#Silver only shows up when the future is in danger

[foolnamedjoey]

bad omen.

[tonycries]

Unhoneymooners!? - G.S.

Synopsis. The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, unprotected, argument as foreplay, slight enemies to lovers, more like annoyances actually, cunnilingus, oral (male + female), spitting, creampié, one bed trope, rough, Satoru is still EXTREMELY down bad for you, and unfairly hot, forced proximity, cúmplay, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. It’s impossible to not write Satoru without bullying him at least a little bit.

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 2 weeks, and 16 hours ago - not that you were keeping count, of course.

So why was he outside of your resort room blasting “Kill Bill” by SZA like he’s auditioning for the world’s most dramatic comeback tour? On what should’ve marked your fourth anniversary, no less.

Well, given you were the one to lock him out, but still - the stubborn bastard could at least have some decorum. 

With an exasperated sigh, you throw yourself onto the king-sized bed of your honeymoon suite, trying to will away that annoying, grating voice - not SZA, no, more so Satoru singing along at the top of his lungs to the chorus. 

How did you even get here? And with Satoru of all people - your Satoru. Or at least he was this time a little over a year ago. 

You first met Satoru when you were in university, back when he wore those pretentious circled sunglasses and waltzed around those halls like he owned the place. And after a single literature assignment together, he wasn’t just your (self-proclaimed) best friend; he was the reluctantly favorite thorn in your side. 

Like the rest of him, Satoru’s introduction into your love-life was anything but subtle. It wasn’t like he strolled in, gave a polite nod, and blended into the background. Oh no, he bulldozed his way in and dragged you to dance with him on the tables of some dingy frat party in what you could only assume was some joke from the universe at your expense.

And damn him, you think bitterly, you couldn't resist him that night. Spinning you into a dramatic dip, silver chain brushing your face as his half-lidded eyes bored into yours. You couldn’t not kiss him after the way his hands were just searing into your skin. 

God, you’ve never been able to listen to “Gasolina” the same way ever since.  

Satoru was in love as he was in the rest of life - a force of nature, and it was too easy to find yourself caught up in him.

That night at the frat party was just the beginning. From then on was a rollercoaster of everything from heated debates over the best flavor of ramen to impromptu road trips where you’d end up under a carpet of stars. Wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing whispered secrets for an unpromised future - oftentimes where Satoru would crack a joke or two about running away to Tokyo with him. To which you’d laugh it off with a “Yeah yeah, I’d leave everything I’ve known behind in a heartbeat for your dumbass, Toru.”

You just didn’t think that it would be the downfall to your relationship. All the empty promises. 

Because as those heavenly days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, eventually two years had gone by. The whirlwind romance settled into a comfortable rhythm, but with it came the looming promise of graduation and Satoru moving to work under his family company in Tokyo.

Under pressure, it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show, the arguments more frequent, and the silences more deafening. And as your relationship slowly turned into nothing more than a husk of what it used to be - so did the both of you.

Long story short, graduation was a bittersweet goodbye - and you think both of you knew long before it was actually over. Neither of you attended the afterparty - with Satoru on a flight straight to Tokyo and you at home to stuff your face with chocolate. Hey, at least you could blame your tears on finally leaving university, right? 

You had meticulously erased his name from your phone, your social media, and even your dreams - well, almost, the bastard still came around to bother you occasionally. It was messy, painful, and final.

But “final” really didn’t explain your current predicament. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Satoru is that he’s always there - whether you liked it or not. He was there when you needed a partner for that literature assignment, and he was there to turn your world upside down at that dingy frat party.

Hell, he was even there to help you stubbornly chug mountains of ice cream and win that raffle for this five day-long getaway trip to the Maldives. Though, you think he might’ve chugged the ice cream without the promise of a vacation anyway.

But, when ultimately those shiny tickets came in the mail - Satoru wasn’t there. Oh well, it might’ve been a couple’s trip - but you could have a hot girl summer, right? Maybe you could even snag a hottie by the end. You’d almost forgotten that he’d be getting his copy of the tickets as well.

Yet, unfortunately - as the beginning notes of P!nk’s “So What” bursts through the heavy wooden door - you were inevitably reminded of the fact that he was here. Right now. Goading you into coming outside.

You find yourself groaning inwardly (and outwardly) because of course, why wouldn’t he come back even more obnoxious than before? You haven’t seen him in ages, yet here he is, crashing back into your life with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Or - you furrow your brows at his purposefully off-key singing carrying over the sounds of the waves outside - with the subtlety of a manchild with a JBL and a premium account on Spotify.  

Rubbing your temples in frustration, you contemplate how much longer of this it would take before you’re both kicked out of this resort. And after you ate so many ice creams to win this getaway trip? No chance.

With a resigned sigh, you rise from the bed, smoothing out the bathing suit you’d just put on before the devil incarnate showed up knocking at your door. Something hot and prickly pools in your stomach as you approach it, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the situation. So like Satoru.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you shakily reach for the handle. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal actually.

…

What’s the worst that can happen?

Slam! 

The door swings open, and there in all his smug glory stands a very shirtless Satoru. Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru, the same asshole you’ve blocked on even Gmail. 

Except, you’re momentarily struck by how high you have to raise your eyes to meet his. Are growth spurts even a thing anymore? You didn’t have a chance to take a good look last time before slamming the door shut at the first flash of white hair and a smug grin.

But right now, traitorously, your gaze catches on just how broad his shoulders look and…since when was he so chiseled? Damn you, Tokyo - you were doing him too good.

His hair is slightly longer too, curtaining those slightly more mature features, stopping just above that ever-immature grin. One which moves as he hums, “Well, happy fourth anniversary to me, If I knew this came with the suite then I’d have swam here myself.”

You scoff, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious as he wiggles his brows, striking blue eyes sweeping your figure from head to toe. “I’d prefer if you swam back. What are you doing?” 

“Why, just showing up to our room on our lil’ honeymoon, sweetheart.” Satoru sing-songs, leaning against the doorframe to fully prevent you from slamming the door in his (admittedly) pretty face again. “And before you try to break my nose with that door again, I won that ticket here fair and square, y’know. I ate just as much ice cream as you did for it.”

“You ate most of those before you knew about the getaway raffle.” you sigh over his nonchalant shrug, pinching your nose, “And stop calling it our honeymoon, I dumped you five months ago.”

“Well aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving. Keeping count?”

“No. Don’t be a pest.”

“Always thought you had a thing for pests. After all, you did date me.” As Satoru grins impossibly wider, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He winks, “And if I’m a pest then you’re an itch that just won’t go away.”

“At least I’m not the itch that shows up uninvited to someone’s honeymoon suite.” you hiss. And with that you start shutting the door ever-so-slowly, delighting in the panic that overtakes Satoru’s features as he reaches out frantically.

“Hey!” he sputters, “I didn’t know you’d be here! And besides this ‘pest’ forgot his slippers all the way in Tokyo and can’t stand on flaming-hot boardwalks for too long so let me in.”

And sure enough, you glance down to see that Satoru isn’t wearing any slippers on the scorching boardwalk. The realization almost brings a smirk to your lips. This idiot. 

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ at my feet or-”

“I should leave you here to rot just for your pure idiocy.” you deadpan, eyes locked on the way he’s burning his soles off yet still has the audacity to flash you a cocky smile.

“But you won’t.” he hums.

A beat passes. One. Two. And Satoru’s grin almost falters, before you finally relent - opening the door just a crack, cursing his entire bloodline under your breath. “You’re incorrigible” you mutter as he saunters inside victoriously, dragging his hefty luggage behind.

“Why change perfection, sweetheart~” he calls out, heading straight for the bedroom, only to let out a delighted “OooOOo” at the sight of the king-sized bed in the middle. The only bed. “How scandalous, maybe you’ll even fall in lov-” 

“Don’t. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a seashell.” you warn, holding up both keycards threateningly, “I get the bed, you take the couch.”

“But-”

“And I’ve got the keys, so slippers or not you’ll be back out on that boardwalk.” 

A slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips at the way Satoru looked so dramatically crestfallen, you continue - just to be petty, “And no more ‘Kill Bill’ that’s on my angry ex playlist.”

With a heavy sigh he sulkily makes his way to the bathroom, calling out as he does, “Fine. But I’m showering first.”

As he disappears from sight you throw yourself onto your bed, basking in what little peace and quiet you’ll have because of your unwanted guest. This was going to be a-

“And I’m using all of your body lotions.”

“...”

“I will use one of your body lotions.”

Groaning, you sink into the plush mattress, just wishing it would swallow you whole and spare you from this torment. And this was only Day 1? This was going to be a very long five days. 

---

The first night with Satoru, honestly, wasn’t too bad. 

You don’t know what you expected exactly - maybe for him to pour hair dye in your shampoo or something. But he actually stuck to his word, slept on the couch after only a bit of taunting, and used only one of your body lotions. Your best-smelling, most expensive one, but one nonetheless.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, you spent most of the second day at the beach, meanwhile he stuck to lounging by the pool. Add in a bit of pretending you didn’t know him by the salad bar at dinner and that made for an almost-perfect hot girl summer. 

Well, considering that you were rooming with your insufferable longtime ex - in a honeymoon suite of all places. 

The only catch came that night, fully content at the burning soreness from being pushed around by the waves outside. You got ready to splay out on your bed, humming along to the tunes of your playlist and…Satoru’s lamenting?

“I swear my back feels like it’s been run over by a truck. Five of them, and a zoo.” he complains from behind you, dramatically draping himself over the couch - his impromptu bed. 

“Good.”

“What if that was my last straw?”

“Even better.”

His exaggerated, disappointed whine is both embarrassing and almost-endearing as you roll your eyes, resisting the urge to suffocate him with a pillow. “Maybe call your chiropractor guy.”

Satoru shot you a pointed look, his expression a mixture of faux innocence and irritation, which you knew too well. “I wish but he’s trekking through the Himalayas. C’mon~ Don’t you think that lovely king-sized bed is too big for just one?”

“No, but the boardwalk sure is. Maybe you should try it out.” you monotone, getting ready to end this conversation once and for all. 

But when has Satoru ever let you off easy? He sits up abruptly, a devious smile curling his lips. “Ohh, I get it.” he taunts, batting his long lashes mockingly, “You’re scared to sleep in the same bed with me.”

Huh?

“Out of all the idiotic-” you cut yourself off by whirling around to face his smug grin, “Why would I be scared to sleep in a bed with you. I’ve done that far too many times already.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And all those times you could barely last an hour before without keeping your hands off of me. Scared you’ll end up pinned underneath me and stuffed full like old times, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes at him despite the heat burning your face. “The only thing I’m scared of is your icicle feet on my side.”

He laughs, a sound that’s equal parts irritating and endearing, and stands up from where he was slumped on the couch. Making his way slowly, but surely towards you, “Oh, c’mon. For old times’ sake, admit it, you miss me.”

"Yeah, missed the peace and quiet I don’t have because of your big mouth,” you scoff. Finding it hard to meet his twinkling gaze as he comes close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. Your cheeks burn at the proximity - hot enough to match the heat radiating off his body. 

Satoru shakes his head, undeterred by your threats. And suddenly you get the overwhelming urge to throw him out the window and straight into the ocean. “You can deny it all you want, but you still have feelings for me.”

Your jaw clenches at his audacity. “You wish. I’d never.”

“Then prove it.”

Damn, he was good.

Which is probably how you found yourself lying in the same bed as Satoru, with a wall of all the pillows in the room erected between you two - and a few extra from room service just in case. 

“Sweetheart, this is a king-sized bed. Is the fortress really necessary?”

You wrap your blankets tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the figure radiating warm right next to you. Muttering out a muffled little, “Yeah, so you can keep your mitts off of me.”

Satoru groans dramatically, bed creaking as he shuffles what you can only assume to be closer to you. “You keep your mitts off of me, you lecher.” he quips, voice dripping with sarcasm as he inches closer.

You stiffen at his proximity, feeling his warmth seep through the layers of blankets and pillows as he chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine, “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We used to share a bed all the time.”

“That was before,” you interject. God, you didn’t like where this conversation was going. 

“Before what?” Satoru presses, his voice low and insistent. 

Now, you might’ve let yourself be goaded into sharing a bed but these were old wounds better off left alone. You hiss, tone firm, “Before. Now sleep” 

Before when you didn’t have to make a wall of pillows. Before when he would hold you tight and whisper sweet secrets into your ear. That he’d buy you the biggest ring he saw and promise you the world. Before- 

“I missed you, y’know.” Satoru breaks the silence barely audible over the sound of your own thoughts. The word pangs through your mind and claws at your chest. And at your silence he continues, tone a little lighter, “And stop hogging all the blankets, I’m gonna freeze to-”

“Boardwalk.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Goodnight, ma’am.”

And he sinks back into his pillow with a huff, you let out a sigh of relief. Something hot coiling in your stomach as you close try to catch as much sleep as you possibly could with the bane of your existence laying right beside you. The suddenly taller, dangerously handsome, still as-obnoxious-as-ever bane of your existence. 

You just wonder if he remembered “before”.

Oh, how Satoru remembered “before”. So much so that he had sixteen different playlists dedicated to you even after the breakup.

It’s divine punishment - it has to be. Satoru thinks there’s no reasonable explanation for the series of unfortunate events happening to him other than punishment from his ancestors above for being such a pussy and losing the love of his life.

First he forgets his slippers, then he ends up locked out of his own honeymoon suite by said love of his life. Granted, all thoughts of his poor burnt soles went out the window the moment he caught a glimpse of you in that positively sinful bikini. God, were you glowing. A goddess upon Earth - he could really give the Gojo Satoru of five months ago a good, hard kick.

And now he’s stuck in a - very comfortable - prison with you just inches away, tossing and turning in that way he knows means that you can’t sleep either. 

Honestly, very funny universe, the great Gojo Satoru demands a refund. Way to punk’d him into confronting the feelings he’s desperately been trying to bury these past few months - ever since he got on that plane to Tokyo and contemplated faking a heart attack just to get off. 

Realizing just then that he lost the love of his life - and the only woman who’d tolerate his karaoke nights. But with that realization came another, more jarring one: he was too late. 

Every touch, every laugh, and even every time you rolled your eyes was etched into his very soul, and it felt like a montage from a sappy breakup movie directed by a sadistic screenwriter who had it out for him. 

And it really didn’t help that this was the exact suite he was planning once upon a time to propose in. God, how you’d feed him to the crabs if he said anything about that - nevermind the fact that he was actually one that booked this-

But still, some traitorous, annoying part of his heart interrupts, she still hasn’t made you sleep on the boardwalk yet.

Maybe - just maybe - he’ll wake up to a second chance?

…

Ha. As if.

“I can’t sleep.” Satoru groans out loud, more so to drown out his own thoughts than anything.

“Well, I can. Goodnight.”

Ah, his girl was such a lil’ liar. Undeterred, the mattress creaks as he shuffles his weight to excitedly face you, taking a moment to admire how pretty you looked under the dim moonlight. He plows on, “Hey, if you promise not to make me crab food, wanna walk along the beach and watch the stars?”

A beat of silence. One. Two. so deafening and tense that Satoru was half a second away from obnoxiously laughing it off as a joke and pulling out his Emo Times™ playlist. 

“Or I can go back to the couch and-”

“Shut up. Let’s watch the stars, Satoru.”

But what do you know - maybe the universe hasn’t given up on him just yet. 

And, well, if he woke up the next morning breaching your fortress - your warm breath tickling his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, like the lifeline he never knew he needed - then, neither of you mentioned it.

---

“Hey, Satoru. You think we’ll always be like this?” you hum into your boyfriend’s chest, barely a whisper as the looming fears of, well, everything ring in your mind. 

He pulls you close, flashing a mischievous grin before planting a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. “Duh, I’ll always be around to drive you dangerously close to a stroke, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, yet bury yourself closer to his warmth anyway.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if I have to drag you by the leg to Tokyo. Wherever you are is where I belong. ”

---

You’ve come to learn that a resort island is only so big when you’re actively trying to avoid your 6’3 manchild of an ex.

Now that you were rooming with Satoru, sleeping with Satoru (in a literal sense only, of course), and just-so-happening to bump into him at the beach - somehow, talking with him is a little easier, his presence just a bit more exciting than you’d care to admit. 

If the you of four days ago could see what had become of you, then she’d probably slap some sense into you faster than you could say “Kill Bill”. Sleeping in the same bed (still only literally), having dinner, watching the stars - with Gojo Satoru? You’ve gone completely off your rocker. 

But could you really be blamed? These last few days have you feeling like maybe you’ve been dropped into an alternate universe, where you and Satoru never broke up. 

Yet, reality is a persistent little bastard. And with the end of your trip looming dangerously closer, the past you would be cackling mockingly in your face, flashing a large sign in big, red letters reading “I TOLD you so.” 

Whatever. Maybe by this time tomorrow both of you could laugh this all off as a silly little adventure and call yourself somewhat begrudging friends. Maybe you’d even end up unblocking him by the end - on Gmail, at least.

At the very least, dinnertime was a solace - both from your thoughts and the smug bastard talking your ear off about how he could “make that spaghetti better than a thousand Italian grandmothers.”

Until the fourth - and final - night, that is. When the resort, deciding that your current torture wasn’t already enough, arranged a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

Great. Wonderful. Perfect, in fact. Going out with a bang. Was this really part of the all-inclusive package? It was like the universe was playing some twisted joke on you - or some awful version of wingmanning. 

You grit your teeth silently as you’re ushered to the beachside table, thoughts barely audible over the waves crashing against the shore and the soft, romantic music drifting from the band nearby. 

The complete opposite of Satoru, who was already seated at the table and enjoying himself far too much for your liking. He lounged back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you sit opposite him uncomfortably.

You hated to admit it - but God was he dangerously beautiful in that crisp white button-up, one that you knew was from his overpriced collection for special occasions. You found yourself fighting to avoid the amber hues twinkling in his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features.

Pretty? So frighteningly pretty - until he speaks, that is.

“And here I thought our honeymoon couldn’t get any worse. You’re sweating bullets, sweetheart. This your first date with me or something?”

“We’re not on a honeymoon, Satoru. And no, it just brings back memories.” you scoff. Relishing in the way he inches his chair closer to listen, clearly not expecting this sudden sentimentality. “Memories of why I blocked you on every social media.”

All but slamming his head down on the table, Satoru whines out, “Ouch, straight for the jugular. That mouth is still as bitchy as ever, huh? Though I do prefer it choking on my-”

“I’m going to throw you into the ocean.”

“Ooo, kinky~” he hums, swirling his wine glass, “But you know what this reminds me of? That one time we had dinner under the stars.”

You froze, the memories suddenly flashing back to you despite your best efforts to suppress them. “Oh yeah,” you muse. A chuckle leaving your mouth despite yourself, “Wasn’t that where you spilled ketchup all over your shirt and then insisted it was a fashion statement?”

He leans in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey! It worked, didn’t it? I got compliments from everyone including you.”

“I was just trying to stop you from bursting into tears.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at the memory. 

“Exactly, sweetheart. Like moths to a flame.”

“More like to a bug-zapper.”

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, loud and unabashed. A sound that echoes across the beach and makes something warm and sticky strum at your heartstrings. And at that moment, that stupid, little part of you didn’t even mind that you were at a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

And he didn’t even have to goad you into it with SZA this time.

As the orange glow of the setting sun melded into the cool blue of the night, it almost felt like slipping back into an old routine. The food had long since been finished. Jabs and shared memories flowing through the air like the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

The cool air was now thick with contentment and something so unknown yet so familiar that it made your heart race. 

 “I swear.” you groan over Satoru’s loud cackles, “He tried to charm his way out of the bill by flirting with the waitress. In front of me.”

Satoru doubles over, clutching his stomach as he laughs uproariously. “Classic move! If he’s going to be a cheapskate then he should’ve at least been successful with it.”

Damn, was he eternally grateful for these dim candles. Otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flushing tinting his cheeks. How dare you sit there so gorgeous and perfect in front of him. Perfect for him - you haven’t changed one bit.

“Right? She looked ready to fling us both out.” You chuckle, eyes catching on the little dimple just at the corner of his mouth as Satoru shoots you a sly grin. “Mhm, I know if it were me I would’ve charmed us out of the bill successfully.”

You raise a brow, retorting, “Oh please. I’ve had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that ‘charm’. You’d probably end up charming us into washing dishes in the kitchen.” 

Ah, right now, he doesn’t think he wants to be anywhere but here - bickering with you. 

“Ouch, you wound me, woman!” Satoru feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically before leaning down to whisper, low and conspiratorial, “Besides, I doubt you even remember what pleasure feels like since being with me.”

A thrill goes down your spine as you realize the insinuation of his words, steady and searing - matching that of  Satoru’s fingers on yours - which had snuck their way across the table, lazily tracing patterns along your skin. 

When did they even get there? Sly bastard.

Your mouth drops into a soft oh! at the dangerous glint in his eyes. But you refuse to back down, “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. I’ve had other guys make me cum much harder than you have.”

Touch burning. Mapping every curve and dip he’d known so well, and this time - you graze them back. A challenge. God, you missed that warm little flutter in your chest. 

That seems to catch him by surprise, as those darkened blue eyes widen. But there’s a dangerous edge to his grin as he purrs, voice low. “Is that so?” 

And with that, Satoru’s chair is scraping softly against the sand as he stands up, “C’mon, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

Oh. 

Satoru knows that it’s been 5 months, 4 weeks, and 8 hours since you two lasted an entire dinner civilly - not that he was counting, duh.

So when he begged the resort staff into setting the two of you up on this special candlelit dinner, he was expecting you to drown him in the lobster tank halfway through or at least end the night with a slap. 

