#Wildly Profound

[pyrrhiccomedy]

How’s Tomassin doing? Besides, you know, wretched.

Surprisingly good actually? He's fallen in love with Innokenti, that blind and wild fairy-knight; who loves him in return. Bastian set them up, on the queer intuition that the two loneliest people he knew might have something meaningful to offer each other, despite their obvious differences.

It's very hard for Tomassin to be loved. It goes against the grain of that flinching thing at his heart to take up that much space in the world, to anyone. He will love - in quiet, aching solitude - very easily, and never ask for anything, or give any indication of his feelings. But how could he allow anyone to love him - blighted aberration that he is? How could that not be a great and selfish unkindness? What future could he offer someone, when he is on a forced march to kneel at God's feet and accept a seal of condemnation? How could he let someone open up a country in their heart for him, when he knows the touch of his feet upon its soil would poison the ground with salt?

But Innokenti had a blunt counter to all of Tomassin's objections: and had the nimbleness of mind, and perverse persistence, to make his case. Oh, you think you'd salt the earth inside his heart? Salt it, then: nothing grows here already, not anymore. At least you would be one living thing, in this vast and barren continent. Oh, you are afraid you couldn't offer him a future? He is fairy - what is the future to him? He lives in an endless present, and never thinks about tomorrow. You think you are condemned by your God: Innokenti has already been abandoned by his. He won't say that's not true or God doesn't hate you, Tomassin. What does he know about the Christian God? You could well be right. But he can hold your hand, in the darkness outside of salvation: and we could be a comfort to each other.

They've been very good for each other, since their love has been acknowledged between them. Innokenti has made Tomassin more comfortable in his own skin, more willing to speak up and less mortified to take up space; and Tomassin has made Innokenti more grounded, more patient, and more thoughtful. They are nearly inseparable, these days, and Tomassin's grief and shame over the unavoidable circumstance of his own existence has been undeniably, a little, alleviated.

[utilitycaster]

My unpopular opinion is that Im0dna is a great example of "just because someone knows you the longest, doesn't mean they know you the best". They don't really underwater each other like other people in the party already do

Hi anon,

So the ask meme is done but I don't actually know if this was intended as part of that, as I also have the sort of personality that solicits unpopular opinions into my inbox anyway. (Also I am guessing underwater is a very funny autocorrect mishap for understand; I have been there).

Anyway, yeah. I think my favorite meta I've seen is that what Imogen and Laudna actually ask of each other is just to be there - because it is true that they have both lived incredibly lonely lives. For what it's worth I think loneliness/missing someone is perhaps the most common thread among Bells Hells, with a secondary theme being victims of circumstance/irrevocably altered by events beyond their control, and it frustrates me that a lot of framing of the ship ignores that Imogen and Laudna are not uniquely suited to understand this about each other. But it is true they have experienced loneliness that, in my opinion, is at least partially self-inflicted (also not unique) and that their response has been to be there for each other.

But it also means there's little room for change, because change threatens that status quo, and there's therefore no space to delve deeper. It's a little bit of the classic problem of if you start a romantic relationship with a friend and then break up, you might lose both the romantic relationship and the friendship. But it's more than that - Chetney and Imogen have zero romantic interest in each other and aren't even terribly close within the party, but when Chetney asks Imogen if she's okay Imogen is actually able to answer with some amount of honesty without pretending everything will work out, as she's not worried about making sure he feels comfortable. Deanna, who's known Imogen for less than a week, is able to address Imogen's constant use of psychic powers in a way that's not unkind but is in fact the honest sort of thing a best friend should be able to tell you. Or for another example, FCG's tendency to strongly urge people, including Imogen, to confront their pasts isn't always the most skilled, but it usually comes from a place of good intentions, whereas Imogen and Laudna's relationship feels...unconsciously transactional? I think we saw in the gnarlrock fight that they're just absolutely terrified of being in a fight and don't really know how to resolve conflict in a way that actually moves forward rather than smoothing things over. Like, it's not an unfair relationship - they're both getting the same companionship out of it - but there's not really space for one person to be angry at the other or to feel wronged. There's no room to breathe.

Anyway - I think the party split is really illuminating this! Imogen is benefiting immensely from this arc, as it both spotlights her relationships with other party members and gives her some time to process after being the central focus for so long. While I have to admit that Team Wildemount is the one I'm far more interested in for a number of reasons (fantastic guests, all the main PCs have cool plot hooks to explore, I love Uthodurn and Molaesmyr) I do hope that we get to see Laudna similarly have a chance to branch out (pun kind of intended).

[lastoneout]

I really do miss back when it was considered fucking weird to ask trans people(or anyone who is even a little gnc/has a label you don't understand/is giving you queer vibes)* what their assigned sex at birth is. Like we literally used to roast cis people for this shit, that's legit why the "what's in your pants" meme exists, but somehow we've reached a point where a very vocal portion of the online trans community genuinely thinks you owe people this information so they can make insane generalizations about you and your life and if you refuse that's cause for suspicion and I really shouldn't have to explain how fucked that is.

Interrogating people about what's in their pants is transphobe/terf/transmed shit. "If you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear" is fed shit. Tbh "you owe me personal information about your body and medical history" is ableist and intersexist shit. Sex and/or gender tells you literally nothing concrete about a person and there is no world where you are owed this information. Can we cut this shit out and go back to judging people by their words and actions instead of what some random doctor decided their body looks like when they were a squishy baby, you know, like normal people? Please??

*It's also wildly intersexist but unfortunately I don't think we've ever reached a point of collectively accepting that it's horrid to ask intersex people unprompted questions about their bodies and medical histories. You are absolutely not owed any of that information for any reason, especially given that medical history typically goes hand in hand with profound trauma due to how normalized medical abuse against intersex people is, and everyone needs to get that through their heads yesterday. If they want to share they can and will, aside from that it's none-ya.

[lets-steal-an-archive]

By Bernie Sanders | July 13, 2024

I will do all that I can to see that President Biden is re-elected. Why? Despite my disagreements with him on particular issues, he has been the most effective president in the modern history of our country and is the strongest candidate to defeat Donald Trump — a demagogue and pathological liar. It’s time to learn a lesson from the progressive and centrist forces in France who, despite profound political differences, came together this week to soundly defeat right-wing extremism.

I strongly disagree with Mr. Biden on the question of U.S. support for Israel’s horrific war against the Palestinian people. The United States should not provide Benjamin Netanyahu’s right-wing extremist government with another nickel as it continues to create one of the worst humanitarian disasters in modern history.

I strongly disagree with the president’s belief that the Affordable Care Act, as useful as it has been, will ever address America’s health care crisis. Our health care system is broken, dysfunctional and wildly expensive and needs to be replaced with a “Medicare for all” single-payer system. Health care is a human right.

And those are not my only disagreements with Mr. Biden.

But for over two weeks now, the corporate media has obsessively focused on the June presidential debate and the cognitive capabilities of a man who has, perhaps, the most difficult and stressful job in the world. The media has frantically searched for every living human being who no longer supports the president or any neurologist who wants to appear on TV. Unfortunately, too many Democrats have joined that circular firing squad.

Yes. I know: Mr. Biden is old, is prone to gaffes, walks stiffly and had a disastrous debate with Mr. Trump. But this I also know: A presidential election is not an entertainment contest. It does not begin or end with a 90-minute debate.

Enough! Mr. Biden may not be the ideal candidate, but he will be the candidate and should be the candidate. And with an effective campaign taht speaks to the needs of working families, he will not only defeat Mr. Trump but beat him badly. It’s time for Democrats to stop the bickering and nit-picking.

I understand that some Democrats get nervous about having to explain the president’s gaffes and misspeaking names. But unlike the Republicans, they do not have to explain away a candidate who now has 34 felony convictions and faces charges that could lead to dozens of additional convictions, who has been hit with a $5 million judgment after he was found liable in a sexual abuse case, who has been involved in more than 4,000 lawsuits, who has repeatedly gone bankrupt and who has told thousands of documented lies and falsehoods.

Supporters of Mr. Biden can speak proudly about a good and decent Democratic president with a record of real accomplishment. The Biden administration, as a result of the American Rescue Plan, helped rebuild the economy during the pandemic far faster than economists thought possible. At a time when people were terrified about the future, the president and those of us who supported him in Congress put Americans back to work, provided cash benefits to desperate parents and protected small businesses, hospitals, schools and child care centers.

After decades of talk about our crumbling roads, bridges and water systems, we put more money into rebuilding America’s infrastructure than ever before — which is projected to create millions of well-paying jobs. And we did not stop there. We made the largest-ever investment in climate action to save the planet. We canceled student debt for nearly five million financially strapped Americans. We cut prices for insulin and asthma inhalers, capped out-of-pocket costs for prescription drugs and got free vaccines to the American people. We battled to defend women’s rights in the face of moves by Trump-appointed jurists to roll back reproductive freedom and deny women the right to control their own bodies.

So, yes, Mr. Biden has a record to run on. A strong record. But he and his supporters should never suggest that what’s been accomplished is sufficient. To win the election, the president must do more than just defend his excellent record. He needs to propose and fight for a bold agenda that speaks to the needs of the vast majority of our people — the working families of this country, the people who have been left behind for far too long.

At a time when the billionaires have never had it so good and when the United States is experiencing virtually unprecedented income and wealth inequality, over 60 percent of Americans live paycheck to paycheck, real weekly wages for the average worker have not risen in over 50 years, 25 percent of seniors live each year on $15,000 or less, we have a higher rate of childhood poverty than almost any other major country, and housing is becoming more and more unaffordable — among other crises.

This is the wealthiest country in the history of the world. We can do better. We must do better. Joe Biden knows that. Donald Trump does not. Joe Biden wants to tax the rich so that we can fund the needs of working families, the elderly, the children, the sick and the poor. Donald Trump wants to cut taxes for the billionaire class. Joe Biden wants to expand Social Security benefits. Donald Trump and his friends want to weaken Social Security. Joe Biden wants to make it easier for workers to form unions and collectively bargain for better wages and benefits. Donald Trump wants to let multinational corporations get away with exploiting workers and ripping off consumers. Joe Biden respects democracy. Donald Trump attacks it.

This election offers a stark choice on issue after issue. If Mr. Biden and his supporters focus on these issues — and refuse to be divided and distracted — the president will rally working families to his side in the industrial Midwest swing states and elsewhere and win the November election. And let me say this as emphatically as I can: For the sake of our kids and future generations, he must win.

Bernie Sanders is the senior senator from Vermont.

[boysnberriespie]

Anytime someone says they dislike Shakespeare too many people come in with the most condescending attitude (“don’t fear the language, it’s actually not that hard 🥺” “it’s taught wrong 😔”), like maybe I’m really smart and I totally understand Shakespeare but his work doesn’t strike an emotional chord with me

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

And I'm back with Part 3 of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support for this story! It makes me so happy to see people get excited by my silly (and occasionally delusional) au ideas!

NOTE: You can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

EDIT: And you can find part 4 here!

And without further ado, onto the new stuff!

It was rather drafty in the lesser furnished cells of the dungeons. Merlin knew this well, as he had spent many nights during his first couple of years in Camelot trying and failing to get any sleep on the cold stone floors of those cells, kept awake by the freezing chill that would sweep through the dungeons at any given moment.

Merlin also knew that Arthur had never been kept in one of those cells, even on the rare occasions that Uther had him locked up for going against his orders. Whenever Arthur had to be put in the dungeons, he had been put in the fully furnished cells, meant for prisoners who were members of noble families.

Even when they were held in the same dungeon, the nobles and the peasants were subjected to wildly different experiences.

With that in mind, Merlin stopped by Arthur's chambers (or... were they his chambers now? Merlin certainly didn't want to think about that.) to grab Arthur's favorite blanket off of his bed. It was a luxuriously soft blanket, dyed a rich Pendragon red. That blanket was fit for a king and a pain for a manservant to wash, but Merlin had always taken good care of the blanket, knowing how much Arthur liked it.

Merlin folded up the thick blanket with meticulous care, ignoring both his own trembling hands, rendered unsteady by the volatile emotions welling up in him, and Gwaine's presence behind him, silent for once. Despite Gwaine's undying loyalty and penchant for mischief landing Merlin in an even worse situation than before, he seemed to understand the solemnity of Merlin's actions and the profound sense of grief over the life he had lived once before that had been so suddenly torn away from him.

The motions of carefully folding up the blanket filled Merlin with both comforting familiarity and near-crippling sorrow. Would he ever do this again, ever provide support and comfort for Arthur again? As much as Merlin wished to stay optimistic, even if his plan to reinstate Arthur as the rightful king of Camelot succeeded, the darkest corners of his mind hissed that Arthur would never tolerate his presence again, let alone trust him, after usurping him and, in Arthur's eyes, proving everything Uther had ever said about sorcerers to be true.

Merlin's heart plummeted, nearly stopping him in his track towards the dungeon entirely, at the mere thought of what Arthur must think of him now: a treacherous, conniving sorcerer who had manipulated Arthur into becoming his friend only to betray him. Merlin blinked, banishing his tears before they could roll down his face and fall onto the blanket in his arms, and forced his feet to keep moving steadily forward. No matter what Arthur thought of him now, how deeply Merlin has unintentionally wounded his friend, or how catastrophically Merlin's world felt like it was crumbling down around him, he needed to set things right.

Merlin clung desperately to that conviction, the thrumming need to set things right again, as everything else in him wanted to curl up in a dark corner and never move again. After an eternity and yet all too soon, Merlin descended past the gates of the dungeon, where he forbade Gwaine from following him any further, down the noble cell blocks, which were filled with sleeping, but thankfully uninjured knights, and finally through the dark, damp, empty, and cold peasant cells.

He couldn't see Arthur at first, but his magic sensed that he was here. Like always, it jumped, tugging on Merlin to act, whenever Arthur was nearby, causing Merlin to pause his step in order to focus on whatever his magic was attempting to do. This time, it tugged his attention towards the unlit torches lining the walls of the cell block. Light them, his magic seemed to beg of him, our king is cold!

Merlin's immediate reaction was to stop his magic, to push it down so that no one would notice, and, after a deep breath, he did just that. As Merlin stood still, holding Arthur's blanket in his arms and cherishing what would likely be the last few seconds that he could ignore what had happened over the last day and pretend that everything was normal, he heard the voice that he'd been both yearning and dreading to hear for the past day coming from the cell at the very end of the dungeon.

"If you're waiting to sneak up on me, you'll have to try harder than that. I can hear that neither magic nor a crown have made you any more stealthy, Merlin."

Merlin flinched backwards, expecting but yet somehow still unprepared for how much vitriol and bitterness Arthur hissed out his name with. He had heard Arthur yell out his name in variety of tones over the years, ranging from annoyed to bemused to downright furious, but he had never heard his name pass from Arthur's lips like this, spat out from his mouth like it was poisonous and vile. It caused so much hurt to well up in Merlin's chest that he felt it like a bruising punch, causing him to wince in pain, still hiding where Arthur could not see him.

As Merlin stood silently, only a few steps away from Arthur's cell and facing Arthur's well-deserved fury, and tried to desperately blink away the tears gathering in his eyes, his magic abruptly tugged his attention towards the torches again, more insistent this time. Letting out a stuttering breath, Merlin obliged with his magic's request this time, and the torches lining the walls burst into bright, golden flames in an instant, filling the cells with a merry warmth that felt entirely out of place.

Merlin heard a sharp gasp coming from Arthur's cells as soon as the torches lit up by themselves and winced. Right, Arthur was fresh off of Merlin's betrayal, so he was probably pretty jumpy, especially around magic.

