#SO WHEN I WATCHED THIS. I DIED ON THE INSIDE

[biggrimace]

A Wedding | Fred Weasley

Summary: It is the day of Fleur and Bill's wedding, and you can't help but imagine your own wedding day, feeling impatient for it to come. Unbeknownst to you, Fred feels the same way.

Warnings: Nothing really, just really sweet and fluffy

Word Count: 1441

—

It was a perfect day for a wedding. The sun was bright, the sky was clear, and the Weasley house was buzzing with excitement for the later events of the day. Although the house was filled with chaos, an underlying calm could be felt, as if all was forgotten about the coming war and recent losses. It was as if time had stopped, and joy had filled the world once more. You stood in the kitchen watching the men raise the tent where the wedding would be held on the lawn, smiling at the back of the man you loved who was laughing and joking with his family. You twirled the newly acquired piece of gold that wrapped around your finger, a gorgeous Dutch marquise diamond sitting in the Center. Thoughts of your own coming nuptials overtook your mind, a mix of excitement and anticipation clouding your thoughts as you watched Fred set up for the wedding.

Yn?- oh good, there you are.

You turned to the sweet shrill of Molly Weasley's voice entering the kitchen accompanied by her hurried steps.

Have you seen Fleur's bouquet? She said she asked you to fetch it?

Molly asked with a hint of frustrated anxiety. You gasped softly and turned back to the window you were daydreaming out of only moments ago. There, in a simple vase, sat the beautiful bouquet of lilies and roses, which had been enchanted with the blue butterflies of the Veela witches fluttering around it.

Oh, Merlin. I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I must’ve gotten distracted.

Your response was scattered as you quickly grabbed the bouquet. You hurried past Molly, who sighed, relieved, and up the stairs to Bill's old room to deliver the flowers. The sight of Fleur was breathtaking; you and her were quick to form a bond when Bill introduced her to the family. One that comes from the shared experience of unintentional harsh judgement from the Weasley matriarch.

You’re stunning Fleur…

You swooned as you entered the room and handed her the flowers. She smiled brightly, relief also showing in her eyes from finally having her bouquet.

Thank you, Yn. You look beautiful as well.

Both of your eyes shone with tears as you smiled and pulled each other into a gentle hug.

Are you ready?

You pulled back, holding onto her hand and shaking it with a tight, excited squeeze. Her nod was quick but there was a moment of hesitation that did not go unnoticed by you. You tilted your head and cocked your brow with a silent question.

It’s nothing… just… what if he suddenly changes his mind? You, more than anyone, know how Mrs Weasley feels about our marriage.

She said, wiping a tear from under her eye and turning her gaze to her bouquet.

The sharp sound of a tsk escaped your lips, and you rolled your eyes.

He would never. He loves you, Fleur, no matter what his mother thinks. I think he made that pretty clear.

A laugh erupted from you both at the memory of the less-than-perfect engagement announcement that took place a few months ago. Which resulted in quite the argument between her fiancé and his mother prompting you to ask Fred and George for some distraction to break it up. Long story short, Molly had become so angry with the twins for their prank that her son’s engagement was long forgotten. Your laughs died down, and a beat of silence filled the air as you smiled at one another.

He loves you, Fleur… you’re getting married today!

An excited squeal leaks from your throat, and Fleur joins in.

Thank you, yn.

You hug each other once more before a knock is heard at the door. You call for the person to come in, separating from Fleur and watching as Hermione peaks inside.

It’s time.

She calls cheerily. You and Fleur give one last glance to each other before heading down the stairs, her first and you following behind, being careful of the dress train that is bundled in your hands to ensure she doesn’t fall.

—

You sat comfortably beside Fred during the ceremony. Your legs were crossed toward him, and his hand rested on your thigh. Your arm rested looped with his, and a gentle smile lay on both of your lips. Fred had been thinking about you all day. Preparing for this wedding had only fueled his desire to be married to you. He knew from the first day he met you that he loved you, and although some thought you got engaged too young, he just did not want to live his life without you as his wife any longer. The coming war was another reason for the prompt engagement. The thought of losing you terrified him. Not only that, but the thought of you losing him without knowing just how much he loved you broke his heart. You agreed to marry after Bill and Fleur, but as he sat there, watching his brother and Fleur smiling at each other at the altar, a wicked idea crossed his mind. He turned to you, smiling with adoration at your glowing appearance and gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. Your attention was successfully drawn from the altar to him, and you met his eyes just as the minister announced it was time for the couple to exchange vows.

Please repeat after me...

The minister instructed Bill. Fred just continued to stare into your eyes as the minister spoke the vows for the groom to repeat. Your brows furrowed in confusion at the extended stare you were receiving from him. You could faintly hear the priest in the background, then just as Bill began to speak, Fred gently whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

I, Fred Weasley...

He started after gently clearing his throat, his eyes shining with mischievous happiness. You only continued to stare up in confusion at him.

Take you, yn ln, to be my wife...

Realization washed over you at what he was doing. He was marrying you. It may not be your wedding or an official ceremony, but at this moment, you and Fred were getting married. Your eyes began to mist, and your expression shifted from confusion to love. The voices of Bill and the minister suddenly became muffled as all you could focus on was Fred's gentle voice.

To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.

He finished, his whispered voice cracking and a broad beaming smile spread on his face. You took a moment to compose yourself, gently wiping a fallen tear from your cheek, then met his eyes again as you heard Fleur begin to speak.

I, yn ln...

Fred began to tear up now, squeezing your leg even tighter, shifting in his seat slightly so that his full attention was on you as he fought to hold back tears.

Take you, Fred Weasley, to be my husband... To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.

You finished smiling wide. A stray tear escaped Fred's eye as he looked at you, his wife. The love he felt was indescribable, and the happiness was overwhelming. You matched his smile, squeezing his bicep affectionately.

Really?

He asked, making you chuckle softly. This man couldn't believe that this was happening, that he got so lucky.

Yes, Really.

You reassured him.

By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife!

The minister proudly proclaimed. Cheers from the wedding guests erupted throughout the tent, but you and Free paid no mind to it, wrapped too tightly into your own little world.

You may now kiss your bride!

The crowd stood as the Bill dripped Fleur into a loving kiss. You and Fred remained seated, and Fred was quick to react to those words, placing one of his hands on the back of your head and pulling you into a passionate kiss. Your lips moved in sync as the crowd around you cheered and celebrated, the two of you going completely unnoticed. After a long beat, Fred pulled away, staying close and looking deep into your eyes with the goofiest love-sicken smile. You were sure that yours matched.

I love you, Mrs. Weasley.

He declared quietly, in keeping with the private moment you just shared.

I love you too, Mr. Weasley.

You responded with a tear-filled giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. The two of you relishing in each other as man and wife.

—

For more fics: biggrimace

[blushingdread]

Knowing how the construct and Princess works makes playing the game a fun game of trying to figure out which voice did what to do this

The Razor route becomes even funnier because you're just watching Cheated stack the deck against himself. Like congratulations, you played yourself

Skeptic gets your ass trapped by fucking with the chain on the other side of Prisoner, which was ment to hold her other hand aka the Long Quiet, and THEN he gets you OUT by nitpicking about how the cabin should be changing if time is passing plus not thinking about how our not starving doesnt make sense!! Task failed successfully!!!

Cold is competely unintentionally fighting a one man war to keep the Princess as powerless as possible. All of Cold's Princesses are dead, except for Fury and Stencil. Stencil flicking between alive and dead, which is likely because of Opportunist's and Hero's thoughts being stronger than his, because in Wraith, she just stays dead. In Fury, he comes in late, and Stubbron already doesn't think she can die, so he doesnt effect her much. Cold's insistence that she's dead and easy to kill is at war with Hero's fear of ghosts and the Narrators insistence that she's alive. It's so funny when you realize that he's doing that

I always felt that Adversary!Fury was kinda overreacting. She seemed more disappointed in you. It felt really strange when she went full endless torture when thats kinda out of left field, but she makes so much more sense from Stubborn's pov!! He's the one that's supremely fucked up about the situation, he's the one yelling at Cold for his fucking audacity, he's the one who sees her in a new light after she beats you to death without a weapon when she just seemed scared and wanted to mercy kill you. Stubbon did that!!