What he certainly did not expect was to end dinner with you shoved against the closed door of your suite, legs wrapped impossibly tight around his waist, and lips trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down your neck. He angles your neck, body pressing so impossibly close to yours.

Inwardly, you curse his button-up for being so goddamn thin that you could feel his abs rub against you with every little movement. Toned chest rumbling as he groans at your hands tugging at those soft locks - just a tiny revenge, for your body lotion. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, and he breathes it in with an almost-pained sigh - not wanting to part for even a second. Because fuck it took so long to get you back and he wasn’t going to waste a single moment. 

Pulling just a hair’s breadth away, “Tell me what you want. Always knew we’d end up-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, you smug bastard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And, well, who was he to deny you? So he does. 

His lips are searing on yours, hasty and greedy. With a tinge of something so painfully familiar. Your hands make their way onto his chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat against your fingertips - matching that of yours. 

Sweet. You tasted so sweet. Just like honey, and all the dreams where he didn’t leave you behind. Where he didn’t get on that damned plane but instead ran to you all the way from the airport like those sappy romcoms you love. 

He licks at the seam of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck - he probably won’t. 

One hand cups your cheek so gently - a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his lips as he kisses you deeper. Meanwhile the other wanders the expanse of your body, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake.

Satoru parts with a playful nip to your bottom lip - and before you realize what’s happening, the zipper hits the ground. He’s ripping your pretty dress off - mumbling something about “buying a new one” before large hands surge forward, groping and kneading your tits.

His mouth waters at the sight of your bra. Light blue - to match his eyes. “You evil, evil woman.” he mutters into the soft valley of your breasts as you giggle delightedly. Oh, how he couldn’t get enough of you.

And if there was ever a moment that Satoru thinks he could cream his pants right there, then this would be at the very top, followed very closely by the sight of that withering glare you shot after opening that suite door to him just a few days ago.

He unhooks your bra with one hand, throwing it blindly across the room as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Immediately, Satoru drops to his knees with the desperation of a madman, coming face-to face with the heavenly sight of your clothed cunt, soaking through your thin panties. 

“Didn’t specify where I had to kiss, sweetheart.”

Your gaze pierces through him, as it always did. “What are you-” Your words get choked up in your throat as his tongue darts out. Licking a long, languid stripe over your clothed cunt. 

“Shit. So sweet f’me, jus’ like I remember. Just one taste and I feel like m’gonna cum in my pants.” Satoru groans, urgently sliding your wet panties down your quivering legs. 

“F-flattery won’t work.” you stammer out as his hot breath fans your quivering entrance as he waits just a second - one, two.

Drinking in the view of your pretty pussy with dazed, half-lidded eyes. Wet - so wet, he almost wants to tease you - just a bit, to see if you’ll get even wetter. Ah, he doesn’t have enough time to take in this view - probably never will. Would it ruin the mood if he took a picture?

“Oh, I’d say it worked pretty well.”

Cock twitching carnally, Satoru needed to taste you now. He immediately surges forward. Breathing you in so sinfully, pooling your juices on his tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tips his head back back back to let it slide down his throat. 

Shit, if you were the forbidden fruit then he would gladly be cast out of the garden of Eden. 

Half-delirious thoughts running through his mind, Satoru flattens his tongue across your swollen folds. Leisurely sliding between them, catching on your throbbing clit up and down up and down up and-

“Oh- hngh, Satoru faster-”

“So bossy.” he hums prettily around your swollen clit, the vibrations stimulating it just right. But of course, what his girl wants, she will get. 

Lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. Rolling his tongue harshly along your clit, sucking so sensually. Licking at your sweet cunt, dipping just into your sloppy hole. 

You almost miss the long fingers that deftly slide their way up your thigh, spreading your folds with his thumbs. A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as your walls flutter so sinfully around nothing - aching for more friction. 

Urgently, Satoru bullies his fingers past your folds, sinking deep into your plushy walls as his tongue continues its abuse. So warm and wet around him. Curling his fingers just right.

“Ah- fuck, Satoru- Feels s’good.” you gasp as he starts thrusting his fingers back and forth. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and-

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t like my ‘big mouth’?” he purrs, muffled around your clit, “Look at you, sweetheart, now falling apart cos’ of it.”

You scoff, fingers tangling in his silky hair, pushing him deeper into your dripping pussy - mostly because you needed it, but somewhat because you really needed him to shut up. “Yeah, I like it better when you shut the fuck up.”

And with a dark chuckle, his mouth is back on your cunt. Your slick glossy and dripping down the corner of his mouth as he alternates between sucking unforgivingly on your ravaged clit and fucking into you at the same time as his fingers. 

And in the delicious stretch of your cunt, you barely register the metallic clinking of a belt before Satoru presses his clothed erection into you.

Shit. You clench so obscenely around his tongue at the feeling of his clothed, painfully hard and throbbing against your leg. Fuck - as big as you remember. You weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

“You like this, huh?” he murmurs, speeding up the rhythm of his fingers. Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Cracking an eye open you risk a glance downward. Greedily eyeing the hand wrapped tightly around the base, moving up up up. Pumping in small, jerky movements at the same pace of his fingers fucking into you. “Like the way m’getting off to tonguefucking my girl?”

“Like thinking about how this is what I thought about all those lonely fucking night without you?” You arch into his touch, fingers searing on his scalp and angling Satoru just right to make your knees weak. 

He’s so close that you can feel the precum smearing onto your leg. Mouth fucking you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting. 

“Like thinking about how you’re all I can fucking think about.”

“Hngh- Yes, Satoru! Yes-” 

You see stars as you cum - or maybe those were the tears in your eyes. Pulling Satoru impossibly closer to your quivering pussy so that you could ride out your high on his pretty face. And he readily accepts it - letting himself be handled roughly with the conviction of a man that wouldn’t mind dying if it was suffocating in-between your pretty thighs. 

Your vision is hazy, blood still roaring in your ears as Satoru stands up. Not even bothering to wipe away the wet trail of your slick prettily glossing his lips before capturing yours in a searing kiss. 

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he gasps in between heated kisses. “We got a king-sized bed so we better make use of it, hm?”

Your back hits the mattress before you can even react. Reeling from shock and the audacity as you bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“Next time you do that you’re-” 

Whatever insult at the tip of your tongue melts away immediately at the purely pornographic sight of Satoru stalking his way towards you from the foot of the bed. Eyes hooded, cock rock-hard, kiss-bitten lips parted slightly in a way that was so fucked-out.

Unhurriedly approaching you with such a predatory glint in his darkened eyes as he fucks his fist slowly - so agonizingly slowly. Eyes locked on you.

Despite cumming not even minutes before, your pussy jumps in anticipation. Immediately reaching over as soon as he’s close enough - as if in a trance - to replace his hand with yours. 

He was big - so mouthwateringly big. Flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light - every part of Satoru was so unfairly pretty.

So hot and heavy in your hand as you pump him at a steady, methodical pace. Precum smearing on your palm, trailing down your wrist as you pump. Tighter on the base, thumbing teasingly under his slit the way you knew he used to like. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Still remember, huh?” he hisses lowly. Ah, the way he still likes. 

“Mhm.” you hum absentmindedly, thighs clenching together at the way his hips grind in shallow, mindless little motions into your soft hand. Meeting your strokes as if trying to fuck something so delicious out of him.

And, well, you just couldn’t resist a taste. Bending down in one, fluid motion to delicately lick at his angry, hard head. Slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. Tracing lightly - ever-so-lightly - down his prominent veins. 

Satoru groans, low and hoarse with desire, “Shit, hah- you don’ ngh- have to-”

“Shut up, Satoru.” 

And with that, you’re shoving down as much as you can of his throbbing erection down your throat. Cunt clenching at the way he hardens impossibly as you choke and gag around him.

“Shit, oh- Oh fuck, m’girl. Yes yes yes-.” Satoru lets out a guttural moan. Fingers threading through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth. Hips stuttering and jerky with pleasure. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Half-delirious and cock-drunk, you take him all the way till your nose was buried in the tufts of white at his toned pelvis, already so wet with saliva and precum. 

Still got it, some smug, utterly debauched part of yourself titters. 

It was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his heady scent filling your senses. Beginning to move up and down up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. Pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips. 

You moan around Satoru’s thick cock, clawing at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Some truly animalistic part of yourself relishing in the neat, red lines down his milky skin. The sight hazy through the tears that spring to your eyes at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. A relentless, sinful tempo you were steadily losing your mind to.

Messy.  It was so fucking messy.

You just wondered if his orgasm would be the same…

But, alas, one can’t always get what they want. Because Satoru pulls you off of his achingly hard cock with a lewd pop! that rings in his ears and makes your cunt twitch. 

“Shit, sweetheart. Any longer and I’ll have to start thinking about ol’ Prof. Gakuganji to not cum.” he pants through ragged breaths, flashing you a deceptively innocent grin. “Now, lay back and spread ‘em f’me and let me see if your pretty pussy can still handle me.”

And that you don’t argue with. 

It’s almost embarrassing - the way you scramble desperately to sink back into the mattress. Letting Satoru manhandle your legs open so shamefully for him, throwing them over his muscled shoulders. But that’s a problem for the future, not lust-drunk you. 

Right now you couldn’t give less of a fuck as his hungry gaze locks on your glistening pussy. Pausing for just a split-second before spitting once. Twice. Thrice onto your waiting cunt. Making you feel more and more like an object as the warm saliva mixes obscenely with your slick, trickling down to form such a sinful pool on the sheets below. 

And you liked it.

Almost as much as you loved the way Satoru drags his tip along your swollen folds, catching so maddeningly on your clit. Teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. It was so sloppy. And too slow. 

“Satoru, I’ve waited five months too long for this. If you’re going to fuck me then fuck me like you mean it.” you grit out, frustration and pure need boiling over within you. 

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” 

And maybe you were a mastermind, maybe you were an idiot - probably both. Because Satoru immediately pushes in one, long thrust into your dripping cunt. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as he loses grip on whatever semblance of restraint he had - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first. 

Fuck, it feels so heavenly. Oh, how you missed him.

Bowing his body down down down till his damp forehead met yours. Folding you completely underneath him in the way you’ve found that only the smug bastard, Gojo Satoru can. 

You could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, borderline insane, and exactly what you’d been trying to deny that you’d been craving all these past five months. Being split apart on his throbbing cock, feeling like you were about to be absolutely devoured underneath him. 

It seems Satoru was just as needy for you, hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump against your walls matching that of your heart thundering against your chest. 

Or was that Satoru’s? At this point you couldn’t even tell. 

“Oh, god yes-, jus’ like that ah shit shit shit-”

“This what you wanted, yeah?” A low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully your walls were milking him as he pulls back. All the way till his leaking tip was just innocently kissing your sloppy hole - only to ram his cock all the way back into your snug cunt. “To be split apart on my cock?” 

Shit, he could just about pass out right now with the way your cunt was sucking him in so greedily like she never wanted to part. 

Guess she missed him too, he thinks deliriously. Not even having to think about it as he starts fucking into you in shallow, mindless little thrusts. Pushing himself deeper and deeper into your plushy cunt. 

“Äh- fuck, yeah. S���all I’ve wanted.” you mewl, feeling so vulnerable and exposed under the hungry eyes boring into yours. A dark gleam in them as he grins, “Then take it back.”

Disoriented, you gasp out a strangled, “What?” before Satoru’s hips become rougher, chasing his high as much as yours. 

“What you said at dinner.” your lips fall into a soft oh! as you realize just what he’s talking about, “Admit that no man makes you cum as hard as I do.”

God, you don’t think you could answer even if you wanted to, choking on the harsh, purposeful movements of his hips just to fuck your soul out. 

Heavy balls stinging your skin, the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin fills the heady air. Driving you to insanity. An absolutely unforgiving cadence that has the bed creaking in protest. Ah, whatever, he could buy them a new one anyway if this one just so happens to break.

“Take it back yet?” He had to break you first though.

Slick gushes out of your heated cunt, dripping down his length and pooling at his heavy balls, stinging your ass at each merciless thrust. “No.” 

A large hand hastily makes its way down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit. Voice strangled, sweat beading on his forehead, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier. “How about now?”

“Ah- hngh- oh fuck. Satoru!” You could only moan softly in response, broken whimpers leaving you each time his tip kissed your cervix. Angling his hips just right to expertly brush against that one spot he knew so well would have you keening and bucking up into his cock. Your face almost burns at the sheer familiarity of it all. This bastard knew you too well. 

And something about that made such an uncomfortable, prickly feeling pool in your stomach. 

Something which you knew would only be sated if you looped your arms around his neck. Nails digging into his sculpted back as you pulled him impossibly closer.

Kissing his flushed cheeks as he murmurs, “Take it back, sweetheart.”

Despite the thick cock splitting you in half till you probably couldn’t walk tomorrow morning, you find it in yourself to huff out a soft laugh at the way Satoru’s tone teetered on just that endearing side of sulky. “Fine. You win, Toru.” you whisper into his lips,

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and Satoru’s lips gently slotting against yours as he fucked you through your high. Acting as if the fucked-out whimper of his nickname is one he’ll never forget. 

As if he couldn’t cum simply from hearing it leave your pretty lips. And he does, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum painting your plushy walls white with a raw groan of your name. It oozes out of your cunt and onto the mess of sheets below as he fucks his seed into you as a lover would. As he would. 

It was intoxicating - everything from the way you milked his cock so sinfully, to the arms tight around his shoulders. Pulling him close, running soothingly along his skin as Satoru collapses onto you with a final, fucked-out thrust. 

And despite being a lightweight, Satoru’s never been so easily drunk off of something than he was off of you. God how he missed this - how he missed you. 

So much so that he can’t put it into words - and probably won’t ever be able to. But it’s alright, because your sticky body snug against his, and Satoru arms tenderly around your waist - but you didn’t mind. Both of you understood.

Satoru traces his fingers lazily along your side, neither of you bothering to tackle the mammoth task of cleaning up for now. Each movement slow and gentle, as if any sudden movement might shatter the delicate balance between you. 

All is quiet in your little haven, and you could almost fall asleep. The most contented one you’ve had in a while - 5 months, 3 weeks, and 7 hours ago to be exact.

But, of course, Satoru can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing. You jolt out of your reverie as he hastily tries to stifle the startled laugh that huffs out of him. Your dazed eyes meet his in the dim lighting, raising a brow in question.

“It’s just…” he starts, voice soft, “You still call me Toru. Feels like home.”

Ah.

You find yourself chuckling softly with him. Heat rushing to your cheeks, burying yourself deeper into his warm chest, to hide the embarrassingly flustered smile breaking out across your face if anything. 

Chuckling, Satoru shifts closer, touch now feather-light against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips. Faltering ever-so-slightly as you mutter out, “Happy anniversary, by the way. I didn’t say it earlier because someone was being a public menace.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that someone locked me out of my own honeymoon suite.” he laughs, drinking in your pretty lil’ smile. 

Ah, you were perfect. As you always were. Satoru can’t help but utter out a little, “Hey, if I tell you something absolutely stupid, would you promise not to make me fish food?”

“Absolutely not.”

He knew you’d say that. So he flashes you an easy grin, a hint of nervousness in it that he’s sure you see through - you always do. 

“So…” he begins, “First thing’s first, I’m thinking of expanding my father’s company further overseas and it might just so happen that I’m leading the branch development and get to pick where exactly.”

God, you made him feel like such a teenager. At your stunned silence, Satoru could barely raise his eyes to meet yours as he plows on, stumbling so uncharacteristically over his words, “You, I picked where you are.”

You’re breathless, words barely audible as his sinks in. “What? Toru that’s-”

“And don’t be mad but you kinda sorta didn’t-win-the-raffle-so-instead-I-planned-this-getaway-when-we-were-together.”

Any and every trace of breathless euphoria leaves your tone as you narrow your eyes at the very guilty Satoru beside you. Fidgeting under your intense scrutiny. Finally - after what seems like an eternity - you find your senses after his whiplash-inducing information dump. 

A hand immediately shoots out to squeeze his side, right where you knew he was dangerously ticklish.

“You sneaky little-” you scold over his laughed out yells of, “Mercy! No murder on our honeymoon!” squirming helplessly beneath you.

“I can’t believe you let me chug all that ice cream.”

“Exactly- hah- help! You w-would’ve been so sad that you ah- didn’t win.” he manages to choke out under your attack.

Finally relenting, only once you’re sure he’ll be feeling the burn of laughter until your flight tomorrow, you release him from your grasp. A satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you lean in close. “You’re lucky I still love you, you smug bastard” you deadpan.

“Aww, you beat me to it.” Satoru whines. Yet he reaches out to cup your cheek, “And I love you,” words hanging in the air like a promise. “With every fiber of my being.”

You let yourself be begrudgingly pulled into his embrace again, hands caressing along your skin like the highest form of worship. Satoru sighs out a contented, “Best honeymoon ever.” 

But of course, you couldn’t help but bully your idiotic boyfriend. “This is not a honeymoon, Toru.” you mutter into his heated skin.

He only presses you closer to him. Yeah maybe not, fingers deftly dancing along your left hand. But maybe next time. 

“Wanna watch the stars and tell me all about that branch development?”

“Of course, sweetheart, but first can you at least unblock me on Gmail now?”

“...”

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 3 weeks, and 12 hours ago. And as for how long it’s been since he won you back - well, you think it might just be one of the few things you didn’t keep count of.

A/N. Based on my vacay at Lily Beach except I didn’t meet my future husband there :0

Plagiarism not authorized.

[earlgreydream]

His. | Loki x reader smut

I finally the Loki tv show… this does NOT have any spoilers, it’s set on Asgard with a newly appointed king and his coronation gift…

cw: d/s

“Leave any traces of fear in this room.” The command was clear, spoken sharply by a royal attendant.

Your gaze didn’t leave the fragrant water of the bath you knelt in, the attendant taking care to wash every inch of your skin. Other women pulled fluttering silks from a wardrobe, lying it out for you and finding jewelry to match. So much led to this moment, and yet it didn’t seem real — anticipation and anxiety buzzing in your head. You’d been told once already to contain the obvious fear that lingered in your chest, but the daunting task of doing so seemed impossible when your fate was waiting on a silver platter, the moment you left the private chamber you were being bathed in.

“Come, out of the water before your skin wrinkles,” you were hauled to your feet, wrapped in towels and rubbed down by several girls with movements so quick, you were barely left time to react.

Hands massaged your tense limbs, covering them in oils that bloomed with exotic scents, leaving your skin gleaming. At the same time, your hair was fixed, emeralds — his favorite — twisted into the locks and fastening to bare your neck.

“It’s customary to dress her in white,” a handmaiden spoke of you as if you were not there.

“The prince prefers black.” The will of your all-powerful god silenced any protest, everyone moving to do his bidding.

The women fretted — you had to be perfect for him. They prepared you to be presented to the god, as a divine gift to honor the crown prince of Asgard. You were bathed, decorated, and dressed, all to please the god you were gifted to, an expectation that you’d been bred for. It was a great honor to be taken from the hills, to the castle of the gods, to walk amongst the divine, even if it meant your role was to do as your master saw fit, obeying every command. You had come to terms with it, knowing that upon prince Loki’s rise to the throne, you were the sacrifice — the gift — of the kingdom, a promise of good fortune and favor granted in return.

It all seemed like a far-away, distant dream in a future that would never come. Despite that, here you were, relinquishing your whole self to Asgard’s throne. You had never met the god, and never seen him up close. Of course you’d heard the stories, the wrath and prowess of the young prince, and even seen him from a distance — but being in his presence was something entirely new, before being expected to spend the rest of time at his mercy.

Asgardian silk draped over your skin, so light you wouldn’t know it was there. Your decency was concealed beneath expensive black fabric, hiding what was only meant for Loki to see in the moments after this. The handmaidens’ fussing finally ceased, ending the long evening of preparation.

“Come with me, and do as you’re told,” the woman in charge ushered you forward, opening the chamber doors, releasing you out of known captivity into unpredictability.

You swallowed the fear in your throat, steps silent as you followed her to the throne room, the festivities growing louder as you approached your fate. Before you were given a moment to hesitate, you were led into the cavernous room of gold and heavenly magic.

All at once, it fell silent as soldiers escorted you to the throne. There he was — the god himself, draped over his golden throne. Loki was the only one adorned finer than you, a golden helm atop his onyx waves, wild cerulean eyes that bore straight into your soul.

“Your majesty, a gift in exchange for your benevolence,” the ceremony’s representative from your kingdom presented you to Loki, a hand on your shoulder forcing you to kneel before the throne.

A dangerous smile curved the god’s lips, placing his scepter aside as he rose to his feet.

“A very generous gift indeed,” Loki’s lyrical voice wrapped around your throat, stealing the air from your lungs.

He was impossibly tall and lean as he approached you, toned muscles visible even through the heavy layers of leather and gold that adorned his figure. Loki was no mere prince, but a god of mischief, holding an entire world in the palm of his delicate hand. A dark mischief glittered in his eyes, the gorgeous royal leaning down to look closely at you.

He tilted your chin up, looking him directly in the eye, immediately disarmed and vulnerable as you did so. His expression changed almost imperceptibly, gone from his eyes in a flash as he looked away from you, addressing the court who had handed you over.

Your ears were ringing too loudly to hear what he said, your head spinning. A solider moved to guide you to sit at the base of the throne, at Loki’s feet, when you were suddenly snapped back into the present moment.

“You will not lay a hand on what is mine!” Loki’s shout thundered through the chamber, stopping the man before he could touch you.

The soldier quickly fell back, recognizing the lethal danger of disrespecting Loki. An entire room held its breath, the seconds agonizing, exhaling only when Loki motioned for festivities to resume.