Merlin's guilt rose alongside his frustration. Everything he does with his magic, he does it for Arthur, and yet every single damned time it backfires on him and somehow hurt Arthur! A spell meant to heal his father kills the king instead. A battle waged to ensure his continued reign steals his sovereignty instead. And lit torches meant to provide him with warmth and comfort scares him instead!

But before even more guilt could build up inside of him, Merlin heard Arthur's voice once more.

"I won't be scared by a coward of a sorcerer who would steal everything from the man he claimed to serve! Or is the great Emrys too important to even face the fool he tricked into believing that he was his friend?"

Before Merlin's mind could even process Arthur's words, his feet were already carrying him to the end of the hallway, right to the front of Arthur's cell. He needed to prove Arthur wrong here, their years of friendship weren't a lie or a trick, Arthur needed to believe that! Too much of Merlin's life, his very soul, was woven into his bond with Arthur, he couldn't let Arthur have any doubt that their bond was even real!

As he finally arrived at the door to the cell that held Arthur, Merlin's heart stuttered again, this time with grief. Based on the ferocity in his voice, Merlin had expected to see Arthur pressed up against the bars, ready to battle his perceived opponent. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Arthur, sitting alone on the dirty stone floor, his face wearing the same dejected and defeated look it had just days earlier, after Morgana had taken the citadel and Arthur doubted his own ability to rule his people. The only difference was that the lost look in Arthur's eyes from before was gone, replaced by a scornful glare that had Merlin feeling like he was the scum of the earth.

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to apologize, plead for forgiveness, whatever it took to just stop Arthur from looking at him like that, like Merlin was his enemy, but no words could form in his mouth, as too many emotions were welling up in his chest that it closed off his throat entirely. Merlin drew in a deep, fortifying breath, purposefully avoiding eye contact with a still-glaring Arthur the entire time. Once he felt like he had his feelings even marginally under some tenuous control, he finally met Arthur's gaze and held out the blanket like a pathetic peace offering.

"I brought you your blanket. I know it gets cold down here."

Merlin was rather proud that his voice only wavered slightly, not giving an indication of how disastrously close he was to breaking down into tears in the middle of the dungeons. Arthur merely stared at him for a moment, bewilderment appearing on his face for a few seconds before it was quickly wiped away by angry sneer.

"I don't accept gifts from the likes of you, sorcerer! It's probably cursed or enchanted to kill me so that you can finally get me out of your way for good!"

"No!"

The blanket fell to the floor as Merlin grasped the bars of the cell with both hands and pulled himself as close as he could to Arthur, who had flinched back at Merlin's outburst. His magic flared again, wanting to break down this barrier between them so that he could get closer to Arthur, but he denied its request, knowing that such an action would only agitate Arthur even more.

"Arthur, please, I never meant for any of this to happen! You must believe me! I only wanted to for Camelot to be safe from Morgana and for you to retake the throne! I only want to secure your reign, not end it!"

That, it seemed, finally got a reaction out of Arthur, but it wasn't the one Merlin was hoping for. Arthur finally stood up from the floor and stormed over to the cell door, getting close to Merlin, but just out of reach.

"And why on earth should I trust a word you say?! You've done nothing but lie to me for years, even when I gave you my complete trust! I thought you were my closest friend, the one person in my life who would never betray me, but as it turns out, I never even knew your real name, much less where your true loyalties lie!"

Merlin's face fell at Arthur's accusations, knowing that he was, in some ways, completely right in them. Still, he met Arthur's accusing glare with as much honesty as he could. After all that his own actions had taken from Arthur, he owed him the truth at the very least. Merlin spoke again, trying to muster up a calm, soothing tone despite his strong emotions.

"I know that you don't have much reason to trust what I say now, but I will do all that I can take make this right. I was born with magic, yes, but I was born this way for a purpose, and that purpose is you, Arthur. I am Emrys, destined to be the guardian of the Once and Future King, who will rule over the greatest kingdom history has ever known and bring peace the likes of which has never been seen throughout the land."

Merlin could see the moment of realization on Arthur's face as he put together who exactly the Once and Future King was, his eyes going wide with shock. Despite the situation, Merlin has just a bit of a smile on his face as he reminisced on fond memories.

"When I first met you, I just couldn't understand how such a prattish clotpole could ever be a king of legend, but the longer I stayed by your side, the more I could see the king that you were destined to become. A great man, a great leader, who will always stand up to protect his people, even if it means putting himself in danger."

Merlin's speech trailed off as he smiled gently at Arthur, trying desperately to give him reason to believe Merlin, to believe in the prophecy that tied them together, and, above all, to believe in himself.

To Merlin's surprise, he could see Arthur confusion melting into... something. It looked like something along the lines of hope or awe, which gave Merlin hope in return. But just as quickly as it was there, Arthur's expression shifted again to a frustrated anger.

"Even if what you're saying isn't some trick, your little bedtime story is wrong anyways! I can't be the Once and Future King if I'm not even a king in the first place!"

Merlin sighed deeply, knowing that they'd get to this point eventually. He had a plan, but would Arthur ever agree to it?

"I've tried! I tried to simply order the council to make you king again, but they won't do it! Geoffrey stopped me with some old laws that Bruta wrote! He said that I can't abdicate the throne to you because you're no longer legally a nobleman."

Arthur eyes widened frantically at the mention of Bruta's laws, his breathing picking up with panic. He backed up from the bars of the cell and began pacing around.

"Bruta's code, damn it, I forgot that they applied in these situations! Wait..."

His eyes snapped back to Merlin, looking red-rimmed and on the verge of tears. His voice, which was so full of fire mere seconds ago, now sounded hollow. Merlin's hope wilted upon seeing Arthur like this, and his magic flared again, still wanting to destroy the barrier between them.

"This means that the Pendragon house is no longer recognized, doesn't it?"

Merlin could only nod, unsure of what he could do to comfort Arthur. At Merlin's confirmation, Arthur took a shaky breath, trying to collect himself from the inner turmoil that he was surely experiencing.

"Everything... I've lost everything."

Merlin gave Arthur what he hoped was his most comforting smile, but it didn't do much for Arthur's hopeless disposition. After a small sigh, Merlin spoke again in a soft, comforting voice.

"Arthur, all is not lost. I have a way to make you king again! We just have to make you a noble again, and then I can abdicate the throne to you! And luckily for both of us, there's an easy way to make a peasant a nobleman quickly! And you should know, you wrote it into the laws yourself!"

Arthur blinked at him, not comprehending what Merlin had said for a couple seconds, before a sliver of hope showed on his face. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone again, once more replaced by anger and betrayal. Arthur quickly stormed over to the cell door, this time reaching the door itself and wrapping his hands around the bars so that he could yell in Merlin's face.

"I knew it! This was a trick!"

"What are you talking about? How would me knighting you and then giving you back your throne be a trick?!"

"You would have me swear on oath of fealty to you, which would legally, and for all I know magically, put me under your command! This was all just another plot to control me, wasn't it?!"

"Oh come on, you wouldn't have to mean it when you take the oath! You'd just have to say the words and then let me abdicate!"

"So now sacred oaths of loyalty are nothing but empty words to you?!"

"Gods, you really can't make anything easy for the both of us, can you, you prat! I'm just trying to give you your crown back!"

"You would have me disrespect the sacred oaths of knighthood! I would never swear an oath of fealty to you! It is a sacred bond of trust, which is apparently something that you know nothing about, Emrys!"

Merlin flinched back, still unused to Arthur saying the name given to him by the druids, much less hissed out in anger. Merlin backed away from the cell door and took a deep breath, trying to find some solution to this mess.

"So, I take it that you would not accept a knighthood from me?"

"Never."

Merlin sighed again, his eyes drifting around the dungeons as he tried to think of a different way to make Arthur a nobleman. Eventually, his eyes drifted back towards Arthur, who was still holding onto the bars of the cell door. As Merlin looked at Arthur, pondering any solution that he could possibly come up with, a metallic flash caught Merlin's eye, drawing it to Arthur's left hand.

There, the torchlight was reflecting off of Ygraine's ring, the one that Arthur rarely ever took off. Merlin was glad that Arthur still had it with him after everything that had just happened to provide some comfort, but it still didn't present Merlin with any solutions...

Wait.

Oh no.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin called out to Arthur again.

"Arthur, do you know of any, any other ways to elevate a peasant to the status of a noble?"

"I'm afraid not. Me granting knighthoods to peasants was the first legal opportunity for peasants to elevate their stations. There is no other way."

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to hold back his frustration. He wouldn't have to resort to that, surely?

"And you've really thought this through, Arthur? If you don't accept a knighthood, I don't think that there's any other way that I can legally make you a noble again, much less the king. Are you really prepared to go the rest of your life as a peasant with no title, no lands, no riches, nothing?"

Merlin could see that his words gave Arthur pause, forcing him to at least reconsider Merlin's offer. Merlin internally pleaded with Arthur to please don't be an idiot, just take the offer!

Finally, Arthur seemed to have reached his decision, as he glared at Merlin once again with conviction.

"I might be forced to live out my days as a peasant, but at least I'll be a peasant with my honor and integrity intact."

Merlin was, at this point, sorely tempted to bash his head into the stone wall behind him. Why, why did this clotpole have to make his life so difficult?!

Merlin gave a heavy sigh as he nodded, accepting Arthur's decision. Arthur looked rather smug about Merlin conceding to him, which he wouldn't be feeling if he knew exactly what Merlin had in mind as his contingency plan.

"Very well then. You've made it clear that you won't willingly take this one opportunity for me to give you your throne back. But make no mistake, you are the Once and Future King. This is your destiny, and I will see that it comes to pass, no matter what I have to do. I know that it might be unfair, but I only ask that you forgive me for what I do next. Please remember, everything I do, I do for you and the kingdom that you're destined to build."

Arthur's expression had gone from smug to confused to concerned very quickly, but Merlin didn't acknowledge the slight fear that had appeared on Arthur's face. Instead, he carefully pushed Arthur's blanket, which had been lying at the foot of the cell door, through the bars, ensuring that Arthur could grab it.

After that, Merlin turned on his heel and walked out of the now silent dungeons, his footsteps sounding authoritative and ominous as they echoed off of the stone walls.

Despite his measured footsteps, Merlin's mind was moving at sprinter's pace, trying to plan out everything that would need to be done in the coming days. The first thing that he definitely needed to do was let the steward know that he needed to plan a wedding on short notice.

After all, it wasn't uncommon for conquerors to marry their war prizes.

I hope you all enjoyed this continuation! Were you right in your guess as to what Merlin had in mind at the end of part 2? Please let me know if you'd like another part of this story!

I'll try to tag everyone who asked for a part 3 here. Thank you all for your support!

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet

And, as always, than you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[moonlight-canavalia]

Sentimentality

It’s been a while since I’ve written and posted anything so here it is. I swear Sylus has not left my mind since I started playing.

Anyways here’s a little Sylus reassurance when you’re having doubts!

Warning: kisses, light teasing, uh implied cunnilingus that’s about to start at the end

If you prefer AO3 here!

Divider by cafekitsune

There had been a somewhat heavy feeling in your chest that you’ve been ignoring. You’re not sure where that weight is coming from or better yet— that insecurity . Does he really want you for the long run? It seems like it, and though mischievous with his words, he is very forward with his words and action. 

“Sylus, if something happened to me, what would you do?” You ask sprawled out on his bed while he’s getting ready for his meeting. In your mind it sounded like a simple enough question. Honest curiosity laces your tone. His hands suddenly stop, shirt only halfway done. Sylus’s face scrunches up in disgust at the thought of it. Before turning to face you, he makes sure to relax his facial features. “Are you planning to go away, kitten? Any mission worrying you?” disguising his worry in an almost casual tone “want me to tag along? You know I’ll go with you. Just ask, sweetie.”You're still looking up at the ceiling. Arms resting by your side lost in thought. “Hhhmm, just asking. I guess.”Sylus has moved to the foot of the bed, grabbing you by your ankles – pulling you towards him. Surprised by his actions you let out a startled yelp. He’s not sure what’s going on through your head, and he’s not sure how to ask you. While he might be brass, always getting straight to the point there’s something a little off about you today. Your smile isn’t quite reaching your eyes, not as talkative, lost in your own little world. So, he wants to make sure you truly understand and believe his words over all else. 

Dropping your legs at the edge of the bed so he’s able to stand between them he slowly bends down. Caging your body under his to stop you from getting away. His piercing gaze unsettles you for a second, leaving you frozen in place. In a flash his crimson eyes soften, filling with such a warmth that makes you feel like a soothing balm has been poured over the cracks in your heart. “I’d set the entire world on fire and spend the rest of eternity searching for any trace of you in those ashes.”  — He speaks in earnest, deep voice sounding hoarse. Words spoken slowly and low, as if he’s telling the secrets of the universe.  Secrets meant to be kept between you and the four walls of this room. Cupping your cheek with one hand while shifting his body weight on the other to not lose eye contact with you; he adds “Nothing, no one will ever take you away from me. Not the heavens or me getting lost in the nine circles of hell can rip me away from you. I will always search for you and I will always find you.”Lost for words all you manage out is a shaky breath. all as a response. If there’s one thing Sylus is, it is honest. This is something you know, but the profoundness of his words stun you. You feel like your brain is malfunctioning, not being able to come up with words. Eyes wide and watery, you can hear the rush of your blood in your ears. Your heart beats wildly like a trapped bird wanting to escape its enclosure.��I don’t enjoy these questions, sweetie. Especially coming from your pretty mouth” Placing both of his hands on either side of your head, he gently leans in for a kiss, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over your lips. Giving you a quick peck, then you feel his lips brushing the shell of your ear “You’re mine and you’re not going anywhere”.Wrapping your arms around his neck you gently tug him towards you, so more of his body weight is on you. Just wanting to feel him close, enjoying the warmth of his body on yours.  There are many things you’d like to say, numerous emotions and feelings you’d like to voice. But it all gets tied at the back of your throat. With a lack of words to summarize it all a simple “thank you” escapes your trembling lips. 

Those words mean a lot to Sylus, it’s something he rarely hears. And with the way it fell from your mouth so willingly, no ulterior motives behind it only raw emotions dripping in sincerity; now leaves him lost for words. He hopes you know how much he adores you, how much you mean to him, how you’re the best thing to come into his life. How he’ll always defy fate and search for you. When the time comes he’ll sit you down and recount your past together. Not now though. For now he’ll just enjoy having you with him once again . 

Resting his forehead against yours for a few seconds he decides on staying in tonight. The meeting can be rescheduled, anything can wait when it comes to you. “Let’s just stay here tonight, Sweetie” he murmurs.

“I wasn’t aware I was even invited to accompany you in the first place.” you retort. A small chuckle rumbles in his chest. A sound you can’t get enough of. 

“You would think at this point in time you don’t need an invitation. You’re always free to come with me if you desire” Sylus says, like it should be the most obvious thing to you. 

Rolling your eyes playfully at him you quip “Well personally I prefer to be told that you’d like me there.”  

“I always want you with me. Are you not aware of that?” the silver haired male asks, looking quizzically at you. “Oh.” “Yeah, oh, sweetheart.” he taunted, with the corner of his lips upturning in that dangerous smirk of his. “You’d be wise to remember that in the foreseeable future.”Intertwining his fingers with yours, he pins your hand over your head. Softly he squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. A tender reminder, that both of you are here, together right now. In your mind, you know you both are tied together. There’s a pull that can’t be destroyed between the two of you, you can't make sense of it. It feels like you both have known eachother for lifetimes. Little did you know that's exactly what's happening.  Sylus has crossed galaxies, timelines, time and time again to find you. The bending of time or the fact that he's destined to lose you and find you again again is nothing. You are his love, the person his heart belongs to, he'll turn himself into a monster if it means seeing you once again.  Rising from on top of you he kneels on the floor. Once again snaking his big arms around the back of your knees and pulling your core towards his mouth. This is where I belong. Beneath you, you can do anything to me and I’d be grateful, you can command me to do anything and I’ll do it without a second thought. Ask and you shall receive.” He says while kissing your thighs.

