Muzan who caged you in his arms as he helped you get past an enormous crowd of fans when you simply wanted to use the bathroom.

Bodyguard!Muzan who entered the ladies room with you to guard your stall because of the several incidents you previously had of fans trying to break in.

Bodyguard!Muzan who grunted when you dragged him to a small, local restaurant to treat him as a ‘thank you.’

Bodyguard!Muzan who nibbled on the grilled beef to stay focused at the surroundings despite the meal being one of the best he had.

Bodyguard!Muzan who was beyond pissed when you kept on leaning against him, slurred and mixed words leaving your soft and glossy lips as he carried your drunken state back to your house.

Bodyguard!Muzan who took off your shoes and accessories (even gently removing your makeup) while undressing you and helping you slip in your pyjamas before gently placing you on your bed, tucking you in like a child.

Bodyguard!Muzan who neatly folds your clothes and kept them in your closet, taking his payment by stealing one of your panties and shoving it in his pocket.

Bodyguard!Muzan who takes care of you through your horrible hangover.

Bodyguard!Muzan who slowly starts to enjoy being part of the audience of your concerts.

Bodyguard!Muzan who glares at every pathetic fans who look like they’d cream their pants just by gazing at you when they get their autographs.

Bodyguard!Muzan who instantly comes to your rescue when he sees you getting harassed by a man.

Bodyguard!Muzan who grabs your waist to pull you away from the assaulter and calls him your boyfriend, knowing the man wouldn’t take him seriously if he introduced himself as your bodyguard.

Bodyguard!Muzan who ‘proves’ his point by shoving his tongue in your mouth when he notices the man glaring at you two from a few meters away a few minutes later, tasting your cherry-cola lips.

Bodyguard!Muzan who knew he fucked up when he realised he couldn’t stop kissing you. Your lips were too sweet.

Bodyguard!Muzan who had to pinch himself so he could finally pull away, lying to you saying that other people were staring at you in a way he knew would make you uncomfortable.

Bodyguard!Muzan who started warming up more and more.

Bodyguard!Muzan who you realised had the prettiest smile.

Bodyguard!Muzan who you fell hard for when he saw the fan mail you received and commented on it.

“Tch. Does this bastard know you like bluebells? Also you don’t even like dark chocolate.” He scoffed as he went through your special fan mail with you. His comment made you freeze up slightly.

“Excuse me?” You managed to chuckle out. “Thought you said you weren’t interested in anything related to me when you started working?”

“When I started, you brat.” He flicked your forehead. “You’ve gotten a little more tolerable.”

“Then does this mean we’re on a first-name basis, Muzan?” Your eyes lit up as you leaned on him, your chin on his shoulder as you pouted up at him.

You successfully earn a soft chuckle from him.

“Don’t get your hopes too high up, asshole.” He ruffled your hair. “I’m gonna go get food. You want anything..” he stayed silent for a bit before ruffling your hair again. “..Y/n?”

He saw the fondness in your eyes. “You know my favourite, don’t you?”

He smiled. “Coming right up.”

Bodyguard!Muzan who got yelled at by Daki and Douma multiple times to simply suck it up, be a man, and confess to you before it was too late.

Bodyguard!Muzan who himself couldn’t believe he listened to them when he poured his heart out to you.

Bodyguard!Muzan who got your lips on his as your answer for his confession.

Bodyguard!Muzan who didn’t need to be paid anymore. He continued going to the gym, almost never missing a day to get stronger so he could protect his family. After all, he made to himself he would protect you and your daughter 6 years prior on your wedding night.

[mapecl-stories]

Disregard of Wolf Deterrence: Reckless Wolf Hunting Endangers Young Animals

In a series of regrettable incidents, seven wolves were shot in Burgdorf. However, these hasty shootings have revealed an alarming issue: hunters are displaying their incompetence and are unable to identify the correct wolf. The victims were innocent young animals, although their parents should have been the primary focus. The core problem, however, lies in the fact that 90 percent of livestock were inadequately protected against wolves, often lacking even the minimum protection. This concerning situation in Burgdorf, with seven attacks in 2023, six of them without any protection, urgently needs to be addressed.