Despite the advice to hide your fear, Loki could practical feel your startled fright. Everything else blurred into the background, the celebration entertaining itself, leaving you and Loki at the center of your own universe.

Loki leaned down with an outstretched hand, his expression softening as you met his gaze. He had not yet spoken directly to you, but you didn’t need instruction to place your hand in his, allowing his strength to move you forward. Loki guided you to kneel at his feet as he resumed his place on the throne, slotted between his long legs.

Delicate fingers gently tilted your chin to look up at him, the touch startlingly gentle, a stark contrast to what you’d been warned of.

“There is a long night of festivities ahead, you may rest on me if you grow weary,” Loki granted you permission to lie your head against his thigh, to sink back into the new shelter.

You gave a small nod of understanding, looking back down as his attention was demanded from another round of celebration.

Despite the dizzying commotion of Loki’s ceremony, your limbs became heavy and keeping your eyes open was a losing battle. Loki peered down at you as you slowly laid your head against his leg, letting your exhausted body rest for the first time.

A fierce desire to protect you swelled in Loki’s chest, suddenly cross with the noise and lights that combatted your sleep. As he continued to entertain offerings of exotic fruits and tributes from his kingdoms, Loki moved a leg in front of you, glaring at anyone who so much as looked too long in your direction.

He couldn’t imagine how drained you were, to sleep through the chaos. Your weight rested against his leg, though you didn’t let yourself fully drift into deep sleep, some part of you making sure that you were upright, not wanting to displease him.

Loki carefully supported you as he stood, lifting you off the floor with godly strength. The festivities continued without him — kings, gods, and valkyrie reenacting stories of battles and playing with magic in the great halls.

He’d had quite enough of the noise and empty affection, and desired nothing more than some quiet time alone with his offering.

“Careful,” he warned softly as you began to stir, strengthening his grip to keep you from falling.

“M’sorry,” you mumbled, your first words spoken in a haze of exhaustion.

“It’s alright, you’re free to rest,” Loki laid you down on his bed the moment you entered the privacy of his chambers.

Golden floors were etched in sweeping illustrations of history and mythology, telling the stories of your god beneath the bed draped in dark green silks. Huge doors opened to a veranda, a summer breeze ruffling the curtains, allowing glimpses of glittering astronomy overhead.

Your mind yearned to stay awake, to learn your surroundings and stay vigilant in the presence of Loki. Despite that, your body screamed for sleep, sinking into the soft bedding he had placed you on.

.

Loki watched you sleep.

Exhaustion kept your body rigidly still, not moving once the entire night. You stayed curled up in the very corner of the expansive bed, out of reach of Loki, who eventually took his place as the sun cracked the horizon.

The only indication you were real, was the gentle rise and fall of your back as you breathed. As you slept, the frightened expression vanished from your face, softening the your features. Loki couldn’t take his eyes off of you, studying your almost peaceful face.

Loki drifted in and out of sleep, not bothering to wake you after such a late and overwhelming night. You must have been weary, because you couldn’t have been comfortable, making yourself as small as possible at the very edge of the bed, not wanting to take up too much of Loki’s space.

You slowly opened your eyes, sunlight streaming in through the open veranda. The morning seemed impossibly peaceful, despite waking up into a new life of servitude. This didn’t feel like what you’d expected — waking up in a comfortable bed with the warm sun on your face, the scent of breakfast wafting from a huge spread on the chamber’s dining table.

“Good morning, darling,” Loki’s voice was much softer in the privacy of the chambers, without an audience.

You sat up, looking over as he stood from a couch, setting aside a novel. He was more relaxed, wearing loose black linen, his hair tied up loosely.

“Hi,” you whispered, at a loss for words — partially in awe of how gorgeous he was, and partially cautious, as if he were a cobra waiting to strike at any wrong move.

He watched as you observed your surroundings, inspecting your golden cage in the light of day. Loki’s chambers were beautiful, bright, and serene. It seemed so divorced from the perception you had of the god before being let in to the most private part of his existence. Loki moved smoothly throughout the room, delicate hands attached to a lean, muscular body. Loki’s face was sculpted out of marble, so stunningly beautiful it left you breathless. Green eyes pierced straight into your soul, laid bare when he looked at you.

“Eat something,” he gestured to the feast at the table, as if he were the devil, offering food to a goddess to keep captive in his lair forever.

It was your job to obey, your body moving before your mind even considered protest. The shimmering gown you were wearing the night before swept the floor as you walked, Loki admiring how beautiful you were, even slightly disheveled.

You hesitantly took a berry from the table, bringing it to your lips, licking the sweetness off your fingertips. The sight stirred something inside of Loki, his gaze focusing on the contours of your body that were visible through the just-sheer parts of the fabric draped over you.

“Master?” You could feel the weight of his gaze, invisibly drawing you to him.

Loki stepped toward you, pleased as you sank to your knees without any encouragement, easing into his submission. You wanted it, needed it, like your lungs needed air. A shimmer of green made your clothing disappear, baring you fully to Loki’s intoxicated gaze.

“Look at you, fit for a god,” he praised, slowly circling you as you kneeled, appreciating you from every angle.

“Only for you, master.”

“Loki,” he permitted you to call him by name, a request that pulled the corners of your lips up with small satisfaction.

The floor was cold beneath your knees, and your skin began to prick beneath a cool breeze from the veranda. Loki swelled over the recognition that you were his, and his alone. He was hard in the loose linen pants, eager to claim full ownership of you in such an intimate way. You willingly surrendered to him, practically desperate for him to take you, to consummate your submission to the god.

Your hands smoothed up the solid muscles of Loki’s thighs — limbs you wish to be bent over — before clutching the linen waistband and dragging down his trousers. The sight of him hung heavy made your mouth water and your cunt throb, desire swirling in your belly.

“Go ahead. Touch me as you please, I’m as much yours as you are mine,” Loki murmured, realizing you were waiting for permission, to do as you were told.

Long fingers wove into your hair, cradling the side of your head, pulling only slightly as you licked the tip of his cock, sending a shock up his spine.

He leaned back against the wall, smirking as your left palm flattened over his toned abs to brace yourself, pleased that you were trusting his words.

“Gods,” Loki swore when you took him in your mouth, letting him push you down until he was filling your throat.

Pretty tears welled at your lashes at his size, your throbbing need beginning to smear between your thighs. Your free hand worked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, your tongue dragging up his shaft. He was both long and thick, his skin like velvet on your tongue. It was a feat to take even half of him in your mouth, and you moaned and the thought of him fucking you, and how you’d beg to take it all.

“If worshipping my cock makes you wet enough to drip on my floor, I’ll let you do it every morning,” Loki purred with a grin, clearly taking notice of the effect he had on your body.

“Please,” you whimpered respectfully, dragging your fist up his length, giving your mouth a break.

“I’m close, darling, you’re doing beautifully,” he praised, watching your thighs squeeze together at his words.

“I want to come in that gorgeous mouth, feel myself in your throat.”

You tilted your head back just a bit, both to gaze up into his eyes and to let him in deeper. A low whine vibrated around his cock as his hand wrapped around your throat, gently squeezing.

“Fuck,” Loki hissed, spilling over into your mouth, filling your senses with his salty taste.

“Swallow it,” Loki commanded, and you were all too willing to obey, wanting to please him.

His thumb swiped over your lips, cleaning up the bit of mess he made, kneeling in front of you as you both caught your breath.

“Was that okay?” the question slipped out before you could stop yourself, puzzling Loki.

“Of course, it was perfect. Haven’t you done it before?”

“No, I’ve been kept pure for you,” you answered, earning a profane string of Norse as his dick twitched.

“You’ve made me insatiable,” Loki pressed a quick, messy kiss to your mouth that was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“No!” Loki shouted, standing up, displayed in his full glory to the guard who opened the door.

The furious god stood in front of you, blocking any eyes from catching even a glimpse of your body.

“Get out, now, or I shall have your eyes torn out!” Loki thundered, fiercely possessive over you.

“I’m so sorry, your highness. Odin has called on you—”

A sharp burst of Loki’s magic sent the man flying backward with a yell, the door slamming shut behind him.

“I’m sorry-” you began, as if you needed to apologize for being nude.

“I will never let anyone else touch you, see your body, or covet what is mine.”

A warmth spread through you at the words, taking his hand to stand up. He took a cloth, carefully cleaning you up, before guiding you into a closet that was full of the finest Asgardian fabrics.

“We’ll continue this later, darling, but for now, you’ll accompany me on whatever nonsense I’m being summoned for,” Loki explained, moving to dress himself as he left you to choose what maids had left for your arrival.

You chose green, pleasing the god as you adorned his colors, another sign of your growing devotion. Loki kissed your wrist, before a band of gold appeared in a shimmer, bringing a smile to your face.

He wordlessly led you out of his chambers, a hand at the small of your back. Being with him was intense — but the castle and all of its people was overwhelming. You found yourself leaning into Loki’s side, away from the noise of shouting and chaos of the everyday happenings.

He looked up from the throne to see what was bothering you before pulling you to sit between his legs where you could sink back into him and ignore the noise.

“We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished. Until then, you can entertain yourself by picturing what I’m going to do to your precious little pussy,” Loki whispered against the side of your face, gently nipping your ear.

You shuddered against his chest, feeling him chuckle beneath you as his arm tightened on your waist. Warmth flushed your cheeks and you turned your face into his arm, shy at the filthy words from Loki. He could feel your heart racing inside your ribs, anxious to tear the emerald gown from your body.

You were lost in your thoughts when Loki banished everyone from the expansive throne room, giant doors embedded with gemstones slamming shut, sealing you alone with him.

“Now, where were we?” Loki asked, mouthing hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“I believe you were about to fuck me, Loki,” you chirped.

“I love hearing those dirty words on your lips, all for me.”

“Only you,” you promised, closing the gap as he hovered above you.

The kiss was heady, his tongue warm and dominating as he pushed it past your lips. The sensation nearly distracted you from his hands, that were tearing the fabric around your torso, letting it flutter to the floor in shimmering pieces.

“I’m going to fuck you here, on this throne, like a proper king.”

You parted your legs, letting his hand drop between them. Loki smirked into your neck as he cupped your sex, feeling how wet you were, desperate for him as heat radiated from your center.

He didn’t bother to turn you over, perfectly happy to fuck you while you were on top of him, lying on his chest as he sat upon his throne. He glided his cock along your wet lips, only a moment until you were squirming with desperation.

He wanted to hear you beg, but even he couldn’t wait any longer, slowly sinking into you, every inch stretching you impossibly further. The sweet sting made you cry out, your head dropping back on his shoulder when he nestled himself fully inside you.

“You’re perfect for me,” Loki praised through gritted teeth, fighting not to slam into you like an animal. He could feel your walls throbbing around him, muscles burning as they were forced to take the stretch to fit him inside — and you loved it.

You doubted anything would ever feel so good, until his hips started to roll forward, the god fucking you deep and slow, holding your body against his chest. He buried his face in your shoulder, soaking up your squeals of pleasure as he lost himself in you.

Before he even thought to play with you, your cunt began to clench around him with an impending orgasm. Your startled whimper shot straight to Loki’s dick, and he fucked you harder, unable to help himself.

“Come around me, darling, let me know how good you feel,” Loki urged, nearly spilling into you as you trembled in his arms, coming with a scream that echoed off the walls.

“There you go,” he murmured, twitching before he filled you with his seed, painting your insides with him.

Your breaths were ragged and uneven, mind completely foggy in the aftermath. He breathed in your scent as he stayed inside you, preserving the moment for as long as possible.

“I’m yours, forever,” you whispered, as if reading his mind.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Stolen Soul and Love

Valentino x fem!reader

warning : flirting, some fluff, inner strugle, obsession, falling in love in Val's own twisted way

Summary : One more meeting with the Overlords of Hell and he would have loved to kill himself, but he couldn't escape the responsibility any longer. The meeting was made all the sweeter when his red eyes settled on something he had never seen before pure love.

Info : THANK YOU ALL from my heart on my first HH work it means a lot. I'm glad you all enjoyed it so much and hoep you have fun with my future works

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He was a pimp, one of the three overlords who showed their power more than clearly every day. He had everything: hookers, money, souls and power.

He was perfectly happy, I mean, he had the porn star from hell Angeldust and the TV demon Vox's ass was practically his. Everything the moth-like demon could want was his.

But why did he have this gnawing feeling inside him, like a growling, a chirping, a buzzing, like a moth, a fucking moth looking for something.

But what was it when he had everything but that one gnawing feeling inside him when he saw her. He was inevitably summoned to the Overlord meetings and for once he couldn't avoid it because it was probably about something important.

The three Overlords entered the room with an engaging appearance and the moth demon made himself as comfortable as possible in the damned narrow chairs.

The meeting seemed to begin, the reports were always the same, the souls the same and the danger the same. ,,Get to the point, Carmilla darling, some of us have a fashion empire to run," Velvette muttered, glancing up from her cell phone, which made Vox snicker, who was probably more focused on his ratings, which had dipped a bit due to his nemesis Alastor.

Nothing a fuck can't fix, Valentino thought, taking a drag on his cigarette and letting the engulfing red smoke billow around him before taking a puff across the room.

He kept his hands off the smiling radio demon, however, who had only given the three of them a quick glance, and had to hold Vox to prevent his cute TV head from cracking another one.

Letting his gaze drift, his gold tooth flashing in the light of the lamps and inwardly wondering which was the best setting for the next porno, he heard the door open. All the overlords were there, so it could only be one of the subjects and enemies.

And actually he wasn't going to look behind his heart-shaped glasses but when he saw that sweet smell he just knew something wasn't normal. It was the sweet irresistible alluring attractive smell and no one else in hell had it but him.

The red eyes searched first for a demon of lust perhaps, something powerful but no he found only a simple demoness maybe a little cat-like as the fuzzy ears on her head indicated but otherwise like any normal inhabitant here in hell.

But why did she smell so good? What was it that he felt that he had never felt? He watched her as she walked with a silver tray under her arm to the respective overlords to order a few drinks.

It seemed as if he could see she was neither a robot nor a slave but rather one of Carmilla's protégés dark silver white clothes a pretty dress but a little too long for his taste. It didn't lack class, which a little smoke can't change.

With a grin he waited in his seat until she came to him and blew his heart out to her. ,,Aren't you a sweetie?" he grinned, ignoring her superior's gaze and having long since forgotten the conversation and the meeting.

She smiled slightly and the moth demon felt his wings needing to flap, moving his fingers almost hastily across the table as he slowly came a little closer to her.

He was nervous, a fact that shocked him.  ,,Pretty trick Sir Valentino... what kind of drink do you want?" she asked, not moving away from him and following the red smoke lightly with her eyes, which slowly settled around her but didn't seem to take her in. He didn't check her at a glance even though her sweetness was so close to him.

One kiss, one look, one lick with his tongue was enough and he knew what made her come. But no, he didn't. He just said, ,,Love potion with berries, dear" before the tall man stood up again, pulling back first and looking at her form from behind his glasses. This feeling inside him was something he thought couldn't be.

Nervous and twitchy...am I no or? his thoughts revolved around her at that moment and why his dark heart in hell still beat for anyone at all. Could it be, could it really be that the pimp and overlord could lose his heart to a simple demon? He didn't know, but the way he felt it was like back then.

He still vaguely remembered his former life of this body function when people fell in love. But he didn't have any more time to think about it when the door opened again after a few minutes and he saw that she had come back.

Several drinks were lying on the silver tray and he could just see his puinken with berries sticking out. ,,Thank you dear, say would you like to earn a little extra money, maybe even become the star at my side?" he smiled, shielding her from the others with his wings.

His hands slowly placed themselves on her shoulders, wanting to have her with him forever. ,,You're different from AngelDust, from the princess of everything here... you could be my star," he suggested, watching her red eyes as she slowly realized what he was alluding to, what he really wanted and what it meant for her. ,,Sir-Lord I mean Valentino I'm flattered," she stammered and suddenly he felt the arrogance return to him.

He knew demons knew that once they were so taken in, once they were flattered, it was easy, wasn't it? ,,And so beautiful," he complimented and let the smoke slowly close around her.

Carmilla may have taken her, but in the end you are mine, thought the demon as he brought the back of her hand to his lips, running his tongue over it in a surprisingly gentle, warm and inviting way.

He saw her embarrassment, how she couldn't pull away and didn't want to. ,,And do I have you?" he asked, coming closer to her and wanting her closer, not like Angel, but wanting her in a different way, always with him somehow.

Before he was suddenly pulled away slightly by her and landed back on his chair, ,,Hands off my employee Valentino!" Carmilla warned and Val raised his hands placatingly and rolled his eyes. ,,Not at all Carmilla, I only wanted to confess my unethical feelings to such a pretty creature," grinned Valentino, feeling himself turning back into the demon he knew.

Before he spread his wings in warning and walked past the overlords with a broad grin. ,,See you around, pretty," he murmured with a wink before his wisp of smoke announced his departure and the moth demon withdrew from the meeting.

With his very own recognition of this meeting. He had to possess this beauty in one way or another and he had truly fallen in love, one more reason for him to get her soul and her heart when she had long since stolen both from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[hanafubukki]

MC/Yuu “Blessed/Cursed” by a Fae Theory

So you know how Lilia said that MC vision state is kind of similar to when Silver falls asleep/sleepy?

And we know, in part, the cause of Silver’s sleepiness is due to the blessing he got from the three fairies.

So that makes me wonder, did someone “bless” MC to have these visions?? Was it some fae?

And since we know the carriage brought MC to NRC and they were in a coffin, the closest fae that could have done it is Dire Crowley.

I don’t remember who pointed it out (@prince-kallisto?? @moonlightequin1?? <— the two Dire Crowley experts) but didn’t someone say that ravens/crows are symbols of prophecy?? And also symbols of death and rebirth?

MC is getting visions of OBs so in a sense prophecy, though it’s not far in advance or detailed enough for them to stop it from happening.

But book 5 we see them connect the dots with Vil and they go to check on him secretly and then! At the end of book 5, we see the chimera, which this time it a vision way more ahead in the future but a future to come.

So this symbolizes not only the ability of prophecy but of death if the prologue says anything. And if some time theories are true, we are trying to stop this death event from happening so in a sense, we get rebirth.

I don’t remember book 6 visions or maybe they didn’t stand out as much given the chaos that happened, though of note, we saw more MC development and their insecurities which we haven’t seen before.

But for sure, book 5 visions were different.

With book 7 visions in the beginning, we saw for the first time one of the Great Seven being mentioned by name.

The over arching plot and small details show that something is being cooked in the background, and we’ll probably see how it all comes together, especially with three dia members who have dream/memory related UM. We’ll probably see it come to fruition in book 8.

But I wanted to point out key points:

- book 5: MC being suspicious and connecting their dreams with Vil’s OB, something they just did for the first time. Then, they get a “future” vision of the chimera and what we know happens in the prologue.

-book 6: MC insecurities and helplessness is shown for the first time. You can see them try to include MC more in the interactions but you can also see the way they feel helpless.

-book 7: first time one of great seven is named in a vision. MC dreams/vision state are compared to Silver’s dream/sleepy state, which we know was due to a blessing given by fairies.

So either, Dire Crowley gave them this “blessing” or whoever that brought MC did (Levan? (If the two aren’t the same), another fae? Could it be Queen Maleficia? Someone who hasn’t shown up yet despite her grandson is in trouble).

Another thing to note, that yes while they are in a dream, MC hasn’t had any visions yet. Which is strange given their track record and how these visions tend to warn them of danger. MC has constantly been in danger, have they not?

Could it be so this magic doesn’t get recognized? But wouldn’t Lilia have recognized a blessing on them? Unless someone was able to hide said blessing.

All of this is rather fascinating 🫶🤔

(This is especially interesting when you take into consideration that they “randomly” chucked the fact about Silver and MC being similar in the beginning of book 7 at us and then never brought it up again 🧐)

[artificialchaoscola]

This is another ramble that prob makes no sense lets gooooooooo

Do you guys ever think that the reason Shadow says shit like "I don't run." when faced with danger is that the last time he did that instead of fighting, he lost his sister? Like he'd rather just take his chances and potentially lose against a threat versus dealing with that trauma again? Certainly Shadow will think at random that maybe he should've done something differently that day. Maybe he should've stopped and fought while she ran, and it haunts him that he was afraid. She probably convinced him to run with her, to not fight, and maybe trust in her idealism haunts him.

I think a big part of Shadow's character is there being this huge tragedy regarding Maria and her desires for him, that her influence actually breaks him in a lot of ways because it doesn't allow him to live. That's why SA2 is such a tragic story to me. Here you have this -by all accounts - child, this experiment, unable to live life on the planet he always glimpsed at because he's trapped in his mourning + the corrupted memories Gerald implanted in him (btw you can also compare Shadow's lack of reaction to the world with Silver's admiration in 06 but that's an analysis for another time). He didn't think sooner that it was out of character of his sister to desire the annihilation of the planet because Shadow simply does what Maria wants. She was his world, the only thing he cared about. Earth was her dream, and her desires being fulfilled was his. Yet without her alive he doesn't see the point in anything except planet-wide death. He was so willing to do what she said he forgot who she was before her demise practically.

It's fucked up and sad, and I think that that's why having Maria's ghost haunt him so often should always show Shadow is on a path of self-destruction if he lets the bad memories get to him. Part of the beauty of Shadow's (the game) true ending is his coming to terms that all of those people in his life, Maria included, have influenced the person he is, but he can choose the person he becomes in the future. And I think part of that healing journey would be letting go of a lot of what Maria expected of him. Not all of it, of course, I love when they reference her and how she influences his considerations. I just hope that if Maria is the ONLY person he thinks of as an influence in any of the Sonic media, they always take the time to show that putting her above his own person is dangerous for his mental health.