Most princesses have a version of themselves but more. Needle to Adversary, Caged to Prisoner, Clarity to Nightmare, Den to Beast, Apotheosis to Tower, Razor, and I would say Wraith to Specter, and that's probably because the first voice you got thoughts were confirmed but now there's a second voice adding details. It's literally just confirmation bias, that's all that's happening here. Its really funny

Anyways i gotta ask what the fuck was going on in Hunted's and Opportunist's heads to make Wild? Like, I assume Hunted was thinking about when Beast dies, they'll return to nature together as one. Creating "We are a path in the woods,", but what the FUCK was oppy thinking to lead to this. Let me inside of your brain freak

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Cuddle Time with a Human Stuffed Toy *Drabble* (Fem!Yandere x Fem!Reader)

CW: Drugging, abduction

Ava opened the front door tiredly, practically collapsing the second she entered her apartment. Shoulders sagging and purse loudly hitting the hardwood floor; her professional personality died entirely. Black heels were kicked off to the side with little regard.

She opened the fridge with one hand for a beer while releasing her long dark hair from her painfully tight bun with the other. On a normal day, the mid thirty year old woman would have showered as soon as she got home, but after a long, hellish day of getting screamed at by her disgusting pig-shit boss for things out of her control, she couldn't be bothered to even unbutton her blazer, let alone her button down. She did allow her pencil skirt to slip off her hips, exposing her tights-clad legs, leaving her bottoms in the kitchen.

Although Ava tried to step quietly, she could hear her the soft rattle of chains from her bedroom. She smiled. It had been such an awful day, and all she could think about was coming home to cuddle her stuffed animals in bed.

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Growing up, she always had to be "mature". Ava was the child who was told "Oh, you're so mature for your age!" and told she was "too old" for childish things. But she hated it, and worse, she envied the little girls who openly received comfort and carried around adorable things. She wanted those 'adorable things'..

When she was in college, she was invited to go shopping with a bunch of women in her class, and she saw the sweetest things for sale. Ava knew toy stores existed, but she had never been inside one. Teddy bears were very squishy. But there was something behind the counter she wanted even more.

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ava unlocked her bedroom door and entered the pink, soft paradise. Stuffed toys of all types nearly filled every surface, to the point that it was getting difficult to walk. There were animals of all sizes on the bed, on shelves, in overflowing chests, even hanging from the ceiling in hammocks.

Chains rattled from the woman on the bed, skin clamy and sweaty from being trapped with a bunch of stuffed animals. (Reader's) eyes flickered, desperately trying to wake themselves up.

"Mmm.."

Ava pulled a bag out from the nightstand next to the bed. "Ah, ah, ah. Teddy bears don't speak." She pulled a needle out, and like many times before, gently laid out (Reader's) arm to find her vein. The confused woman couldn't feel the prick, but she definitely felt numbing sensation return.

The black haired woman smiled, then crawled over (Reader), pulling her into her chest and kissing the clip on teddy ears.

Her favorite stuffed toy.

‐---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you finding everything okay?"

Ava's dark brown eyes opened wide enough to see the whites above and below her irises. The cute cashier who had been watching her from behind the counter was wearing bear ears the same color as her hair.

"Uh.." The young woman realized she had been death gripping a dolly. "I was just looking!"

"Okie dokie!" The teddy bear woman smiled wide, unfazed. "Let me know if you need anything!"

Ava felt her heart skip a beat, and the urge she had the squish every toy she saw inside the store, she experienced for the woman in front of her.

[association-of-ideas]

The Batfam as Things I Do/Have Done

Bruce: read a bunch of child psychology books in 4th grade because I was having a hard time making friends

Dick: cried so hard while watching a Christmas episode of The Suite Life on Deck because it was implied that Mr. Mosby (Moseby?) dies in future, and my grandma gave me an Airhead to calm down, which I hid inside my ladybug Pillow Pet for later

Barbara: physically incapable of tossing anyone anything because either a) my aim is shit and I miss by a mile, or b) I hit them square in face/head without even trying

Jason: made little dungeons Lovely Bones-style every time I played Minecraft with my little sister, and every time, I would lock her in one of the cells and take away her ability to pull levers so she couldn't get out

Cass: ate all burgers in layers for the first thirteen-ish years of my life and refused to do it any other way when confronted (top bun, toppings, bottom bun, patty, etc.)

Tim: schedules monthly crying sessions to cover all of the Bad Feelings™ for the month in one go because it is Efficient

Damian: lightly stabbed a friend in middle school multiple times with a plastic spork because she kept calling almond milk "nut juice"

Duke: trying to make myself immune to my lactose intolerance by absolutely destroying my digestive system with dairy on the off chance that it works

Steph: had the police called because I fell asleep at the bottom of my toybox and fell asleep, and my mom couldn't find me. My snoring was what finally gave me away

Alfred: I need to wash my hands/use hand sanitizer every day before I eat and the one time I couldn't remember if I'd done that before eating a carrot, I almost started crying (I was 17 at the time)

[beetlesau]

Its Light Still Shines

Chapter 2 - 1.2k

(Chapter 1 here)

haters will say Shadow wasn't even in this chapter. sorry

The grass beneath me is soft. I've never felt anything like it in all my memories. I smell the earth, fresh and beautiful.

I don't know where I teleported away to.

An old abandoned cabin sits before me, and a running stream-turned-river sits not far from it. I can hear its flowing water and the small fish that splash its surface now and then. Morning is breaking just over the horizon, and pink and orange paint the sky as I approach the worn building.

"Hello?" I call out, but no one has been here in a long, long time.

I knocked on the door before opening it in case someone or something was waiting inside. I didn't expect how sturdy and tough the door would be. The outside looked like old wooden logs but resonated like a metal crate. When my knuckles made contact, a small, pin-sized light met my gaze and scanned my retina.

"Welcome, Experiment L2S-03xx. to SafeZone 12." A static voice chimed in the door, which swung open automatically. Dust and dirt accumulated around the crevasses, which were knocked loose and found their way to my throat. I coughed, covering my face, and tried to disperse the debris with my free hand.

I entered, and to my surprise, I found it looked like a cozy cabin you'd book for a vacation. It was an open floor concept, with a bed on the far left wall, a bathroom ahead of me, a kitchen, and a small dinette to the right. The decor was simple and a bit antique. A frilly duvet on the bed caught my gaze. I rolled my eyes when I realized I could even recognize such small details about something I'd never seen in my real life before—sudden thoughts of watching interior decorating on TV flashed in my mind's eye.

I groaned. I had other problems besides the clashing curtains in the dinette not matching the plates stacked on the shelves above the sink. Namely what the AI system called me.

"L2S? What? What was it you called me?" I asked aloud.

"That is your experiment identification code," it stated as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"Where am I?"

"This is isolated SafeZone 12 erected by Professor Robotnik, Gerald."

"When was this last time he was here?"

"57 years, 8 months, 21 days. Would you like the question answered to the nearest second?"

"No! No, thank you. Do I have a name?"

"You were not assigned a name, only your experiment identification code."

"What is Shadows experiment code or whatever, then?"

"S2L-02xy - or Project Shadow."

I removed my jacket, shuffled over to the bed, and plopped onto the surprisingly soft mattress, caressing little angels into the plush comforter. "Bummer. How come he got a name, and I didn't?" I was speaking to myself now, but the system took it upon itself to answer anyway.  

"Records indicate you were an preliminary project that was not completed under the supervision of the Professor."

"Yeah, yeah. So what is my purpose?"

"Error. Purpose Obsolete."

"Ouch okay, what was my purpose?"