Lack of Wolf-Resistant Fencing: Of particular concern is the fact that 90 percent of livestock in Burgdorf were not fenced with wolf-resistant measures, not even with the minimum protection. The minimum protection stands at 90 cm, while the basic protection should be 120 cm, and wolf-resistant protection should be 140/150 cm. Additionally, adequate electrification with high shock power and proper grounding is of great importance. According to the Federal Office for Nature Conservation, the fence should be at least 120 cm high, or ideally even higher.

Legal Framework and Responsibility: On the European level, the legal framework was clearly established by the European Court of Justice in three wolf-related judgments. On 10th October 2019, it was decided that livestock owners must fence their livestock according to the best scientific and technical knowledge. Failing to protect one's livestock appropriately constitutes an administrative offense. Despite the knowledge of these regulations, the Hannover region, represented by the Lower Nature Conservation Authority/Nature Conservation Team, continues to permit wolf hunting in the Burgdorf area. This approach is unlawful and contradicts Article 16 of the Habitats Directive, which permits the killing of only the "problem wolf" in cases of damage.

Lack of Reporting and Illegal Killing: What's particularly alarming is that the main edition of the HAZ conceals the fact that on February 6, 2023, a child was illegally killed by two wolves in the Burgdorf forest. It is now time to file criminal charges against the hunter, the regional president Steffen Krach (SPD), and the official in the Hannover region. Krach, who is considered the new responsible politician for wolf killings in Lower Saxony, fails to understand that in the entire Hannover region, there are only two adult wolves in Burgdorf and two in Wedemark, spanning an area of over 2,000 square kilometers.

Conclusion: Wolves have been present in the Burgdorf area for over seven years, with four documented instances of offspring. In Wedemark, there were even three instances of offspring. Nevertheless, a significant number of livestock owners have still not implemented the legally mandated protection measures (Paragraph 3, Section 2, No. 3 of the Animal Welfare Livestock Husbandry Ordinance). It is imperative to take action in this regard. Those who fail to provide wolf-resistant protection of at least 120 cm should be fined, and in case of further violations, may even face a ban on livestock keeping. It is also crucial to emphasize that THE GREENS, in their 2022 election program, called for comprehensive herd protection in Lower Saxony. Currently, there are only 35 wolf populations with offspring, approximately totaling 280 wolves, and not 500, as often claimed, considering a total of two million wild animals.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Birthday headcanons for the ghouls, because I'm aging soon and feeling some kind of way about it as always. Let's go.

-Dew spends his birthday with his human family, meaning the rest of the pack rarely see him on his actual birthday, and he doesn't really like having others fuss over him, but he is secretly devastated when people forget.

His birthday landed on a sort of busy/hectic day one year, and he wasn't able to go home to see his family either, so everyone forgot about it in the chaos, and, whoo boy, is it obvious that Dew has never fully gotten over that incident.

He never got vocally upset about it, but when they tried to celebrate his birthday a couple days later he walked out of the surprise party they threw for him and that certainly said a lot about how he felt about things.

-Swiss, like Dew, celebrates his birthday with his human family, but he has a "birthday week" so he can celebrate with his friends and his family, and is generally a lot more excited about his birthday than Dew is about his.

He's not really bothered if someone forgets, unless it's someone he's really close to, then he might be a little disappointed, but it doesn't hit him as hard as others.

Posts an insane amount of pictures of himself with his friends/family while he's partying with them.

-Rain treats his birthday like any other day; He likes the gifts and something sweet to eat, but, other than that, he usually just spends the day in bed watching movies or running errands.

However, once night falls, that guy is gonna go on a mission to the local seafood place that does an unlimited birthday buffet and eat a regrettable amount of shrimp.

-Cumulus celebrates her summoning day instead of her birthday, and pretty much does the same thing every year; Order a cheesecake assortment, watch Jurassic Park, and commit at least one crime.

The "crime" is always different, but as long as it doesn't cost the ministry money or result in jail time, no one bats an eyelash.

-Cirrus 100% avoids celebrating her birthday/summoning day, and will hiss if anyone asks how old she's turning or if she wants anything special; Despite being a performer, she hates being the center of attention like that, and doesn't like acknowledging the passage of time.

Spends the day in her room and only comes out to eat.

Once bit someone for saying, "Happy birthday!" to her.

-Aether celebrates his summoning day by making "poor decisions" that result in "serious consequences" such as waking up in the chapel and not knowing where his shoe went or why he's wearing one of Cirrus' crop tops.

He doesn't really drink or anything, but his quintessence surges on his summoning day and he may or may not use that to get a "little" high.