[alyrasturnz]

I need a angsty fan fic of matt with his gf that are in an argument and he raises his hand to maybe move hair out of his face but she fliches and he imedeately becomes worried that she though he would hit her but she just had trauma from her childhood and when she tries to explain she just breaks down or has a panick attack(maybe even flashback) and then a fluffy ending.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST

❐ summary » in the midst of a heated argument, a seemingly insignificant gesture from matt triggers a dramatic and heart-wrenching resurgence of y/n’s deeply buried childhood trauma, unraveling layers of pain and vulnerability that had long been hidden beneath her stoic exterior.

❐ pairings » bf!matt x reader

❐ warnings » arguing, abuse, daddy issues

❐ a/n && w/c » this is not for the weak. (weak = people with daddy issues) •  3.86k

in the dimly lit living room, shadows weave intricate patterns on the walls, casting an almost ethereal glow. you and matt stand facing each other, suspended in a moment thick with unspoken words and a tapestry of lingering emotions. the air itself seems to pulse with the weight of past memories and the silent exchange of unresolved feelings, creating an atmosphere that is both tense and poignant.

the flickering light from a lone candle dances across your faces, illuminating the raw vulnerability etched in your expressions. every breath, every slight movement, seems to carry the echoes of a thousand unsaid things, each one more profound than the last.

the room, once a sanctuary of shared laughter and dreams, now feels like a stage set for a poignant confrontation, where the ghosts of your past linger, watching and waiting for the resolution that may never come.

your voice quivers with a blend of frustration and sorrow as you speak, “you never listen to me, matt! it’s like you’re always somewhere else, lost in your own world.” your hands clench and unclench at your sides, a physical manifestation of the emotional storm brewing within you. your eyes search his face desperately, seeking a glimmer of understanding, but finding only the familiar, distant gaze.

matt’s eyes flash with frustration, his brows knitting together as he retorts, “that’s not fair, y/n! i’m trying my best, but you act like i’m not even here.” his hands gesture wildly, as if trying to grasp the elusive understanding that seems to slip through his fingers. his voice, tinged with a mix of anger and desperation, echoes in the room, amplifying the emotional chasm growing between you.

you cross your arms, a mix of hurt and anger flickering in your eyes. “trying your best? you barely even talk to me anymore. it’s like we’re strangers living under the same roof.” your voice trembles with the weight of unspoken pain, each word a sharp reminder of the emotional distance that has grown between you.

your shoulders tense, as if bracing against an invisible storm, while your gaze pierces through the thick fog of misunderstanding and neglect. the room around you seems to shrink, the walls closing in with the oppressive silence that follows your words, amplifying the chasm that has formed between your hearts.

matt takes a deep breath, his voice softer but filled with a quiet intensity. "do you think it's easy for me? i've been dealing with so much, and sometimes... sometimes i just need space." his words, though gentle, carry the weight of countless sleepless nights and unspoken fears.

his eyes, clouded with a mix of vulnerability and frustration, search for a glimmer of understanding. the room seems to hold its breath, the silence between you thickening as his confession hangs in the air, a fragile thread connecting the raw edges of your shared pain.

the room falls silent, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. matt steps closer, his expression softening. "i don't want to lose you, y/n. but we need to find a way to understand each other, to bridge this gap." his voice trembles slightly, a testament to the depth of his emotions.

the silence that envelops you both is thick, almost tangible, as if the very air is holding its breath. his eyes, filled with a mix of desperation and hope, search yours for a sign of reconciliation. the room, once a mere backdrop to your lives, now feels like a sacred space where every word, every gesture, carries the potential to heal or deepen the rift between you.

you look down, your voice barely above a whisper. "i just want to feel like i matter to you, like we're in this together." your words, fragile and laced with longing, hang in the air like a delicate thread, vulnerable to the slightest breeze. your gaze, fixed on the floor, reflects the weight of unspoken fears and desires.

the room around you seems to fade, leaving just the two of you suspended in a moment of raw honesty. each syllable you utter is a plea, a quiet cry for connection, echoing through the silence that has settled between your hearts.

matt's frustration boils over, his voice rising. "it's not always about you, y/n! i have my own battles, my own demons. why can't you see that?" his words erupt like a storm, each one charged with the pent-up anguish of his inner struggles.

his eyes flash with a mix of anger and desperation, as if pleading for recognition of the silent wars he fights daily. the intensity of his outburst reverberates through the room, shaking the fragile equilibrium of your relationship. his voice, though loud, carries an undertone of vulnerability, revealing the deep scars etched into his soul by unseen adversaries.

your face hardens, hurt turning into anger. "i do see that, matt. but you shut me out. how am i supposed to help you if you won't let me in?" your voice, though laced with frustration, trembles with the weight of unspoken pain. each word is a carefully controlled explosion, a testament to the emotional battleground within you.

your eyes, once filled with empathy, now blaze with a mixture of sorrow and defiance, reflecting the depth of your yearning to be a part of his world. the air between you crackles with unresolved tension, each breath a struggle to bridge the chasm that his silence has carved into your shared existence.

matt lets out a heavy sigh, "you're so... insufferable!" he yells in anger, causing you to slightly flinch. his voice, raw and edged with exasperation, slices through the air like a blade. the intensity of his outburst reverberates within the confines of the room, each syllable a testament to the turbulent storm brewing within him.

your slight flinch, almost imperceptible, betrays the inner turmoil his words have ignited. the space between you seems to shrink and expand simultaneously, charged with the electric tension of unresolved emotions and unspoken grievances.

but then he angrily brings his hand up to his hair, running his fingers through it with full force. his movements are sharp and deliberate, each strand of hair caught in the fervent grip of his frustration.

the act, though seemingly mundane, is laden with the weight of his inner turmoil, a physical manifestation of the chaos that rages within him. the tension in his muscles is palpable, the rigidity of his posture a stark contrast to the vulnerability that lies beneath his anger. the room seems to hold its breath, the atmosphere thick with the unspoken complexities of his emotions.

your mind morphs his face into your dad's face. every shape and every little contour morphing into his features. his eyes, once familiar, now carry the weight of past memories, each line and shadow a haunting echo of your father's visage.

the transformation is both surreal and unsettling, as if the ghosts of your past have come to life in the present moment. the contours of his face blur and shift, melding into the well-worn patterns of your father's expressions, each one a reminder of old wounds and unresolved emotions.

the room around you fades, leaving only the stark reality of this uncanny resemblance, a poignant reminder of the intricate tapestry of your emotional landscape.

the crease of his eyebrows, the wrinkles on his forehead, and the fury in his eyes, everything. each detail, from the furrowed brows to the deep lines etched into his skin, speaks volumes of the anger that simmers beneath the surface.

the intensity in his eyes burns with a ferocity that seems almost palpable, a tempest of emotions barely contained within their depths. the wrinkles on his forehead, like the rings of an ancient tree, tell stories of past struggles and unresolved conflicts, each one adding to the complexity of his expression. the entirety of his visage becomes a canvas painted with the raw, unfiltered fury that now defines this moment.

and most importantly, the way he raised his hand. the gesture, though seemingly simple, is laden with an almost unbearable weight. it is a movement filled with unspoken words and suppressed emotions, a silent testament to the turmoil that rages within him. the lift of his hand, deliberate and fraught with tension, carries the echoes of past grievances and unhealed wounds.

it is as if time slows, allowing the gravity of the moment to fully sink in, each second stretching into an eternity. the significance of this action is not lost on you, as it encapsulates the depth of his inner conflict and the intensity of his unvoiced anguish.

you immediately flinch, bringing your arms up to your head to shield you from what you thought he was about to do. the reaction is instinctive, a primal response born from past experiences and deep-seated fears.

your body moves on its own accord, muscles tensing and heart pounding as you brace for an impact that never comes. the air around you thickens, charged with the electricity of your sudden terror.

each second stretches into an agonizing eternity, your mind racing through memories of similar moments, each one leaving an indelible mark on your psyche. the vulnerability of your posture, arms raised in a futile attempt at protection, speaks volumes of the trauma that lingers, shaping your every reflex and reaction.

your body knew that it was just matt, but your mind played tricks on you. the familiarity of his presence should have been a comfort, yet your mind conjured specters from the past, blurring the lines between reality and memory.

the rational part of you recognized matt's touch, his voice, the essence of his being, yet the shadows of your past wove an intricate tapestry of fear and confusion. it was as if your mind, a master of deception, replayed old scenes with cruel precision, morphing matt's every gesture into a haunting echo of what once was. the dichotomy between your physical awareness and the mental labyrinth you navigated created a dissonance that left you teetering on the edge of sanity.

"please don't," you whispered, tears starting to stream down your face as your heart pounded in your chest. your voice, barely more than a breath, trembled with the weight of unshed sorrow and unspoken fears.

each tear that traced a path down your cheeks seemed to carry a fragment of your shattered soul, glistening in the dim light like shards of broken glass. the plea hung in the air, fragile and desperate, a testament to the storm raging within you.

your heart, a wild drumbeat in your chest, echoed the tumultuous emotions that threatened to overwhelm you, each thud a reminder of the vulnerability and pain that had become your constant companions.

"what? oh my god, no—" matt said softly, though you couldn't hear it with your ringing ears. "no, no, no, baby, no." his voice, laden with a mixture of shock and desperation, barely pierced through the cacophony that filled your mind. the words, though gentle, carried the weight of his anguish, each syllable a plea for understanding and reassurance.

the softness of his tone, juxtaposed with the intensity of the moment, created a poignant contrast, underscoring the depth of his concern and the helplessness he felt in that instant. his repeated denials, like a mantra, sought to bridge the chasm of fear and pain that had suddenly yawned between you, a futile attempt to anchor you both in a reality that seemed to be slipping away.

his heart pounded against his chest, nibbling on his bottom lip as he pulled you closer, your trembling body against his. the rhythm of his heart, an insistent drumbeat, echoed within the confines of his chest, each pulse a testament to the turmoil within.

his teeth grazed his bottom lip, a subconscious attempt to quell the rising tide of emotion. as he drew you closer, your trembling form pressed against him, he sought to forge a connection amidst the swirling tempest.

the warmth of your quivering body, fragile and delicate, became his anchor, a fleeting sanctuary in the midst of chaos, offering a momentary respite from the storm that raged within and around you both.

"no—don't," you whisper, your voice trembling as matt kissed the top of your head, resting his chin atop it. your voice, barely more than a fragile breath, quivered with the weight of unshed tears.

matt's lips brushed the crown of your head, a tender gesture laden with unspoken emotions. as his chin settled gently atop your head, it was as if he sought to shield you from the encroaching darkness, to offer solace in the simplest of touches. the trembling in your voice mirrored the tremors in your heart, each word a plea, a desperate attempt to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you both.

"i’m not. i won’t. i would never hit you," he whispered assuringly. though it was useless since you couldn’t hear anything with your labored breaths and ringing ears. his voice, a soft murmur of reassurance, carried a profound sincerity, each word a vow etched in the air.

despite his earnest whispers, they were swallowed by the cacophony of your labored breaths and the relentless ringing in your ears. his assurances, though spoken with the gentleness of a summer breeze, seemed to dissipate into the void, unable to pierce through the storm of your inner turmoil.

the disconnect between his soothing promises and your inability to perceive them underscored the chasm that had opened between your shared reality and the isolating grip of your distress.

your breaths, once steady, now came in rapid, uneven gasps, each inhale and exhale a testament to the mounting panic within you. your shoulders heaved with the force of your distress, rising and falling in a dramatic rhythm that mirrored the tempest in your heart.

tears, unrelenting and bitter, carved glistening paths down your cheeks, each droplet a silent witness to the depth of your sorrow. the physical manifestations of your anguish painted a poignant picture of a soul in turmoil, each breath and tear a cry for solace amidst the chaos.

matt, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in your demeanor. with a gentle yet firm resolve, he withdrew from the embrace, his hands finding their place on your shoulders. his eyes, deep pools of concern and determination, locked onto yours, seeking to bridge the chasm of despair that threatened to engulf you. the intensity of his gaze, laden with unspoken promises and a fervent desire to understand, became a lifeline in the swirling maelstrom of your emotions.

as your gaze met his, the storm within your eyes began to calm, the hardness melting away like frost under the morning sun. the realization dawned upon you, a gentle epiphany that the figure before you was not your father, but matt, steadfast and compassionate.

your eyes softened, the tension in your face easing as the shadows of past fears receded. in that moment of clarity, the lines between past and present blurred, and the warmth of matt's presence began to soothe the echoes of old wounds.

"hey, hey, it’s okay. i’m here. i would never hurt you," he whispered, each word a delicate thread woven with care. his tone, imbued with a profound gentleness, was a balm to your frayed nerves, a soft assurance that sought to anchor you amidst the tempest. the sincerity in his voice, tender and unwavering, was a promise, a vow that resonated deeply, striving to reach the core of your being and dispel the shadows of doubt and fear.

your lips quivered, a silent testament to the turmoil within, as your mind swam in a haze of confusion and distress. each breath you took became a laborious endeavor, the weight of your emotions pressing down upon your chest.

the clarity of thought that once guided you now seemed distant, replaced by a fog that clouded your senses and left you adrift in a sea of uncertainty. the physical manifestations of your inner chaos painted a poignant picture of a soul grappling with the depths of its own despair.

»--•--«

“you’re so useless!” your dad bellows, his voice a thunderous roar that reverberates through the room. with a furious swipe, he sends a flower pot crashing to the floor, shards scattering like the remnants of shattered dreams.

his eyes blaze with an intensity that speaks of deep-seated rage, each flicker of anger a dagger aimed at your already fragile heart. the raw, unfiltered fury in his gaze is a storm unto itself, leaving you to weather the tempest of his wrath.

ou flinch, your body instinctively recoiling as you take tentative steps backward, each movement a desperate bid for escape. the air grows thick with tension, your retreat a silent plea for safety.

yet, your dad's keen eyes catch the subtle shift, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that halts your retreat. the awareness of his scrutiny freezes you in place, the hope of slipping away unnoticed dissolving under the weight of his penetrating stare.

with each furious stomp, he closes the distance between you, his presence a looming shadow of anger. his hand darts out, seizing the back of your shirt with a vice-like grip. in a swift, forceful motion, he lifts you off the ground, your feet dangling helplessly in the air. the sensation of being suspended, caught in his unyielding grasp, sends a jolt of fear through your body, amplifying the already overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

“you’re so incompetent! you’re a disgrace to this family!” he bellows, his voice a tempest of fury that crashes over you. with a violent shove, he hurls you to the ground, your small frame colliding harshly with the cold, unforgiving marble floor.

the impact reverberates through your body, pain mingling with the flood of emotions that surge within you. tears stream down your face, each drop a testament to the deep-seated sorrow and helplessness that grips your heart.

“oh shut it, you’ll get over it!” he scoffs, his voice dripping with disdain. his dismissive words cut through the air like a blade, but they do nothing to stem the tide of your tears. you continue to cry, each sob a raw, unfiltered expression of the pain that his callousness only deepens. the tears flow freely, a silent rebellion against the indifference etched in his voice.