"You are a culmination of the residuals left over from Project Shadow, chaos emeralds, and the restructured DNA of the deceased Maria Robotnik. Your purpose was to serve as replacement parts for an incurable disease within Maria Robotnik. However, key parts of the experiment did not occur due to the ARK's destruction. Your consciousness was triggered and stages of your development were altered by the government organization known as GUN."

"You're kidding me."

"I do not understand; please rephrase."

I wept quietly to myself.

I was never meant to awaken. My purpose was never as divided from Maria as Shadow. If GUN hadn't intervened, there would be no me.

But then Maria may still be alive otherwise.

Did I even deserve to be alive instead?

I pulled one of the pillows close and buried my face into it.

All these memories of her kindness. Her beauty. I have them because she died.

It's too much for me.

I screw my eyes shut, hoping I can lock my tears away, but I can't. They come and soak through everything. The pounding in my head kicks up again. Before long, I cried myself to sleep at the thought of her and all she was. All that I can only hope to be for myself.

Being in stasis and actually sleeping are worlds apart. When I wake, my mind settles, and I better regulate my emotions. It's once again dark outside, and in the night, I see a flashing light coming from the dinette table. I pull myself up, groggy, and shuffle over to check it out.

"What is this?" I ask the system.

"There is an electronic pulse similar to that of the Professor's work in a quadrant of Japan that has recently appeared. Would you like to take a look?"

"Show me." Anything to do with the Professor now could only mean something involving Shadow.

The system flashes, and a small hologram feed floats just at eye level. It shows security footage of a pier in Japan, likely hacked into by Robotniks tech, which is still advanced all these years later. My skin prickles as I watch an immense mechanical crab surface from the water.

I've seen this before, but Shadow isn't there. Not yet. He's going to find the Professor, not the Doctor.

"Can you keep tabs on that crab from here?"

"I can mark it as an object of interest, of course. Would you like to be notified when it relocates?"

"Oh. Uh, I don't plan on staying here much longer, I'm leaving once I figure out where Shadow is."

"I have an electronic bracer in the refrigerator that can be used as a notification hub when you're away from SafeZone 12."

"The refrigerator?"

"It is the red box behind you and to your left, it typically holds items to keep them cool and fresher for longer than if they were left out at room tem--"

Okay! Thank you, that's not really what I meant when I-- you know what? Nevermind. Thank you. I'll be sure to grab that before I go."

"You are welcome, L2S-03xx."

"Could you call me something else?" I grumbled.

"I can reassign your name, yes. What would you prefer?"

I took a moment to think it over. I wasn't stuck to one thing. I could change my name as much as I wanted; it wasn't like I had one. And I wasn't really Maria; keeping hers didn't feel right. Though I could, as an homage. I didn't think this would be that hard, but a name might be a big deal.

"I don't actually know... I guess I should just shorten my experiment name for now. Call me L. I'm sure I can come up with something better later. Maybe." If I couldn't stop Shadow from what was to come, it wouldn't matter if I'd had a name.

I felt drained all over again. Although I've been alone all this time, I was never lonely—not when they occupied my mind. But now I felt the weight of things.

I'd never had Shadow. I was nothing to him, but I would fight for him.

I couldn't be his Maria; I must be something else. I would reach him.

"Its Light still shines."

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. (Part 5/5) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 🛑 Warnings: Oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v, dirty talk, cum 18+ 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations at the end of the story. 🖤 Taglist: In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here!  🖤 MASTERLIST

DAY FIVE — CHRISTMAS DAY

You stretched—the kind of stretch one takes after a satisfying evening followed by much needed restful sleep—smile slowly creeping across your lips. Still half-asleep, you rolled over, attracted to warmth and comfort, and you felt a rather large hand slide from where it had been resting on your belly to your side as you moved into the new position. Your head rested on a firm bicep, and you smelled deodorant and the aroma of Damian, and you remembered what he’d done for you the night before, triggering your need to again be as close as possible to him.

“You gonna sleep all day, sweetheart?” Damian softly asked. You nodded, eyes closed, and Damian’s smile widened. His thumb caressed near the bottom of your ribs. “But it’s Christmas.”

He meant well, you knew that, but as you’d fallen asleep on Christmas Eve, after Damian had made you cum with his fingers, you’d considered the holiday. It didn’t mean much to you, if anything. You weren’t looking forward to spending time with family and friends because you couldn’t remember any of them, you felt no excitement to open presents or watch Damian open his because you didn’t know if any of them would bear any meaning for you. 

“Bah-humbug,” you rasped, pressing your face into Damian’s warm chest. His chuckle rumbled against you as his hand slowly slid from your side to your back. Now you most certainly did not want to get out of bed. Maybe you could convince him to use his fingers ag—

“Grumble, grumble, complain,” he growled, teasing you, and you smiled, nuzzling your forehead into a faded tattoo. “Come on.” He tenderly patted your back. “I think Santa came last night.”

“That makes two of us,” you mumbled.

One of your eyes popped open as Damian guffawed, untangling himself from you, rolling over, and he sat up, tossing his legs over the side of the bed. He’d donned a pair of red boxer briefs sprinkled with tiny Christmas trees on them before he’d fallen asleep last night, and you snickered as you watched him stand. The giggle died on your lips, though, when he stretched, every toned muscle rippling throughout his perfect body, tattoos dancing, and you thought again about asking, or at least implying, that the two of you stay in bed and make out, and oh, by the way, would you wanna—

“You were a very good girl this year, mi vida,” Damian said, pulling on a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts he’d hung over the back of a decorative chair the night before. He turned back to you and placed his fists on the bed beside you, the mattress sinking as he leaned closer to you. “I think you really wanna see what Santa brought you.”

Sighing, you tossed the covers aside and sat up yourself, realizing Damian wasn’t going to let you stay in bed any longer. Standing, you waited—watching closely—as Damian pulled his unruly hair into a high bun before he turned to you and extended his hand. You looked at his hand, imagining that middle finger pumping inside you and the thumb on your clit, and you had an inclination to just jump on his hand and see if his fingers landed inside you, but reason prevailed, and you were able to stop yourself just short of liftoff. Instead, you placed your tiny hand within his, his fingers wrapping around yours, and his smile was so sweet and happy and utterly contagious.

Damian led you downstairs to the living room, kissing the back of your hand before instructing you to take a seat on the plush couch. So many colorful and glittering gifts were under the tree, and you were relieved when Damian only grabbed a few—the rest of the gifts were for various family and friends. As nervous as you were to open the presents from Damian—what if the old you would have liked what he got you, but the new you didn’t?—you were even more nervous you might have to be present to distribute those gifts to people you didn’t know. Setting three boxes at your feet, he set the same amount at his, and you assumed the number had been agreed upon by the both of you before you’d gone shopping. Maybe you’d done it every year. 

“Is there a certain order …?” you asked. He handed you the biggest box first, and instructed you to open yours, then he would open one of his.

Taking a deep breath, you gently ripped at the impressively wrapped gift, glancing anxiously at Damian, and he tilted his head, smiling. He laid a long arm across the back of the couch, his hand heavy, yet gentle, on your shoulder, and his touch was both comforting and … knowing? You suddenly felt confused, but alert, like you were so close to remembering something important, but you couldn’t find it in your scattered brain. Choosing to ignore it, you removed the paper, and opened the box to find a Louis Vuitton tote. Eyes widening, you pulled the bag from the box, inspected it a moment front and back, and then looked back at Damian. 

“I love it,” you whispered, incredulous. 

Damian exhaled, eyes closing for the briefest moment, but he quickly recovered, shining that winning smile. “Good,” he replied, squeezing your shoulder. “You told me which one you wanted, but not which color …” 

“It’s perfect.”

Holding the bag to your chest like someone might steal it from you, you watched as Damian picked up one of his boxes, thankfully not asking you which one he should open first. He tore into the snowman wrapping paper like an ape, tossed the trash behind him, and the Nike logo on the box pretty much gave away what was inside. He pulled one shoe out, marveling at it, and gushed about how much he loved them and couldn’t believe you’d been able to locate them. You shrugged, having no answer, but his excitement was just as contagious as his smile, and you giggled as he fist pumped while putting the shoe back in the box.