A little very high.

Mountain found him in a tree once.

-Speaking of Mountain, he's a classic birthday boy; He just wants his cake and to be remembered/feel loved and then he's content.

He's very sentimental about the gifts he receives, and has kept every birthday card he's ever received.

And lastly;

-Aurora and Aeon have the same summoning day, and like the idea of celebrating it together as a joint party; The bakery that made their "Vampire Barbie" cake had a lot of questions, none of which were answered by Copia adding a note to the order that, "The birthday boy would like Barbie to have hot pink blood on her fangs with an extra sprinkling of edible glitter, however, the birthday girl would like it if 'blood' poured out of the cake itself when cut open, and that gummy organs spilled out with it. Please and thank you."

The bakery has to wonder how Copia's "children" are being raised.

[leucisticpuffin]

Day 3 of @feanorianweek: experimenting with strawberry-blond hair for Celegorm. I think it suits him.

(the scars look dramatic but they're actually from a regrettable incident with a weasel)

[kissesforsatoru]

WANT YOU SO BAD | wc : 4.4k

BULLY! HANEMIYA KAZUTORA x FEM!READER

₊˚⌗ you hate him. you hate him. he ruined your life, so you should hate him. kazutoras specialty has always been getting his way by changing the minds of others, though.

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, vague bullying, social isolation and social anxiety, dub-con, semi-public sex, soft sex but also rough sex (???), oral (receiving), marking/love bites, dirty talk, teasing, degradation, praise, way too much kissing, kazutora being a bit of a sadistat first, then he gets soft, then he's back to being a sadist, slightly delusional reader (they’re kinda into it even though kazutora ruined their life)

notes : at long last, it's finished and at 2:21 am 😭 GUYS I HAVE TO BE UP EARLY TOMORROW BUT SOMETHING OVERCAME ME AND I JUST HAD TO FINISH THIS TONIGHT IDK

i honestly don't know how i feel about it, but whatever. i hope you guys are able to enoy this because it was honestly a bitch to write 😭

you anxiously gripped the hem of your shirt as you walked down the halls of your school, eyes cast down to focus on anything other than the fact that you were surrounded by lots of other students. you avoided getting too close to any of them, opting more to stay closer to the wall while simultaneously shrinking into yourself to look as small and unnoticeable as possible.

you didn't have to look to know where you were going, so to keep your anxiety addled brain at bay, you kept your eyes on your feet. one in front of the other, one in front of the other. you just wanted to get to class as quickly as possible and preferably without any sort of incident today.

as much as you had hoped and willed the whims of fate, every single day at that, nothing every favored you or what you wanted.

you bit your lip and turned your head to the side as you rounded a corner, bumping into someone as you did. all of the books and papers fell to the floor along with you, regrettably scattering everywhere. you whined weakly as tears welled in your eyes at the pain that shot throughout your body.

your lip quivers as you brace yourself with your hands, looking up at the person you'd run into—a boy, someone you weren't familiar with, though. he looked you over with a countenance of disgust before quickly turning to walk away, biting harshly to 'watch where the fuck you're going'.

you sighed, leaning over to collect your fallen things. your body shook as you moved around on the, still weakened from the impact of falling.

nobody stopped to help you—nobody even acknowledged you, for that matter. not that you expected anyone to, because ever since kazutora spread rumors about you nobody wanted anything to do with you. not even takemichi, who was usually so sweet to you. it was pathetic, really, how easily your life had come to ruin over one little mistake you made: underestimating how serious kazutora's threats were.

you were well aware he hated you from the moment the two of you met, he made that very clear, but you never knew how deeply that hatred was rooted. you didn’t know he was being serious when he told you to stay away from tekemichi, and now you’re here, very much aware, but it's far too late for it to even matter anymore. your reputation was trampled and ruined so effortlessly that nobody dared to associate themselves with you anymore—except for kazutora, who was the one person you actually wanted to leave you alone.