“did i say that you could cry more?” he demands, his voice a sharp edge that slices through the silence. he turns to you, his gaze piercing as you slowly shake your head, the movement almost imperceptible. “exactly! so stop crying, brat,” he snaps, his words laced with an unyielding authority that leaves no room for defiance.

you sniff, the sound barely audible as you quickly scramble to your feet. with a surge of adrenaline, you start running, each step fueled by a desperate need to escape. your feet falter occasionally, causing you to stumble, but you push onward, driven by the urgency of the moment.

“hey! where are you going!?” he yells, his voice echoing with a mix of anger and confusion. he begins to walk after you, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, each one a reminder of the distance you’re trying to put between yourself and the source of your pain.

you try to open the front door, but it's locked, the handle refusing to give. panic surges within you, and your eyes widen as you slowly turn to face your father. his unforgiving gaze meets yours, a silent testament to the authority and control he wields.

“oh, so you want to escape now?” he asks, his voice dripping with a mix of incredulity and mockery. a soft, derisive scoff escapes his lips, echoing in the tense silence between you. his eyes narrow, filled with a cold, unyielding intensity, as he slowly draws his fist back. the motion is deliberate, almost methodical, as if he’s savoring the moment, before he aims it directly towards your face, the threat hanging heavily in the air.

»--•--«

the sudden jolt of his words snapped you back to reality, pulling you from the depths of your swirling thoughts. matt’s eyes, unwavering and intense, continued to bore into yours, as if searching for something hidden deep within your soul.

“hey, it’s okay. I’m here with you. let’s take some slow, deep breaths together. breathe in... and out. focus on my voice and just keep breathing. you’re safe right now,” he whispers, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos in your mind. you nod softly, trying to follow his instructions and take slow, deep breaths, but the anxiety grips you tightly, making it difficult to find the calm he’s trying to guide you towards.

matt nods thoughtfully, his gaze shifting as he surveys the surroundings. “alright, let’s try something together,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.

“first, look around and tell me three things you can see,” he says, his voice steady and grounding, as he encourages you to anchor yourself in the present.

“y-you, the couch, a-and the tv,” you stammer, each word a struggle, your voice a mere whisper, trembling with the weight of your emotions. the effort to speak seems monumental, as if the simple act of naming these objects is a lifeline to the present moment amidst the chaos of your mind.

“now, listen carefully and tell me three sounds you can hear,” matt said, his voice calm and steady, guiding you to focus on the auditory tapestry of your surroundings.

“i hear- you, th-the clock, and the rain outside,” your voice barely audible, you whisper, each word a delicate thread of sound in the stillness.

you feel the panic slowly ebbing away, like the receding tide, leaving a sense of calm gradually washing over your body.

“you’re doing amazing baby. now, move three parts of your body, like wiggling your fingers or toes. you're doing great, just keep focusing on these steps." matt murmurs softly, his voice a gentle caress against the storm of emotions swirling within you.

you nod, eyelids fluttering shut as your fingers dance with a nervous energy, guiding your trembling hand to your locks, gently tucking them behind your ear in a gesture of fragile composure. you incline your head, eyelids descending as your digits quiver with an anxious fervor, maneuvering your tremulous hand to your tresses, meticulously securing them behind your ear in a gesture of delicate poise.

you exhale a gentle sigh, the tempest within you gradually subsiding as your eyelids flutter open, revealing eyes tinged with a bloodshot hue, remnants of your emotional tempest.

“oh baby,” he murmured soothingly, extending his arms in a welcoming embrace. “c’mere, sweet gir.l”

you offered a gentle smile, advancing towards him with measured steps, encircling him with your arms and surrendering to the warmth of his embrace.

you allowed the silence to envelop you, feeling the tender press of his lips upon your head, as he gently rested his chin atop, creating a sanctuary of tranquility.

“m’sorry about earlier,” he whispers, his voice a soft murmur. “i’ll be around more, i promise, baby.”

“thank you,” you mumble, your words muffled against the warmth of his chest.

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"...ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ"

Word count: 5,600.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

Warnings: Angst, mention of SA!, violence.

FALLING — 8. Him.

As they ventured beyond the gardens, the night unfurled before them like an endless canvas, speckled with stars gleaming like precious diamonds. The cool air brushed against their faces, his heart racing with a thrilling anticipation.

Time seemed suspended as their lips met for the first time. She leaned in with a determination that enchanted him, and their brief, gentle kiss pulsed with newfound love. As they separated, he silently wished this moment could last forever. Closing his eyes, he surrendered to the sweetness of her lips once more, and when they eventually pulled away, their hearts beat as one. 

"Goodnight" she whispered, her voice barely audible with emotion of the moment. He studied her divine face carefully. 

"Goodnight" he replied, his heart overflowing with happiness.

His steps were light, almost floating on the ground like it was made of clouds, as he replayed every detail of the encounter in his mind. Her smile, the softness of her voice, the warmth of her eyes. Everything about her captivated him, and now the opportunity to get closer to her lay before him.

The overwhelming feelings swirling inside him formed a maze of complexities and simplicities. He was deeply in love, a truth as soothing as it was exhilarating.

From the moment their eyes first met, something within him surged with indescribable force. Now, after witnessing countless dawns and dusks together, he finally understood the profound signals his body sent and the true sentiments his heart harbored. It was unmistakable: love, destined to flourish, destined to be. He was certain that, had it not been for fate, somehow they would have found their way to each other. Yet, he was profoundly grateful that the gods had paved their path.

The movements of servants and distant voices reached him as a faint murmur. In that moment, he only heard the rapid beating of his own heart and the echo of his steps leading him back to his chambers.

Reflecting nostalgically on the early days of their relationship, particularly that initial meeting in the library, it seemed like ages had passed and yet remained vivid as yesterday. Every moment spent in her company felt all too brief. She had the uncanny ability to transform every experience into something incredibly beautiful, a dream come true, and he perpetually yearned for more.

Upon entering his room, he collapsed onto the bed, paying no mind to the clothes touching the freshly changed sheets. He made no attempt to conceal the radiant smile that illuminated his face, one that seemed determined to etch itself there indefinitely.

His heart raced wildly yet also felt serene, as if it had been sprinting for hours and finally found repose, reassured that he was precisely where he belonged, every fragment of his life fitting seamlessly into place.

It had been his first kiss, a magical, momentous occasion and he was taken aback by its occurrence. It wasn't that he hadn't previously contemplated doing it, or that he didn’t want it, but he had been hesitant to rush into it. 

With the taste of her lips lingering on his, he wondered if that was her first kiss too.

Just as he kept sinking into his thoughts, knocks on the door snapped him out of his reverie. He had completely forgotten that Aegon had promised a visit, and he couldn't wait for this meeting to end so he could see his princess again. The thought of them being alone excited him even more, filling him with indescribable joy. Perhaps, he thought, he could have another one before sleeping—and every night thereafter.

He opened the door with a radiant smile he couldn't care to hide. His elder brother greeted him with an amused and surprised look at seeing him so elated then entered the room followed by a servant carrying a pitcher and two cups. He, still lost in his daydream, watched curiously as the servant placed the things on the wooden table and discreetly withdrew. Aegon seemed more interested in the lady than anything else, but soon, when the door closed, he focused his attention on his brother.

With a quick gesture, he tossed something to Aemond, who caught it mid-air. It was a rough cloth cloak, starkly different from the soft garments he was accustomed to. He unfolded it, furrowing his brow, as he looked at his brother with curiosity.

"Is this my present?" he asked, unable to hide his confusion. He didn't expect much from Aegon, but a dirty cape seemed like a rather insulting gift, even from him.

"No, it's still too early for gifts. Come, sit down" his brother said, pointing to the armchair across from him. Aemond placed the cloak on the back of it, smoothing it carefully. Aegon chuckled softly before pouring wine into the cups.

He sat down, accepting the brimming goblet that Aegon offered. He didn't normally drink as much as his brother, but this time he decided to join him. The elder downed his in one go and set it aside, while he sipped slowly, still eager to receive his gift and return to the princess.

"May I have my gift now?" Aemond began to ask, but was calmly interrupted.

"I know you've been acquainted more closely of late, you and the princess. Especially in the nighttime" Aegon remarked casually, a sly glint in his eye. Instantly, he felt a jolt of alarm, worried that rumors were already swirling through the castle corridors. Aemond held his breath, his heart pounding hard. How could Aegon have found out about that? Then, with a playful smirk, his brother added, clearly relishing the tease: "It appears you hold her in high regard." 

Caught off guard, he struggled for words. His mouth opened slightly in surprise and he remained silent, debating on how to respond.

"She is not the only one aware about the passages, but don’t worry, mother won’t know" Aegon continued nonchalantly. "Is there something you wish to share?" he probed.

After a pause, and under the expectant gaze of Aegon, he admitted: “Well, we… We have spent some time together, yes. And I find her company quite... pleasant.”

"You have feelings for her" Aegon asserted, his tone almost rhetorical.

"Of course I do, she's family" he tried to deflect, attempting to mask the truth of his emotions, but it was feeble. It was all too conspicuous; he was too transparent, and Aegon too perceptive.

His brother's eyes rolled at the predictable response. "Come now, Aemond. Your countenance betrays you." Aegon insisted with unusual calmness. He felt his mouth go dry and nervously took another sip of wine, the silence between them growing tense, charged with an expectation that the elder seemed to enjoy. "You've taken a liking to her, have you not?" he pressed, his expression urging honesty.

Exhaling heavily, he acknowledged the undeniable truth. "Perhaps I do... yes. This is all rather new to me" he admitted softly, revealing his inner thoughts to his brother for the first time. Aegon's smile widened reassuringly. 

"And do you intend to declare yourself?" Aegon inquired knowingly, his tone now softer, almost understanding. For a brief moment, he debated the necessity; after all, they had already shared a first kiss. But the desire to fully reveal himself to her outweighed any doubts.

Aemond looked down, his thoughts invaded by memories. The first time their hands accidentally brushed in the library, the conspiratorial conversations meant only for their ears, the shared laughter that echoed like a melody, and the silences that were anything but awkward. Every detail of her had delighted him, and for once, Aegon was right: he couldn't deny it.

"I must admit, I'm relieved. I thought the only woman you'd ever fancy would be the one from your books." Aegon said, laughing softly. He got serious again, rolling his eyes at his brother’s snarky comment.

"Where are you going with this?" Aemond finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll lend a hand" Aegon offered warmly, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. He frowned, taken aback by his brother's willingness to assist, yet also stung by the implication that he needed it in this pursuit. While it was true he didn't possess Aegon's effortless charm in certain matters, he was determined to win her heart entirely on his own terms and merits.

Silently, he shook his head and drained his cup in one swift sip.

"Are you not going to drink more?" He asked, surprised, trying to change the course of the conversation, noting that his brother had only had one glass of his favorite drink. Not that he seemed sober, but the fact that he wasn't almost unconscious was somewhat of a surprise.

"Thanks for caring, but even I know my limit. I've had a bit during dinner and in my room" He said with a light laugh. Aemond, not considering that to be little, decided not to argue. "But back to your gift... it's something special. In fact, I did it at your age. Now, I want to guide you through it." Leaning forward, his brother's eyes showed a hint of excitement. "I'll take you to a fun place tonight. A place where you can try new things and become more... experienced."

Aemond looked at him skeptically, trying to focus his vision that was beginning to blur. "What kind of place?"

Aegon leaned, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he filled his cup once more. "Oh, you'll see.”

"I think I've had enough" he murmured.

"Finish this one, and then we may go" insisted Aegon, pushing the cup towards his lips.

Aemond drank the wine with a grimace, noticing his mind beginning to cloud more with each sip.

"Fuck" he whispered, trying to keep steady.

"Feeling more relaxed now?" Aegon asked sarcastically, watching him with a mocking smile. "Is this your first time being drunk?" He nodded, a small laugh escaping his lips at the unfamiliar sensation. "You'll thank me later, I promise. I'm sure it will help you with your... beloved" the elder added cryptically.

"What do you mean by that, Aegon?" Aemond raised an eyebrow, his intrigue deepening.

"It's a surprise," he replied, rising from the sofa and grabbing his cloak, "trust me on this one. Now, shall we?" Aemond sighed inwardly, realizing arguing with his brother would be futile. He nodded reluctantly.

With a theatrical gesture, Aegon headed towards the back door and opened it, revealing the hallway where the princess always passed to see him. 

"Come on, brother" Aegon said with an unusually serious tone. "You're going to love this."

He rose slowly, his mind filled with unanswered questions while grabbing the cloak. Aegon rarely showed such interest in something, which only heightened his curiosity and, at the same time, his wariness.

They left the room and silently made their way through the dark corridors of the castle. Aegon led Aemond to a secret door that he didn't even know existed, then opened it and revealed what lay behind. 

Aemond furrowed his brow and began to shake his head. "I'm not sure this is a good idea" he said cautiously.

"Aemond, could you stop being such a prude for one night?" Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "It's your special day; I just want you to see the city.” he explained, then mockingly added: “Don’t tell me you’re afraid."

Aemond had never felt a genuine urge to explore the city, but Aegon's challenging tone, coupled with the slight boldness the wine had imparted, began to wear down his reluctance. Curiosity about the surprise also spurred him on. Moreover, he was eager to meet his beloved princess, and the sooner they finished this, the better. 

Perhaps he could turn this experience into an interesting tale to share later—a memory of the remarkable night that signaled the beginning of a new chapter in his life, a chance to surprise her with a new adventure. He could also learn something more, should she ever wish to make an unforeseen escapade.

They descended the narrow stairs together, with Aegon leading the way. The guards appeared accustomed to the prince frequenting these places and simply opened the doors without questioning.

Once outside the castle walls, entering the city immersed him in a cacophony of noises. He kept his hood up, observing everything with curiosity tinged with caution. Unlike him, Aegon seemed unfazed by the possibility of being recognized, allowing his hair and face to be fully exposed and even exchanging friendly greetings with passersby.

Aegon spoke enthusiastically, recounting stories of his experiences in the city, and Aemond tried to listen attentively, but his mind was divided. He felt somewhat guilty for not enjoying the gift as much as his brother had intended.

The bustling atmosphere of the city began to unsettle him. Soon, the overwhelming number of people and the unpleasant smell disturbed him deeply. He felt uncomfortable and agitated, sweat beading on his forehead in the unfamiliar and potentially dangerous surroundings, unsure of what fate awaited him under Aegon's turbulent guidance.

They walked until they reached a shady alley. It was less crowded but equally foul-smelling and narrow as the previous path, he noticed. They approached the door of a larger house, its entrance concealed behind red curtains, giving no clue as to what may lay inside. 

Some men silently opened it and they both stepped into it.

The smell changed upon it, but not necessarily for the better. Aemond looked up when he saw bare feet approaching them from the center of the room, dimly lit by candles. Aemond's breath caught in his throat and he felt the blood drain from his face as if he had seen a ghost. Fear mingled with revulsion as he realized the nature of the place, the weight of Aegon's expectations crushing down on him.

When Aemond turned to look at Aegon with a mixture of disbelief and confusion, he felt overpowered by the taller, more robust presence, who flashed a malicious smile and pulled back his hood.

Anxiety surged through him; he felt as though he were caught in a dangerous game, not fully understanding the rules or the objective. His heart began to pound harder in his chest, and his throat went dry when Aegon, who was in his element, pushed him further, closer to the woman, and said: "I want only the best for the one-eyed prince."

"I'm sorry, Aegon, I can't..." murmured Aemond, his voice barely a trembling whisper. But his protest was drowned out by Aegon's tired groan.

"You can't back out now" insisted Aegon firmly, his eyes gleaming with a determination that was more frightening to Aemond than any physical threat.