[dvilkings]

how i would write and wish the rest of the bridgerton show would go (following the books but putting the spin onto things as the show has done): includes spoilers!!!

s3 p2 ~ colin and penelope

colin and penelope are engaged, announcing to her family and his. but eloise, upon finding out, forces pen to tell colin that she is lady whistledown. and she does with much nervous anticipation. maybe after she speaks with colin more about his own writing, encouraging him to publish his work. colin’s reaction to her being LW is angry of course — though not like he was when he said he would “ruin” lady whistledown's life upon finding out who the writer is. he is angry at pen for putting herself in danger of getting caught, and the backlash she will undoubtedly face if the ton finds her out.

this will lead into colin demanding pen retire. though she does not want to, for colin she would. she makes her last entry and calls it quits and continues on with her engagement to colin in a peaceful manner...

(this is where part of me wants a different outcome. that pen does not retire as LW and instead keeps writing, after convincing colin why she must, and his anger and jealousy turns to acceptance. i want this outcome a little more because it will keep the mystery of lady whistledown with the show for longer. and keeps a good narrative for the story to move -- and it would be so sad to not have julie andrew's wonderful voice taking us through regency london. the only downside i see to this is the rest of the seasons, which are notably not in the limelight of society and the eyes of the ton like the previous ones are. they are more on the outskirts and the quiet life of the regency era. and thus, LW would not be able to see much of the goings on for the rest of them. and besides, now that penelope will be married, and to the man of her dreams no less, she doesn't much have need for LW anymore. that comfort and wall will be replaced with colin and her future with him. so there are definitely pluses and minuses for each)

during this time, the queen will announce a bounty put on LW: whoever comes forth and exposes LW’s identity will receive a certain amount of money. this spurs cressida to make her announcement that she is LW, thinking the money could help her and her family so she is not forced into an arranged marriage with someone older who she will not like at all. except pen will not let cressida be known as LW and essentially take her work. so she posts her one last issue of exposing cressida, and then she is confronted in her home where cress explains how she knows pen is LW, and pen's slip up.

since finding out pen is LW, colin has been very tense with her, realizing that he is more jealous than anything, that she had a purpose for so long and her writing while gossip filled, was truly very good. and something he thought he could never live up to. but pen keeps insisting he is wonderful.

pen goes to colin, where he sets up his elaborate scheme with anthony, just like in the books, and announces to the entire ton that pen is LW at the last ball of the season, coincidentally, a masquerade ball. which is also where benedict meets the mysterious lady in silver, aka, sophie (opting not to use her last name in case it is changed due to any ethnicity changes the show (hopefully) makes for her), and he falls in love with her at first sight, having their private moment and kiss before she flees from the scene, most likely when colin makes his big announcement and uses it as a quick escape.

upon the ton accepting pen as LW is how s3 will close, leading to benophie's story for s4

s4 ~ benedict and sophie

time jump ~2 years into the future… benedict is stuck and fixated on his lady in silver, trying to find her after 2 years of searching, to no avail. not knowing her name, what she looks like as she was wearing a mask, knowing nothing about her but for her smile and mysteriousness and the raw need of needing her as his wife.

we will receive flashbacks throughout of sophie’s life with the cowpers, living with araminta as a mother and cressida as a sister. her biological father, lord cowper, not seeing her as anything more than a burden, and lady cowper suggesting she’d make a much better use as a mere servant. i believe at the end of s3/into the time jump, lord cowper will pass and araminta and cressida will be left with close to nothing, especially after cress' embarrassment after trying to announce herself as LW. she is a spinster at this point, something nobody ever thought would happen to her. but we see sophie and cressida as children, growing up as friends and the closest thing to sisters either will have (going off of cressida mentioning to eloise in s3p1 that she had a friend when she was young). but the cowper's dislike and disdain for sophie is clear from her childhood.

when the last ball of the season, the masquerade happens (s3ep8), the other servants helped sophie be able to attend for one night, but she is later on discovered by the cowper’s for her efforts and casted out. forced to find work wherever she can.

this lands her in a wealthy home as a servant. she meets benedict here when he attends a party at the home, where he saves her from the hands of her master’s son with filthy intents to touch her. and he takes her to the closest and safest place he can think of: the mondrichs, parents to the new and young lord kent.

they stay there with them for some time while sophie decides what to do with herself, where we see some of the mondrich's life and their son being raised to be the next lord kent as he is older now (early teenhood i believe?). benedict has no idea that sophie is his lady in silver, and sophie is beginning to fall in love despite her never being able to be with ben. and eventually, ben starts to feel the same, and while he wants to have her as his mistress, knowing she wouldn’t be a fit wife as she is a servant, and he still must marry a woman of proper lineage — she refuses, as she does not want to end up like her mother and have a child who would live just as she has. so he takes her to his mother’s new home (having moved out of the bridgerton house as kanthony have started their own family) as that is the only place he can take her where she will still be close to him — where she becomes a lady’s maid for the girls, eloise and hyacinth.

things follow closely here from the books for benophie. meanwhile, francesca has married john sometime during the time jump (presumably right after s3 ends, close behind polin) and travel between scotland and london. now we are introduced and see some of michael and his life and maybe longing for frannie. this season john most likely dies and we see the beginning of frannie and michael’s story start to unfold, both dealing with the heartbreaking loss. she finds she is pregnant with john's child, and thus the wait happens to find out if her child is a boy, and whether michael will become the new lord of kilmartin or not. but she has a miscarriage, and michael is to become the new lord of kilmartin. and frannie needs him in her time of mourning and strife, but he cannot see her and instead leaves for india, most likely because he had a recent discussion with kate about all the places to see and visit.

and with sophie living with violet and the girls, she grows close to them all, even eloise who has been writing letters mysteriously. sophie is the one to notice this and inquire more about it but eloise is still stubborn and tight lipped.

some time goes by until sophie is spending time with kanthony's children who are visiting violet's home and hyacinth, leading to the scene with her wearing a cloth to cover her eyes and leaving only her mouth exposed. benedict walks in and immediately knows that sophie is his lady in silver. they discuss, they argue, sophie reveals who she is and how she is the illegitimate daughter of the late lord cowper. and she runs away. right into lady cowper discovering sophie is working for the bridgertons and she schemes to get sophie thrown in jail for stealing immediately. which leads then to benedict and violet saving her from being hanged, even cressida becoming involved (sophie was her very first friend, and close to a sister, her character being a perfect mixture of rosamund and posy from the books). and benedict announces their engagement, unbeknownst to anyone, even sophie, right there.

upon finding out ben is now engaged, and the recent letter from phillip (her mysterious letter writing receiver) that she has still yet to respond to, she decides to run away to him, to see if she too could find happiness as half of her siblings have found thus far.

the season ends with sophie and ben engaged and planning to live in the country where it is quiet and out of society's prying eyes, frannie being a widow and losing her unborn baby while michael has offed to india, and eloise running away to sir phillip crane.

s5 ~ eloise and phillip

marina crane has died a year or two earlier (while she thought her life could be full of happiness and contentment with her children, she did not find it to be good enough to keep on going), and her children are older now, but phillip does not know how to act as their father as they are out of control and he did not have good parentage growing up. he has been writing back and forth with eloise bridgerton for some time since his wife’s death and he would like to meet her in hopes she will be a good wife and mother to his children, something he is desperate for. and then eloise shows up without notice.

they discuss, and go on as planned, where they can see if each of them will make an acceptable spouse. both finding the other to be not quite what they imagined after a year or two of corresponding. the children do not want eloise there, and in fact continue to lay traps and prank her in hope to make her want to leave - though she is not deterred. and after a particularly nasty prank that leaves eloise harmed, things change from there between all of them.

her family still has no idea where she is, even after many days away. but it doesn't matter to eloise, because during her stay with phillip and his children, she is growing attached and she believes she could be falling in love with them all. but one night post the accident of the children causing her harm, ending up with a bruise on her face, all of her brothers appear one night to confront the situation and phillip, questioning what has been happening. and though nothing that would warrant scandal, it will still come upon them since eloise ran away, without a word and without a chaperone (despite her being a spinster) and thus leads to a proper courting. eloise is taken to stay with benedict and sophie, living not too far away out in the country and phillip goes back and forth to court her every day as such is proper, while they are chaperoned by eloise's family.

we also see some of francesca living with being a widow, and missing john more than anything. her struggle with wanting a child but not being ready to find a new husband. and missing michael since he has left to india with a list of places to visit from kate. she is still lady kilmartin while michael is away, and taking care of the estate in scotland, which keeps her mind and body busy enough to not stop and think about her grief for too long during the day. and hyacinth is now out in society still, on her first or second year out and while she is from the bridgerton clan (notorious for their attractiveness and looks and popularity), her prospects dwindle due to her "un-lady like" personality that seems to scare off any man. seeing her try to navigate the marriage mart differently than her sisters, with her mischeviousness and stubbornness and unable to stop talking and picking arguments. then seeing a little bit of gregory as an eligible bachelor now, still young and nowhere near wanting a bride, but wanting to find a purpose for himself like all his siblings have seemed to have done. and also seeing a glimpse into kanthony's marriage family life. kanthony as the viscount and viscountess with their children, maybe one or two by this point. and hopefully some sight into daphne and simon (hopefully have recasting simon by this point, sad to say) and their numerous children. hopefully polin will have a child by now, or at least pregnant.

when eloise runs away to benophie's home after one of her fights with phillip, instead of their son getting sick, i believe it will be sophie, in the middle of her being pregnant - benedict is distraught and when phillip shows up to find eloise, seeing a tenderhearted moment of his understanding on the fear of losing a wife and child all in one. and later phillip explains to eloise how marina died in fact compared to the story they were telling the public, and how they will get married. that eloise is not leaving, contradictory to phillip's fears. they find their way into loving each other as they continue to court more, with the chaperone of anthony, and their dynamic as a family - how eloise comes to love phillip's children despite them not being his, and not being hers. and how they decide to navigate parenthood together, promising that they are not their parents or the ones that came before them, and will be better.

[this is where my thoughts will become shorter just because we don't have much build up from the show, aka the supporting characters and what not, so my thoughts will most likely be just as they are in the books, hoping the show will try to stick closely to them]

s6 ~ francesca and michael

michael decides to return to london after some years in india. and francesca has decided to rejoin society, end her mourning, and find a new husband so she may have children of her own. and while michael did run away after becoming the new lord of kilmartin, and needing space from francesca, he is still very much in love with her, unbeknownst to her. but we see more of this, of the heartache he has put himself through over the years. watching his cousin and the woman he loves be happy together, and then the one thing that was keeping him from her happened, and he couldn't let himself take that happiness.

watching frannie and michael reunite, and try to find their friendship again, to michael learning frannie wants children and will be looking for a husband this season, to frannie seeing michael as more than just the friend/cousin he once was to her when john was still alive, to michael making frannie jealous with his numerable admirers.

more people start to notice michael's feelings for frannie, most notably violet and colin (surprisingly). and even seeing their new closeness. as frannie frequently visits michael's home to care for him and his malaria he contracted in india. their relationship becomes more than friendship as francesca battles with her feelings towards michael and not knowing what to do with them. and after finally giving in to their desires, francesca flees back to scotland in the middle of the season. leaving michael confused and unknowing of what to do. colin is the one to spur him into action, telling him it is better to try for his happiness than to not, just as he had with penelope. i can imagine even violet will mention such the same to frannie as well, violet finding another happiness in marcus anderson, lady danbury's brother. that it is okay for frannie to go after her own happiness in someone else, that she can still honor her late husband, and live for him even after he is gone.

and so michael pursues frannie, running after her to scotland. accepting that john would have wanted him to be happy, even if it was with frannie. and francesca continues to battle with herself over her feelings for michael. and after finding her in the kilmartin estate, confronting one another, and asking frannie to marry him, her not knowing an answer, to getting stuck walking through the hillsides in the rain, fleeing to the land's caretakers old home, sleeping together again - michael almost wanting to prove to frannie she could get pregnant after her insecurities that she could not. to frannie speaking with john's grave and accepting that this is what john would have wanted for her too.

and so she says yes to michael, she will marry him.

the rest of the married bridgertons have started their families, found happiness with their spouses, something that drove francesca into jealousy because why not her. (i don't have much idea to what the lives of the supporting characters and other bridgertons will look like at this point as we don't see much of them in the books and the timeline is all off now, so this is what i have thus far) :

violet will have found happiness with marcus (i hope so at least)

kanthony will have several children by now, and have long completely taken over the bridgerton name and kate becoming a wonderful viscountess. anthony is proving to be an excellent father, something he seemed to have been born to do, showing so with his siblings in earlier seasons

daphne and simon are still happy and with several children of their own

polin are as in love as ever, with a child or two now, having spent some of their early life traveling together. and colin having a book published and working on more.

benophie are happy in the country, living the quiet life with a child or two, living close to

philloise and keeping a good friendship between their families, as eloise and sophie grew close when she was el's lady's maid. and their children while years apart, grow up together as friends as well.

[hyacinth's story will follow and then gregory's, though i have yet to finish hyacinth's story and have not started gregory's. i will update the thread once i have done so!!!]

s7 ~ hyacinth and gareth

tbd

s8 ~ gregory and lucy

tbd

[callixpene]

L&DS LIs When You Pick Another LI Over Them Part 2

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

Part 1

******

Note: This fic is based on my personal opinion of how the boys would react if you had chosen another LI over them.

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

Xavier: You chose Sylus

"The Leader of Onichynus must be up to no good....I'm worried that he might be using you."

Xavier said as you both walked along the halls of the Association.

No matter how hard you tried reassuring him that Sylus was definitely not using you, and that he takes your relationship very seriously, Xavier would have none of it.

"I just don't trust that man. Please ......just stay away from him. If you stay in the N109 Zone, you'd be in his territory. You'd be at the palm of his hand, if he wants to use you for his schemes-"

"Sylus would NEVER do anything to hurt me" you cut him off. "He and I might have got off on the wrong foot, but that doesn't matter now." You looked at Xavier with conviction." Believe me when I say he would do anything for me, and so would I, for him."

Xavier's irises shook.

He too, would do absolutely anything for you.

Yet, you had chosen a dangerous, vile criminal, to be your lover instead, when he was right there next to you....

Still, despite his worries, and his hurt, he would accept your choice.

Although you kept stating that Sylus loves you and would never harm you, should he ever suspect that Sylus had hurt you, or made you cry, whether it be intentional or not, Xavier would march into the heart of the N109 zone and cut him down himself.

Rafayel: You chose Xavier

"So your boyfriend....what does he do exactly?"

Rafayel tried to keep his expression and posture neutral as he asked you, though he couldn't hold back the slight bitterness in his tone.

"Xavier is a Hunter too, he's the best in the entire Association!" you exclaimed proudly.

Rafayel winced. He stared at his half-eaten salmon.

He was finally able to take you dinner to this new restaurant after trying to convince you for weeks, but now you're busy gushing about another man.

"Xavier's also my main partner in missions. He's so strong and dependable, I was so lucky he offered to be-"

"You sure you're serious about this guy?" Rafayel cut you off.

Not long after Rafayel had spotted you two at the park that night, he used all his resources to look into Xavier's background.

He couldn't find out much about the guy you were dating. The only information he was able to collect was that he worked at the Hunter's Association and that he lived in the same apartment complex as you.

"I mean he seems pretty bland and boring. You could definitely do much better. There's plenty of fish in the sea. Better-looking, more fun to be around, would give you the world on a silver platter, would wait centuries for you....."

You raised a brow. "Rafayel what-"

"Like the fishie sitting right in front of you...." He gave you a sad, sincere smile. "Even if you're with someone else, he'd wait for you to come back to him, no matter how long it takes."

"Rafayel.....I'm so sorry. I can't. I don't want to get your hopes up. I love Xavier...." You rambled, trying to come up with a way to make this less painful for him-

But Rafayel reaches out to touch your cheek, his thumb traces your jaw to your bottom lip.

"If he ever upsets you, or if you ever get sick of him, come to me anytime. I'll always be here for you, and I'll show you why you should pick me over him" he said with determination.

Should you be hurt in the future, Rafayel would let you use him like a tissue, let you cry on him then let you throw him away afterwards. He would gladly even offer to comfort you with his body.

He's determined that if he keeps pushing himself back into your life, then maybe you'd choose him and love him instead.

He's waited a long time to be with you again. He was willing to do anything at this point to keep you in his life.

Zayne: You chose Rafayel

Dr. Zayne immediately tensed when you entered the office.

It was your routine check-up.

Zayne had been looking forward to seeing you all week. It was the only thing that kept him going after he found out you already had a lover.

At the very least, during these check-ups, he had you all to himself, though he wouldn't be able to act on his feelings, he told himself it would be enough to just be in your presence.

But now, you were accompanied by, Zayne recognized, the purple-haired man he witnessed kissing you passionately after you left on your last check-up.

He was crushed.

"Rafayel, this is Dr. Zayne. He's my primary care physician, and he's also my childhood friend." You said as you smiled at your boyfriend.

"Pleased...to meet you" Zayne outstretched his hand. He really didn't want to, but he had to be civil and professional.

Rafayel shook his hand with a rather tight grip and gave Zayne a stern look.

Zayne already didn't like him, and that look only made him dislike Rafayel even more.

During the entire check up, Rafayel held your hand. His fingers were tightly intertwined with yours.

As Zayne was discussing his medical findings and advice, Rafayel laid his head on your shoulder. Your hand instinctively went to pet him on the head and Rafayel shot Zayne a triumphant smirk.

Zayne could only tighten the grip he had on his clipboard as he continued to speak.

This man had taken the girl he had loved for years and now he was intentionally taunting him.

Right now, Zayne hated Rafayel with his entire being.

********

"You'll be fine. As long as you continue to take your medication on time and don't overexert yourself, your condition won't affect your duties as a Hunter."

"That's good to hear, Doctor. We'll be off now." Rafayel said as he quickly got up and pulled you out of the office. You could only manage a swift "Bye Dr. Zayne!" before the doors shut behind you.

Zayne slumped back into his seat.

He prayed to whatever God was listening with a heavy heart that on your next check-up, that bastard wouldn't be with you.

He just wanted to be alone with you for a short time.

Was that too much to ask for?

Sylus: You chose Zayne

Sylus left empty-handed that night.

You had chosen to stay with that Doctor.

He left your apartment, heartbroken and livid.

Luke, Kieran and his other subordinates were terrified to speak or be anywhere near him in the weeks that followed.

Still, Sylus would not give up so easily.

With Mephisto's help, he specifically chose a day where Zayne had several surgeries lined up, so he could visit you at your home for a very long chat.

"Tell me Kitten....what does that Doctor have that I don't?" He started, calmly, with his hurt and jealousy hidden behind a confident smirk. "Surely, you can't be that interested in him? He barely has any time for you. He seems like the type who would prioritize work over you. I, on the other hand, can-"

"Sylus" You cut him off. "I love Zayne. He is everything to me. I'm really sorry." You said with finality.

The calm exterior that Sylus hid behind collapsed as he heard this confession from you.

"Tell me you hate him. Tell me that night with him meant nothing to you. Tell me you slept with him to make me jealous. Give me excuses, Kitten. Anything. Anything but that."

"Those would be lies, Sylus. I'm really sorry. " You said, apologetically. You didn't know how to make it less hurtful for him.

Sylus didn't know what to do.

You've now made it clear that you were not interested in anyone except for that damned doctor.

If he were to get rid of Zayne, you would be hurt....and you would hate him. He did not want that.

"Fine then, Kitten" Sylus said, once again hiding his hurt with a smirk. "We can definitely still have fun and play around, at my place, if you know what I mean. That Doctor doesn't have to know...."

It was a long shot, to get you to cheat on your lover with him, but he would keep pressing on, trying to seduce you. Because even if your desire was all that he could have of you, he'll gladly take it.

Better than nothing at all, Sylus taught bitterly.

[glisten-inthedark]

I love how we're supposed to believe Danny and Steve were just bros in spite of the multitude of evidence to the contrary.

Your honor, the prosecution would like the present the following.

Evidence number 1

Steve looking like his puppy was pupnapped when he saw Rachel with Danny. Unless we're supposed to believe he was harboring intense feelings for a woman he saw twice, it doesn't explain why he'd look so heartbroken and betrayed.

Evidence number 2

Steve is the only one Danny allows to call him Danno besides Grace. We're talking about his child here, the light of his life and his entire universe and the other part of it that happens to be a Navy 🦭 with a complex.

After the third time he stopped bitching about Steve calling him Danno, and when was Danny ever known for shutting up when truly annoyed? That's right, never.

Evidence number 3

Danny gave up his chance ar a normal life for Steve. That man had his entire future offered to him on a silver platter, he spent all of the year complaining about being in Hawaii, being away from his child and about everything really.

But when he finally has the chance to leave he does what? Does he go to the airport and flies back to Jersey like one would assume he would? No! He stays.

He knows Rachel, he knows he might as well be closing that particular door for good, but he doesn't care. He chose Steve over his chance of happiness, over Rachel and hell, he doesn't even blink as he does it.

Evidence number 4

Is canon y'all. Danny doesn't usually threatens people with violence, by the time season 2 rolls around the only person we see him doing that for is Grace. Bare in mind Rachel was in the car when it was stollen, and yet he only threatened douchebag to not get near Grace.

Same can be said about anyone else who has ever been in danger, but Matt I'm pretty sure (don't mind me, I'm rewatching it and I just finished season 1 so it'll be a while before I catch up to that minefield). So he threatens someone because of his daughter which he's said over and over it's his life, over Matt that is his fucking brother and that he loves and sees as the reason he made it through the divorce and... *checks notes* Steve.