"hey!" a gruff voice called from behind you, and you tensed, eyes widening as you picked up your things faster. you could only hope that the voice wasn't calling for you as you stood up and practically ran down the hall, no longer caring about the pain or if you drew unnecessary attention to yourself. at this point, anything was better than whatever it was that kazutora wanted, because no matter what, it probably wasn’t good for you.

you gasped and once again all your things dropped to the floor as you were suddenly grabbed and shoved against a wall. you grimaced, looking away and sliding down to the floor as a pained sob escaped your lips. kazutora glared harshly down at you as he put his arms on either side of you, caging you in and blocking any chance you had at escaping--which would have been futile even if you did attempt to run again.

kazutora huffed at the sight before him, mocking you as you practically shivered in fear. nothing brought him more satisfaction than seeing you like this—completely helpless and at his mercy. he liked that panicked look in your eyes whenever you saw him, and he liked the way you anxiously shied away from him whenever he was close. it made him feel so powerful and superior.

kazutora doesn’t know why he liked it so much, because he’s never enjoyed this kind of thing outside of his delinquency, but the way you reacted to him drew him in and made him yearn to control you in every way. it was exhilarating, really.

"why the hell were you running away from me, y/n? i know you heard me calling." you flinched, falling further down the wall as a sob escaped your lips again. you wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, scratching your nails into your clothes as kazutora held your waist and gripped your chin.

he was close, far too close for your liking—though any distance from him wasn’t far enough for you, because no matter what, kazutora would always find you. it was like he had a leash wrapped around your neck, suffocating and inescapable. your many futile attempts to get away were pitiful and laughable at this point.

"fucking answer me, y/n." kazutora growled out slowly, his grip on your waist growing tighter with each second you remained silent. kazutora isn't a very patient man as it is, but whenever it came to you, he seemed all too pushy and demanding more than usual.

“i–i," you stutter pitifully, lip quivering as kazutora draws his face closer. "class–it… it starts soon." you spit out an excuse that you knew kazutora wouldn’t care for, but it was better than not saying anything.

he hums, grip loosening as he nods his head slowly. you almost sigh in relief, but you know better than to expect things to go off so simply. kazutora doesn’t care about class, or you getting there on time—your attendance records were proof enough of that. there had to be a catch of some sort, it was just a matter of figuring out what it was.

"you make a fair point, y/n. but you can't go to class looking like this…" he trails off, leaning back to rake his eyes steadily over your body. you wore a cute little skirt that came up to about mid thigh paired with a plain white shirt and light brown sweater vest on top. kazutora was more interested in the white knee high socks you were wearing, though. it made the outfit much more alluring, and dare he even say slutty.

kazutora grazed the soft skin of your exposed thigh with his finger tips while using his other hand to pull you closer by the waist. a little whimper escaped your mouth, and kazutora smirked as he saw how flustered you were getting.

kazutora’s never really touched you like this before, but he knew you were incredibly reactive to him anyway—always making small noises and gestures that were very telling of how you were feeling. he's always wondered how far he could take those reactions, and now he been given the opportunity to explore it thoroughly.

"kazutora, sto–mmh–stop." you choke out as you try to suppress the noises that threaten to spill from your lips. using one hand, kazutora pins your wrists to the wall while the other continues to feel you up. you can’t do anything as his cold fingers trace your skin salaciously with a certain slowness that makes you shiver under his touch.

"y/n… '' kazutora calls your name teasingly. "you’re dressed so slutty, you know? how can you expect me to control myself?" the question was met with watering eyes and a small whimper. for the first time since kazutora had ruined your life, you dared to look him in the eyes. it caught him off guard; his movements pausing and breath catching in his throat as he stared into your teary eyes—kazutora was pretty damn sure he might’ve just fallen in love again.

you were so fucking pretty. everything about you was just so captivating and attractive.

small noises escaped your lips as you wordlessly pleaded with him, but it was clear to kazutora that you weren’t exactly sure what it was you were pleading for.

he smirked, releasing your hands only to pick you up entirely to walk somewhere that you can only assume nobody will find you. you wrap your arms around him hesitantly, sniffling and biting your lip as you rest your chin on his shoulder. his grip tightened ever so slightly as you began to relax in his arms. you don’t know what’s happening, but honestly you don’t have the strength to question kazutora right now.

it didn’t take kazutora long to get to his destination, which you figured out was the gym supply closet after he sits you down on one of the cold mats.

a weird feeling in your stomach made you shiver as you shyly grabbed the hem of your shirt. kazutora spread your legs, shoving his larger body in between them while placing his hands on either side of you again. he was close, still too close for your comfort, but you weirdly felt okay with it now—the intention was different, now more of a hungry lust rather than aggression.