Damian handed you the next gift—a pair of black heels from Jimmy Choo—which you also loved. Damian opened a rather fancy watch that he seemed overly excited about—like Randy from A Christmas Story when he got a Zeppelin—but you giggled at his childlike wonder. The last present he gave to you was much smaller than the rest, so you treated it more delicately than you had the others. This time, Damian opened his final gift as you opened yours, but he was paying far more attention to you and your reaction to what he’d gotten for you. The removal of the wrapping paper revealed a deep blue velvet box, and you suspected jewelry would be hidden within, and that gave you pause. You’d loved the other gifts, so you weren’t worried about loving this one just as much, but would you react the way Damian was hoping for? You lifted the lid, gasping at the gorgeous bracelet nestled amongst satin the same color as the box. You touched the single, tiny charm, smiling, and you weren’t sure what possessed you to do it, but you brought the golden bow and arrow—the tip of the arrow a sparkling diamond—to your lips. 

“Can I put it on you?” Damian asked, disrupting your love affair with your new piece of jewelry. You sniffed, eyes becoming misty as you nodded and handed the box to him. He set aside some sort of combat weapon you’d gotten for him and clasped the beautiful bracelet around your wrist before kissing your pulse point. 

“It’s … it’s really beautiful,” you stammered. You fingered the charm, watching the diamond sparkle.

You turned your hand this way and that, grinning as the light caught the bracelet at different angles. Your brows came together, wrist rotation slowing as you stared at the back of your left hand. Something was missing. Something important. “Aren’t we engaged?” you asked, looking at Damian.

His eyes lifted, wide with sudden worry. “Of course,” he said. Why would she suddenly be doubting they were engaged, he wondered, heart pounding. “You’ve got your dress, we have a venue and about three hundred people coming …” 

“Where’s my engagement ring?” you interrupted. Damian’s mouth clamped shut, pillowy lips rubbing together. “I can’t remember you or our relationship, but I’ve learned enough to know you’d never propose without a ring, and even if you did, I’d have one by now … right?” 

Damian smiled, nodding. “You’re right,” he said. “You have a ring. I’ll be right back.” He hopped over the back of the couch, and you giggled. You turned the bracelet over again to watch the little bow and arrow dangle and the tiny diamond catch the sun as it peeked through the curtains. When Damian returned, he was carrying a small, teal box, and anyone who had ever shopped for engagement rings knew the Tiffany’s teal. You gulped. “I didn’t want to bring it up so you wouldn’t feel obligated to wear it if you weren’t comfortable with it.”

He looked at you a moment, approaching you still seated on the couch, and your breath hitched as he descended to one knee. He opened the box, having never guessed in a million years he would get to present you with the engagement ring you’d adored so much a second time, and your eyes rounded at, not only the size of the diamond, but it was your favorite cut, your favorite metal, and your favorite person was offering it to you. Favorite person? Suddenly you couldn’t catch your breath. Something was there, right there in your fucking brain, and you almost had it. 

“Put it on me,” you whispered, words laced with desperation.

Damian’s brows furrowed, but he did as he was told—removing the ring from its velvety home, taking your hand in his, and he slid the diamond effortlessly into place where it hugged your finger, almost as if it had missed you. You smiled, touching it, remembering Damian stuttering through a proposal on the beach in Puerto Rico.

Wait.

The fight you’d had on the way back to the hotel about how fast he’d been driving.

Your eyes closed.

The fight only led to him pulling over and fucking the complaining out of you on the side of the road.

You sucked in a breath.

“Your tattoo is stupid.” 

“Your tattoo is stupider.” 

“Mine’s actually the best.” 

“Yeah, well, mine’s the prettiest.”

The wedding dress you’d chosen clung to your curves perfectly, the train sparkled, the veil tucked into your hair. Damian’s gonna love this … especially when he finds out I’m not wearing any panties.

Damian.

Damian.

Your eyes shot open, and Damian was there, watching you curiously. Your fiancé. Damian Priest. You remembered when and where you met, you remembered your first date and your first fuck and your first fight and your first Christmas, and fuck, you remembered everything! All of it! 

“Damian,” you whispered, grabbing at his hands, his arms, shoulders, until you came to the floor on your knees. Damian tried catching you, unsure of what was happening or how to react. You cupped his face. “Papi.”

Damian’s body twitched as he eyed you closely. His hands came up to your face next, your noses grazing. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, every bit on the verge of tears as you were. “Querida.” You nodded, because you knew what it meant, and you knew what it meant when he said it. His arms suddenly came tightly around your waist, nearly squeezing the life out of you, and you did the same to his neck. “Fuck, you know I can’t ever let you go now, right?” he asked, only half teasing. 

You sniffed, a single tear streaking down your cheek, nodding. Memories were still playing one after another, your brain taking each one and filing it in its appropriate cabinet, which were mostly labeled never fucking forgot any of this ever again. “Sounds good to me,” you said, and then you felt him tuck his face into your neck, his hot breath ghosting along your skin, and your nipples were suddenly small pebbles, and your heart skipped a beat or two and— 

Damian pushed you away with both hands on your face so his lips could claim yours. The kissing from the night before had been hot, but this kiss was a goddamn atomic bomb, because you remembered the love you had for this man, felt it to your core, and you were suddenly dizzy and just a little lightheaded. It was like falling in love with Damian Priest all over again, like being on a rollercoaster that was only corkscrews, like debuting to a thunderous pop on the main roster of the WWE.

Damian whispered your name, pausing the kiss only to declare, “I need you.” His hands slid teasingly from your cheeks to your neck, shoulders, arms, landing heavily on your hips. “If it’s not the right time—” 

“It is,” you interrupted, lifting your shirt over your head, dropping it dramatically beside the two of you—Damian’s eyes followed the garment with an arched eyebrow before he slid his gaze to your bare breasts, tilting his head, inhaling deeply. He removed his own shirt, your eyes examining him much the same way he’d done you, and you gasped when he suddenly stood, towering over you a hell of a lot more than he normally did. You grinned, reaching for the waistband of his shorts, but he had other plans. 

He grabbed one of your arms, hooking it around his neck, and he hoisted you gracefully off the floor and over his shoulder. He smacked your ass, the bottoms of your cheeks hanging out of the shorts you’d slept in, and you squealed, kicking your legs. “We are not having reunion sex on the floor in the living room,” he said, carrying you effortlessly up the stairs, even taking two at a time, as he made his way to the bedroom you shared. You hadn’t actually planned on fucking him on the floor—there was a comfortable couch nearby with cushions the width of a twin bed—but you let him manhandle you because it had been, what, five days since you’d been manhandled? The manual stimulation the night before hadn’t counted, not with how caring and slow and intentional Damian had been.

You were tossed on the bed, bouncing, snickering, and Damian stole several moments to watch you smile, to watch your tits jiggle, massaging a growing lump in his shorts. Your eyes became slits, focused on Damian’s big hand passing over his even bigger cock, witnessing it grow and strain, almost able to feel it stretching you and filling you and satisfying you like no man had ever done before. Dying to join in, you removed your shorts and panties, though you kept your legs mostly together even as you slipped a few fingers within your dampening folds, Damian only able to get a peek of the action. The fingers of Damian’s free hand grazed your knee, his thumb on the inside applying gentle pressure, and you spread your legs for him, biting your lip, cheeks heating up as he watched you touch yourself—one of his very favorite pastimes. 

“Can I taste you?” he rumbled, thumb caressing your skin, hand slipping within his shorts and briefs, eyes briefly closing when he wrapped his fingers around his cock, giving it a few satisfying strokes. He wasn’t sure why he asked, especially since you’d always told him it didn’t matter what you were doing—if he wanted a snack, you would always be more than happy to oblige. But what if now wasn’t the time for the … normal sex? What if you weren’t ready, and the awkwardness from the night prior happened again? He didn’t want you to think he’d simply been waiting for you to remember who you were and who he was simply so he could fuck you stupid. Would you ever think that? And why the hell was he overthinking so much? 