The woman in front of him smiled and extended her hand in an inviting gesture. However, he kept his hands firmly clenched at his sides, fists tightly closed with such force that he could feel the pain of his nails digging into his palms. His brother, seeing that he showed no signs of wanting to move forward, pushed him more towards the woman, who greeted him with another smile and grabbed his wrist.

He obeyed mechanically, his heart hammering painfully against his chest. Each step carried him further away from everything he knew, towards an abyss of the unknown and feared. 

She was walking in front of him, dressed in a revealing attire that left little to the imagination. Feeling embarrassed, he lowered his gaze. Aegon continued to stand behind him, hands resting on his shoulders, urging him. 

He wanted to react, genuinely trying, but he felt dazed, as if his mind was disconnected while his body moved on inertia. His face flushed with heat.

Although his gaze was fixed on his feet, his eye captured unsettling images, scenes he had never imagined and certainly should not be witnessing. As the figures moved about, a subtle melody played in the background amidst moans of various voices and tones. 

Aemond swallowed hard, every fiber of his being screamed to stop, to turn around and run far from that place, but Aegon continued to push him forward. He felt like a marionette, strings pulled by Aegon's words and will.

And he kept walking towards his uncertain fate, desperately longing for some miracle to divert him from this imposed path, to regain ownership of his life once more.

The woman, moving deliberately and maintaining a consistently gentle demeanor, positioned them in front of semi-transparent curtains.

"Come now, don't linger" Aegon urged impatiently, a sly smile twisting his lips. 

Aemond hesitated, unease settling in his gut. He didn't want to enter, didn't want to confront whatever lay inside.

"I don't think..." Aemond stammered, his objections weak against Aegon's strong grip on his shoulder, propelling him ahead.

"You see, brother," Aegon whispered in his ear, his tone low and insidious, "this is where boys become men. You can't shy away from what life demands of you."

Aemond felt trapped, like a lamb led to slaughter. Every nerve screamed for escape, but he found himself unable to resist the pull of Aegon; his persuasive words wormed their way into his thoughts like a creeping vine. Aemond's mind reeled, torn between revulsion and the need to please his elder brother. 

Impatiently, Aegon parted the curtains and pushed him into the room. Aemond closed his eyes briefly, cold sweat beading on his forehead as a wave of nausea swept over him. His thoughts became a chaotic whirlwind of denial and despair. 

As the curtains closed behind him, he avoided lifting his gaze. His hands remained clenched, his legs heavy. From the center of the small room, a soft voice broke the silence: "My prince, don't be shy."

Despite the invitation, he continued reluctantly to look up. The voice, with a playful tone, drew nearer, descending from a bed. The room seemed to absorb all sound, leaving Aemond with the deafening echo of his own racing pulse and the measured steps from the woman.

She walked slowly towards him with grace, and he could see her bare body approaching. He felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, his body stiff and tense, experiencing slight tremors. He wanted to protest, but the words stuck in his throat. 

The woman moved behind him, and he finally lifted his gaze. He observed the walls adorned with explicit paintings, while numerous candles scattered around the room illuminated the space, highlighting a large round bed in the center. He felt like an intruder in his own skin, his mind and body disconnected in a harrowing internal struggle.

The atmosphere was dense, heavy with something oppressive, something that seemed to steal all the air from his lungs. Forced to breathe quickly and deeply, his nostrils filled with a pungent scent of myrrh that seemed to seep into his very being. Discomfort threatened to become more visible with each second. 

His face contorted in an expression of revulsion and distress as he felt hands resting heavily on his shoulders, while warm breath caressed the nape of his neck.

"I'm going to make you a man" she whispered softly in his ear.

He barely remembers the journey back to the Red Keep, except that he purged himself in some dark corner of the city, relieving just a bit of the discomfort plaguing him.

He was grateful that the sun had yet to rise, sparing him from many witnesses to his sorry state, just a few guards and servants. 

They entered through the main door of his chambers, one of his arms was draped around his brother's neck, who bore all his weight, as he couldn't muster the strength to walk. Aegon laid him down in his bed. The room spun slightly around him.

"What did you do to me?" Aemond whispered, looking at his brother with a blend of confusion and betrayal. His words slurred slightly, and the edges of his vision blurred further into a disorienting haze.

Aegon met his gaze with a furrowed brow, the telltale signs of intoxication evident in his expression. The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across his features, highlighting the creases of concern and bewilderment etched upon his face before he turned away.

Aemond tried to fight the drowsiness creeping over him, but it proved futile. His eyelids grew heavier despite his efforts, and eventually, they succumbed, closing shut, the faint sound of Aegon closing the door echoed in his ears as he slipped into darkness.

As the sun began to timidly filter through the windows, painting the room with a soft but unsettling light, Aemond woke up with a knot in his stomach. The confusion still weighed heavily on his mind. Every image echoed painfully from the events of the previous night.

He sat on the bed, hugging his knees as his gaze wandered over the white sheets. Memories began to surface and cling to his mind like a heavy, dark cloak. He felt corrupted, as if the shadow of what had happened was seeping into his skin and soul.

The silence in the room was deafening, interrupted only by the distant sounds of the castle coming to life. He squeezed his eye shut, trying in vain to ward off the memories that mercilessly intruded into his mind.

He didn't realize when his mother entered the room; her voice rumbled low, almost imperceptibly intrigued in his ears. A servant discreetly withdrew upon seeing him. 

He wondered if it was his bare face that had alerted her, the patch lost at some point in the night revealing his wound, or maybe she could see what he had done. Maybe she sensed it and noticed how stained he was.

In the distance, the aroma of freshly cooked breakfast drifted from the table, a small sign of normalcy in a world that seemed to have lost all its balance for him.

His mother approached quickly, wanting to comfort him, but he recoiled. He couldn't allow her to be tainted by his actions.

"Leave" he murmured, avoiding her gaze.

"My child, what is the matter?" she asked, her eyes full of anguish and her hand reaching out to him, but he couldn't accept it, even though he wanted to.

The images kept coming, clearer each time, confirming what now was. Nothing but something murky, impure, darkened, spoiled.

"Don't touch me" he pleaded. He felt his mother withdraw her hand.

"Please, tell me what happened, we can solve it together" she pleaded, tears starting to flow her eyes. "Do you want me to call the princess? Anything, my child, just tell me how I can..." Her voice was painful.

"No!" he shouted, making his mother flinch in fear. Immediately, he felt worse.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked desperately.

Not wanting to hurt her further, he said with a trembling voice, "I just want a bath, please." She nodded and quickly left, wishing to be helpful and offer any assistance he needed.

After his mother exited the room, he rose from the bed and tore off the grimy sheets where he had slept. With a mixture of frustration and sorrow, he tossed them aside onto the floor, the same spot where he then discarded his soiled suit. 

It had been his favorite, adorned with delicate embroideries meticulously crafted by his sister, worn proudly on his nameday, now tragically besmirched beyond repair.

Once the bath was ready and the room fell silent, he dragged his feet to the bathtub. Every movement was an effort, as if he was navigating through a world made of dense darkness.

He scrubbed his skin with the sponge until it turned red and his mind urged him to stop, trying to rid himself of any trace of the unpleasant smell. He washed his hair, hoping to erase the memories. He submerged himself in the water, seeking to drown out the feeling from his body, but the sensation of dirtiness persisted.

He stayed in the bathtub until his skin wrinkled and the water cooled. As he emerged, he passed by the mirror. The reflection revealed tired, baggy eyes and an expression etched with pain and confusion. He climbed back into bed, hoping to find some form of comfort.

Lying there, staring at the ceiling as the sun rose slowly, a ray of light pierced through the window, illuminating the sapphire on his bedside table. Tears welled up and finally spilled over, coursing down his cheek like rivers of pain and regret. The reflections of lights and colors danced on the walls and ceiling, mirroring the turmoil within him.

Breakfast remained untouched on the table, as did the other meals his mother silently brought throughout the day. Thoughts crowded chaotically: Was it real? 

He squeezed his eye shut, allowing the silence of his room to envelop him like a comforting blanket. Nestled in the softness of the new sheets, he sought refuge, hoping they would shield him from the relentless onslaught of his own mind. Yet, tears continued to flow unabatedly.

The following days passed in a heavy silence, immersed in a state of denial. He felt no inclination to rise and confront reality. 

Each task seemed insurmountable, and he had no desire to encounter anyone, engage in conversation, or face the concerned glances and unspoken inquiries he knew would come.

There wasn't much room for his mother's well-intentioned visits that could further destabilize his fragile balance, nor for food, even the simplest appetite felt as distant as the sun on a cloudy day.

He grew accustomed to the monotony of the room, its walls the sole witnesses to his silent pain. Sometimes, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly without truly seeing, while the outside world continued to spin, unaware of his suffering.

During those days of isolation, he tried to find peace in the emptiness of solitude, allowing himself to simply exist without the pressure to act or face the truth.

Then another feeling emerged; each sigh was an attempt to free himself from the heavy burden of guilt that imprisoned him. 

New questions arose: How could he do that? Guilt enveloped him like dense fog, making him question every decision, every word spoken, every gesture made.

He decided to store the sapphire in the dagger's case, hiding it behind a stack of books as if that could somehow make its presence less felt. The sapphire's gleam felt unbearable, as if each sparkle was a silent reproach, reminding him of the horrendous actions of the previous night. The lingering scent of roses mixed with the scent permeating him only exacerbated his torment, evoking images of his sin that refused to disappear.

The next day, his mother appeared again with breakfast.

"I've brought you a new patch" she said, her voice laden with concern, as if seeking permission to share in his grief.

Seeing him rise from the bed and head toward the table, she took it as an invitation and sat beside him. He began eating small bites, but he knew that staying silent with his thoughts could sink him deeper into his pain. He wanted to avoid mentioning her name, as if it could be tainted by simply pronouncing it, but he needed to know how she was. Surely worried, maybe even upset.

"Has she come to see me?" he asked softly.

His mother didn't need to ask whom he meant. She lowered her gaze, and he began to fear the worst.

"The princess left for Driftmark a few days ago" she said quietly. The fork slipped from his weak fingers, and he furrowed his brow, staring blankly at the plate in front of him. "Ser Laenor has passed away" his mother added. Confused, he looked up.

"And the funeral?"

"Your father and brother have traveled to be present, they must be returning by now" she explained.

"But why aren't we there?"

"That day you told me you didn't wish to see her, so I assumed..." He cursed under his breath, cutting her off as he buried his face in his hands.

He wanted to scream in frustration, yet he knew he couldn't fault anyone but himself. He had forbidden visits. Had he been informed, he would have acted differently, however, he also never allowed his mother an opportunity to speak.

The knowledge that she left shattered him to his core. How could he survive without her by his side? 

Guilt overwhelmed him even more. She, who had set everything aside to be with him without any ulterior motives, was now mourning the loss of her father while he hid in the comfort of his bed, lamenting his decisions.

After that, he couldn't eat anymore, feeling his stomach clench instantly. His mother withdrew, still worried but grateful for having accompanied him even for a brief moment.

Aware that she was likely headed to Dragonstone, he took paper and pen, determined to send a letter to that destination, seeking to offer an apology. He didn't feel ready to face the darkness he had allowed that night, nor to confront the very possible disappointment in her eyes, but still he wrote that if she requested it, he would mount Vhagar in the blink of an eye and fly to wherever she was, ready to stand by her side no matter what.

Days turned into weeks, and he became a mere shadow of his former self. He neither ate nor slept, and words seemed to have abandoned him entirely.

Unyielding flashbacks haunted him, casting a relentless shadow over his waking hours and his dreams alike. These memories were vivid and fresh, like an open wound that refused to heal.

The grotesque sounds and screams, the frantic rush, the stinging tears in his eye, the bitter taste of blood from biting his lips, the mocking laughter, the barrage of vulgar words that stung—each detail made him feel like a trapped animal.

He knew he had done wrong, he had ruined his reputation. The sense of failure gnawed at him, as a man, as a prince, as a future husband, as himself.

He longed for those moments to be forgotten, buried deep within his mind. But they clung to him like a parasite, feeding on his despair, and twisting him into someone unrecognizable.

His brother's words echoed in his mind, making him feel like a coward for his inability to handle the situation.

Every time he closed his eyes, the images infiltrated his thoughts, consuming him like wildfire. He realized the battle with that would never truly end.

He felt like a vessel of dirt and filth, a walking embodiment of shame.

Desperate for distraction, he threw himself into his studies and training, avoiding eye contact, shrinking from touch. He couldn't bear the thought of being seen, of being surrounded by others.

One day, lying in his room, immersed in dark thoughts, a burden weighed heavily on him. He waited in vain for any sign from the princess, any news to alleviate his growing anguish.

Suddenly, someone on the door broke the oppressive silence, pulling him out of his reverie. His mother usually entered without notice, and the servants no longer frequented his room, so these unexpected knocks caught his attention.

A glimmer of hope arose within him. Could it be that she had returned? He quickly suppressed the idea.

The room, once filled with her essence, now lay stripped and empty, as if it had never been occupied. No trace of her presence remained, not even the sweet aroma that used to linger in the air. The only proof of her presence was a gift hidden in the shadows.

He hesitated, unsure whether to open the door. As the knocks persisted, he quickly adjusted his eye patch and prepared to receive whoever was on the other side.

When he opened it, Helaena stood revealed. With a small, warm smile, she moved toward his bed. He closed the door behind her and stood, staring at the ground, ashamed to see his sister after everything.

Helaena moved delicately, holding something in her hands. "Aemond" she called softly, drawing his attention. When he finally looked up, he found an empathetic expression, contrasting with the concern from their mother.

"I've brought some roses from the gardens" Helaena announced calmly, placing a crystal vase near his bed. He looked at her gratefully, feeling as though she had read his mind.

Helaena took a few steps toward him, respecting his space. Aemond silently appreciated this gesture, knowing his sister was not one for physical displays of affection, and he did not feel deserving of a hug.

"I made you another" she said, handing the clothes over carefully, with an implicit understanding of the story surrounding her previous gift, one he had to discard after that fateful night. Aemond nodded, his heart moved by the gesture.

Unfolding the soft fabrics, he revealed a new suit, this time black, in stark contrast to the greens he usually wore. The delicate, perfect embroideries reminded him of the last one, but these were even finer and more elaborate, as if they held a promise of renewal and strength.

"Thank you" he whispered, struggling to convey the depth of his gratitude.

Helaena smiled gently, as if to say there was no need. Aemond felt she understood more than she could express with words, wishing to comfort him in her unique way.

Before leaving, Helaena added with a hint of mystery in her voice "I like to believe that our wait will be rewarded, don't you?" He nodded, almost imperceptibly, without taking his eyes off hers.

With those words resonating in his mind, Aemond was left alone in the room, feeling a little lighter. Then, he let the tears fall again, washing away the pain and anger that threatened to overflow him.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @squidscottjeans @fossface

Last part as kids! I feel so bad for Aemond :(

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Going Home (A Surprise Story)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: explicit language, newborn times, just pure fluff basically (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.4k

Summary: After a week at the hospital, you and Emily and baby Eve are finally ready to go home. But the hormones and the lack of sleep are catching up to you...

You sat fuming in the passenger seat–figuratively and physically–as Emily fiddled with the straps of Eve’s car seat. After a long week in the hospital, you and Eve were finally cleared to go home. That is, if Emily ever finished buckling the baby in. It was unseasonably warm, the heat index at over 100º. You felt like you were, quite literally, melting as you sat waiting, sweat trickling at the sides of your head.

“Em,” you groaned. “She’s safe. She’s so safe. I beg of you, for the love of god, turn on the car.”

When you craned your neck to look back at them, Emily was biting her lip, worried eyes examining every single inch of the car seat.

“Sorry, love. I just… I don’t know, it seems a little loose.”