you flinched when you felt a hand press against your cheek and then a few seconds later a muffled gasp left your mouth when you felt soft lips press against yours. you place both your hands on kazutoras chest, not to push him away per se, but to ease the pressure of his lips against yours that were all too hungry and consuming.

you don't pull away either, despite being a little but confused and definitely scared. instead you allow kazutora to lead the kiss while you hesitantly following along—tried to at least, because you were sloppy with it. kazutora doesn’t seem to mind though since he doesn’t pull away and complain like you expected him to.

and inkling of doubt and worry slowly consume you as the kiss drags on, because this could full well just be another one of kazutora’s sick jokes. yet, there was a part of you, the part that kept you from thrashing and demanding to be let go, that wanted to believe that wasn't the case.

kazutora finally pulls away when your rhythm begins to slow and your body grows limp. soft little pants fill the room as you try to catch your breath, still holding tightly onto kazutora’s shirt that you ended up grabbing in the midst of the kiss. kazutora admires the look on your face in the meantime, all flushed and dazed like you’d just taken some sort of addictive drug that gives you a pleasure high. kazutora likes that thought—you being addicted to his kisses.

after a few minutes, kazutora pushes you down flat on the mat and crawls on top of your body. bracing both arms on either side of your head, and his knee between your legs, kazutora traps you beneath him. smirking as he leans down, kazutora revels in the sound of your whimper.

"you look so lewd, y/n. is this what you wanted, hm? for me to fuck you senseless for being a little slut in that outfit you've got on?" kazutora whispers against your neck, the warmth of his breath on your skin causing you to squirm. you turn your head away, embarrassed by his words.

"yeah, that's definitely what you wanted. you were practically begging me to fuck you with your pretty eyes earlier." kazutora licked the shell of your ear, nibbling gently at the top, dragging an airy gasp from your lips.

"no–mhph, please!" salty tears begin to steadily drip down your cheeks and between your parted lips, causing you to choke on your pleas. kazutora grabs your face and tilts your head so that he can lick away your tears.

"shh, you’re such a good girl, so pretty for me." he whispers as he starts rubbing your thighs again. he goes slow, more focused on intently watching you—the way you struggle to catch your breath and how your body continues to shiver ever so slightly as he drags his fingers along your skin lightly. every small noise that leaves your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by kazutora, and neither do any of your cute expressions. he takes them all in and commits them to memory, no doubt to think of when he jacks off when he's at home later.

“just wanna touch you a bit and make you feel good,” he whispers between licks and kisses to your tear stained cheeks.

you feel as kazutora trails his fingers over your body, spending extra time in the areas that make you gasp and whine. your body is all hot and all tingly, practically pulsating with pleasure as you squirm in anticipation of where he’ll touch you next. maybe your neck, where you’re most sensitive, or your thighs that were mushed against kazutoras leg in a desperate attempt to keep your wetness at bay. and while you would enjoy him touching you in those areas, you really hoped it would be in the place that you ached most for him, which was the one place he seemed to avoid.

your breath grows quick and ragged as kazutora drags his finger slowly between your breasts and down your tummy, continuing until he reaches the hem of your skirt where he stops to flick it up and reveal your already soaked underwear. an airy moan-like gasp leaves your lips when he suddenly presses his thumb onto your fluttering cunt.

“that’s right, little baby. you like that, don’t you?” he coos, tracing your bud teasingly a few times before rubbing it with a little more force. you close your eyes and nod curtly with a groan, much more focused on the way his thumb teases your pussy in all the right ways.

kazutora huffs at your reaction and pulls his fingers away, which draws a needy whine from you at the loss of contact. he shuts you up with another kiss, one that lasts only a few seconds as he's pulling away to kiss your cheek, then along your jaw and down to your neck where he sucks lightly in a few places.

he licks, sucks and kisses down the rest of your body, only stopping to take off your sweater vest and undershirt before he leans back down with desperation to kiss you more. he bites teasingly on your collarbone and licks his way down from your chest to your left breast that he latches onto easily. he sucks softly as he swirls his warm tongue around the bud, coaxing another sweet moan out of you, along with the many more to follow. you thread your fingers through his hair and tug on it gently whenever you jolt in pleasure.

kazutora pops off your nipple, licking it one last time, then he tilts his head and settles his mouth on the neglected one, intent on giving it the same attention. you begin to pant softly, hot and bothered by kazutoras stimulation. he suddenly bites your bud and tugs on it for just a second, causing you to arch your back and wrap your legs tightly around kazutoras waist. your wet cunt brushes against kazutoras hard cock, and he groans against your tit.