Am I sensing a pattern here, Jedi?

And bare in mind he didn't just threatens anyone but a fucking CIA agent. I mean how crazy does one have to be do to that? I'd say very.

Evidence number 5

He follows Steve anywhere. Danny is deeply afraid of leaving Grace without a father, and yet he couldn't not go after Steve in North Korea and then Afghanistan.

Both are very dangerous countries for foreigners, both places he very much was in danger of not coming back from, but he still went.

He didn't have to, he could've left Joe handle it, he could've kept himself safe and not be in any danger but he still went. He went even though he knew he could die, that the odds of that happening were high, but he didn't care.

Evidence number 6

Landing the plane on the beach instead of doing it in the water. Danny knew that doing so could get him killed, would most likely get him killed but at that point he didn't care.

We see Danny once again choosing Steve over anything and anyone else. Choosing to die instead of living without him.

At that point I could argue that he chose him over his own children. Charlie was still a child, Grace still needed a father, but losing Steve would kill him just as much as losing one of his children so he doesn't have a choice.

If he Steve dies there will be only wreckage, so following right behind its the only thing he can do. It's a thousand times better than the alternative.

Evidence number 7

Steve being willing to lie to the FBI for Danny, than to follow Danny and helping with the whole Matt situation.

Evidence number 8

Steve helping Danny with Grace and getting Rachel to drop the visitation bullshit. And then helping in the hearing and even dressing in his blues for it.

Steve showing time and again Danny wasn't alone, that he had him on his corner now for better or for worse.

Evidence number 9

Steve looking like he was sucker punched when he heard Danny begging Rachel to take him back in that freaking voicemail and looking torn when he saw they reuniting later on. Why would anyone look like that to their very platonic, not very love of their life's partner?! I blame Alex for everything

I will continue as I rewatch because I forgot most of everything but for now, I rest my case.

[starogeorgina]

Violent delights

Warnings: blood, swearing

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

Notes: Jacaerys is older in this fic than he is in the show/book

1.02

Sensing danger Viserion dips down, trying to get you to safety on Dragonstone quickly, but your uncle was relentless, and Vhagar was getting closer and closer to you. Please gods. You didn’t care about the blood dripping down your legs or the horrible cramping in your lower abdomen. All you cared about was getting your daughter somewhere safe. But it seems the gods were listening to your silent prayers; tears of relief slipped down your cheeks as a second shadow flew over you.

Caraxes.

With your stepfather looming over you both, Aemond orders Vhagar to turn back instead of confronting Daemon and his dragon head-on.

The next few moments pass in a blur as Viserion flies down to the beach below. By the time he lands on the damp sand, Daemon is already waiting for you. Most people would be too afraid to come so close to a dragon, but Viserion wasn’t different from the rest. The majority of Viserion's scales are light pink; his horns, wing bones, and spinal crest are silver. His coloring and placid nature gave him the nickname gentle giant.

Your legs give way as you climb down, but Daemon catches you before you fall to the ground. Once you are steady, he gives you a horrifying look as he notices the newborn strapped to your chest. “Please take her,” you beg. “Take her to my mother.”

He takes the baby from your chest and hands her to one of the guards, who held her as if she were glass. In one swift movement, Daemon lifted you up, wrapping one arm behind your back and the other behind your knees. Fury flickers behind his eyes as the prince keeps his tone neutral to not worry you further. “Dearest girl, We should never have let you marry that drunken—”

“Her name is Aemma.”

“Save your strength—”

Seeing the blood trail you left behind you, you interrupted him again, scared you were running out of time. “The greens will come for her. I disobeyed the queen, and they will want me to pay for that.”

—

The first thing you see when your eyes flutter open is your mother. Delicately, she brushes hair out of your face, “my sweet girl. You had us worried.”

Like a child, you cling to her side, “mother.”

You had been in and out of consciousness while your stepfather carried you inside. He called for the maesters immediately, and upon inspection they discovered you had a birthing tear, which required stitches. The maesters shared their concerns that you’d not been treated properly within the keep; they couldn’t understand why you didn’t receive medical care after giving birth, and they also pointed out how thin you were for someone who has just delivered twins.

Your mother comforts you as you finally let out all your built-up emotions. Thinking of Rhaegar made you miserable; you missed the son you never met to the point it caused you physical pain. When you finally stopped crying, you explained everything that had happened, and I could have sworn I saw flickers of red behind her eyes. “I can never thank Prince Daemon enough for coming when I needed him most. I can’t imagine what would have happened if Vhagar—”

“Lyarra, my love, please don’t think of such things; it will only cause you distress. Arrangements are being made so that the greens will have no excuses to step foot on Dragonstone.”

You nod, glad to hear that they won’t ever come near your daughter. You suddenly sit upright when you realize that your baby is nowhere in sight. “Aemma! Where is she?”

“Aemma is asleep,” your mother smiles at you. “I’m so proud of you, my darling. My perfect grandchild is currently asleep in the cot I have set up for your future sibling. I didn’t know what sleeping arrangements you would want to have.”

“I want her in here with me.”

You watch as your mother rubs her swollen stomach, the velvety fabric of her dress clinging to her bump. She always looked so elegant and beautiful while pregnant, unlike you, who looked a day away from death.

“I will have that organized," she squeezes your hand. “Joffrey is desperate to see you; he’s missed you deeply. Jace and Luke are out dragon riding; when they return, I will let them know you are back and tell them what has happened. For now, I need you to rest; I will watch over Aemma until the morrow.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me; you are my child.”

Your mother stays with you until you fall into a deep slumber. You were truly thankful that she was kind hearted, and you hoped to be as good a mother as she is.

—

Closing your eyes, you let your head fall against the back of the tub. For the first time in many moons, you felt a slither of your old self coming back. When you woke up in the morning, your new handmaiden Clara had prepared a bath for you, brought you fresh clothes, a mixture of fruits, and jugs of water.

Due to your tenderness, Clara helped you into the bath, and once she did, you dismissed her. insisting that you’d be fine on your own.

Just as you feel the built-up tension in your body realizing this, the smell of lavender oil reaches your nose and the doors to your chambers are swung open.

“Lyarra!”

“Sister!”

Your body flushes with embarrassment as your three brothers sprint into the room, eager to see you. “Gods!” You struggle to cover your bare chest, wrapping one arm around your top half and the other below. “This is why people knock!”

Lucerys quickly covers his and Joffrey’s eyes while turning to face the other way. Jacaerys averts his eyes while handing you a towel to cover yourself with. You let out a grumbled thank you. If you weren’t mortified, it would have been comical to see them all blush with embarrassment.

“Mother told us we had to wait until morning to see you,” Luke huffs.

“I’m very glad to see you all, but get out so I can get changed.”

When your brothers were completely out of sight, you stood, letting out a loud whine as you did. Hearing footsteps, you grab the towel, which is now soaking from being dropped in the water, to cover yourself. “Jace, what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer you. Jace’s eyes were glued to the ground as he grabbed a blanket from your bed and walked over to you. Without giving you a chance to protest, he wraps the blanket around you to keep you dignified before lifting you out of the bath. Despite how humiliating it was to need assistance from your brother, you felt so safe in his arms; they were so comforting. “You shouldn’t have dismissed your handmaiden. You would have been stuck in the bath until the water turned freezing cold.”

You roll your eyes. Jacaerys, being your only older brother, was often protective of you. “How did you know I dismissed her?”

“Lucky guess. I have sent Luke to ask her to come back.”

“I would have asked for help if I needed it, just not from my brother,” you pout.

When your feet touch the cold floor, you look up at Jace, who is trying to stop himself from smiling. “Forgive me, it is not funny... I've just missed your moodiness,” he teases. “I’m glad you decided to come back home.”

“I’m glad to be back.”

—

After having your hair braided and changing into a light purple gown, you immediately went to see Aemma.

“My precious girl,” you hum before kissing her on the cheek. Smiling, you walk through the hallways towards your mother's chambers. “You will love growing up here; I know I did.”

You look over your shoulder to see Jacaerys exiting his own room; his face lights up when he claps eyes on Aemma for the first time. He opens his door again, saying, “Come, I have something I want to show you.”

Curious, you follow, “What is it you’d like to show us?”

He leads you to the fireplace and points at the red and gold dragon egg sitting on top of it. Unlike your brothers, your egg never hatched in the cradle, and you spent many years heartbroken until you bonded with Viserion. Gently you run your fingers along its hardened scales, “I can’t believe you kept it.”

“You used to take it with you everywhere,” he smiles. “After you left for King's Landing, I snuck into the dragon pit and retrieved it. I know Luke chose eggs for you, but since you couldn’t bring them, I thought Aemma could have that one.”

Since there is no time frame on a dragon hatching, it was possible the dragon inside could bond with your daughter. “Thank you,” you kiss Jace on the cheek. “I will put it in the cradle with her tonight.”

He strokes the top of Aemma’s head, but hesitation fills up behind his eyes. “Did mother send for you?”

“She did, and I’m guessing it’s something important.”

“We should…” he trails off, watching as Aemma’s eyes slowly close.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Jace looks petrified as you place the newborn in his arms. After shifting positions a few times, he relaxes a little and says, “We should go before Mother sends a search party.”

—

Once you were seated around a small table, you noticed how worried your mother looked. Your attention was drawn from her when Daemon tossed a letter into the fireplace. He chuckles, “Lyarra, did you say, ‘next time you attempt to put your fucking hands on me, I’ll feed you to Viserion’ to Ser Criston?”

“Yes.”

Daemon laughs as your mother rubs her forehead and says, “This isn’t a joking matter. What did he do to you?”

“He tried to grab my shoulder to stop me from leaving and told me I’d need to ask for the queen's forgiveness when I returned.”

The laughter abruptly stops, with Daemon’s tone becoming a lot more serious than before. “One of the knights who is under my command witnessed you leaving and Aemond leaving mere moments later on Vhagar. They don’t believe he was advised to do it.”

Jace clenches his jaw, and holding Aemma seems to be the only thing keeping him calm.

You frowned; this meant Aemond had taken it upon himself to chase you through the sky. “Is that what the letter you burned said?”

“No, that was from that cunt Otto Hightower,” he hisses. “The queen requests your return so you can discuss the terms of your annulment.”

“Annulment?” When your mother said arrangements were being made, you never imagined the faith or the Queen would allow your marriage to Aegon to end. You push back the lump forming in your throat and ask, “When do I need to go?”

Your mother caresses the back of your hand and says, “Alicent has requested you meet with her tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! Do I need to go?”

“I’m afraid so, sweet girl, but you won’t be alone. Daemon is going with you.”

Seeing the pained expression on your mother's face, there was no getting around this: you need to meet with Alicent one last time before she hopefully agrees to end your torment. Your mind goes to your poor dragon, whose straps and saddle you have yet to have removed or checked for any new damage since leaving in such a rush.

“Okay, I will make sure Viserion is ready to fly by morning.”

Daemon looks deep in thought as he clicks his tongue. “Given what happened, it would be much safer for Jacaerys to fly you on Vermax.”

Your mother lets out a deep sigh; she didn’t seem impressed by the idea but said nothing. You were sure the presence of Caraxes would allow you to fly safely on your own, but Daemon always has his own reasons for doing things; you just hoped Jacaerys wouldn’t mind.

[nyxshadowhawk]

I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Five

Previous part: https://nyxshadowhawk.tumblr.com/post/728961431368761344/i-read-the-silmarillion-so-you-dont-have-to-part

Chapter 10: Of the Sindar Meanwhile, in Middle-earth…

Remember the Sindar? They’re the people of Elwë, the only one of the original three Elven Lords who never made it back to Valinor, and Melian, a Maia who seduced him. The Sindar are basically native to Middle-earth, and save for Elwë himself, none of them have seen the Two Trees of Valinor. That makes them “Grey Elves,” neither light nor dark. They live in Beleriand, the westernmost land mass of Middle-earth, on which most of The Silmarillion takes place, and which is completely gone by the time LotR takes place.

Elu Thingol by @bohemianweasel

The Sindar know Elwë as Thingol, which is Sindarin for “Greymantle,” and acknowledge him as king. Earlier, I assumed that Thingol and Melian were the ancestors of the Sindar, but this isn’t true; they only have one child, and her name is Lúthien. She is one of the other major players in The Silmarillion, and was based directly on Tolkien’s wife Edith, so she’s kind of a big deal. She’s born in the forest of Neldoreth, and white flowers spring up to greet her.

While Melkor was being held captive in Valinor, the Dwarves finally enter the picture in Middle-earth. They call themselves Khazâd, and the Sindar call them Naugrim, which means “stunted people.” The Elves are somewhat bewildered when the Dwarves come into Beleriand from the East, because they didn’t know that any other people existed. They assumed that they were the only living things who could speak or make things. They don’t learn the Dwarven language, but the Dwarves endeavor to learn Sindarin. When the Noldor eventually show up, the Dwarves really like them, because the Noldor share their reverence for the god Aulë and their skill at metalwork and cutting gemstones.

Because Melian is a Maia, she can see the future. She warns Thingol that the peace isn’t going to last. Thingol decides to build a fortress in case worst comes to worst, and enlists the help of the dwarves to build it. The Dwarves oblige, happy to have a new project, and Thingol pays them in pearls, which they’d never seen before. The biggest pearl is called Nimphelos, which the Dwarves particularly value. (Its name sounds a lot like Omphalos, an egg-shaped sacred stone at Delphi that the Ancient Greeks thought was the navel of the world.) The Dwarves build Thingol a mansion underground, in the style of their own. I’m guessing that, like Hobbit holes, this is a reference to Celtic fairy lore that describes fairies as living in mounds. Like the fairies of British and Irish lore, Thingol has a lavish underground palace called Menegroth, the Thousand Caves. Its pillars are carved to look like trees, with carved animals on the walls and in the “branches” of the pillars. Colorful mosaics decorate the floors, banners and tapestries chronicle the deeds of the Valar, there are silver fountains and singing nightingales, and it’s all as beautiful as anything gets outside of Valinor.

Everything’s great for a bit, but Melkor’s monsters still exist, and eventually Orcs and wolves push into Beleriand. The Elves don’t know what the Orcs are. They assume that the Orcs are Avari (Elves that refused to go to Valinor) that turned evil, which is almost right in an indirect way. Thingol needs weapons to fight Melkor’s monsters, but the Sindar don’t have any weapons and don’t know how to make them, because they’ve never needed them before. The Dwarves know how to make them, having used them to fight all the dangerous things in the East, and they teach the Sindar how to make and use them. Dwarves remain the absolute best at making things of steel, and they invented chainmail.

Remember the Nandor? They were another subgroup of Elves who split off from the Teleri while they were traveling to Valinor, and stayed in Middle-earth. They become the Wood Elves, and their descendants will be the elves of Mirkwood. But at this point in history, they come to Thingol, seeking protection from Melkor’s monsters. Thingol lets them stay in an eastern land called Ossiriand.

A Sindar Elf named Daeron invents the runic writing system, which the Elves don’t care for, but the Dwarves readily adopt.

Once again, everything’s great for a while. But then, Morgoth and Ungoliant have their struggle to the north. The Sindar hear Morgoth’s shrieking and know that something is wrong. Melian’s magic keeps Ungoliant from entering their land, but barely. The Sindar are suddenly assaulted by Morgoth’s massive army of Orcs from his northern citadel of Angband. The Orcs aren’t like anything the Sindar have ever seen, and there’s thousands of them. We get a short summary of the ensuing battle (in which Tolkien drops more place names than I can possibly keep track of).

The Elves and Dwarves win, but they lose a lot of lives in the process. The King of the Nandor, an Elf named Denethor, dies in combat. Distraught by his death, many of his people renounce open war. They are called Laiquendi, “Green Elves,” because they wear leaves. The rest of the Nandor join the Sindar, and merge with them. The Sindar fence themselves into their forest with a magic wall of “shadow and bewilderment” that Melian casts to keep the Orcs out. After that, their forest becomes known as Doriath, the “Land of the Girdle,” after the magic wall. The wall protects them, but the peace and bliss are broken.

Chapter 11: Of the Sun and Moon and the Hiding of Valinor In which the Two Trees have a last hurrah.

Back in Valinor, the Valar are very sad about the Trees, but they’re even sadder about Fëanor. Fëanor is, without a doubt, the best of the Elves. He may be a narcissist, but he’s right about how great he is: he’s the strongest, the smartest, the cleverest, the most beautiful, the most skilled, and the most capable both mentally and physically. Imagine all the good he could have done in the world, and what beautiful and useful things he might have made, if Morgoth hadn’t corrupted him! Now he’s going to waste his life on a pointless endeavor, and his entire line is cursed. It didn’t have to be like this. When a messenger tells Manwë how Fëanor responded to the prophecy of doom, Manwë cries.

However, Manwë doesn’t dispute Fëanor’s boast that people will sing of his deeds until the end of the world. After all, songs are beautiful things. If you remember, Eru Ilúvatar told Melkor that all of his evil deeds will result in more beautiful things, that no one would otherwise have conceived of. Evil always begets good, in spite of itself. Fëanor’s evil deeds will result in the creation of beautiful art in the future, thus indirectly producing good things. But that doesn’t make Fëanor’s actions any better in the present.

Yavanna, goddess of plants, and Nienna, goddess of sorrow, do their absolute best to heal the Trees. The Trees are beyond saving, but the goddesses’ lamentation does do something: With their last bit of strength, Telperion bears a single silver flower, and Laurelin bears a single golden fruit. Yavanna picks them both off the trees. After that, the Two Trees die for good, with nothing but their lifeless stems remaining in Valinor as a sad monument to what once was. Manwë blesses the flower and the fruit, and Aulë makes vessels to hold and preserve them. Then Varda hangs them in the sky as the new lamps: The flower of Telperion is the Moon, and the fruit of Laurelin is the Sun. The two lights will help the Children of Ilúvatar and hinder Morgoth.

Creation of the Two Trees by Julia Pelzer

Each group of Elves has a different name for the Moon and the Sun. The Vanyar (the Elves who got to Valinor first and stayed there) call them Isil and Anar. The Noldor call them Rána the Wayward, and Vána the Heart of Fire.

The Moon and Sun also have their own Maiar to guide them through the sky. The Maia of the Sun is called Arien, and the Maia of the Moon is called Tilion. Both Maiar had loved their respective Trees while the Trees were alive, and begged for the position of tending to the Sun and Moon. Arien is a fire goddess who doesn’t fear the heat of the sun, and Tilion is a hunter god who was one of Oromë’s companions. (This mirrors Norse Mythology, in which the Sun is driven by a goddess called Sol or Sunna, and the Moon by a god called Máni.)

Narsilion by breath-art

The Moon rises first, and brings hope to the Elves. When the Moon rises, Fingolfin and the Noldor begin their long trek into Middle-earth across the frozen north. After the Moon rises and sets seven times, the Sun is hung in the sky, and the first dawn comes. When the Sun sets, it comes to rest in Valinor, briefly reminding the Valar and remaining Elves of the light of the Two Trees and the joy they once had. But the Sun and Moon still pale in comparison to the Two Trees. The only remaining things that preserve the original light, pre-Ungoliant’s destruction, are the Silmarils.

Morgoth is obviously horrified, and immediately sends dark clouds to prevent the Sun from shining upon his land of Angband. Arien, the Maia of the Sun, is the only entity that Morgoth is really afraid of, and he no longer has the strength to attack her. But he does send evil spirits after Tilion, the Maia of the Moon. (This might explain why the moon has phases, but it’s not explicitly said.)

The Valar still remember what happened the last time they put up lamps, and they’re not about to let Morgoth destroy their paradise for a third time. They decide to almost completely cut off Valinor from the rest of the world. They make the Pélori Mountains around Valinor rise impossibly high, with sheer faces like glass. The only way in or out of Valinor is through a mountain pass called the Calacirya, which the Valar leave open to allow the Elves to see the stars. But the pass is heavily guarded. And, as an extra precaution, they fill the sea with enchanted islands that are full of illusions to confuse and trap anyone who tries to sail to Aman. The Noldor are officially, permanently cut off from Valinor — there’s no turning back now.

Telperion and Laurelin by MrSvein872

Chapter 12: Of Men In which the Men finally show up.

Having sealed themselves away, the Valar basically leave Middle-earth to the mercy of Morgoth. It’s not all bad, though; the Sun keeps Morgoth at bay, and it causes many new things to grow in Beleriand. Beleriand is a pretty nice place, for what it’s worth. Not as nice as Valinor, but, y’know… it could be worse.

When the Sun rises, the Men finally awaken. The Elves have a lot of different names for them, but the important ones are Atani (“Second People”) and Hildor (“Followers”). The Men didn’t have a Vala to invite them to Valinor. Men fear the Valar, because they don’t really know what the Valar are or why they’re there, and the Valar have stopped paying attention to Middle-earth. Ulmo watches over the Men through all the water of Middle-earth, but Men don’t know how to understand the divine messages brought to them by the water. It’s rumored that the Men befriend the Avari, the Dark Elves who never went to Valinor.

At the time, Men looked more like Elves than they do now. Men were taller, stronger, and longer-lived than they are now, but Elves were still prettier, wiser, and more skilled than Men. Elves are immortal, and do not sicken or age, but they can still be killed. Men have less robust bodies and are more prone to illness and injury. Dark Elves are better than Men, but the High Elves that saw Valinor are significantly better than both Dark Elves and Men. The only Dark Elves that come close to the greatness of the High Elves are the Sindar, and that’s only because their queen is a Maia.