You gave her approximately thirty more seconds before you exploded. You were exhausted. Up at all hours of the night to breastfeed, and when you weren’t breastfeeding it was still hard to sleep on the hospital bed, with the lights and the beeping and the constant interruptions. Of course, Emily was a champ and shared the load, but the reality of the matter is that she couldn’t get up and feed Eve so you could rest. Not until you started pumping anyway. You were short on sleep, you were hot, your incision was still painful, and your body was flooded with post-baby hormones. In short, all you wanted was to be home. And right now, your wife was in the way.

“Emily!” you yelled. You hardly ever yelled. She even jumped a bit, she was so surprised. “Eve is fine!” A bit of a whine crept into your voice, so tired were you, so desperate to be home. “Please, honey, you’re such a good mom. You take such good care of her. But Em…” Against your will, your voice broke, and you were furious at yourself for, once again, being an emotional mess. It felt like the first trimester all over again. “I’m so tired. I want to go home. I want to sleep in our bed. Please.”

Alarmed at the tears quickly forming in your eyes, Emily gave Eve’s car seat straps one last tug, and launched herself into the driver’s seat, starting the car and putting the A/C on full blast. She brushed your bangs off your sweaty forehead and placed a gentle hand on your warm cheek.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”

Once the A/C had cooled you and your emotions off a bit, you felt awful for yelling at Emily. She was probably just as tired as you, and she was only trying to take care of Eve.

“I’m sorry, Em,” you blurted, leaning against the window. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“It’s okay,” she said, squeezing your hand. “I’m sorry, too.”

You looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. “For what?”

“I think…” Emily paused for a moment, as if she were trying to puzzle out exactly what she was trying to say. “I’ve been so preoccupied with taking care of Eve, I think I’ve been forgetting to take care of you, too.”

Your eyes went wide, and you placed a gentle hand on the back of Emily’s neck. “Hey, no. Don’t say that, Em. You’ve done so much. You do so much. For all of us.”

Emily still didn’t look convinced, so you leaned over the console to kiss her on the cheek. “You always take care of me, honey. It’s not you, okay? I’m just a wreck right now.”

As if on cue, Eve started wailing, her little voice high and keening and pitiful.

You threw your head back and groaned, and you and Emily shared an exhausted laugh. “She was supposed to stay asleep!” you complained. “I just fed her!”

“I think we’re all wrecks right now, baby,” Emily chuckled.

When you walked through the door of the apartment, Emily carrying the car seat with a wildly unhappy Eve, you thought you’d feel some profound sense of home or family, but all you really felt was tired and overwhelmed. Emily set the car seat down in the living room and told you she was running to the bathroom.

You stretched painfully, your incision tight and tender, before lifting a crying Eve out of her car seat and holding her tiny, warm body close to your face. You kissed the side of her head and bounced her gently on your chest until her sobs calmed to hiccups. You made your way to your and Emily’s bedroom, where a bassinet rested next to your side of the bed. You tried to set her down, gently, slowly, but as soon as she was out of your arms, she began to cry.

You groaned and picked her up again, whispering in her ear. “Evie, baby, please. Mama’s so tired.” You’d never known you could love someone quite this much, as much as you loved Eve and Emily. But you’d also never known that you could be quite this exhausted.

Once again, you started bouncing her around the room, trying to calm her, but this time Emily came up behind you and placed a hand at the small of your back. “I’ve got her, honey,” she said. “Let me take her.”

“It’s okay, Em. You don’t have to,” you said, even as you felt on the verge of tears.

Emily gently pried Eve from your arms, cooing in her ear as she sobbed and gurgled. She looked deeply at you, bending to make sure you met her eyes. “I’ve got her and I’ve got you. Get some sleep.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, torn between exhaustion and stubbornly fighting Emily. You pouted, your eyebrows scrunched.

Emily giggled. “What’s that look?”

“I want to take care of you too, Em,” you said, close to tears again. God, you needed to get this under control.

“Y/N. Baby. You do take care of me,” Emily insisted, bouncing Eve and pressing kisses to the side of her head every few seconds. “You just had a major surgery, you gave birth to our child, and you almost died. You do plenty of caring, honey. Let me take over for a bit.”

You looked at the floor, self-consciousness flooding your system. Did you do plenty of caring, though? What did Emily get out of this relationship? These days it felt like you just took and took and took.

As if she could read your mind, Emily sat next to you, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You did the hard work for the last eight months, love. You’re still doing the hard work. Please just let me carry some of it for you. Please?”

You sighed and nodded.

“You’re my wife, and she’s my daughter,” Emily said, her voice low and serious, full of emotion. “I like to take care of you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered.

She kissed the side of your head, then stood with Eve again, who was slowly but surely drifting off in her mom’s arms. Emily bounced Eve out of the room, and you smiled as you heard Emily giving her a tour of the house.

“This is the guest bathroom. It’ll be yours, too, when you’re big enough. But you’re just so little, sweet pea, you’ll have to take a bath in the sink for now. And this is Mama’s office. She’s got lots of books in here…”

Still warm from the heat outside, you stripped off all but your sports bra and underwear and crawled under the sheets, kicking the heavy comforter off the bed. You were asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

You didn’t know how long it had been or what time it was, but eventually you felt Emily crawl into the bed behind you, felt her wrap her arms around you, kiss your forehead, and pull you into her. Even half-asleep, you sighed in relief to have her next to you like this again, to share your bed, to feel her skin against yours. And it was now, finally, that the deep, almost achingly beautiful feeling of family and home came over you. But this time, you didn’t want to cry.

You blinked your eyes open to see Eve sleeping soundly in the bassinet next to you, then closed them again, nuzzling your body into Emily’s. You were home. And this was your family. You knew you’d be up again in an hour or two, feeding Eve, exhausted and probably grumpy. But for now, for this moment, you were happier than you’d ever been. And it was these little moments of joy you knew were going to stick with you.

[pluckyredhead]

“I have larger thoughts about how DC has kind of written themselves into a hole with Jason and now he's stuck in this limbo that's unsatisfying to everyone which is why so many Jason fans are mad all the time, but that's for another ask.”

🤓 Do tell…

Okay, let's see if I can do this in less than a thousand words!

So Jason, at his core, represents a challenge to Bruce's ideology, right? Bruce's #1 rule is No Killing, and Jason's basic idea is: "That doesn't work. Some villains are bad enough that they have to be killed for the greater good." (There's something very funny about Jason, famously undead, thinking killing stops ANYONE in the DCU, but we'll leave that aside for now.) This is a really interesting ethical quandary to throw Bruce's way, and by having it voiced by his beloved son, his greatest failure, his second most profound tragedy, it becomes a deeply thorny emotional problem as well as an ethical problem. That's all great.

The problem is, DC can't allow Jason to be right, for two reasons:

Batman must always be right and must always win.

...I mean, come on. They can't actually publish a story advocating for a traumatized 19-year-old with assault weapons to be the arbiter of who lives and who dies, that's nonsense. I love Jason but really.

The problem with that is, Jason is a major recurring character.

UTRH works great in a vacuum. But if Jason is showing up in a comic every month, or even just a few times a year, this central conflict has to be addressed, and the options for doing that are limited:

Bruce and Jason fight and Jason wins. DC will never let this happen. (And what would "Jason wins" even look like, honestly? He's not going to kill Bruce.)

Bruce and Jason fight and Bruce wins. They've done this a bunch (sometimes with Dick in place of Bruce), but Jason fans don't want to see him repeatedly getting his ass kicked while being lectured, and frankly it doesn't make Bruce look great either.

Bruce allows Jason to kill people. This can't happen either; it would be wildly out of character for Bruce, not to mention literally everyone in the Batfamily. They are all canonically pretty opposed to murder.

Jason continues to operate however he wants, but outside of Bruce's reach/jurisdiction. As wretched as RHATO was, I actually think it was a smart decision to keep most of the action outside of Gotham, because then we can pretend Bruce doesn't know what Jason's up to, just like we pretend Clark couldn't super-hear everything in Gotham and save Bruce's ass every single night without breaking a sweat. The problem here is that it means Jason is unavailable for the kinds of casual team-ups and crossovers that fans of all stripes crave - plus, every time he comes back to Gotham, he and Bruce have to relitigate their entire relationship AGAIN.

Jason compromises and agrees to follow Bruce's rules in order to have a relationship with the Batfamily. This is basically where DC has landed, and I understand why they did, because it's the option that allows them to publish the most comics with Jason in them, which they want to do because he is an immensely popular character who makes them money. However, it leaves him in this awkward position where instead of being a tragic villain/badass antihero, he's just...the sassiest member of the family, while simultaneously always being available to be treated like shit because he's Bad. He gets punished without even the fun of doing the crime anymore.

So what's the solution? I don't know. Theoretically, DC could try to do what Marvel does with the Punisher. People always get mad when I say Jason is DC's Punisher, but he kills pretty much indiscriminately in UTRH and RHATO, for pretty much the same reasons. ("Dudebros think it looks cool.") And Marvel heroes inexplicably let Frank just kill however many people he wants unless they're appearing in a Punisher comic, at which point they go "Frank, you naughty boy, I shall stop you!" and then Frank kicks their ass and makes them look like an idiot. DC is never going to let Jason do that to Bruce, plus it would put a real damper on the Wayne family Thanksgiving dinner.

Alternately, they could make him a Nightwing villain. Dick has spent 40 years fighting inconclusively with Deathstroke; he's much better suited to go endless rounds with Jason without either of them Always Triumphantly Winning than Bruce is. I don't personally want this option because I just don't care that much about Dick, but it could be really interesting, though it would limit Jason to fewer appearances and primarily in Dick's book. (Jason would have made a superb Red Robin villain 15 years ago for similar reasons.)

My vote, I think, would be for a really good (god, if only), really thoughtful Jason series where he has reason to seriously reevaluate his philosophy towards crime - something that reshapes him into a character who can still challenge Bruce's entrenched ideas without being so diametrically opposed to them as to make him a villain. He needs to be close enough to Bruce's rules to appear in crossovers, but far enough and specific enough that he's not just Meaner Nightwing. Jason is a passionate character; DC needs to find a new way to let his passion work for him, because right now he doesn't have anything driving him, and it's satisfying no one.

(900 words, BOOM!)

[killerlookz]

50/ 46/ 62 <3

thank you for the ask <33 | if you'd like to participate in the heartbeat! au OTP ask game, the full prompt is here

46. what is their favorite intimately sexual thing to do to their partner? 50. what is their favorite position with their partner? 62. who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to put some clothes on?

pairing: heartbeat! reader x heartbeat! joost content: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (f! receiving), penetrative sex, angst mentions, not proofread

explicit RPF below! please do not interact if that makes you uncomfortable !!! 18+ MDNI

46. what is their favorite intimately sexual thing to do to their partner?

Joost's favorite thing to do is eat you out, hands down. You're stressed? He'll eat you out so you can relax. You're mad at him? Let him eat you out to show how sorry he is. You can't sleep? He'll eat you out to put you in that perfect blissful state so you can just fall right to sleep. He's just got back from tour? He's eating you out because he missed how you taste.

Truthfully, you hadn't expected him to be so into giving you head, and you much more expected for him to prefer it the other way around. When you first met- with his fluffy hair, ill fitted skinny jeans, and Supreme shirt you thought you had figured out his type, hype beast, fuck boy, who idolized american soundcloud rappers, thinking he was hot shit in his fake designer belts and unnecessarily expensive sneakers. The type of guy who fucked for his pleasure, and his pleasure alone.

How completely and utterly wrong you were. Joost had charmed you enough to let him take you out on a first date, so charming in fact, you'd end up "giving it up" on that first date. You hadn't expected to, but you couldn't resist him. You'd gone back to his place for some after dinner drinks, one thing led to another and you found yourself in his lap, lips pressed together, hungry. Until that point you had never had a make out session so intense, hands roaming each other wildly, unable to get enough of one another. Without a doubt, Joost had noticed the way you pressed your hips into his, with your skirt bunched up around your thighs, all that separated you from Joost were your panties, which had been, embarrassingly soaked for having only been making out. You were barely cognizant of the way you begged for friction against the seam of Joost's jeans, the fabric growing stiff under Joost's own rising arousal. Both of you were desperate for more, and Joost was ready to make the first move.

Joost pulled back from the kiss, lips shiny and swollen, lightly ghosting over yours as he speaks,

"Will you let me eat your pussy, schatje?" So forward. His voice is just barely above a whisper, but it's enough to hear the pure yearning he speaks with.

"Huh?" You hadn't dated around too much before Joost, but never had a man asked to eat you out on the first date, needless to say you were a little taken back.

"You can say no but-"

"Please." You cut him off ready to fully give into him.

Very soon after that Joost had been on his knees on the hardwood in front of you, head between your thighs, with your legs wrapped around his shoulders as you sit half off the couch. One hand is at your waist and with the other he uses his fingers to spread apart your folds as he laps at your cunt.

Joost was beside himself, musing with gentle mumbles about how good you tasted, about how he'd never be able to get enough of this-enough of you, his low voice sending vibrations right through your sensitive nerves.

And Joost was right, he would never get enough of you.

Post breakup, Joost doesn't eat you out as much as he'd like to, he worries its to intimate and it is.

But there are always those nights between you where it hits you just how profound your emotions towards each other are, how deeply and utterly in love you still are- and those nights Joost will find himself with his head between your thighs again.

50. what is their favorite position with their partner?

Without a DOUBT it's missionary. Call it boring, call it vanilla whatever. You two love fucking in missionary.

At first it's loving, neither of you wanting to take your eyes off each other. Joost will carry you to the bedroom, carefully placing you on the bed, hovering over you as the two of you make every soft and love felt move towards getting it on. The position allows for you to be so close to each other, Joost usually opting to fold over as much as he can, so his chest is nearly pressed against yours, his breath hot on your face and neck. Occasionally he'll pull back, watching you under him, the way your face writhes with pleasure, and you desperately grip the sheets below you. And - well, he loves watching the way your tits bounce while he fucks into you.

As your relationship progresses and tensions rise, and eventually you two break up- missionary becomes a way for you to get in one another's face while you inevitably end up "hate fucking" during an argument. Angry sex includes a lot of mocking and taunting, looking each other in the eyes, face to face as jaws clench between harsh words spat at one another. Neither of you relenting or willing to admit you're wrong. You try to remember whatever it is you're arguing about while Joost slams into you at a near brutal pace, your fingers ripping into his shoulders, sure to leave some marks for the next few days.

One of you will end up shutting the other one up with a fierce kiss, unable to stand the sound of their voice nagging and bickering any longer, wanting nothing more than to just reach your orgasm. And you will. Joost collapsing on top of you, a thick tension still lingering in the air. Aftercare is non-existent on some of those nights, the persistent anger having been unresolved by sex, leading to you wanting nothing to do with each other.

Other times, Joost will gently pull out of you, wordlessly making his way to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth before coming back to clean you up. You'll only share a few words for the rest of the night, maybe a quiet "I'm sorry" if you're lucky- but nobody needs to say it, you can feel it, the regret that fills the room, its almost suffocating. After he cleans you up Joost will join you back on the bed, pulling you to his chest, your naked bodies intertwine. He'll press a few kisses to your forehead, and you'll mumble your "I love you's" before falling asleep, hoping for a better day tomorrow.

62. who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to put some clothes on?

Reader. But truthfully neither of you wear much clothes while you're together. It's not uncommon for the two of you to spend the entire day together at home only in your underwear, being skin to skin just feels better anyways.

But in terms of actual nudity, yes, reader. Joost prefers to not be completely naked, sometimes even during sex, occasionally opting to just pull his underwear down to his thighs instead of taking them off entirely.