Your brows furrowed. “Of course,” you softly replied, sliding back on the mattress as Damian crawled forward. “And if I ever say no, take me back to the hospital because my brain is broken again.”

Damian chuckled, continuing to crawl up your body, pressing his full, perfect lips to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, but something felt different, off. Any other time, not only would he not have asked permission, his face would have been buried in your pussy before you even knew what was happening, not making a beeline for a makeout session.

Disconnecting your lips, you placed a hand on his cheek, and your eyes met. “Are you okay?” you whispered.

“Yeah, I just …” he trailed off, positive that any explanation he gave about his sudden apprehension would make no sense at all, or worse … give you the impression that he didn’t want to have sex at all.

You tilted his chin up, an action he’d done to you many times, and when his eyes met yours, you were punched in the gut by the turmoil—he was confused, hesitant, turned on, and utterly at the mercy of his own negative thoughts. Placing a hand on his warm, bare chest, over his heart, you found the organ beating so fast it was vibrating. Smiling softly, you pressed a tender kiss to Damian’s lips, but it did nothing to slow his heart rate, though you weren’t sure it would have under any other circumstances—you made his heart pound on the regular, he’d told you, and you remembered him telling you. Like you suddenly remembered everything your fiancé had done for you (and because of you—he still had a meeting with WWE about pushing the guy at the airport) up until this point. He’d cared for you, he’d been so patient and understanding, all the while no doubt worrying about whether or not you’d ever remember him. You couldn’t imagine the stress he must have been under. How much had he actually slept in the past five days?

Your smile grew as you kissed his cheeks, his eyes, forehead, nose, and you felt him relax. “I know what you need,” you whispered. You pressed on his chest, and after a moment, he understood and rolled onto his back. “You can taste me this way,” you said, hushed, sliding along the sheets and blankets until your head was facing his feet. “Because I think it’s only fair I get a taste of my own.” He wouldn’t have allowed you to do what you really wanted to do, which was to have him lay back and enjoy a long, slow, wet blowjob, and then you would swallow what would have to be a huge load—unless he’d found the time and desire to jerk off in the last five days. Maybe he did last night, after he made me cum and after I fell asleep?—which would be followed by a Christmas morning nap. Well, you supposed he might have agreed to you swallowing, as well as the nap, but certainly not the part where he was the only one receiving pleasure. Jesus, why were you overthinking this?

“You gonna sit on my face or not?” Damian wanted to know, instantly snapping you from your reverie. Giggling and blushing—blushing because, even though you’d been in this position hundreds of times, you still felt just a twinge of embarrassment, of insecurity, every time—you straddled your fiancé’s face, eyes fluttering as he kissed your thighs, the stubble from his beard causing your entire body to quake. And then his tongue was exactly where it belonged: licking along your bare folds before slipping between them, flattening, and you threw your head back as he did things to your pussy no one else had ever been able to do. He smacked your ass, not nearly as hard as he was known to, but you smirked and squeaked just the same, using one hand to untie his shorts, tug them loose and down, and you pulled his thick cock free from the Christmas tree briefs. You spit on the head, and Damian grunted, sucking and nibbling on your clit like it was his final meal as you spread your saliva along his shaft with a few quick strokes before engulfing the head in your hot mouth.

Damian kept one hand on the back of your head, merely encouraging, until you intentionally gagged yourself, forcing his dick as far down your throat as you could, coughing, spluttering, barely able to come up for air before he pushed your face back down again. As you fought for sweet oxygen, Damian’s other hand squeezed your ass, shoving his tongue into your gushing, pulsing hole. Your face hot, tears streaking your cheeks, your fiancé’s cock lodged in your neck, your hips still rolled, pressing down, riding Damian’s face much the same way he was doing yours. 

Suddenly he lifted your hips with one hand, the other grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking you off his dick. Strings of spit and precum and drool bridged your lips to Damian’s rigid cock, and you worked on disconnecting the mess and wiping at your face as he maneuvered you off him. “Ain’t no way I’m not cummin’ in that pussy,” he growled.

Before he could manhandle you once again into whatever position he desired, you spun around and straddled his hips, flattening your palms on his chest. He was a bit shocked, and rightly so, as up until this point, he’d been the dominant one in the relationship. And this wasn’t you being necessarily dominant—you were simply being proactive in making sure Damian did as little work as possible. He held onto your wrists as you raised your hips, rocking your clit along his head before slowly descending, allowing yourself only seconds to adjust to his size. Maybe a perk from all this would be your pussy having had an opportunity to tighten up without its daily pounding from a very proportionate six foot five Puerto Rican man. 

“Fuck,” Damian shouted, and you grinned, though you’d never know if your hypothesis had been correct or if he’d just really missed being inside you.

”Little gatita missed her Papi,” you purred, enunciating the Spanish words, biting your lip, eyes fluttering as you swiveled your hips to get every last bit of him inside you.

Damian pressed his head into the pillow, hips thrusting, lifting you as if you weighed nothing, somehow going deeper, kissing your cervix, and your nails dug into his pecs. “Come on, querida,” he said, and you knew he would never agree or admit to it, but it sure sounded a hell of a lot like begging. “Ride Papi.”

Transferring most of your weight to your hands on his chest, your hips bounced, jaw dropped, and you did exactly as you’d been instructed. Sweat was beading around your hairline at the back of your neck, your lungs were tight from your labored breathing, but you could feel that familiar, delicious ache deep in your cunt. You watched Damian with a small grin, biting your lip, as his blown pupils were laser focused on your pussy and the glistening trail it left behind every time you lifted your hips. His brows were knitted together, lips pursed, and you actually had to fight the laughter bubbling in your throat at how utterly determined he was not to cum. He wanted to impress you with his stamina and willpower, you knew that much, and you suspected he was probably savoring the moment, making it last as long as possible. Maybe next time, you thought. You’ve waited long enough. 

“You gonna gimme me that nut, Papi?” you panted.

His eyes rose to yours, and you were no longer in control of the fucking, your entire body jolting with each pump of Damian’s cock. “That what you want?” he grunted. 

“Fuck yeah,” you breathed, eyes closing, that ache getting stronger, spreading further. “It’s been too long. I need your cum inside me.” 

“Been too long,” he mocked breathlessly. “You’re gonna be so fuckin’ full …” 

“Give it to me, Papi,” you begged, cunt squeezing Damian’s pulsing cock as you gushed all over it. “I want all of it.”

Your fiancé made good on his promise—unloading so much inside your pussy that it started leaking out before he’d even pulled out. Hand on the back of your head, he pulled you down for a kiss, massaging his lips along yours in that delightful Damian way. “I love you so much,” he mumbled against your mouth. 

“I love you more,” you grinned, pulling away enough so you could look at each other comfortably. “It should take, what, five minutes for you to be ready for round two?” 

“Five minutes,” Damian chuckled, shaking his head, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, if it helps at all, I’m gonna go try on my heels.” You carefully raised yourself off Damian, his half-hard cock smacking his abdomen lewdly once your pussy released it, and you crawled out of bed. 

“Just naked? You’re just gonna try the heels on naked?” Damian asked after you. 

“Kind of,” you replied, glancing at him over your bare shoulder. “I’ll be wearing your cum.”

Damian’s eyes darkened. “It’s like that?”

You winked, continuing out of the bedroom, a millisecond passing before you heard Damian’s heavy footsteps following quickly behind.

** mi vida - my life ** Papi - daddy ** querida - beloved/term of endearment ** gatita - kitten

[lanalosty0uu]

⋆.˚ PROLOGUE ᝰ.ᐟ

🕰️ BACK TO THE FUTURE 🕰️

no specific warnings on this chapter slight foreshadowing of another stranger things character!

main masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

"Oh, no need to help, dear! I can do it by myself."

The nice 50 year old-ish lady told you not to worry about her fish pond. You're a second year high school student who just got accepted in an exchange program, and now you’re finally here, in Hawkins, Indiana.

"Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Byers, I can handle it pretty well… My dad also has a fish pond on the back of our house.” You tried to reassure her that it’s totally fine for you to take care of it. Remembering that she can already be categorized as an old lady, it would be very cruel of you if you let her clean it by herself.

“You are truly an independent and hardworking young lady… Reminds me of myself back in the old days.” You can see her smile while looking to a blank space, probably reminiscing herself back when she was younger.

You chuckled at her compliment, slightly thanking her for saying something you don’t hear everyday, especially from your parents. Instead of saying anything further, you smiled at her before continue cleaning her fish pond.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“Please, dear. Feel free to look around.”

Ever since you got here last week, you never had the courage to explore her gigantic house. Not because it has spirits living on it, of course not! (hope so) But, it’s more like you don’t wanna disturb her peace and you don’t wanna look like you’re being nosy about her personal stuff. Yet, from the first step you took on this house, you literally fell in love. The vintage architecture, big pillars on her yard, it seems impossible for an old lady to live her by herself.

Sure, her house only has two levels, but the interior of her house is just mesmerizing. The details and antique things in this place are remarkable. If only you don’t have to control yourself, you’d already touch every single one of her things.

The only thing that you did here was to go to school and spend time with her a lot. You went shopping together, clean the house, do regular house chores, watch cheesy rom-coms or comedy movies (which you surprisingly also love). The whole week basically already felt comfortable for you.

You always loved old people. You get to hear their stories, adventures, and all what happened in the past. It seems… Very interesting, so different with what you have now. And one of the things you love about Mrs. Byers, is that she talks about her youth days a lot in the 80s! You, as a person who is a big fan of the 80s always had an open jaw when listening to how beautiful life seemed to be in the 1980s, especially in the year 1985.

“These are some beautiful watch collections, Mrs. Byers!” You looked through a cardboard box full of old clocks and watches inside.

“Those were my parents’. I was planning to give those to the antique store since I don’t really use it. But you can look around there if you’d like, dear! If one catches your eye, please do take it before people put a price on it in the antique store.”

The feeling of knowing that you can look at these old watches and actually bring them home without needing to let out a single dollar made you feel euphoric. But, you still need to help her cleaning up this messy attic, not wanting her to get asthma from breathing the dusty air so much.

“Maybe I’ll do it later, Mrs. Byers. I gotta clean these up first.”

Mrs. Byers looked at you, giving you the ‘I swear this kid never rests’ look. Yet, she just smiled. And you know deep down she’s really happy to have someone to be her company and to help her around since her husband died a year ago.

⊹ ࣪ ˖🕰️୭˚. ᵎᵎ🗝️

“If you need me, I’ll be downstairs, okay dear?” Mrs. Byers excused herself to go back to her room, probably knitting since it’s what she’s been doing at home (as far as you know). She left you there in the attic, wandering through her watch collection.

As you were diving through it, you took pictures of every single watch, especially the ones that has unique details in it. But one caught your eye… A golden pocket watch. It has golden chains, chained to the top of the watch. Tiny details surrounding the face of the watch. Since it looks pretty old, it was also covered in dust and rust, including the roman numbers that tell the time inside.

You made the watch dangle around your arms, admiring it’s old, yet timeless beauty. You started turning the clock around, seeing if it still works or not. Sadly, it’s broken. You immediately thought of the 80s just by looking at it, imagining how Mrs. Byers would always wield it and brought it everywhere she goes, even though you know this watch must’ve came from an older time… Most likely to be from the 30s or the 40.

Since you liked that pocket watch so much, you put the chains around your arms, keeping it there as you put back the rest of the watches gently inside the cardboard, not wanting to be irresponsible after Mrs. Byers let you mess around with all of it.

note: hey, i'll be publishing the first chapter like around... later! but i'll be posting it today as well (i'll try hihi ^^), lmk what r ur thoughts about the prologue so far, and if there's any of u that wants to be in the taglist, feel free to ask! hope you like this one <3

@xprloki @pupwrites @gorlillaglue25 @lovestrucklyuniverse since y'all seemed pretty excited abt this, i've decided to tag y'all in this and all future chapters, really hope y'all like it and continue reading <3

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (the ravine)

- Summary: A short story set ten years after the Dance that reveals what happened in the ravine.

- Pairing(s): targ!reader/Jason Lannister, Aemma Lannister (reader's daughter)/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the final chapter

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

Ten Years After The Dance

The snow fell softly over Winterfell, blanketing the ancient stones in a pristine white. The Stark children’s laughter echoed through the yard as they played in the snow, their joy piercing the cold, solemn air. Inside the great hall, the warmth of roaring fires chased away the chill, the glow of the flames reflecting off the polished wooden beams.

Lady Aemma Stark, born a lioness but now a wolf in the North, stood by one of the narrow windows, her eyes distant as they gazed out into the flurry beyond. Her gown of deep gray and silver fur swept the stone floor as she leaned slightly against the frame, her posture poised but uncharacteristically distracted. Her golden hair, a Lannister hallmark, was pinned up with silver adornments, though a few strands framed her face, adding to her pensive air.

Behind her, Cregan Stark entered the hall quietly, his boots crunching softly against the stone. The years had added to his already commanding presence, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of his responsibilities with ease. His wolf-gray eyes, sharp and perceptive, immediately caught the faraway look in his wife’s gaze.

He approached her, his voice low and gentle. “The snow falls thick today, yet your thoughts seem elsewhere, my lady.”

Aemma turned slightly, startled out of her reverie. She smiled faintly, her golden eyes meeting his. “I’m sorry, my lord. I was… I was just watching the children.”

Cregan studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable but knowing. “It is not the children that hold your thoughts,” he said, stepping closer. “I know that look, Aemma. You’ve worn it many times.”

She sighed, her shoulders lowering slightly as she turned back to the window. “It’s been ten years, Cregan,” she murmured. “Ten years since my mother, my father, and my uncle disappeared without a trace. Sometimes I think… I think I’ve made peace with it. But other times…”

Her voice faltered, and Cregan placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You wonder what became of them,” he finished for her, his voice steady and calm. “It is only natural. Their absence left a wound, even here in the North.”

Aemma nodded, her gaze fixed on the swirling snow outside. “There are so many stories, so many whispers. Some say my mother and father died in that ravine. Others say they survived, that they… that they’re somewhere far away, together.” She paused, her voice barely above a whisper. “And then there’s my uncle Daemon. He left to search for them, but he never returned either. It’s like they vanished, swallowed by the world.”

Cregan tightened his grip on her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. “Your mother was a dragon, Aemma. Your father a lion. And Daemon Targaryen… well, he was Daemon Targaryen. If there is any truth to those tales, then they are out there, together. And I cannot think of three people less likely to give up on one another.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes still glistened. “You’re always so certain, aren’t you?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.

Cregan’s own lips twitched into a small smile. “It’s my duty as your husband to be your rock,” he said simply. “Even when the world feels uncertain.”

Aemma turned fully to face him, her hand rising to rest over his on her shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cregan.”

He tilted his head slightly, his smile softening. “You’d endure. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, my lioness.”

The sound of laughter interrupted them, and they both turned to see their children, led by their eldest son Orin, bursting into the hall, their cheeks red from the cold. Aemma’s expression brightened as she knelt to embrace them, her momentary sadness melting away in their warmth.

Cregan watched her with a mixture of pride and quiet affection. As the children clamored for their mother’s attention, he turned his gaze briefly to the window, the snow beyond seeming endless. He knew the weight of her thoughts would never truly leave her, but he vowed to be the anchor that kept her steady through it all.

And as the fire crackled behind him, he silently offered a prayer to the old gods that whatever shadows lingered in their past, they would never darken the lives of the family they were building together.

The Vale was quiet under the pale light of a waning moon, the snow-draped peaks and jagged rocks standing as silent sentinels. The cold was biting, but Lord Cregan Stark felt it less than his men, his Northern blood accustomed to harsher winters. His horse snorted softly as they approached the edge of the ravine, the same one whispered about in hushed tones by the shepherds and hunters of the region. It was said to be bottomless, cursed, and the last place where dragons had been seen in these parts.