The other big difference between Elves and Men is what happens after they die. When Elves die, they go to the Halls of Mandos and eventually reincarnate. The Elves don’t know what happens to Men after they die. If they go to the Halls of Mandos, they don’t go to the same part of them that the Elves go to. No one but Mandos and Manwë knows what happens to the Men after that. Only one Man ever came back from the dead (we’ll get there). It’s possible that the only entity that knows anything about what happens to Men after death is Ilúvatar himself.

The relationship between Elves and Men gets steadily worse with time, mostly because of Morgoth (again, we’ll get there). By the time of the Third Age, when LotR takes place, there are very few Elves left. They have retreated away from the sunlight, into lonely woods and caves, and “become as shadows and memories.” The Men take over from the Elves, and forget that the Elves ever existed. But the��The Silmarillion is about the First Age, and back then, Elves and Men were friends. Some Men achieved greatness through learning Elven wisdom, and some Men even had children with Elves.

Chapter 13: Of the Return of the Noldor In which we return to the main plot, and a LOT of shit goes down.

Where we last left the Noldor, Fingolfin was leading them on an impossible journey across a frozen wasteland to cross into Middle-earth, because he saw Fëanor burn the boats on the opposite shore. Fëanor and his sons continued further into Middle-earth, and made a camp in the north.

Morgoth also saw Fëanor burn the boats. Even Morgoth was a little afraid of Fëanor, so he decides to preemptively attack Fëanor’s camp. Despite being taken by surprise, the Elves trounce the Orcs, because they still have the strength of Valinor in them. They’re strong and swift, with sharp and effective weapons, and the Orcs don’t stand a chance. A small handful of Elves — Fëanor, his seven sons, and their loyalists — slaughter an entire army’s worth of Orcs in only ten days. Morgoth’s plans for the conquest of Beleriand are ruined, for now.

Fëanor assumes that by chasing down the Orcs, he’ll find Morgoth. Fëanor is so impassioned, so ready to finally kick Morgoth’s ass, that he pats himself on the back for having defied the Valar. It was such a good idea to tell the Valar to go fuck themselves and come to Middle-earth! Now he gets the opportunity to personally take Morgoth down!

He spoke too soon. Fëanor promptly finds himself face-to-face with the fortress of Angband and an entire army of Balrogs. Oops.

Somehow, Fëanor manages to hold his own against multiple Balrogs, until Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs, nearly kills him. He only survives because his sons arrive at the last minute with reinforcements to fend off the Balrogs.

Fëanor against the Lord of the Balrogs by Evolvana

Fëanor doesn’t live for much longer, though. His sons start to carry him back to their camp, but he bleeds out on the way. He curses Morgoth and tells his sons to avenge him with his dying breath. As his spirit leaves him, his body burns to ash, because his soul is just that fiery. And that’s it — Fëanor, the mightiest Elf to ever live, is dead. His curse means that his soul is forever trapped in the Halls of Mandos, and he will never reincarnate. No one like him will ever appear in Arda again.

The Death of Curufinwe Feanaro by Gwenniel

Honestly, I’m surprised that Fëanor dies this early. I thought he was the central character, but I’m still only about a third of the way through, maybe less.

Despite having taken out Fëanor (mostly due to Fëanor’s own arrogance and impulsiveness), Morgoth still lost badly. He sends an envoy to Fëanor’s sons, acknowledging defeat and requesting a ceasefire, even offering to surrender a Silmaril. Fëanor’s eldest son, Maedhros (MY-thros, ‘th’ as in “this”) takes over from Fëanor as the leader of the Noldor. Maedhros doesn’t trust Morgoth as far as he can throw him, but decides to go to the negotiation anyway, with backup. Of course it’s an ambush, and there are Balrogs. All of Maedhros’s backup are killed, and Maedhros himself is captured and taken to Angband.

Fëanor’s other sons build themselves a mighty fortress, but Morgoth keeps Maedhros hostage until the Noldor agree to end the war and leave Beleriand. The sons of Fëanor doubt that Morgoth will keep his word on that. They also literally can’t stop fighting Morgoth, because of their oath. So, Morgoth hangs Maedhros by the wrist from the face of the Thangorodrim Mountains. The only remaining option is to try to rescue him.

Maedhros Upon Thangorodrim by Jenny Dolfen

Back with Fingolfin, the rest of the Noldor painstakingly make their way across the land bridge. It’s an agonizing journey, and many Elves die, but when the first dawn finally comes, Fingolfin unfurls his banner and blows his horn in victory. The ice starts to melt, and flowers spring up under his feet. The Sun chases Morgoth to the depths of his citadel, so he doesn’t harass Fingolfin’s group as they arrive in Middle-earth.

Helcaraxe by Stefan Meisl

Fingolfin is wiser than Fëanor, and doesn’t try to attack Angband. Instead, he tries to find the other Noldor. Most of his Fingolfin’s group really hate Fëanor and his sons, because it’s their fault that they nearly froze to death. So, they make their own camp near Lake Mithrim.

Fëanor’s group hears of their arrival. They’re astounded and impressed that Fingolfin and co. managed to survive, and that they made it to Middle-earth. They would welcome Fingolfin’s group, but they’re too ashamed to offer. Too little, too late.

Fingon, Fingolfin's son, decides to try to heal the relationship between the two groups of Noldor. He recognizes that Morgoth would be thrilled if his enemies were so divided against themselves. If they want to stand a chance against Morgoth, they have to unite. Fingon has the perfect idea for how to bring the two groups together. He was very close to Maedhros. He doesn’t know that Maedhros wanted to go back for him when Fëanor burned the ships, so, he assumes that Maedhros betrayed him. Even so, he still cares enough about Maedhros to want to try to rescue him.

He climbs the mountains of Thangorodrim by himself, hidden under the cover of the darkness that Morgoth created to shut out the sun. Then, Fingon takes out a harp and starts singing. He sings a song from Valinor, from long before the unrest took hold. His voice rings throughout the mountains, in which there had never been singing before. He sings in defiance of Morgoth like the Whos singing in defiance of the Grinch on Christmas Day.

He Sang a Song of Valinor by Jenny Dolfen

Faintly, he hears an answering voice singing the same song. Maedhros is singing, despite his suffering. Fingon climbs up to where Maedhros hangs, and cries when he sees how much pain Maedhros is in. Maedhros has long since given up hope, and begs Fingon to shoot him, to put him out of his misery. Fingon prepares to shoot an arrow, but says a prayer to Manwë, asking him to have mercy.

Fingon’s prayer is answered. Manwë sends the King of the Eagles, Thorondar, who picks up Fingon and carries him up the mountain face to where Maedhros hangs. Fingon can’t find any way to open or break the shackle that holds Maedhros, and can’t detach it from the mountain face. Maedhros again begs Fingon to kill him, but Fingon figures that it’s better to lose a hand than to die. Fingon cuts off Maedhros’ hand, and Thorondar catches him, carrying both Elves back to Lake Mithrim.

Flight from Thangorodrim by @thegreencarousel

(As you can probably guess, a lot of Silm fans ship Fingon and Maedhros. I almost did, too… and then I remembered that they’re first cousins.)

After that, the rift between the two groups of Noldor is healed. Fingon is hailed as a hero by both groups of Noldor. Maedhros steadily gets better, and recovers his strength. He pulls and Inigo Montoya and learns to wield a sword just as well with his left hand. He also waives his claim to kingship over the Noldor. He begs Fingon to forgive him for having deserted him back when Fëanor burned the boats, and tells Fingon that he’s the rightful heir of the House of Finwë. That’s a nice gesture, but it’s actually part of the curse — The House of Fëanor became known as the Dispossessed, because even though they’re the older brother’s children, they permanently lost the rulership of the Noldor.

The now-united Noldor decide to explore Beleriand a little more, and they eventually meet the Sindar. The Noldor and Sindar recognize each other as kin, but have a hard time understanding each other because they speak different languages. Eventually, they figure out a way to talk to each other. The Noldor learn about King Thingol and the magic wall around his kingdom of Doriath, and about the Sindar’s battles with the Orcs. The Sindar are delighted that these stronger, smarter elves from Valinor arrived right when they were most needed, and assume that the Valar must have sent them.

Thingol is less enthused about a bunch of hotheaded foreign princes arriving in his land. The only Noldor he trusts to let past the magic wall are Finarfin’s children: Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, and Galadriel. This is because their mother was Eärwen, one of the Teleri Elves and Thingol’s niece. So, they’re his closest relatives among the Noldor. Angrod is the first of the Noldor to enter Thingol’s palace in Doriath. He tells Thingol all about what happened to the Noldor in the North — how they crossed over, how many of them there are, how they beat back Melkor’s forces, how Finrod saved Maedhros, etc. He leaves out the part about the kinslaying and the curse.

Thingol gives the Noldor his blessing to remain in the northern part of Beleriand, but they can’t displace the Sindar from their homes. They also aren’t allowed to come past Doriath’s magic wall, unless they’re invited, or if they desperately need an audience with Thingol. Thingol is Lord of Beleriand and the Noldor are imposing upon him, so, they’re in no position to argue.

When Angrod brings this message back to the Noldor, Maedhros straight-up laughs. “What kind of king is he? These aren’t his lands. He doesn’t have the power to grant us leave to live here, as if we were his vassals. If it weren’t for us, there’d be Orcs breaking down his door.”

Maedhros by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Caranthir, another one of Fëanor’s sons who inherited his father’s fiery temper, also doesn’t like Thingol’s conditions. “Who’s idea was it to send Finarfin’s sons as our spokesmen? I don’t trust a word they say, and I don’t trust this cave-dwelling Dark Elf. Finarfin’s sons should remember that, whoever their mother was, their father was still a Noldo — they should be loyal to the Noldor.”

Angrod is furious at this, and storms out. Maedhros chides Caranthir for going too far. The rest of the Noldor are all concerned that Fëanor’s whole family appears to be a ticking time bomb. It’s only a matter of time before one of them snaps and causes violence. Maedhros reads the room, and manages to get his brothers under control. He decides that he and his brothers should leave before things get worse. Not just leave the meeting, but leave the region — it’s better that they and the other Noldor remain friends at a distance, rather than risk another confrontation that tears them apart from within.

Maedhros and his brothers head east. Their new home is more exposed, and has less natural defense against Angband, but Maedhros doesn’t mind this. He and his brothers can be a buffer for the rest of the Noldor if Morgoth attacks again. And of course, the curse is still in effect.

Caranthir and his people are the first to find the Dwarves, who had stopped coming into Beleriand ever since the battle against Morgoth. You’d think that the Dwarves and the Noldor would have a lot in common, since both love to make things from metals and gems, and they both appreciate good craftsmanship. But nope. The Dwarves are too secretive, and Caranthir is too arrogant. He doesn’t even bother to hide that he thinks the Dwarves are ugly, and all his underlings follow suit. Despite that, the Dwarves and Caranthir’s Elves have a common enemy in Morgoth, so, they form an alliance anyway. From that alliance, Caranthir ends up learning a lot of Dwarven secrets about metalworking and masonry. It’ll really pay off for him in the future.

Caranthir by Miyota

Twenty years pass since the Sun first rose, and Fingolfin decides to throw a feast to unite all the scattered Elves. This feast is such a big deal that it has a name — Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting. It’s a last moment of joy and happiness before everything goes to hell again. A number of Sindar attend the feast as well, alongside their leader, an Elf called Círdan (you’re gonna want to remember him). Thingol does not leave his magically-fortified palace, but he sends two diplomats to the feast — Daeron, the Elf that invented runes, and another called Mablung. There are even some Green Elves from the easternmost part of Beleriand. The main language spoken at the party is Sindarin, because the Noldor have had an easier time learning it than the other Elves have had of learning Quenya. All the Elves are on good terms with each other, and everything is great for a while. The Noldor begin to think that maybe Fëanor was right about Middle-earth being a good place for them.

Another thirty years pass. Turgon (Fingon’s brother and a son of Fingolfin) meets up with Finrod (a son of Finarfin). Together, they travel southward on the River Sirion, just to get away for awhile. They sleep on the riverbank, and Ulmo (the Vala of water) sends them a dream. Neither of them remembers the dream, only that it was troubling, and neither realizes that they had the same dream. After that, they’re both burdened with a sense of unease. Troubling dreams can only mean one thing — Morgoth is going to become a problem again. Turgon and Finrod independently decide that it’s a good idea to prepare for the worst.

Finrod and Galadriel, his sister, are briefly guests of King Thingol in Doriath (being two of the few Noldor whom Thingol would allow past the magic wall). Finrod is very impressed by the majesty of Menegroth, the king’s underground palace. He wants his own underground palace just like it, and tells Thingol as much. Thingol could have said, ��no, how dare you copy me,” but instead he tells Finrod about a secret place in his realm — there’s a gorge in the River Narog, the river to the west of the Sirion, where there’s a cave complex that Finrod can use to build a palace.

Enlisting the help of some Dwarves, Finrod builds his palace, Nargothrond. He gives the Dwarves treasures from Valinor to thank them. The Dwarves are so impressed with the jewels that they make Finrod a beautiful necklace called the Nauglamír, which is said to be the finest work of the Dwarves in the First Age. It’s set with many, many gemstones from Valinor, but it’s as light as spider silk. The Dwarves are also grateful to Finrod for giving them an excuse to build another cool cave palace. They give him an epithet in their own language, Felegund, which means “Hewer of Caves.” Only a really cool Elf appreciates caves so much that he asks for his own cave palace.

Finrod by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Galadriel decided to stay in Thingol’s court, instead of following her brother to Nargothrond. She happened to meet one of Thingol’s relatives, a certain Sinda named Celeborn, and fell in love with him. Staying with Celeborn gave Galadriel the opportunity to study at the feet of Melian herself. So, if you’re wondering where Galadriel gets her wisdom and power from, it’s because she learned directly from a Maia.

Meanwhile, Turgon is feeling homesick for Valinor. He remembers the city of Tirion on its hill, with its silver tree (not the Silver Tree, one of its descendants). When he returns home, Ulmo personally appears to him, and tells him to go to the Vale of Sirion. He finds a hidden valley surrounded by mountains, in the center of which is a hill. It’s the perfect place to establish a New Tirion.

Throughout all this, Morgoth has been carefully observing the Noldor’s activities, and judging their strength. As soon as the Noldor are too distracted by city-building to prepare for war, Morgoth strikes. The Orcs are still a lot weaker than the Elves. Fingolfin and Maedhros chase the new Orc army all the way back to Angband. They kill every last one, within sight of Angband’s gates. But remember, Morgoth is a Vala, and has more up his sleeve than simply Orc armies. He causes earthquakes, fires, and volcanic eruptions. The Elves realize that there’s only one thing to do: cut the threat off at its source. They lay siege to Angband, and this siege lasts a full four hundred years.

Angband by gresetdavid

The Orcs are so afraid of the Noldor that they don’t leave Angband. Fingolfin boasts that the only way Morgoth could score a point against them is if the Noldor commit treason amongst themselves, which sounds a lot like tempting fate. Despite his confidence, the siege is a failure. Four hundred years, and the Elves don’t get any closer to capturing Angband, let alone taking back the Silmarils. Morgoth can still send spies out the back way, because the Elves can’t climb the snowy Thangorodrim Mountains. He captures Elves alive, and terrifies them so much that they do his bidding without having to be forced. He also looks for opportunities to sew dissent amongst the Noldor. It worked once, so it can work again.

A hundred years into the siege, Morgoth tries to capture Fingolfin. He knows that Maedhros isn’t about to let himself get captured again, and taking out the king would be an advantageous move. So, Morgoth sends a bunch of Orcs to sneak towards the Elves’ camp using the back way, through the same frozen mountain pass that Fingolfin used to get into Middle-earth. Morgoth should know at this point that Orcs are no problem for Elves. Fingon notices the Orcs, and slaughters them. This battle doesn’t even count as one of the “great battles,” because there aren’t enough Orcs for it to be notable. After that, there’s an interlude of peace that lasts for many years.

Fingon by _star热爱生活呀巴扎嘿

Morgoth finally gets the memo that he’s not going to beat the Elves by throwing Orcs at them. So, he tries a new tactic: A fucking dragon! If you think Smaug is bad, he’s a little baby lizard in comparison to Morgoth’s dragons. This one is called Glaurung (“gold worm” in Sindarin), and it’s a fat worm-like thing with a mouth of sharp teeth and fire breath. Glaurung is a young dragon, so, he mostly just thrashes around destroying fields and so forth. But he sufficiently terrifies the Elves.

Glaurung by Vaejoun

Fingon isn’t afraid, though, and takes a band of archers to pummel Glaurung with arrows. Glaurung’s armored scales haven’t fully developed yet, so the arrows drive him crawling back into Angband. Fingon is endlessly praised by the Noldor for having defeated the dragon, and Morgoth is kicking himself for having shown his hand too soon.

After Glaurung’s defeat comes the Long Peace, which lasts two hundred years. In that time, the Elves have the opportunity to build beautiful cities and write books of lore and create other art. (This time is called the “Long Peace” because Morgoth doesn’t make any attacks, but presumably, the Siege of Angband is still going on.) The Noldor and Sindar also intermix, becoming more like one society, though the biological and cultural differences between them remain: The Noldor are still smarter and stronger, wiser, better warriors, and they like living in stone buildings. The Sindar have better singing voices, and are better musicians in general, and like living in the woods. Some Sindar are nomadic and wander around Beleriand, singing as they go.

*whew.* That’s it for this section.

Next part.

[inquisitornocturn]

𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖊𝖔, 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖔

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1 - 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔟

“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” – Cesar A. Cruz

⫸ pairing: Cazador Szarr/f!high elf reader

⫸ tags: no y/n used etc, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, canon-typical violence, asphyxiation, physical abuse.

⫸ story summary: Accompanying your father, the General of Baldur's Gate, has always been a duty that bores you near to death, but for first time you feel completely unnerved as you come to Szarr mansion. The family's patriarch is a strange man and so is his wife and son. Son, who seems unperturbed by anything, until he's left alone with you that is. Then and only then, Cazador shows emotion and what kind of a threat he is. You realize soon - behind those dark eyes there's something dangerous lurking and your future soon becomes inescapably intertwined with his.

work contains illustrations, credit at the end

⫸ word count: 5,825

⫸ author note: oh god where do i even start. this fic has been for a very long time in the making, and plot has been reworked so many times i nearly lost count. besides drastic changes and rewrites - he it is. i want to thank artists who kindly worked with me to bring more life to this fic with their skill and as cheesy as it sounds - i want to thank people who constantly supported me through planning and every other agony that i went through while i was figuring this work out. i call this my magnum opus and i can only hope that those who read it buckle up for the journey. it's going to be a wild, dark ride. enjoy♡~

⫸ chapter list: [link]

“Vice is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue.” ― Matthew Gregory Lewis

1021DR

A throne, carved from stone and elevated over the rest of the hall with steps leading to it. Steps are draped with red carpet, askew in parts, and there’s candles everywhere. The evening is coming, casting only slivers of orange sunlight through the gaps in heavy bronze colored curtains, making the room sink in darkness if not for the candles and a fireplace. You glance around with only your eyes, feeling unnerved and on edge, not even knowing why.

Your father is on your right, a tall figure with long white hair that he keeps loose on his back, and his silver eyes are looking ahead of him with seriousness of a warrior about to engage in a battle. You have seen this look before, the look that tells you that your father, the recently appointed General of Baldur’s Gate army, is taking his opponent seriously. Except this time his opponent is not a raging zealot or a horde of goblins, it’s a man.

This man, when you finally return your gaze to him, doesn’t look very intimidating except for the throne he’s sitting on and his relaxed pose. With knees parted and his back lazily leaned against the backrest of his seat, this man exudes power through his body language, even with how his jaw is resting easily on his knuckles or how fingers of his other hand tap lazily against the armrest. You take the man in: black long hair, straight, draping to his waist, red piercing eyes gazing down from an upturned, arrogant face. His nose is straight, his lips are pulled into a tiniest of smirks and his garb is embroidered with bronze threads of light gold silk. A garment to show status, not practicality.

“Lord Varitan Szarr, I am grateful you granted an audience.” Your father begins and you glance at him, unable to stop yourself before you do. Granted an audience? You never heard him speak like this before, even to the Duke. “Can I assume you have been informed about the purpose of my visit?”

You look back at the patriarch of the Szarr family. He’s not speaking, not yet, because he’s clearly observing your father with sharp eyes. Led by curiosity you glance at the chair on the left to the throne, noticing a woman there. Her black hair is put up and her dark eyes are watching you. When your gaze meets hers, a shiver runs down your spine. You turn your eyes away, not sure if the woman is trying to provoke you or make you uncomfortable, but either way – you are not willing to play the games of strangers.

When your eyes move to the right of the throne you see a young man sitting in the second hair. He looks maybe around your age, maybe few decades older, you can’t quite tell, but it’s hard to tell such things even among the elves. His uncommon appearance, just like Lord Szarr and the strange woman, tell you that he is related to the man in the throne. Young elf doesn’t seem to see you as he watches your father, his dark eyes fixated on the General, his hands resting on his thighs in a disciplined manner, and you can’t help but notice that he has same length hair as Szarr patriarch. Could he be the young man’s father? The resemblance is definitely there, to the woman as well.

Your observations don’t last more than a long moment and your eyes instinctively snap to the speaker, Lord Szarr, the moment he opens his mouth.

“Yes, I have been informed. I hear you are reforming the army, is that correct, General Cradith Sylven?”

“It is.”

“I hear you want my son to be part of it?”

A pause short as a heartbeat and yet you still notice your father hesitating before he responds with a voice that betrays none of his own thoughts. That’s something you always admired in him as he taught you how to be a soldier just like him.