If you've fallen asleep after having sex, and find yourself still naked in the morning, you won't bother to find something to put on before getting up to go run and grab a cup of water in the kitchen.

Or after a shower when you don't feel like getting ready right away you'll lounge around on your phone in bed, sometimes only in your towel, sometimes in nothing at all.

Joost will jokingly chastise you for constantly being naked or minimally clothed while the two of you are together, but he never actually means it. Obviously. He's obsessed with the way you look, clothed, or unclothed, and I mean- completely enamored. And he won't ever try to hide in, shamelessly staring at you, wherever and whenever he pleases, unable to fathom you're his.

Or post break up... deeply deeply regretting you're no longer his. Sometimes he'll remember that Michael has seen you like this too, filling his body with a hot pang of jealousy. He wishes he could be the only one to witness you in such a state, but he know's he's fucked that chance up.

[kitasgloves]

comforting your insecure bf

part 1 . part 3 . part 4

— ♬ NSFW, MINORS DNI, gn reader, based on this post

— ♬ Tendou Satori

Growing up, Tendou Satori didn't have anyone to rely on until he reached high school where he met his teammates on the volleyball team and his best friend Ushijima Wakatoshi. Having experienced bullying in middle school, he created doubts he'll find someone who will love him.

Until he graduates college and moves to France, Tendou becomes a profound chocolatier and sells his chocolates in Paris. It seemed fate had planned it when you walked into his shop and purchased a box of his famous sweets. The way you smiled at him was sweeter than any chocolate Tendou has tasted. He was too stunned to even ask for your name before you walked out of his shop. Tendou had a serious sweet tooth because he was craving for your smile.

Fate has heeded his longing because you returned to his shop again with that sweet smile of yours, by then Tendou dared to ask for your name. Your visits have become frequent, on the third visit he makes you smile, the fourth he makes you laugh, on the fifth he asks for your number, and on the sixth you ask him out on a date.

It appeared so ideal, falling in love with a sweet chocolatier in Paris. Tendou stole your heart with his precious humor and his earnest feelings. Everything looked perfect the moment you and the chocolatier became a couple. Tendou thought he was contented, letting you move in with him. But then he believed everything was moving too fast, you two went beyond kissing and before he knew it he was overwhelmed.

However, he doesn't have the heart to tell you. He's afraid that if he did, you'd give him some space and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want you to be out of his reach, he doesn't want you to leave him. Because Tendou believes he'll never find someone who'll love a weirdo like him. He's already skeptical if you're genuinely in love with him. Even as an adult, he's still bothered by the looks people give him when he's with you. He knows what they're thinking.

What is a weirdo like him doing with someone beautiful like you?

"Satori? Are okay, chérie?"

Tendou blinks and awkwardly smiles at you while nodding. His eyes returned to the television screen but his mind was elsewhere. And you can tell, for the past few days, Tendou has been acting out of his character. He stopped telling you jokes and making chocolates with you. Something was bothering him. Wordlessly, you took his hand and pulled him up from the couch. There was no protest when you took him to your shared bedroom. The two of you settled on the bed.

"Darling, I know something is bothering you and I want you to be honest with me"

"I'm sorry, I'm just feeling a little bit unwell"

"Satori..."

Tendou sighs at your warning tone. You gently took his larger hands, sharing your warmth. He can feel his eyes grow wet.

"[Name]...why the hell did you fall in love with me?"

You blinked, there was a shake of your head and a lighthearted smile on your face. You know how bizarre Tendou can behave, which makes him unique. His red buzzcut and quirky smile captured your heart. You didn't give a shit if everybody else found him weird, to you he's the most perfect man you know.

"Do you want me to show you, Satori?"

Tendou wouldn't have imagined this scenario. You settle behind him, your hand fisting his cock as he is forced to watch everything through the bedroom mirror. It didn't help that the mirror was huge and he could see every explicit detail. The precum leaking out of the slit of his dick, a red flush all over his face, and your soft hand pumping his length to draw moans out of his lips

"Ah! Chérie! Please slow down!"

You only smiled sweetly at him and continued jerking him off, he threw his head back with a strangled moan.

"Eyes on the mirror, darling"

Tendou obeys with his head spinning in pleasure. He can hear his heart palpitating wildly in his ears as you pull him apart with each stroke of your hand.

"You asked me why I fell in love with you. How could I not when you're such an adorable, funny, and caring man?"

"How could I not swoon at every chocolate you make and gift for me? For every kiss we shared under the Paris lights? And the way you swept me off my feet and took me to bed after one month of being together?"

Your pace on his cock went slower, you wanted him to hear every word you said. Tendou can feel his breath going shallow at every sentence.

"I don't care what people think of us and neither should you. As long as I'm happy with you, to hell with what they think"

"[Name] I-"

"Oh Satori, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to get married and start a family"

Suddenly, your hand wandered to his balls as you played with them. Tendou's moans echoed in the room as the pleasure went crashing in. His eyes watch you through the mirror as he feels his release building up.

"Oh fuck, [Name], please!"

"Do you want that too, darling?"

"Yes! Fuck yes! Shit, I'm gonna cum!"

"Yeah? Go on, cum for me, Satori"

His hands grip the bedsheets as his hips bucked upward on your fist as he cums. You continue to pump him, letting the cum shoot out and leak on your hand. Tendou hisses as his eyes watered at the overstimulation. You kiss his neck tenderly after his orgasm. He was catching his breath when he looked at his messy reflection, he chuckled to himself. Suddenly, you pressed your lips against his ear.

"The next time you cum, it's going to be inside of me"

Tendou gulps as a bashful blush covered his cheeks. You smile sweetly at him as if you didn't whisper the nastiest shit he has ever heard against his ear.

— ♬ Hirugami Sachiro

Your first encounter with Hirugami Sachiro was when you took your dog to the vet for a check-up. You recently moved into the area and it was your first time visiting a new vet. Hirugami could've sworn Cupid pulled one of the stupid golden arrows and shot him in the back when you both locked eyes for the first time. You were gorgeous and you had an adorable dog too.

He treated your dog with utmost care and you couldn't even be happier. Since then, you started getting monthly checkups for your dog. Hirugami always looked forward to each of your arrivals, and each time he could feel himself slowly falling hard for you. At every check-up, you get to know the veterinarian more. You knew how he used to play volleyball, how he's the youngest of his siblings, his pro-volleyball best friend Hoshiumi Korai, and even his sweet dog named Kotarou.

Before you two knew it, you both grew closer and closer at each encounter. It was a matter of time before one of you would profess your feelings first. And it was Hirugami. He asked you to hang out outside of the vet to grab lunch and he confesses. He was expecting a rejection from you but you surprise him by returning his feelings.

It was only natural for you and Hirugami to become a couple. It was the happiest both of you have been in your lives. You kiss on sidewalks, have romantic dinners, and take your dogs together at the dog park. Everything felt perfect. But suddenly, you got busy with your work.

You were so busy that you had to take your dog to your cousin's to take of them for you because you didn't have time to do it. Hirugami pretended that it barely stung when you talked less and less with him. You both stopped seeing each other every day. There wasn't any bitterness rising it was just dead silence. Hirugami figured he should focus on his profession as a veterinarian. The both of you wouldn't have proper contact for weeks to the point Hirugami becomes concerned.

He didn't understand why you were busy all of a sudden, to him, it's like you barely made an effort to check on him. He felt pathetic desperately reaching out for you until he began doubting himself. What if you grew tired of him? What if you started seeing somebody else? His thoughts frightened him. Hirugami wanted to be the perfect boyfriend for you. Before he realizes it, he's falling back to his bad habits back in high school.

Hiruguami used to be a perfectionist during volleyball, he'd blame himself for every mistake he made. He mindlessly scrapped his knuckles against a stone surface to the point that it bled. And he was doing it again, although less harshly. When you finally had the time to see him, you immediately asked to go over to his place.

When you saw your boyfriend your heart dropped, he looked like he was barely taking care of himself. There were dark bags under his eyes, he seemed paler, and bandages on his knuckles.

"What happened to you, Sachiro?"

You asked him, visibly concerned. It made Hirugami guilty. You two catch up during dinner and he finally tells you what is going on with him. You can feel your heart shatter.

"I thought I was never going to be the perfect boyfriend for you, [Name]"

"Is that why you began scraping your knuckles?"

"I'm sorry..."

"Hey, don't be. I should be the one apologizing for not trying to reach out"

"But you were busy, and I understand that-"

"Sachiro, that's still not an excuse to suddenly cut contact with you"

"But I should've done better, you know? I could've"

"Sachiro"

You firmly stopped him. Hirugami bites his lip and looks at you like a scolded child. You sighed as you went over to take his hands and kiss his bandaged knuckles. He was facing away and it seemed like he wasn't getting the message you're trying to get across. Then, you thought of an interesting way to do it.

"[Name], shit!"

Hirugami gritted his teeth as he observed you stroking his cock in front of his bedroom mirror. Everything happened so fast, one moment you were fervently kissing him and the next you were behind him giving him a handjob.

"I missed you, Sachiro"

You purred from behind as you gently pumped his cock. No matter how much he tried to resist, Hirugami couldn't peel his eyes away from the mirror. His pants were clumsily pulled down, sweat dripping down his neck, and his face completely flushed. He was so mesmerized with your hand stroking his length.

"I'm sorry for making you feel bad, baby"

"You deserve to be treated better because you're so sweet, nice, and handsome"

Hirugami's mouth falls open as a moan escapes his mouth. His eyes shut when the pleasure overtakes his body when you suddenly grab his chin.

"Keep your eyes on the mirror for me please?"

You requested and who was he to deny you? You jerked him off at a pleasurable pace as he watched himself melt in your presence.

"You're the best boyfriend in the world, Sachiro. I'm not letting you think otherwise"

"You're so hot, passionate about your job, and the best at making me cum every time we fuck"

Hirugami lets out a low groan when you reach for his sack as you start to massage it. Every thought of insecurity vanishes in his head as he focuses on you as you drive him lightheaded.

"[Name], fuck! I wanna cum!"

"Not until you tell me that you're the best boyfriend in the world"

When you begin to tease his slit with your fingers, he grabs your thigh and glares at you through the mirror. The feral look in his eye made him look so attractive. He looks at you dead in the eye through the mirror as you physically shiver.

"I'm the best boyfriend in the world"

"Damn right you are, and don't you ever forget that"

With that, you viciously pumped his cock to the brink of orgasm. The pace was so overwhelming that Hirugami's eyes rolled back as the most earth-shattering orgasm hit him. He could've sworn he went to heaven and back. After his release, he sees through the mirror that his cum has stained his abdomen and your hand. His hair was a mess and he's covered in sweat all over.

"Feeling better now, Sachiro?"

"I am, thank you"

He smiles at you as you return the gesture. But then you begin to pull your shirt over your head as his eyes bulge out of their sockets, before he can say something, you possessively grab his shoulders.

"How about we make up for the time we lost, baby?"

— ♬ Miya Osamu

During the humble beginnings of his business at Onigiri Miya, you stumbled into Osamu Miya's life. Freshly graduated from college, you clumsily entered his shop hungry and prepared to devour anything available on the menu. You were done after a grueling job interview. Osamu was eager to feed you whatever was best on his menu.

"Oh my gosh, this is so delicious!"

You exclaimed as you pointed at the Onigiri he served to you, there was an adorable glimmer in your eyes that Osamu couldn't help but blush. He tries to cover it by tilting his hat downward to cover his face. Somehow you have successfully made his heart race by your smile alone. He learns how bright and friendly you were when you gave him your name, he eagerly spells out his. At that moment, he's convinced his life is about to take a drastic turn.

You visit Onigiri Miya daily, always talking to Osamu as you two gradually became close friends. He recently learned you got a job as PR in MSBY Black Jackals, and he freezes. There is no doubt that you have met his twin brother, Atsumu Miya. That bastard probably tried to flirt with you, maybe tease you or subtly make a suggestive remark. Osamu's chest grew tight.

Even if he and Atsumu shared the same face, people naturally flocked to his brother more. Despite his cocky attitude and unapologetic behavior, people overlooked the flaws Atsumu had because of his magnetic looks. After all, Atsumu genuinely makes an effort to look good. He learns how to bleach and properly style his hair, how to dress stylishly and make everyone swoon behind the cameras. Compared to all that, Osamu barely tried.

Osamu just pulls on whatever he finds in his wardrobe, no matter how horrible it looks. He only knows how to brush his hair (he stopped letting Atsumu dye his hair dark grey again). And he's awkward when there are cameras around. Osamu becomes convinced that he'll never have a shot with you.

"'Samu! Are you even listening?"

You placed your hands on your hips and raised a brow at him. Osamu snaps out of it and sends you a timid smile and a rub on the back of his neck. You huffed.

"Sorry, what did ya say, [Name]?"

"I said, do you want to go on a date with me?"

"What?"

Osamu's eyes grew wide and gazed at you with pure astonishment behind the counter. He points to himself as his jaw drops to the floor. You couldn't hold back a giggle.

"Ya want to go on a date? With me? Me?"

"Yes, you idiot"

"Holy shit"

Well, he wasn't expecting that. On that weekend, you and Osamu went all over the city, exploring and eating street food. You held his hand for the first time and he could've sworn his heart leaped out of his chest. He decided to grow some balls and ask you to be his. And your only response was a wide smile as you grabbed his cheeks to give him a long and sweet smooch on the lips.

"Oi, scrub! Ya got any beer here?"

Atsumu yelled inside the kitchen. Osamu was one step closer to horse kicking his brother in the face. You shook your head and went to tell Atsumu there were beers in the fridge. Tonight was supposed to be a date night but Atsumu decided to show up at his apartment unannounced and crash it. You seemed unbothered considering you deal with the blonde merely on a daily at your job, but Osamu was uncomfortable.

The three of you watched some Ghibli movies. You were wedged between the twins eating snacks and drinking beer. As the night went on, Osamu couldn't shake off the feeling that he was uninvited in his place. You were being loud with Atsumu, sharing jokes and trading insults. You were being too naturally close to his brother that it's making his body heavy.

"M'gonna go ta bed"

Osamu mumbled as the end credits played after the movie, you stopped talking with Atsumu and watched your boyfriend drag his feet to the bedroom. Osamu collapsed on his bed, burying his face against his pillow. He remembers the fight he had with Atsumu back in high school after he admitted that he was going to quit playing volleyball. Since then there has been a competition that who lives the happier life, and Osamu was beginning to think he was losing.

There was a knock on the door before you entered his bedroom, Osamu avoided your gaze and pretended that he had passed out. You poked his leg and called out for his name softly, enough to tug on his heartstrings. When he faces you, your features display worry.

"Are you okay?"

"M'fine, [Name]"

"Is it because of 'Tsumu?"

"No"

Osamu replied so quickly that it answered the lingering question in your head. You sighed as you tugged on his arm, pulling him upwards from the bed. You smiled as you fixed his messy hair, but he didn't meet your eyes.

"Are you jealous, 'Samu?"

"No"

His tone was sincere. You hummed as you went behind him to wrap your arms around him, Osamu gazed at you through his bedroom mirror placed in front of his bed. He sees the tender look you give him through the mirror that he caves in. He spills his rising insecurity and how he deeply compared himself to his twin brother. And you were baffled.

"Osamu you fucking idiot"

"Huh?"

"Do you think I'm gonna leave you for that pisshead setter?"

"I mean, he's better lookin'-"

"Don't tell me you're letting him win"

Osamu shuts his mouth, he remembers how he shared with you about his ongoing sibling competition with Atsumu. You shake your head as your hands trailed to his belt, unbuckling it. Osamu gulps and stares at his unlocked bedroom door.