"mmh– ka–kazutora!" you moan, and you can feel as he smirks against your skin with a huff. he then pulls away, to which you whine, but he shuts you up with a kiss for the second time.

your tongues swirl together and drool seeps from both of your mouths. kazutora was determined to learn each and every part you you and engrave it permanently into his memory. he wants to know exactly what makes you feel good, what tips you over the edge and makes you scream out as your body convulses with pleasure. he wants to make you feels so good that you a cry and pass out, and he'll do just that.

kazutora pulls away and admires the way your tong lolls out of your mouth as you lean up to chase his lips. he coos, grabbing your chin to tilt your head up so he can place his tongue against yours; you squirm and whine beneath him in response.

your breath hitches and you make a strained noise when kazutora's fingers trace down your thigh and between your leg to press against your aching pussy lightly. you're even more wet now, and it has kazutora cursing beneath his breath as he feels his cock throb uncomfortably. he ignores it in favor of putting a bit more pressure on your clit, watching the way you shutter as he then begins to rub on it just a little bit--not enough for you to feel satisfied, apparently, because you buck and wiggle your hips to create more friction.

kazutora hums and lets you try to please yourself, but a lazy smile graces his lips when you quickly grow restless from the lack of pleasure you were receiving in your pursuit. you huff and whine, flicking your big, watery eyes to kazutora to give him a pleading look, but he only continues to watch you pitifully chase the little pleasure you got from your movements.

"please," you eventually mutter out in a half whine.

"hm? what was that? you have to speak up, pretty," he says lowly, tilting his head. you huff and whine some more out of frustration and kazutora's smile stretches wider.

"please," you repeat, this time louder, "want you to touch me," you decidedly add.

kazutoras smile is now a full-blown smirk as he eagerly pulls your panties off of you, putting your pussy on full display to him. pretty and all slicked up, practically begging to be eaten like a full course fucking meal. he doesn't touch you yet, though. instead, he grabs both your wrists to pins above your head, while with the other hand he spreads your legs further and slides his body down yours until his face is right in line with your cunny.

the warmth of his breath against your sensitive clit makes you mewl in anticipation. you moan loudly into the air and throw your head back when kazutora finally—finally—licks a stripe from your seeping hole to your puffy clit. then he does it again, and again, and again until he's slurping sloppily as he laps up all of your slick desperately, like a man starved.

you cry, whine, moan, and sputter any possible noise that you can as he mercilessly eats you out, letting go of your wrists to wrap his arms around your legs and hold you against his mouth as you try to buck and ease the pressure his tongue puts on your pussy. he latches onto your clit after he's satisfied with drinking up your wetness, sucking on it gently and swirling his tongue over it every now and then. he's driving you crazy; it feels so good, so, so good, but you're greedy—you want more.

“ahah— mmh, kazu–kazutora” you moan his name so sweetly; there’s a high-pitched, whiney edge to it when you do that makes you sound utterly wreck—it drives kazutora mad with hazy lust—makes him hold you down against the mat more firmly as he presses his tongue so expertly against your clit, drawing from you more delicious moans of his name.

he smirks against you as you come easily undone, and his eyes flick up to catch your pretty eyes roll back as your mouth falls wide open, a broken, yet completely enthralling slew of noises fall from between your bruised lips as you orgasm. kazutora doesn’t pull away though, despite the way your grip on his hair has becomes unrelenting from the overstimulation being forced upon your poor, spent body; he only does when you sob weakly and begin to pant heavily.

kazutora releases your hips and pulls himself up so that he’s hovering above you. you look so fucking perfect like this—fucked out, from just his mouth, drool seeping from the corner of you parted lips.