“That’s correct.” A curt, short reply and another pause before he continues. “I’m sure that young Lord Cazador would benefit from such position.” General gestures to the young man and you follow the direction with your eyes, seeing how the one named Cazador is focused on your father, his eyes watching with silent curiosity.

“Would he now?” Lord Varitan laughs and your eyes are drawn to him when he moves, getting off the throne and making one single step to Cazador, placing a heavy looking hand on the young man’s shoulder, but not receiving any reaction as he does so. “What do you think, child, would military strengthen your character?” Patriarch laughs but nobody else finds humor in his words, not even your father who often jokes with other soldiers about how every child needs a sword in their hand to gain a spine.

Awkward silence is cast upon the hall as only Lord Szarr’s laughter seems to be echoing off the walls, and you notice how he squeezes Cazador’s shoulder, tight enough to turn his fingernails white, yet the young elf seems completely unperturbed by it, sitting in silence before his eyes suddenly turn to you and meet your curious gaze.

You almost lean back from the intensity of his dark eyes that bore into you, and you nearly look at your father, instinctively wanting to ask for help, but then you frown and arrogantly raise an eyebrow at him, as if challenging him, and Cazador’s gaze slips from you to your father once more. You can barely hold your smirk down – a victory, however small.

“How old is your daughter, General?” Lord Szarr speaks again once his amusement settles and you watch the man descent the steps from his throne, approaching you and your father, making you suddenly realize how tall he is.

“Hundred and ninety-seven, Lord Szarr.” Your father replies calmly and the patriarch stops once he’s in front of you. He faces you specifically, his gaze cast down on you as he confidently reaches out and takes a strand of your long hair into his fingers, caressing it without pulling at it.

“Beautiful flower, General. But made of steel, I can tell already. I hear you’ve trained her to be a quite skilled little soldier?” there’s something mocking about how the man talks about you and you frown, albeit you otherwise don’t move a muscle. Your expression is noticed immediately and the Szarr patriarch lifts an eyebrow at you, eyeing your stance as you keep yourself straight and proud, just like your father taught you.

“I would suggest you talk about my daughter in more respectable terms, Lord. I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate such things being said about your wife or son.” Your father immediately verbally steps in and you feel relief. Yes, you could respond, snap back, mock, maybe even physically take down this pompous ruler of his household, but you know better than to act upon your anger. You’ve been taught better than this.

Lord Szarr drops the strand of hair he was holding the moment your father finishes speaking and you watch him turn from you and face your father at last. General Cradith is not short by any means but even he has to turn his face up when speaking to this self-important man.

“My wife wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it.” He laughs and then crosses arms on his chest. “My son wouldn’t either. Is that right?”

“Yes.” A singular reply comes from Cazador, making you briefly glance at him.

“Good. And you, Donnela?” without being looked at, the woman is addressed, but she slightly bows her head anyway.

“Yes, my dear.” Her voice is smooth, soothing even.

“Good, good.” Lord Szarr laughs and uncrosses his arms to place a palm on your father’s armored shoulder. “Now let us go somewhere more private to discuss your proposition, I’m sure the children will be fine without us.” His eyes snap to his wife. “Donnela, make sure that Cazador entertains our esteemed guest while I talk to General.”

You glance at Lady Donnela and then at your father, question in your eyes but he just nods.

“Get to know the lad, I’m sure he’s a pleasant company.” He says and you immediately want to reply and say that you doubt it, but instead you remain quiet and obediently nod. Not the time or place to be snarky with your own father. This Lord Szarr obviously is a tricky man to interact with, so when your father nods to you in return, you exhale slowly and watch him being led away to a door on the side of the room.

Once the men are gone, with the door tightly shut behind them, Donnela raises from her seat and looks at Cazador with an emotion you can’t call anything but contempt.

“Go, do as your father says.” Her voice is nothing like it was before, not soothing or pleasant anymore, but instead sharp and demanding. “Go, you idiot boy!” She snaps at him before even a moment can pass since her previous words and you yourself nearly flinch at them, but not Cazador. He raises to his feet and without looking at his mother, descends the few stairs and walks to you.

“Come. They will take a while.” He says in a tone that’s quite blank and you frown but nod, following him.

As the young man leads you outside of the hall, you throw one last look into Lady Donnela’s direction, noticing her smoldering gaze that speaks of hatred cast upon her son, and you wonder why, but Cazador opens the door, letting warm evening air enter the chilly room and the sunlight looks so welcoming now, after spending time in the dark hall even for as little as you did.

You two walk out and approach the balustrade of the mansion, glancing upon the fields and the houses down below. You know that Szarrs are building the palace in Baldur’s Gate, but here, in Anga Vled, you find the view quite bucolic, relaxing even. The streets can get so busy after all.

Cazador leans over the balustrade, draping his arms over it and looks into the horizon as you take a spot on his right, looking to the setting sun yourself. Silence follows and how long it lasts you’re not sure.

“She’s not my mother.” Cazador suddenly speaks and you look at him, seeing his long black hair whisp in the light breeze. He’s beautiful in this moment, you admit to yourself. His features so unusual for elves and yet you can’t deny that he’s handsome.

“Really? Lord Szarr seemed to insist that she is.” You comment and you hear the young man scoff.

“He insists everyone is a family.” A puzzling comment, but you don’t have time to think about it before Cazador speaks again. “Well, she is my mother, but she forgets that more often than not.”

Silence.

You don’t know how to reply so you remain quiet for a time, thinking about what he just said.

“I call her aunt, it seems more fitting.”

Ah. You understand now.

Yet you remain quiet for some more time, unsure if you should address what Cazador just said or let your suspicion that his mother is actually also his aunt too go unspoken, so you try to think of something else to talk about.

“Do you want to join the military?” you ask with your throat quite dry and Cazador looks at you, his waist-length hair wisping across his face and he moves his hand to tuck rogue strands behind his pointy ear. A smile appears on his face, tainted with same arrogance his father showed before.

“If anything, it would get me out of this barn.” He smirks and you raise an eyebrow at that. Szarr mansion surely is not as luxurious as some houses in Gate but calling it a barn seems a bit much. And spoiled, it sounds very spoiled to you.

“You’re not going to survive through the training if that’s your attitude.” You can’t help your snark as you smirk back at him and Cazador pushes himself off the balustrade, stepping towards you, his eyes narrowed.

“And who are you to judge me, hm?”

“My father says I was born with a sword holding hand.” You grin at him, feeling superior than Cazador. You’ve been training how to fight since you were a toddler, you’re not sure if Cazador’s pale skin and slender fingers are telling the same story. He seems the type to spend bent over books instead of holding a weapon, but his towering figure does intimidate you to a degree, and you swallow as you look at him, your eyes locked on his while a moment passes charged with tension.

You are caught off guard when Cazador’s hand shoots up, grabbing you by the throat and squeezing so tightly you immediately cannot breathe. Your eyes widen at the assault and you try to pry his fingers away while the young Master begins lifting you as if trying to elevate you to his eye level. Yet when you’re on your toes he bends over you, bringing his face close, and you see a chilling joy in them because of your struggle, because how you gasp for air. His other hand now clasps over your open mouth as if he doesn’t want to risk even a smallest sound escaping you, and a wicked smile appears on his face. Pure, unadulterated delight is reflected on his face, tainted only by how cruel it is. He’s terrifyingly beautiful as he looks down on you like this, like the death itself.

“Quite a little soldier you are.” Cazador hums in near sing-song voice that’s barely above a whisper, you and only you are meant to hear it. “But not quite sharp as you reckoned, don’t you think? You could be dead. You can be dead if I just keep this going for a moment longer.” He chuckles and pure fear begins spreading in your chest. With your eyes still wide you stare at him, gripping his hand and trying to pry it away from your neck while your lungs burn for air more painfully with each passing second. “But don’t worry, you’re too important to damage.” Szarr finishes with a whisper and with one last gleeful look at your shocked, fearful face he releases your neck.

You land on your feet, immediately stepping backwards from him. Your fingers instinctively move to your sword by your side and you tug at it only to stop when Cazador raises his hand at you, smirking with satisfaction at this little display of power he just showed to you.

“Calm down.” He laughs while your heart beats fast in your chest and you gasp for air with your face twisted in anger. Cazador upturns his palm with a wide smile, now looking less cruel but still amused. “Give me your hand.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Yes.”

“You little-“

“Give me your hand.” Cazador’s tone is suddenly sharp, cutting you off mid-swear and if you could frown any more you would.

However, begrudgingly you realize that in the end he didn’t harm you. On top of that, you suspect he’s trying to make a point and, despite your anger and your wounded pride, you are still curious about what that point is. So with some reluctance you release the handle of your sword and straighten your back, showing pride with which you were born when you step closer and place your hand in his. Cazador’s smile is soft when you do as he wants and then he tugs you towards him.

“What are you doing?!” you gasp with sudden blush on your face when you’re pressed chest to chest with him, but young Master just takes your hand more comfortably, placing his other on your waist and begins leading you to music that only he can hear.

Shocked and quite speechless, you try to follow his steps until you recognize the pattern and let him lead you, turning and spinning, dancing with you while he watches you go through several emotions: shock, then anger again for being treated like this, then curiosity accompanied by a slight blush.

“You dance well.” He comments and you smirk at him.

“I’m a noble too, not just a soldier. I attended my fair share of balls and battles.”

“I can tell.” Cazador says and stops, pulling you by your hand and making you spin around, then tugging you to his chest again, this time your back to him as if you’re a marionette he’s controlling, pulling you by your strings.

His arm wraps around your waist and your hand is released only for you to feel his fingers around your throat once again. Your heart skips a beat in fear and he can feel it, because he’s pressing his fingertips against your jugular. You gasp and stay still, with your hands on his arm on your waist, as Cazador makes you look into the horizon, to the setting sun that’s slowly letting the sky become darker as it loses the orange coloring. His touch is firm, yet gentle and warm.

“Look, what do you see?” Cazador asks in a quiet voice and you sweep your eyes over the sky, then over the fields and houses.

“Life.” You respond in a voice that matches his and you feel him begin to rub the underside of your jaw with his thumb.

“Indeed. There’s life. In the sky, on the ground, in the earth.” He continues, the warmth of his chest against your back soothing you, the flicker of fear that you just felt snuffed out at last. You feel strangely safe, even with his hand on your throat after letting you know exactly what he can do. “Do you think you can protect that life, soldier?”

Cazador’s question puzzles you slightly, he’s still getting to the point and you’re becoming impatient. So you turn your head slightly, to look up at him and the dark, calm gaze of his eyes meets yours. The closeness makes you feel flustered but you try to hide it.

“I don’t look to protect life, Cazador. I enjoy the rush of the battle, the feeling of victory, the blood on my hands.” You finally respond and notice a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he grins, obviously satisfied with your answer. His thumb props your chin just a little higher as he leans closer, his eyes not leaving yours.

“I’m sure they scream beautifully when you kill them.” Szarr whispers with same terrifying glee that you saw on his face when he was choking you and you can’t help but find it… appealing. Yes, that’s right. He’s crazy, insane, absolutely nuts, that’s what you tell yourself, but somehow how he acts, how he talks, it makes your blood run faster.

And so you break into a grin of your own.

“They do.” You pause, wondering if you should share the secret you never uttered even to your father and decide that you can, that Cazador will understand the joy of a good fight, the adrenaline of it all. “If I have time, I make sure that they suffer as much as they can.” Your whisper is so quiet that Cazador has to lean even closer to hear it, and when he hears what you’re saying - there’s like a spark in his eyes. He’s surprised, pleasantly so.

“Then I would be glad to ride into a battle with you, my Lady.” He whispers back and you blush slightly, feeling like you both suddenly formed a strange connection, found someone who shares the same view of a good fight and good victory.

But the moment, that is clearly turning intimate somewhat, is suddenly interrupted by the opening door and a loud, angry scream.

“Release her at once!” Lady Donnela’s voice is shrill and Cazador flinches at it, but he doesn’t let go of you just yet. His eyes move from your face and to his mother, a moment passes and you finally feel his hands leave you.

Blushing now for being caught like this you step away from him, your eyes downcast as you don’t want the woman to see that you’re embarrassed, but she quickly walks to you both and then you hear a slap. Shocked, you look up to see that Donnela just slapped Cazador so hard the sound is still ringing in your ears, but he doesn’t look phased. In fact, his face is completely calm and you can only imagine the red mark blooming on the right side of his face as Donnela now turns to you.

For a moment she looks worried as she grips your jaw to look at your face, her eyes scanning your neck, as if she is expecting Cazador was trying to hurt you, but the moment she finally pays attention and notices your blush, Lady Szarr realizes that it wasn’t the case at all. Her expression becomes a painting of rage and her nails dig into your jaw so painfully you frown.

“Stay away from him.” She warns and you blink few times in surprise, not quite sure what she means by that. Stay away for his sake or… your own?

Donnela releases your jaw and looks at her son with anger, then reaches out and grabs his long hair in a fist, beginning to walk back inside and drag Cazador with her. With utter shock at such display of abuse you stand frozen, not knowing how to react, but Cazador himself doesn’t look distressed, if anything his face is completely blank as he follows his mother back inside, and in couple seconds you are left alone, the door closing.

You exhale slowly, trying to understand what just happened, and begin walking to the door yourself when you hear a crashing sound. You run now, swinging the door open only to witness Lady Donnela on the floor, a candelabra broken by her side and Cazador standing over her, with same emotionless mask across his face. Donnela’s face, on the other hand, is both shock and rage.

“Leave! Now!” She shrieks at her son and Cazador only shows a small smirk before he nods and walks off, without giving you or her another look.

You stare at Donnela and finally snap out of your stupor before you rush to help her get up, but she pushes you away with hatred in her eyes.

“DO NOT TOUCH ME!”

You recoil immediately and just watch her quickly scramble to her feet, not even giving burning candles on the floor a glance, before she too rushes off out of the hall, leaving you alone. Utterly shocked you stand as you are for a moment, trying to understand what just happened, but when you begin smelling burning wood you walk to the broken candelabra and snuff out the candles. Then your eye catches a glimpse of something, a shine that appears right under the heavy curtain as you are putting out the flames.

After carefully looking around to see if there’s anyone else here besides yourself, you step to the curtain and kneel with one knee picking the shiny object up, then stand up and turn to the nearest candlelight to see better what it is.

You realize that the object you picked up is a pocket miniature, usually meant to portray passed loved ones that their family members can carry with them. You have seen some of your father’s soldiers carry these before and you become intrigued because you suspect Lady Donnela dropped this during whatever altercation happened between her and her son.

When you flip the portrait you see a young man, clearly an elf, sketched with a pencil instead of being painted, situated in a beautiful silver frame. You can’t tell the color of his hair or eyes, the picture carrying only the shades of grey, but you notice an emphasis on white streaks of hair framing his sharp features. What catches your attention most is this elven man’s eyes, because it seems that whoever drew this - they were captivated by the look of his piercing gaze. Regal in outfit, you assume him to be someone Lady Donnela might’ve cherished.

For a moment you just look at the picture, wondering who he is. He doesn’t seem to be related to Szarr’s, they have their unique looks making them stand out among other elves, but whoever this man was, you realize that Donnela is still attached to him enough to carry his portrait with her.

Once again you lift your eyes and look around, finding no one present in the hall except for the sounds of soft crackling fire, and you wonder what you should do while you wait for your father. The answer comes for you in a form of footsteps nearing the hall.

As Cazador returns you notice his completely calm expression. He doesn’t pause before walking to you and you just watch him approach in silence, not knowing if you should address what you have just seen, but before you can speak he’s right in front of you, eyes darting down to the object in your hands and he raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. Without a word he extends his hand, palm up, beckoning for you to place the miniature there. After a glance to his open hand you do as he wishes and young Master quickly pockets the item.

“Who was he?” you speak before you can consider if it’s a good question to ask and Cazador gives you a smile that you can see is strained.

“A friend of a family.” A pause then he clears his throat. “He’s close to Donnela.” You look at Cazador for a long moment, wanting to know more. Not because you’re overly curious about this person, but because you simply don’t know what else to say or do.

Yet before you can formulate a proper thought, the door opens and you both look in the direction of the room where your father disappeared with Lord Szarr. They both exit, smiling and seemingly relaxed.

“Child, come closer.” Varitan waves his son closer once the two men stop and your eyes meet your father’s, but you can’t exactly read his face except for the fact that he seems more relaxed compared to how he was when coming here.

Cazador, without a word, walks to his father and Lord Varitan smirks at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. You realize that they are both nearly exact same height, making even your father stand shorter than them which is usually not the case and you approach as well, not needing permission.

“It has been decided that the boy will join Gate’s army for some time.” Patriarch of the family speaks up again and you watch him, wondering what’s the reason behind his decision because you already learned that Cazador is quick and sharp, even against someone as skilled as you. “He won’t make a military career, but I’m sure that under General Cradith he will learn a lot, won’t you, child?”

“Yes.”

“Since Lord Varitan informed me that you do have a degree of training, which you acquired back in your homeland, it was decided that you will start at the similar position as my daughter.” General says and you frown at that. This… this new recruit is going to have same position as you? You glance at your father but he either ignores your pointed stare or doesn’t see it, because he continues without skipping a beat. “Being a family member of a noble household, I’m sure Cazador knows how to take on some responsibility. Is that correct?”

“Of course he does, he is my son.” Lord Varitan answers and you now look at him, trying to keep your face neutral but finding yourself disliking the man more every time he opens his mouth.

“Then it is settled. When young Lord is ready, please do send me a letter so that we can welcome him appropriately.” Your father speaks and you finally look at Cazador, still finding that mask of nothingness across his face, completely unreadable, completely still. Even his eyes look void of emotion as he stands by his father, frozen like a statue.

You wonder what’s going through his head. You wonder if he’s happy to be promised an escape from his mother, maybe even his father, because the way he gripped Cazador earlier comes back to your mind with vivid intensity. Knuckles turning white, fingers meant to hurt, to remind him of what, his place? Or that he can’t escape, not forever?

“Of course, of course.” Lord Szarr grins and his crimson eyes look unpleasant when accompanied with his sharp smile, making him look more predatory than polite and you want to leave, as soon as possible. This mansion makes you feel like you’re in a den of wolves, or worse.

“Very well then.” Your father goes out of his way to shake Varitan’s hand and you nearly grimace at that without even knowing why, but the idea of touching the Szarr patriarch unsettles you deeply. “Come on then, let’s go.” General turns to you and with relief you nod.

When your father passes you, you turn to follow him, not sparing another glance at the dark-haired elves as you notice Lord Varitan also turn to walk away, but suddenly you hear words spoken to you.

“I guess I’ll see you soon, little soldier.” Cazador’s voice is quiet, meant only for you and you stop, turning just enough to see his face, to see the arrogant smirk on his face and he steps to you, confident and proud, his eyes now burning with excitement.

“Don’t think it’s going to be easy, recruit.” You reply with a grin, not wanting to let him feel as if he’s somehow better than you, stronger than you, and Cazador raises his eyebrows as he stops in front of you. He tilts his head slightly to the side then leans close to your face, staring deep into your eyes as if daring you to step back from him for invading your personal space, yet you stand your ground, letting him get as close as he dares, letting your own arrogance show on your face.

“I’m sure you will make army an interesting challenge to me.” Young Master’s voice is barely above a whisper, you feel his breath on your skin when he speaks, and you begin to feel blush coloring your cheeks, this closeness is too much for you, too intimate, his dark eyes becoming all that you can focus on, all that you can see.

Yet you’re not the one to admit defeat, no matter how perceived or imaginary it is. You stay still, looking back even if your palms begin to sweat. You know he’s challenging you and you are accepting it, he’s some spoiled noble after all, however capable in surprising you he was for a moment, when it comes to real fights you know, you are sure, you would best him. You have no reason to let him think he can intimidate you, so you don’t.

“Don’t make me break your neck on the first day, Szarr.” You taunt and Cazador’s grin widens, he’s pleased with your answer.

“We’ll see about that, Lady Sylven.” He too addresses you by your last name and you raise your eyebrow at him, but pause when you hear your father call for your attention and you exhale slowly, annoyed to be interrupted, but Cazador just leans back from you. “See you soon.” He says with ego dripping of each syllable and you briefly cock your chin at him, then turn and walk off, catching up with your father who’s lingering by the hall door. But entire time you walk away you feel eyes on your back, it makes you grin to yourself.

When you and General walk out of the mansion into a gently dark evening, your father glances at you as you both walk to your horses that you two took to come here from the encampment outside the Gate’s walls.

“What was that about?” he asks and you snap out of your thoughts, giving him a quick look.

“Nothing. He just told me he’s excited to join the defenders of the city, father.” You lie and quickly approach your horse, taking the reins that you tied to a wooden fence, but your father stops you by grabbing your shoulder.

When you look at him, you see that his eyes are serious, his lips pressed into a thin line, worry of a father with seriousness of a General.

“Don’t get involved with that boy, you hear me?” he says strictly and you stare at him completely baffled, not sure how to even react.

“What? Why?” you let out a nervous laugh, unnerved by his sudden mood change, but General’s fingers linger on your shoulder for a little longer before he releases you and gently presses his palm onto your cheek.

“I have a bad feeling, that is all.” Father sighs, making you feel even more confused.

“Surely you can’t judge anyone’s mettle based on what… bad feeling?” you realize you sound defensive, in a moment General’s worried expression is changed by a frown.

“My gut feeling saved my life on the battlefield multiple times before. So did yours. Do not underestimate it just because the boy is charming.” He responds and you know you’re blushing now, but you frown, still slightly defiant.

“He’s not charming, father. We just talked while waiting for you and he seemed like an interesting person.” You lie again, the memory of Donnela’s abuse flashing in your mind and then quickly disappearing. You don’t want to tell him about that either and you realize that you’re lying on Cazador’s behalf already. It makes you feel uneasy inside.