The sound of hooves crunching snow ceased as Cregan raised his hand to signal a halt. His men drew their cloaks tighter around them, exchanging wary glances as they took in the black maw of the ravine. It seemed to devour the light around it, a gaping void in the earth that stretched endlessly downward.

“My lord,” Ser Garmon, a grizzled knight with a keen eye, rode up beside him. “This is the place, isn’t it? The one the stories speak of?”

Cregan nodded, his gray eyes scanning the jagged edges of the ravine. “Aye. This is where Princess Y/N and Prince Aemond were said to have fallen. And where her husband, Jason Lannister, and Prince Daemon disappeared.”

The men muttered among themselves, their voices low as if afraid to disturb the eerie silence. One of them, a younger scout named Arthor, dismounted and crept closer to the edge. He knelt, running his gloved hand along the rock. “Look here, my lord,” he called out, his voice tight with unease.

Cregan dismounted and strode over, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. Arthor pointed to a set of deep gouges carved into the stone, long and parallel, like claw marks.

“Claw marks,” Arthor said, his voice barely above a whisper. “A dragon’s claws, no doubt about it.”

Cregan crouched beside him, tracing the grooves with his fingers. The marks were old, weathered by time but unmistakable. They started near the bottom of the ridge and trailed upward, but they stopped short of the edge.

“Not just any dragon,” Cregan murmured, standing and dusting his gloves. “These are from a beast far larger than Morrath or Caraxes. This was Vhagar.”

The men behind him exchanged uneasy glances. Ser Garmon frowned, his brow furrowed. “Vhagar? Then she survived the fall?”

Cregan nodded, his expression grim. “For a time, at least. These marks tell the tale. She tried to climb out, but her injuries were too great. She never made it to the top.” He looked down into the shadowed depths of the ravine, his breath fogging in the cold air. “Whatever strength she had left would’ve turned to desperation. And desperation in a wounded dragon is a deadly thing.”

Arthor swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the black void below. “You think she was still there when Daemon came?”

Cregan’s face darkened, his voice low and heavy. “I do. Daemon would’ve landed Caraxes to search for the others. And if Vhagar was still alive, starving and feral…” He let the implication hang in the air.

The men murmured again, their voices laced with unease. Ser Garmon crossed his arms, his expression grim. “Two dragons in a pit like this, wounded and enraged... It’d be a fight to the death.”

Cregan nodded. “And no man, not even Daemon Targaryen, could survive being caught between them.”

One of the younger men, barely more than a squire, stepped forward hesitantly. “But, my lord, if Vhagar and Caraxes fought, wouldn’t there have been signs? Bones, scales, something?”

Cregan’s gaze remained fixed on the abyss. “Not if the fight ended with both dragons plunging deeper into the ravine. The depths here are said to be endless. If they fell… they’re lost to the dark.”

A heavy silence fell over the group, the weight of his words sinking in. The men shuffled uneasily, some glancing over their shoulders as if expecting the shadow of a dragon to emerge from the void.

Cregan straightened, his voice steady but cold. “Whatever happened here, it ends with us. The realm has enough ghosts without adding more. Speak of this to no one.”

The men nodded, their silence a solemn agreement as they began to mount their horses. Cregan lingered by the edge a moment longer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His thoughts turned to his wife, Aemma, and the loss she carried like a hidden wound.

Turning back to his men, he swung into his saddle and spurred his horse forward. As they rode away from the ravine, Cregan couldn’t shake the feeling that the shadows of this place would follow them, a lingering reminder of the Dance and all it had cost.

[deansluvrr]

Infatuation

Warnings: male masturbation, fantasizing, slight sexualization of women? Illusions to caught in the act

Notes: this is my first fanfic, might delete later. Please give me all the criticism I need! I want to make reading my works as enjoyable as possible :)

pairings: dean winchester x tribrid!fem!reader

Dean was fucked. 

Now, that's nothing new, he has been all his life but this? This was different. It started a couple months ago when Jess died, causing Sam to become a grieving angry mess. He brought you, sweet you who graced Dean's eyes when they set on you. Now for maybe the first few weeks when he found out about your nature, he was a bit on guard, but it melted away as his feelings grew stronger and he couldn't bare seeing your cute face without talking or being near you.

Now when he saw you walk out earlier in your cute little white dress, wearing matching white thigh high socks from the fall weather outside, alongside a pretty bow in your hair to go get some food with sam for the three of you, well he just knew what he was going to do as soon as you stepped out.

That's how he found himself in this position, his hand working on his aching weeping cock, crying out to no one in particular as pleasure buzzes through his veins. Usually he just gets off, maybe watches something or thinks about some hot girl he saw earlier that day, but since you joined him and his brother on this adventure, you've completely taken over his mind. He cant think of another women without feeling sick to his stomach, only happy at the thought of being with you, holding you, kissing you, fucking you. 

“God-” Dean chokes out, his breathing heavy and his head lolled back on the bed. If anyone were to walk they'd see how pathetic and needy he looks. His brows are furrowed while his jaw hangs, his eyes screwed shut with his shirt hiked up his chest and his jeans unbuttoned while he lets out the most pornographic moans someone's ever heard.

“P-please” he begs to no one in particular, just thinking about your soft body on his, riding him slowly and teasingly as you taunt him. “What was that? Didn't hear you” you say, gripping his jaw to make him look up at you. Dean moans, his eyes fluttering as he looks up at you “i-i need” he whimpers out, his body squirming as he gets closer to coming. “Need what? Cant give you what you want if you dont tell me” you breathe out, letting out a moan as he hits a particular spot inside you. 

He chokes, his hand getting faster as he thinks over his fantasy, getting closer to his release he so desperately needs. Finally, after what seems like forever, but also not long enough he yelps, his body quivering as his hips buck into his hand. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he rides his high out, gasping and panting as he removes his hand, taking a few minutes to recover. He laughs to himself once he comes down, looking down and seeing his cum pool around his base, and that some of it landed on his shirt, causing him to sigh before he gets up to get cleaned up.

Once Sam and you arrive back with food you're none the wiser, just handing his food with a sweet smile like always and watching tv alongside him on the bed.

Though of course Dean gets a little dumb around you, did he forget you're part werewolf and can smell everything? Including the cum he got on the bed that he didn't notice.

[astersofthesky]

VERY WELL SAID OP!!! Also to add, I've recently just finished rewatching season 1 and one thing that I also wanna add is that InHo is also greatly influenced by the games philosophy of "having equal chances for everyone."

(apologies for the badly cropped image!)

InHo, who was once an officer, was falsely accused of taking bribe from a criminal resulting to him entering the games in 2015 for his wife and unborn child. He saw the game as one last shot at life (a common feeling the players have when entering the game—even Gi Hun entered the game again for his mother).

In-Ho had seen the worst of the games and had also seen how people kill and deceive each other for money. And how the VIP's also sees the lowest of the low as some worthless betting horses to gamble for and get entertainment.

I just know he is disgusted by all these things, coming out as a player himself and as a former purveyor of justice.

So yeah OP, i agree that InHo never enjoyed watching or even handling the games. I bet he's just doing it cause he believes he's got nothing anymore. Or maybe the guilt is eating at him everytime he goes home to meet Jun-Ho and their mother so he stopped coming home altogether during 2020 (Ironically Gi-Hun's game).

I feel like it was guilt and fear of facing Jun-Ho and letting him know what evil things he did in the games is the reason why In-Ho came back and became the frontman. Or maybe he came back a regular pink guard and climbed his way up in the ranks (I wouldn't put it pass him) all because he thinks humanity is dead (his humanity is dead).

BUT IF THIS IS THE CASE, then the way he's obsessed with giving these "scums" the last "shot" at life clashes with his disgust in humanity right??

Comes in the hope, this secret hope he still cherishes inside his shredded yet fully locked heart that maybe humans aren't so far gone yet.