“fuck, baby. you’re such a naughty girl, huh?” he asks, but you don’t respond. he doesn’t expect you to anyway considering the kind of state you’re in; it’s no wonder that all you can do is whine and tug on kazutoras shirt like a needy fucking slut. he leans down to kiss you softly, simply enjoying how pliant you are for him right now. you kiss him back messy and lazy, but it doesn’t matter. kazutora doesn’t mind doing all of the work for the both of you.

when he pulls away, you're practically asleep, lying limp on the mat, eyes fluttering between opened and closed as you breathe airily. kazutora won't allow you to slip away though, not until he's done fucking you senseless.

you gasp, yes widening as you quickly sit up after you feel something penetrate you. kazutora smirks as he works a finger into you slowly, tauntingly, watching your face carefully. he lets you catch your breath for a second before he pulls out and plunges his finger back in, and oh, you breathe so enchantingly as his long fingers reach deeply inside of you.

he keeps his eyes on you as he stuffs you with a second and then a third finger, watching intently as you gape your mouth and your eyes begin to water--it's too much, he gathers, but continues nonetheless. his fingers and mouth are nothing compared to his cock, so you'll have to get used to it.

kazutora only pulls his fingers out when your walls begin to tighten around him, indicating that you're close to another orgasm; he wants the next time you cum to be around his cock. kazutora pulls his fingers out and licks his fingers clean, to which you fluster over, before he takes off his clothes. he hisses as he grabs his painfully hard cock, stroking it a few measly times as he crawls back over you and aligns himself to your entrance. he slips in just the tip, and the moan that escapes your pretty mouth is just as sweet as the rest of them.

he hungrily leans down to swallow the rest of your moans that follow as he slides himself all the way in. you grab his shoulders with a jolt as the tears finally begin to slowly drip down your already tear stained face. kazutora holds your chin in place while he drags his tongue along your cheeks, drinking up every tear that spills from your pretty eyes like a man that's been dehydrated.

kazutoras base presses firmly against you at last, and with a strained groan, he pulls out and then pushes back in, this time with a little more force then before. you clench around him, mewling so innocently, unbeknownst to the amount of control kazutora has left--it's a miracle that he does have any left when you're sprawled out on full display for him, but if you keep making those noises and fluttering around him so generously, he may full well end up fucking you like a rabid animal, and that is not what he wants at all—not for your first time at least. 

trust him, he would more than love to hold you down and pound himself bruising into you until he's satisfied, but right now he just wants to hold you in his arms as he pleases you, take his time with it and make you feel loved. the threads of his patience are wearing, though.

you throw your heard back as kazutoras hips connect with yours, demanding and desperate, yet gentle in intention. every little movement he makes has you squirming in pleasure, eyes glassy, lips plump, and tongue lulled out of your mouth like a dumb cock-drunk whore. it's a sight that has kazutora shuddering and groaning lowly into your ear, which only does to make you more like putty in his hold. it feels so unbelievably good to have his body above you, caging you in as he fucks you steadily; it makes you want to cling onto him and beg for more, more, more, because you will never be able to get enough of it.

"fu—mmh—fuck, please! tora, tora i need it— need you," you babble on, writhing as that familiar coil in your stomach makes itself known. he smirks lazily above you, eyes hooded—there's a darkness to them now that wasn't there just a second ago, you note.

"hell, you sound like a proper whore, y/n. are you really that fucking cock hungry?" you choke on a moan at his words, but mostly due to the sharp thrust he does against your sopping cunt. you nod pathetically, slurring 'yes, yes,' even though his question was rhetorical. he snorts with a shake of his head as he leans down to nibble on your neck, no doubt leaving a mark, then he trails his nose up until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your ear.

"yeah, that's fuckin' right. who's making you feel this good?" he whispers and your thighs clench around his legs to keep even more slick from seeping onto them.

"you, you're," you say breathily, words slurred from the amount of overstimulation and pleasure you're feeling. a whine breaks from your lips when kazutora slows down and holds your wiggling hips in place.

"say my fuckin' name, call me tora or i won't let you cum, pretty baby," he growls, biting your neck in warning.

"you're makin' me feel so—hah—so good, tora," you choke on a weird moan-like sob when he shifts, sending a jolt through your body. "please, tora, don't stop. want you to make me cum," you finish, and he curses lowly into your neck. you sigh in content when he begins to thrust again. there's a little more force than before, but it drives you mad as your body pulsates with heat every time he drags his cock out and then straight back in.

"don't you ever fucking forget it," he mouths, almost high-pitched and whiney, "'m the only one that can fuck you like this, understand? you belong to me."

one of the hands on your hips comes to cup your clit, just for a second and then two of his fingers are rubbing on it at a pace that has you convulsing and crying in pleasure as you orgasm a second time. you call his name over and over again, once for every thrust that meets your hips, and you tug on his shoulders to bring him impossibly closer to your body.

kazutora curses and quickly pulls out of you before he cums, the warm liquid splattering on your heaving tummy, and he collapses on top of you, the both of you panting hotly as you come down from your pleasure highs.