“Heed my warning, child.” Lord Cradith begins and removes his palm from your face, his hard eyes pinning you in place. “Szarrs are bad news. Be very careful with the young Master.”

You can’t argue, not when he’s using his commanding tone, this will not bode well if you talk back, so you just curtly nod and he seems to relax at that, then even smiles.

“Good. Glad you understand.”

With that you both untie your horses and mount them. As your father begins leading towards the encampment you pause and look back at the Szarr mansion, all stone and wood. At the second level of it you notice something in the window: a pale face and black hair, and at first you think it might be Cazador, until you suddenly recognize red eyes and a sharp, unsettling grin.

Grin that looks too wide to be natural.

⫸ end note: thank you @sadist69 and @alienrat-art for wonderful illustrations that helps bringing this story to life♡~

[gilverrwrites]

Some people have all the luck

Two-Face/Reader, 1.2K words Idk, writing that match-up with good ol' Harv sparked something in my brain and I haven't stopped thinking about him since. I just had to write something. Using his Arkham design in the divider but this isn't specific to that portrayal. [1/2] Already at rock bottom, Two-Face offers you the chance to test your luck. Rating: 18+

CWs: Drunk reader, smoking, implied threats of violence, sexually suggestible themes - nothing explicit, swearing, Reader is kind of a dick - but hey, we all have bad days.

Please: never apologise for being yourself.

It had been a terrible, awful, shitty day, but somebody else’s was about to be worse. 

Perhaps because you were too drunk to even think of minding your own business, or perhaps because you wanted to see somebody else’s day ruined, you watch, lucid and transfixed as a strong, grotesque hand clutches the arm of another drunken bar patron.

You’d clocked him as soon as he’d entered; tall, dark, and intriguingly handsome in ways you didn’t care to decipher. His suit was crisp, hugging him in all the right places, a cigar situated cleanly between his teeth. 

The unlucky girl had been in a world of her own, dancing amongst friends. The poor thing hadn’t been looking where she was going, and hadn’t seen him coming despite his very noticeable presence. She’d spun around, colliding with his large frame, spilling her cocktail all over his two-tone suit. 

Their voices can barely be heard over the blaring music, but she looks to be begging, hunched over in a show of submission, trying desperately to reel back her trapped arm. 

When he drops his cigar to the floor, putting it out easily as he reaches into his suit jacket to pull out his signature coin, you sit up straighter. At least you try to, your intoxicated body only allows you to lean further onto your table, angling for a better view. 

The silver dollar glints under the spotlights as it flips through the air and lands back in his good hand. 

His lips move, either an omen of what’s to come, or a warning for the future and then… 

He releases his grip. She bows her head lower, and then she’s gone, disappearing amongst the crowd. Disappointing. 

That should have been it, you should have averted your gaze when it was over, nursed your drink, watched somebody else, someone less dangerous. In all honestly, you don’t even realise you’re still staring until he’s standing directly on the other side of your table, glaring back at you. Half glaring. The unmarred side of his face, the ‘handsome Harvey’ side as the paper used to bill him, with a sharp jawline and high cheekbone seems softer, sadder. It looks at you like you’re a lost puppy, begging your safety.

The other side not so much; It's still handsome, all the trademark features of his right side still there, under layers of sharp, twisted skin. It doesn’t seem so bad up close, strangely attractive even, if not for the veiny yellow eye that appears to be routing for your demise. 

You can’t help but wonder how much of your perception of his supposed conflicting expressions is real, and how much of it is fuelled by his portrayals in the media, by the uneven shapes of his face under the blinking lights, by your own dubious emotions. 

“What are you looking at?” His voice is low, gravelly, threatening. More of a growl that emanates from his puffed-out chest. 

Had you been sober, you likely would have let your panic show, would have stuttered over your words, would have uttered a thousand apologies, not unlike his previous target. Instead, you continue to peer up at him as you take a slow sip of your drink, struggling to find your coaster when you place it back on the table. 

“I just can’t believe she got away with that.” The words come out slurred, but more confident than you’d expected. “Some people have all the luck.” 

Maybe your statement, maybe your demeanour, but something about you seems to amuse him. The space where an eyebrow would sit on his left side raises, his head twists to the side, showing you more of his undamaged side. 

“Not you?” His voice is still gruff and husky, but his tone is lighter now, entertained. 

“Me? Nah. If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.” You try to make some form of gesture with your arms, but all you manage to do is spill a tipple from your drink. Finally looking away from him, you grab way too many napkins whilst trying and clean up your spillage. 

Distracted, you don’t notice his rounding the table until you hear the sound of metal knocking on glass far too close for comfort. Your eyes dart to the noise. His hand is beside yours, tapping his coin against the table. You unabashedly track your eyes up his body, taking in his dexterous hand, muscular arms, broad shoulders, until you’re face to face again.

Even as you’re perched on the bar stool his standing frame still towers over you. Up close he smells like smoke and jasmine. He radiates authority and malice that should caution you, should send you running. But for some reason you find yourself intrigued, captivated by his formidable presence. 

Presumably satisfied to have your attention once again, he brings the coin up close to your face, turning it back and forth between his fingers, displaying its two sides. One clean and shiny, the other dented and scratched, a mirror image of himself. 

“Care to test that theory?” What a terrifying prospect, the answer is clearly no, but it’s obvious you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Your only hope is that it lands on his good side. 

“Not really, but by all means.” Your attempt to crack a joke seems to land. The left side of his face doesn’t have much of a mouth, but the muscles twitch upwards in a manner that implies a smile. 

You watch with bated breath, teeth digging into your lower lip as the coin jolts into the air. It lands in the palm of his hand, and he closes his fingers over it quickly, denying you a chance to glimpse the results. 

“This is the part where they usually try to run away.” He comments, and you really can’t tell if he’s trying to make his own joke or not. You tilt your body away from him, buzzed brain trying and failing to locate an escape path. Then you look at your feet, heavy and unbalanced due to the sheer amount of booze you’d been trying to drown yourself in. 

“I would but…” I wouldn’t get far, I don’t think I can, I’d probably just fall flat on my face. Warm, rough skin meets your chin, directing your slackened face back to his. When you look up at him, your heart races under his lurid gaze. “I don’t want to.” 

His fingers move deftly, opening just enough for him to glimpse the result before placing it back in his inner pocket. Still declining you a peek at your fate. 

The same rugged skin that had held your face now rakes down your body, dropping lower until it’s wrapped around your waist, easily hoisting you from your seat and onto unsteady feet. The crowd parts with every step, eager not to get in his way. You wonder how you look to the masses, like lovers heading home for the night? Like a father caring for his inebriated child? His vice-like, bruising grip around your body implies something far less tender. 

You spot the girl from earlier, pale and shaking amongst a group of girlfriends attempting to calm her. She offers you a solemn, pitying look. Perhaps this is your penance for routing for her downfall. 

“Wh- what are you- where are we…” You trip over your words, nerves finally getting the better of your vocal cords. His expression gives nothing away. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know.” 

[r0-boat]

What if, Reader was the queen of a dying hive and two humans (Ingo and Emmet) wander into her hive?

Imagine the smut possibilities

This is actually a very interesting thought! I thought about it a lot and here's what I have to say:

Here's some head cannons my friend

Beegearstation reversed Au headcannons

(bee royal reader x human twins

Sfw/nsfw

Cw: breeding, slight Emmet bullying, but we still love him in this house, switch reader,switch twins

Sfw

You were a kind and gentle ruler to your hive, being the Survivor out of a hive that wanted to kill you so you couldn't rival their Royal. You didn't like the same for your drones. Your hive was a safe haven for drones that got abandoned or kicked out of their hive.

Because of this, your drones love you and are very protective of you. You know that in the long term, your hive would be in danger; however, you try not to think about it. You try not to let it bother you because as long as you're drones have a place to call home, that's all that matters to you. However, the drones are aware of how much the idea of the future of the hive scares you. They wish they could do something to help, but their bodies were not built to give you suitable young.

On one faithful day, the Drones scrambled around the hive; seems like the Royal had taken another one of their walks alone. That's when they found a human well, the human found them, striking silver eyes, gray hair with sharp sideburns, and a smile on his face; he gazed at you from the vegetation, his eyes widened, having never seen someone of your kind before. His eyes sparkled with curiosity. He wasn't fearful of you like most humans were. In fact, his first words to you were, and you'll never forget, "D-do you come here often?" Your future king was never one for small talk. He was constantly stumbling over his words when he had to be the one to start a conversation. Every time you bring up the fond memory, his face goes red with embarrassment—that cute smile of his twitching while his eyebrows furrowed.

you remember how frightened when you were when you saw him, because of your past, you find it very hard to trust new people, but he seemed friendly enough. You don't know why you got along with him so well maybe it's because he was always truthful with his words no matter how blunt which you appreciate from time to time. (Looking back, you wondered why Emmet liked you so much; there were plenty of humans that could suit his fancy; his older brother only huffed and replied, "That's exactly why!" ...you're not sure what he means by that)

You enjoyed Emmet's company meeting in the same spot at least once a week. You wanted the stories about his human life, your eyes lighting up with wonder when he talked about a vehicle humans use that travels super fast, making the ground Rumble in its path as it roars Its mighty call.

Ingo was introduced to you by Emmet, who was slightly sweeter and a little more upbeat, which was contrasted with his scary face.

Over time, these two became your friends, maybe, even more; you did think of them as suitable mates and Royals for your hive, but you could never spring such a responsibility on them, and... they were human.

When you showed up late, they began to worry... Do you seem weaker? Constantly out of breath, occasionally even stumbling. Swallowing down their fear of breaking your trust, they followed you back to your hive. They overheard everything, the Colony has no future, and you are overworking yourself sick!

They care about you so much, that they beg you to please let them help. They'll do anything they can!

The Kings may be human, but the drones respect them as hard workers and members of The Hive.

When the twins realized that your hive was built in an old ruined Grand Station, they flipped their lid in excitement; they even hit the jackpot, finding a rusty old handcart!

Your Depot drones start picking up on the train speak; your dear human Kings have. You find it rather cute.

Nsfw below

You are a bee hybrid Royal so you are naturally taller than your humans(if that's not what you want you can stay small) it is your choice whether you dominate them or they dominate you~.

Emmet is obsessed with the fluffier parts of your bee body. When he's on top of you he loves snuggling into the fluff while he grinds his fat cock inside you.

To your surprise, your mates, despite being human, react to the royal jelly well. There were no physical changes to their body, but they became very receptive to your pheromones. The reactions are almost animalistic since they are still sensitive to these new feelings.

They can sense how much you need them, and they'll either break down in a sobbing mess begging for you to touch or use them. Or demand and overpower you like an animal in a rut.

As you lay there begging for him to breed you. Telling him that he'll make a strong brood. Ingo is slowly turning to the monster fucker dark side, and Emmet is there to accept his brother with open arms.

The twins Wonder if the pollen works on their drones; they wonder if the same pollen will work on you. Spoiler alert, it does. You practically pounce on them, riding/milking them until they're on the verge of passing out. They see white as they shoot blanks, but it's not enough for you.

Meanwhile, the bee smoke makes you so cute, and Dopey, your little Giggles as you rub against them like a kitten, your head delicately bonking against their shoulder begging for attention. Your eyes roll back, drool dripping down your chin, letting out cute little whines because you can't take their big cocks while your mind is clouded with smoke.

You're sweet honey-coated saliva makes them so sensitive to the touch Emmet begs for his majesty to touch him. You purr a 'No' liking the sight before you; Emmet tied to the bed cock aching for your touch, his legs quivering and shaking, trying not to hump the air in Desperation for any kind of relief.

[noroi1000]

hello ! Can you write a fic where reader who is gojos wife accidentally to travels to when gojo and reader were just students and havent started dating yet?? Like young reader is like ""ohmilord!! I got married?!?! Who is it??" And future reader is like..."cant spill" ?? Thank you have a nice day😇

In a few years 5

An: So I created this as the next part of this series because it fit here.

Words: 1,5k

"T-Toru? What is it?" you asked looking at the silver pocket watch in his hand.

"Cursed item." He said with the same smile.

"I thought I told you not to bring dangerous items home." You said looking at him sharply.

"If I brought Sukuna's finger it would be even worse. This finger is dangerous. However, this item is made by humans. By sorcerers like me."

"Like you? I thought you were going to say something else..."

"Fine, created by sorcerers much older than me who could do only that. They probably lived 200 years ago and none of them are alive now."

"Now better. Now, please, put this in a safe place and take it to school tomorrow. I don't want curses in our house when you're not around."

"My son will protect you!"

"Your son? What if it's a daughter?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe even a daughter! Gender doesn't matter ! My child will protect you! Because I feel the energy changes in your body."

"Who would have thought my husband would be a walking pregnancy test..." you muttered with a smile before heading to the laundry room to pick up the laundry Satoru was supposed to do this week.

"Be careful. I'll take it. You can't overload yourself." He said grabbing the clothes basket.

"Satoru, three weeks ago we found out I was pregnant. I can do household chores."

He ignored you and took the clothes to the dressing room.

"And then you tell me you're not overprotective at all..." You smiled with your head tilted slightly.

"Can't I take care of you?" he asked, shouting from the room.

"Of course you can, but I can see you're being overprotective now."

"Hey! I don't want anything to happen to you, okay? Is it that bad that I do this?" he asked as he entered the living room where you were.

"I have nothing against. Now, calm down. Big baby." You patted his head.

Then you hugged him.

"So what was this watch about?" you asked.

"There are two in the world. One gold and the other silver. Gold brings you into the future, and silver into the past . I just wanted to show you this. Because, you know, I'd like to see what our baby will look like..."

"You're impatient. Wait a few months."

"I know. But I was curious. Because, you know, when I was a teenager, I remember going to the future, and when I came back, I knew you would definitely be my girlfriend. Because it was such a belief combined with the fact that in the future I saw that it was."

"What does it have to do with it?"

"I don't remember anything that happened when I was in the future then. And now we met me from the past. So it must be true. Even though he probably remembered as much as I remembered after that trip. I wanted to see our baby at least for a while. And maybe then I would know what gender it is now? Or does it have my eyes?" He laughed.

"Then why do you have a silver watch and not a gold one?" You asked as you pulled away.

"The past self must have put it somewhere where I don't know. Maybe in another place? Because I only found this. I was thinking about going back in time and looking at your virgin ass during training."

You hit him on the head as he laughed.

"You're perverted!"

"I am your husband."

"But you're 28 and I was 16 at the time!"

"Will I be that even if I look at you as my wife? Come on. I already know every inch of your body."

"You're not going back in time to look at my ass!"

"It's the same now. I know. Or even better?" He leaned down to punch you in the buttock. "Much better now! The only thing different about your body is that you were a virgin then and now you have my child inside of you. You don't know how cute it is!"

"Or would I like to travel back in time to look at you when you were a virgin? And you probably acted like a perpetually horny animal."

"You weren't wrong about that. Every time I looked at you." He laughed, waving his hands.

"Give me that watch." You said. "Maybe I'll tell myself in the past not to marry you as long as you're such a pervert."

"But baby, you love me! That also means you love me as a pervert!"

"You finally admitted it. But maybe it would have been nice to see old school when we were young."

"We're not old, (y/n)."

"Okay, but we were teenagers then."

"Fine... Even if we don't remember much of it, we can do it. Hold on, I'll go get a blindfold." He handed you a silver watch.

You felt the coldness of the metal, and you weighed it with your hand. It was probably real silver...

To check this, you clicked the button, slowly counting the seconds.

And when the watch showed 12 seconds, you stopped it.

"Mochi, we were supposed to move in together!" cried your husband sadly when he saw the watch lightly shining.

And your image began to wave before you disappeared.

"Halo! Mrs!"

You heard a voice calling you.

You slowly opened your eyes.

You saw the girl's face. You from your younger years...

"Where am I..." You muttered quietly.

"At Jujutsu High in Tokyo." Said the girl sitting next to you on the bench.

"Are you -." you started.

"Do you know me?" She asked, pointing at her.

"I certainly wouldn't mistake myself from the past..." you laughed.

"From the past? Wait, are you me from the future? Is that why you look like me?!"

"Yeah... I couldn't really click that button myself."

"Button? Oh... Time-traveling watches?"

"Do you know about them? I don't remember learning about it here."

"Recently, Satoru was talking about this. That he had heard that they were here and that he would look for it to visit the future."

"Oh... I know something about that..."

"Let me guess, he made it?"

"Yes. But he doesn't remember anything after that. Probably. What year is it?"

"2006."

"So I moved 12 years, huh... When I get home, I'm going to be lectured about how I should have moved with him."

"With him? With whom?" Suddenly, the girl looked at your hand, seeing the wedding ring. "Ohmilord!! I got married?!?! Who is it???" she screamed.

You smiled looking at her face. Shocked and almost scared.

"Sorry, I can't spill." You said with a small smile. "You'll live a few more years and you'll find out."

"Ugh... Now I'm going to live in suspense..."

"Don't worry. You will have a boyfriend who will later be your husband and you will be pregnant by him. It's nothing that terrible."

"I will be pregnant?! Are you pregnant?!" She looked at your belly.

"I am, but only recently."

"Should you use cursed items while pregnant? You know... Even Satoru knows that using it in a state where you don't know what's going to happen is inappropriate."

"Even Satoru?"

"Yes. Although I know he would probably do something irresponsible. Besides, what is he doing in the future?"

"He's still a sorcerer."

"He had a girlfriend? Wife? Kids?"

"Hmm..." You thought for a moment what to say. "Yes. He does."

"Oh..." The younger you mumbled sadly.

By the time you were 16, you had feelings for him.

Poor, you thought he had a wife and kids with some other woman.

Well, you didn't say it like you loved him very much.

So she thought your husband was someone else.

"Can you tell me what are you doing in the future? Or what will our relationship be like?"

"You care about him, don't you?"

"...Yes... You were me after all...

"You love him..."

"I... I-I..."

"All right. I know it is. After all, I was you." You laughed.

You saw a watch in your hand that suddenly appeared.

It showed you had two minutes left here.

Why when you go to the future you get hours to stay there and when you go to the past you get minutes?

Because it's already happened, and you've already been through it.

Therefore, you have less time.

You had 12 minutes. It was enough for you to talk to her.

"I have little time. But I can tell you that our relationship is still close." You told her.

And the moment you had a few seconds left, you showed her your hand with the wedding ring engraved with his name.

You don't know if she saw it, but you gave her a quick signal of what she might expect before you disappeared.

Straight to the living room to be grabbed by Satoru who immediately started hugging you, saying that he wanted to be there too and now you have to wait for the watch's energy to recharge.

[realm-sweet-realm]

Do you have any headcanons for Giovanni and Ariana's relationship?

I do!

Simply put, this is a complicated and unconventional relationship between two bad people who are on essentially the same page about it.

-As the leader of Team Rocket, an organization that's been in the family for a few generations, Giovanni faced a certain amount of pressure to marry for power and produce heirs. He didn't want that. He didn't want to deal with some upper-class housewife who would hassle him about things like "monogamy" and "taking time off work for the family." Ariana similarly faced pressure to marry someone rich and powerful who would want her to settle down and felt like her only other options were either to date way below her station (ew) or to live a loveless life for the sake of her career. One night she and Giovanni got drunk and complained to each other about this, and they were both like, "Wait, idea!"

-They basically made a relationship contract before their first date to make sure they wouldn't tie each other down. It's an open relationship and they both sleep with other people when they're traveling for work. Giovanni promised that Ariana wouldn’t have to take off more time for pregnancy and the like than she wanted and could come right back to work once she'd had a kid and was ready- she could think of it as one more assignment for her role as Team Rocket Executive.

-The actual courtship between them is a lot of fun. Think dates in the Team Rocket blimp or Giovanni's cruise ship, candlelit dinners, dancing, and the like. They love each others' company and are completely on the same page when it comes to the excitement of making Team Rocket a powerful organization, often spending long periods talking about their schemes, whether past, present or future. In a lot of ways, they are incredibly in sync.

-...but moments like these can be far between. Giovanni is married to his work and his other interests, and he travels for work often so they're often physically separated.

-Got married on the Team Rocket blimp with both their families and all the other executives in attendance. Jessie and James were there as servers, and nearly crashed the blimp through their shenanigans but managed to correct things before anyone noticed.

-Some part of Ariana would like more of Giovanni's attention and affection, but, well, that's how all the executives feel. Welcome to the club, Ariana. She doesn't care for the selfishness and lack of commitment he showed when he left Team Rocket for three years and wishes she could give him an earful for it, but once again, welcome to the club. They all wish they could give Giovanni a little more pushback, she's not special (as much as she pretends to be when she has her sassy little arguments with Archer over which of them is more important to him). But hey, she gets to go on dates with a rich and charming man and also be an imposing criminal in her own right. They're both happy, even though they're not a huge part of each others' lives compared to most married couples, nor is it the most egalitarian relationship.

-They are horrendously uninvolved parents. Their kids (Silver and Mars, who was originally named "Copper") were largely raised by nannies and whoever else was around. Giovanni and Ariana sometimes showed up for the fun parts of parenting, Ariana less so because she enjoyed it less, but that was it. On the bright side, Giovanni never pushed Team Rocket on the kids unless they seemed interested. To him, it was more important that Team Rocket be handed off to someone who wanted it rather than just any blood family member. They did, however, instill Giovanni's ideas of power and the world being dog-eat-dog into them.

-When their kids left after Giovanni's disappearance, they reacted less as though loved ones had disappeared and might be in danger and more as though a project of theirs hadn't worked out. They searched for a short while but gave up quickly and moved on even quicker.