That maybe if we keep on giving equal chances to everyone, someone out there would show that the human heart is not only made to deceive and hurt and be evil.

Then come Gi Hun who was one step away from winning yet he came back to give up the game to save him and Sang Woo.

That caught his attention.

All his life he's known cruelty (even as an officer) to being the frontman and come this guy with all smiles and naivety and hope and kindness cause i juuust know In-Ho was intrigued when player 456 chose player 001 despite being an old man during the marbles game not even knowing what the game will be.

This man is full of love. And In-Ho knew it when Gi-Hun picked up Sabyeok's brother is okay and ensured that he and Sang-woo's mother are all financially and emotionally okay.

I bet In-Ho was feeling frustrated when Gi-Hun dialled their number and told he's gonna track him down not just because he'll be a threat but because he knows Gi-Hun is throwing out the chance to heal and be happy the way In-Ho was too cowardly to do to his brother and mother.

Gi-Hun will regret coming back the way In-Ho regretted saying yes to being the frontman.

Now, even joining the games, he got to know Gi-Hun more and not just from pictures and reports. But he gets to know him personally and In-Ho sees that as much as they're alike they're different.

They're different cause he thinks Gi-Hun is still naive for seeing the world in black and white but In-Ho sees the gray areas and some people does use the money for good.

They're alike cause this shows that deep down, In-Ho believes that greed for money is not the only thing keeping this people fighting and hoping the same way Gi-Hun believes that greed for money can be overcome by standing over on what's right and fighting for human lives and hoping in humanity's innate goodness.

Even Lee Byung-Hun said that unknowingly In-Ho might be rooting for Gi-Hun's belief to be right over his own.

Not because he's entirely wrong but Gi-Hun's belief leads to a hope he had lost when his wife and child died. When all he sees are cruelty atop cruelty (and even most of them because of his doing) and he's just numbed and he wants to care for Jun-Ho but can't and will never be able to come back.

And that's why In-Ho is a selfish coward 'cause he wants Gi-Hun to be right but he's scared that maybe, that the hope Gi-Hun brings, is only temporary.

That Gi-Hun will become like the people he despised the most.

That Gi-Hun will eventually become a monster like himself.

So he crushes everything that Gi-Hun cares about. He kills Jung-bae. He kills "Young-Il." He was already trying to nip the bud of hope in his chest cause he's scared to be proven wrong and be all broken all over again when he had already developed this numb, indifferent mask over the course of the years.

Cause if Gi-Hun gives up, then he can give up into the delusions of second chances as well.

If I say that I'm not used to people misinterpreting my favorite characters, I'd be lying. But the way they get so many things wrong about Inho's character is kinda pissing me off because you KNOW that most of them do it to cancel out the possibility of InHun being *something* more than what's shown so far. You don't ship them, that's fair, frankly I don't care. Everyone's entitled to their own opinion UNTIL your opinion is wrong.

Let's talk about a couple of things I've seen being talked about on tiktok (🙄)

“Inho joined the games because ilnam said that it'd basically be more fun to play than to watch so he followed his example." loud incorrect buzzer ! Inho has joined the games before, and not only that, he's also a previous winner, so therefore he's very much aware of what it's like to be a part of it, he's experienced them first hand, just like he's experienced the atrocities of it. they've changed him for the worst and possibly caused him a huge trauma —they're the reason he's lost faith in humanity after all— so, why would he crave to relive it just for the thrill of it? i, personally doubt he even enjoys watching the game.

“Inho didn't look at Gihun with love, he likes to watch him suffer” Short answer is no. He doesn't like to watch him suffer, neither he looked at him with love, not the pure kind of love at least. Two things can be true at once. Inho spent half the season staring at Gihun because everything about the man intrigued him; His determination, his stubbornness, his kindness, his hope, his heart that's full of love despite the pain he suffered, even the pain in his eyes every time someone got eliminated in front of him as if it was the first time it had happened, as if the cruelty of it all surprised him every damn time. How can someone, who's been through the same things Inho has been through, be the polar opposite of him?

now, the reason(s) that I think Inho actually joined the games for..

(yes I am an Inhun shipper, does that make my opinion a little biased? maybe. do i still believe I'm right? absofuckinglutely.)

Let me clarify this: Inho is NOT a good man, no matter the redemption arc he might get in s3, he'll continue to be a terrible person because nothing will ever erase the blood he's spilled and the evil men he's worked for. BUT at the same time, he's not ALL bad, not like the VIPS and ilnam. See, Inhun are the average "yin-yang" trope in fictional romance, (which I eat up every time and I find it very interesting when it's done the right way, don't get me wrong) Inho is bad but there's some goodness somewhere deep inside him. And the only person who's brought it to the surface is Gihun. Sure, he does think Gihun is naive, but he's also the only person who's actually challenged him, who's "forced" him to get his stupid head out of the dirt and look around him, even for a short while and Inho definitely liked what he saw. Honestly, it wasn't even that hard for Gihun to do so because the goodness in Inho wanted and waited for someone to pull him out of the dirt, he wished for someone, something to give him hope for humanity or.. anything. Anything that'll help him escape from his misery.

You can definitely argue that he joined the games to befriend Gihun, to gain his trust and stop his plans when the time comes, which is half true. But keep in mind that he needed to justify his choice to join the games. He's not a VIP nor the mastermind to simply get to do that without consequences. He's the frontman, the one who controls and manages everything. He's needed for the games to work and go by smoothly and successfully without unnecessary losses and problems. Gihun would only cause problems, Inho knew that very well and yet he chose to put him in it once again. He recklessly made that choice, risking pretty much everything because of his inner conflict. A part of him wanted Gihun to prove himself to him, that there's indeed good that'll save the world and the rest of him wanted to prove to Gihun that everything he so strongly believes in is merely a fantasy.

Joining the games and befriending Gihun was the only way for Inho to see the real him, without the heroic mask he puts on every time he faces the frontman. I think he believed that someone as extraordinary as Gihun will either break in front of him and he will end up disappointed by the human kind once again, or Gihun will change everything about the way he thinks for the better. But the problem is that Inho hopes for both of those things at the same time.

And that was Inho's arc in season 2. His inner conflict and how it will affect him, the game and Gihun later on.

[thelovelybitten]

“Why? What’s the point of living when the only girl I’ll ever love is gone?”

“No dude, i feel worse.”

“Dude, i don’t have time to start over with other girls. I’m nine years old, dude. If i don’t work things out with Wendy, I could be alone my whole life.”

“I can’t let Wendy go. This whole time, I’ve been having my friends do all the talking for me. It’s time i took control.”

“Tell her i love her.”

“I can’t believe it. She’s in love with someone else.”

“There’s nothing else i can do. She was my whole life.”

And antis really think Stan doesn’t care about Wendy. Weird.

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

I haven’t said this enough recently but I’d like to take a moment to remind everyone…or idk…whoever sees this post…

That I love Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Thank you.

[alexjcrowley]

The Hobbit or Bilbo Baggins's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad, Not At All Fun Steppe Vacation

[itwoodbeprefect]

happy 1 year anniversary to the election results that were so fucked they had me trying to take my mind off of things by watching what seemed like a toxic chinese queerbait show only to find something far more thoughtful and genuinely queer and interesting than expected and end up watching a bunch more unrelated things that are talked about in vaguely the same realms of the internet and then watch bad buddy twice in a row and fall into an endless bingewatch of thai media (some of which is mediocre, some of which is bad, much of which is simply pretty good, and some of which is genuinely incredible) and go, well, it would be a waste of all this language input i'm accidentally giving myself right now if i didn't at least learn a few words. thus accidentally locking myself into watching even more thai media because now i gain serotonin from hearing a sentence i know i could write

[alexander-arnold66]

Hugh Jackman needs to reject me n tell me I that 38 years is WAY too big of an age gap so I can just get over him already.

[so-am-smyme9540]

Someone give me an In9 episode to watch

I'm about to go to a random number generator because I can't choose which one I want to watch lol