© 2023 by kolyasobsession━all rights reserved. plagiarism is strictly prohibited. comments, likes, and reblog are highly appreciated.

[mrscakeishere]

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Beta Reviews!

“I just passed the sausages!”

“Omg it really was chipboard!”

“I can't believe you. I just can't.”

Polycakes (me and Polychrome, aka @polychromicron-persei-8) here, proudly hurling the first fanfic grenade in the @goodomensafterdark Smut War with The Long Road To Meatballs (rated Explicit, 4786 words).

Summary and excerpt below!

NSFW CW: light BDSM, butt plugs, oral sex, penis inflation (not in excerpt but on AO3)

The Long Road to Meatballs

After an unfortunate miscommunication regarding the lack of spice in their lives, Aziraphale and Crowley seek out IKEA’s new intimate playroom products for the South Downs cottage. When their purchase—and all 279+ parts—proves too difficult to assemble, Aziraphale and Crowley take matters into their own hands (literally). It's the IKEA comedy smut you never knew you wanted but can't live without.

IKEA had evolved a great deal over the decades, as had Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. The Swedish furniture and furnishings company—in a debatably misguided and belated attempt to be a part of the sex-positivity movement—had developed designs for one’s personal intimate playroom, including the TRÄLDOM, BOTÖVNING, and FLATHET series. In addition, the Swedish designers had managed to produce products for each line that incorporated a not insignificant amount of chipboard.[1] This was quite a feat considering that most of the products listed should have been predominantly made of metal, leather, silicone, latex, or fur.[2]

As for Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship, it had evolved out of a 6000-year drama defined by mutual pining and pegged in by supernatural bureaucracy, into a satisfying pairing filled with safety, stability, and sex. Lovemaking had been glorious and intoxicating, and while it rarely verged into territory that could be considered truly “hedonistic,” both parties were quietly content in their newfound domesticity. But as we both know, dear reader, few things last forever.

And so it was on a mild Tuesday afternoon in the South Downs when an unfortunate exchange concerning Crowley’s cooking planted a seed of doubt in the demon's mind as to whether his angel was truly sexually satisfied.

[1] Note for Americans and other aliens: chipboard is the British term for particle board or low-density fibreboard. Regardless of the term, it is an unsuitable material for any type of sexual activity as it has the ability to absorb moisture like a sponge.

[2] This had led to IKEA ending up in litigation for five years over several regrettable incidents that had occurred with their compressed wooden dildo.

Continue reading on AO3 for Crowley and Aziraphale miscommunications, sex swing assembly complications, witty banter, dowels, sausage jokes, and some first-time sexual experiments: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52376542

Image by Polychrome.

[draelyan]

Aypierre's letter to Etoiles

Dear Etoiles,

I'm taking a moment to express my deep gratitude for the incredible journey that we have undertaken together in the world of adventure and exploration. Your courage, honor and rich culture have enriched my experience invaluably, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Since the start of our partnership, I have constantly been impressed by your fearlessness and your determination to push back the limits.

Your ability to face challenges with remarkable grace and resolution has been a source of inspiration for me many times.

Your honor and integrity are rare and precious qualities that I respect deeply. your commitment to our shared ideals and your willingness to always act with righteousness have strengthened our bond and contributed to forging an unshakeable trust between us.

Your culture, rich in tradition and in ancestral knowledge, has broadened my horizons and allowed me to see the world in a new and fascinating angle. Your tales and teachings have lit my way many times and made my journey even more memorable and significant.

However, I must also express my regrets for the Badlion incident. I recognize and deeply regret my actions of that day, and want to present my most sincere apologies. My behavior was unacceptable and in no way reflects the deep respect and admiration I have for you as a partner and as a person.

Despite this regrettable episode, I am convinced that our partnership will continue to prosper and grow, as I am admirative of your strength, wisdom and unshakeable ethics. I am honored to be able to walk at your side on this epic adventure, and I am impatient to see what the future has in hold for us.

With all my gratitude and respect,

Aypierre

(For anyone curious about the Badlion incident, Badlion is a PvP Minecraft server that Aypierre and Etoiles used to play on. Etoiles would always win when they fought, and one night after losing multiple times Aypierre turned on his autoclicker and managed to win. He was then promptly permanently banned from the server for cheating.)