"Ugh, those two better not be fucking"

Atsumu mumbled as he played another movie on the TV. Meanwhile, Osamu was trying his hardest not to let an obscene moan leave his mouth as you jerked him from behind. He wouldn't dare let Atsumu hear what was going on inside the bedroom, and he wouldn't dare let his brother win the competition.

"Ah! Hmm, fuck [Name]"

"Osamu Miya, you fucking moron. Do you believe Atsumu is better than you?"

Osamu only answered through hushed and choked moans. You pumped his length faster, watching as precum leaked out of the slit. You pressed your lips against his ear.

"You're such a fantastic boyfriend. You're a hardworking business owner, you make the best damn onigiri, and you're so fucking hot. So, why the fuck are you comparing yourself to him?"

Your hands trailed to his ballsack to massage it and Osamu throws his head back, biting his lip to hold back a whine. You forced his head forward to the mirror.

"Eyes on the mirror, babe"

"Hnngh, [Name], please"

"I'm in love with you Osamu Miya, and you only. You better tattoo that shit to your brain, sweetheart"

"Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad [Name]!"

"Really? Are you done comparing yourself to Atsumu?"

"Yes! Oh fuck, yes!"

"Good, go on, cum for me, Osamu"

You purred as you wrapped your delicate hands around his cock as you stroked him rapidly. Bringing him to his sweet release. There was no way his twin wouldn't have heard the moan he unleashed as he cums. His hips jerked forward as his seed stained his pants and your hand. His eyes roll back as he throws his head backward with his mouth ajar. All he could hear was the sound of his loud heartbeat. As he comes back to his senses, he sees you smiling at him through the mirror. He chuckles.

"Well aren't ya full of surprises"

You laugh. He turns to grab your cheek to lean down and tenderly kiss you. Osamu smiles like he has won the lottery, no, even better. He has someone who loves him for who he is.

"Thank you, [Name]"

"You're welcome, baby"

Osamu couldn't fight back the smug look on his face as the two of you rejoined Atsumu in the living room. Atsumu gives him a narrowed look.

'What the fuck are ya smilin' for?'

'I win'

'The fuck?'

— ♬ Sakusa Kiyoomi

Sakusa Kiyoomi was comfortable on his own. He learned how to be independent and never relied on anyone constantly. For the most part, he's a natural introvert. He did have friends. Well, it's all thanks to his cousin Komori Motoya forcing him to socialize or his job as a professional athlete who needed to get along with his teammates. Sakusa thinks that having a few sets of friends he's good to go. Until you had to ruin everything.

You were the cheerful manager of the MSBY Black Jackals. Something about your warm and welcoming demeanor made Sakusa's nose scrunch. The way you smiled and talked with everyone like you had known them for years, it was uncomfortable for him to watch. However, you didn't force any conversation with him. You only greeted him and smiled. Yeah, he appreciated that but he's still cautious about you.

Over time, Sakusa learns there's a certain depth to you. That you weren't just all smiles and laughter. You're a professional human being with an emotional intelligence beyond him. You're incredibly sympathetic and intelligent and he's impressed. You're observant of people's perceptions of others and emotions. No wonder, you didn't force yourself to him.

You gave him space and respected his excessive cleanliness. Sakusa decides you're good in his book. What changed everything was when he was unexpectedly stuck in a crowd. It was absolute hell, he got lost navigating the team during an event. On the brink of an anxiety attack, you showed up.

"Sakusa-senshu!"

You called out, concerned at the way he was hunched forward seemingly on the verge of losing consciousness. Sakusa can feel your pinkie finger linking with his, he regains his focus. He looks at you as you lead him out of the crowd by his pinkie finger only. Perhaps out of respect because he doesn't like anyone touching him.

"Are you okay, Sakusa-senshu?"

"Yes, thank you [Name]"

When you smiled at him, his chest grew tight. It felt different. It was as if his world grew clearer and he could suddenly breathe perfectly. On the way to meet up with the team, he grabs your shoulder.

"Kiyoomi"

"Hm?"

"Call me Kiyoomi"

The moment you earned the permission to call him by his first name, your relationship with him changed. The two of you grew closer in such a short amount of time. The team was calling the spiker out for favoritism because Sakusa treats you kinder compared to them. He talks to you the most during breaks, he shares snacks and hand sanitizers, and it went as far as letting you high-five him after a game in which everyone was enraged.

Sakusa had never met someone who had made him smile so hard that his cheeks hurt, someone who knew what made him laugh until there were tears in his eyes, and someone he wouldn't mind breaking his own rules for. Whenever he looks at you, Sakusa finds it hard to look away. And before he realizes, he's falling for you.

And he's fucking petrified. Sakusa wasn't entirely smart when it came to romance, he never planned to fall in love with you. So, he bottles it up inside of him for years and it becomes unbearable. He figured you weren't ready to have a relationship let alone with him. And that you wouldn't want him to be your boyfriend. He's strict, a jerk, and a clean freak. Aside from his handsome looks and his amazing athletic abilities, Sakusa wasn't interesting.

However, unexpectedly, when he learns you're about to quit being the manager of the team to pursue another career, Sakusa panics and spills his feelings for you. He tells you he's been in love with you for ages. He doesn't want to see you leave without telling you how he feels. Shockingly, you laughed and smiled at him as you told him that the feelings were mutual. At that moment, Sakusa was convinced he had found true happiness.

The two of you dated and became official for six months. There were ups and downs in the relationship but it worked. Sakusa learned how to balance his growing volleyball career with his time with you. And you were happy with your newly chosen career and without failing to make Sakusa fall for you even more.

Tonight, the team invited Sakusa and you to a local club to celebrate the recent win against the SCHWEDEIN Adlers. Sakusa was about to quickly decline until you immediately agreed. So, here he is, alone by the bartender, nursing his cup of alcohol while he watches you dance with his friends. He could join you if he didn't detest crowds and dancing.

You were in your element, having fun with Bokuto, Hinata, and Atsumu. The four of you were stuck in your own world lost in the music. Something foreign bloomed in Sakusa's chest. It squeezed his heart and yanked it violently. He shakily finishes his drink as he frowns and watches you forget about his existence on the dancefloor.

Sakusa imagined if he was more likable, he'd join you and the guys on the dancefloor. If he wasn't a fucking coward, he'd grab you and spin you around to the music. If he wasn't boring, he'd give you the time of your life partying in the club. Sakusa sniffs as he finds himself exiting the club and driving home, lost in his sea of insecure thoughts.

When he arrived home, he received multiple text messages and missed calls from you. God, he's such a fucking dick for leaving you there at the club. He calls to tell you he's sorry and that he's back home. You later arrived at his apartment and saw him slouching on his bed, frowning. You were sweaty and fresh out of the club but he lets you embrace him.

"Sorry, I felt...overwhelmed"

"It's okay Ki, I just got worried. Let's just stay here, I'll tell the guys we went home"

"You...you should head back to the club"

"What? Why?"

"You were enjoying yourself out there with them and I just...ruined it"

Sakusa looks away. You sighed as you grabbed his chin to gently peck him on the lips.

"No, you didn't ruin anything. I would ditch them in a heartbeat if you said you wanted to go home, y'know"

"[Name]..."

"Kiyoomi, you matter more to me than anything else, okay?"

"I just can't help but wish I was more...fun for you"

"What do you mean, Ki?"

Sakusa shrugs and you frown. You settled from behind him to give him a tight hug. He sees you do so in front of his large bedroom mirror.

"If only I didn't hate crowds or physical touch, I would've danced with you at the club"

"Ki, you know I don't mind that, right?"

"Maybe if I wasn't so...boring you would've been happier"

He mumbled, and you huffed. You didn't like how Sakusa was putting himself down because it was so unlike him. The Sakusa you knew was confident and had no ounce of self-doubt. If only you could prove to him he's so much more than that.

"Uh, why are you smirking at me like that, [Name]?"

Sakusa never predicted this circumstance at all. His pants pulled down to his thighs, his cock out and your pretty hand stroking his length. Sakusa watched with lidded eyes and low moans as you give him an erotic handjob from behind. He grips your thighs as he feels his heart bang against his ribcage.

"Oh fuck, [Name]!"

"You like that, pretty boy?"

You grin devilishly at him through the mirror and he just grows even harder. The way you pumped his cock makes his head spin deliriously.

"Look at you, Ki. You're so pretty and hot moaning like that"

"[Name] please"

He whimpers and it encourages you to jerk him off faster. Sakusa goes briefly crossed-eyed as he watches the pornographic scene in the mirror.

"You're the most kindest and amazing boyfriend in the world, Kiyoomi"

You told him softly. He groans when your hands reach to cup his balls, he can feel drool leaving the corner of his mouth.

"You're so good at volleyball and cleaning, plus you know how to cook! Oh, I just can't wait to marry you soon"

"You-oh fuck!-mean that?"

"Yes, darling. You're not boring, not to me, never"

"I-ah!-I'm glad"

You smile sweetly at him as you return to pumping his cock faster. Sakusa's breath hitched he released a loud moan. With your free hand, you grab his chin to make him watch himself fall apart right in front of the mirror. You bite his earlobe.

"Are you gonna cum, pretty boy?"

"Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Yes!"

"Go ahead. Cum for me Kiyoomi"

As your words echoed inside his head, Sakusa hit his orgasm like no other. It felt as though his soul left his body as he shot his load all over your hand. His head was thrown back with his jaw slack. As he slowly descends back to his body, he feels the sweat all over his skin and his cock softening. You kiss him on the cheek and fix his curls out of his eyes.

"How are you feeling, Kiyoomi?"

"Fucking great"

You smile cheekily at him but he only gazes at you breathlessly with lidded eyes. He slowly turns to directly stare at you, he couldn't be more in love with you, he swears.

"Ki? Why are you staring at me like that-oh shit! Wait! Stop, you're going to tear my clothes!!!"

©kitasgloves (do not steal or copy)

[avatarkv]

I ! Feels like we had matching wounds, but mine's still black and bruised (and yours is perfectly fine now.)

✎ Synopsis ! You've been thrusted to carry the burden of the eldest after his passing.

Content & warning: Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of death and violence! Purely angst, at least for this chapter. Neteyam dies in the forest (the scene were quaritch first holds everyone hostage) I will not be following his storyline, because that's for you to take 🫵🫵🫵 buckle up.

Song: The Exit, Conan Gray.

You stay with the ikrans. 

Neteyam stepped forward without hesitation, stomach in knots with anxiety. “Father, I’m a warrior. I’m supposed to fight.” 

“I need you here,” he cut through his attempt to follow, nostrils flaring and jaw locked. There was no room for negotiation with the authority that laced his tone. “I need you to listen when I say you stay here.” he jabbed his finger on his chest, sealing him stiffly on the spot. The seconds seemed to hang in the air like lead weights, and any moment lost was an opportunity for danger to strike– he could only thin his lips and sharply nod.

“I mean it, Neteyam.” 

Such a simple ask of his father could have spared him from the rage of war, but how could you not expect the eldest to fight when his very siblings were in danger? Jake should have known better than to trust the empty ‘yes sir’ off his son’s lips– a warrior born out of his own teachings. You couldn’t blame him for following suit the second his parents were out of sight and into the wild.

How did it get to this? Jake’s thoughts would drift every painful step he took further. He knew it was in Lo���ak’s nature to be so reckless, hell, he took after his father himself– but before him, Kiri, or Tuk, it was just you and Neteyam. 

He remembered feeling ecstasy tremble down his whole body when he first cradled Neteyam. The moment the olo’eyktan had presented him to the clan, carrying him for everyone to see, he couldn’t see his son himself with the unshed tears blurring his vision. A part of him was relieved that he took after his mother, thinking it would have been a handful dealing with another Jake– but perhaps it was just a ploy; a first born’s excellence that they soon yearned for another.  

Then you came, another splitting image of Neytiri. The people often mistook you and Neteyam for twins and she’d reveled in the praises you both would get. You were her first daughter— right from the ear-splitting cries you let out the moment you were out of your mother’s womb to the battle cries you had worked on earlier in years, mimicked from Neytiri herself, she always swelled in pride. Unlike the eldest’s reserved composure, you were the opposite; curious and buoyant, yet still as shy and collected. 

It was different with Jake; he was new to this— absolutely clueless and terrified. After you came, the jolt wasn’t similar to Neteyam’s;  you were also his first babygirl. He wondered if he held you correctly, if the natural strictness he had with his son was fitting for you– oh Eywa, he definitely had to relearn weaving with Neytiri. The profound hesitation when it came to you was nerve-wracking, but the way your little hand would make its way around your father’s finger every time would ease the tight crease between his eyebrows, almost like you knew his very troubles. 

You were the kindest, most sweetest child– a daddy’s girl, much to Neytiri’s complaints. 

“Neteyam, scooch!” You yelled in a whisper, trying to desperately hide yourself in thick leaves and bushes. He couldn’t stifle his little giggles either, hearts pumping wildly in anticipation of your father. “Once he comes, remember to run left, alright?” 

He nodded sharply. His face coated in mud in the guise of war paint that you drew yourself. Yours were drawn lousily, the strokes shaky and a mess. 

Fee-fi-fo-fum, he chanted thickly, growing deeper and louder every stomp! The children could see him between the gaps— hands clawed and raised, stance menacing. You can run but you can’t hide! 

Both of you shrunk in suspense, eager to best your father in playtime. 

Then it was silent. Too silent. Your ears lifted curiously, eyes scanning the area only to be greeted by your father parting the leaves and surprising you both. You squealed a run and bolted to the right. Not even a second later, you heard the own panting of your twin beside you. You stared at him incredulously, legs faltering a bit, “Neteyam, I told you to go left!”

“This is left!” 

“No, I’m right—! This is right, you skxawng!” 

Amidst your silly bickering, Jake cunningly captured Neteyam, grabbing him from the armpits and hoisting him up high into the air. You could hear your brother’s laughter growing louder as Jake blew raspberries on his stomach, pretend-eating him with loud munches– his toothless bites making the younger’s giddiness double in size. You shrieked and sprinted faster, making a beeline to a different direction. This monster’s more unmerciful than you thought! With a determined look, you stopped behind a tree. I have to save Neteyam!

“One down and another to go!” You heard your father roar again, your brother giggling as he trailed along his heavy steps. 

You threw a rock as hard as you can, shifting Jake’s attention to the noise, and before he knew it, you came running towards him, thick long vine in your hands as you lousily tied it around your father’s ankles. Neteyam shouts in victory, trying to tighten the bind. Jake could only stifle a laugh at the scene, trying not to soil the satisfaction that was evident in your smug smile. He dropped to the floor, “Oh no! You got me!”

“Toruk Makto my ass!” You got on top of him, slapping his chest down with your little hands. Jake shouts a ‘hey’ at your language, which you only sheepishly giggled in return. Neteyam parrots from behind, still holding onto his legs. 

“We’re Toruk Makto now!” 

The memory would have easily put a smile on his face– ease his heart even a little bit, but the severity of the situation pulled him back and immediately, he was back in marine-mode, hands gripping onto the gun tightly. The moment they saw distress among the group with the green gas enveloping where his children were, they made a move.

The dreamwalkers felt a searing burn in their nostrils as the dense gas engulfed the area, the pain shooting up their visions. Your captor had a vice-like grip on you, dragging your body with him as you watched the others scramble in distress. He tugged painfully on your hair, forcing you to hiss and jab your nails into any exposed skin you could claw on. A headache throbbed at the back of your skull like an incessant drumbeat; you needed to think fast. With a sprained ankle, you knew you couldn’t get far.

Before you could even muster enough breath to scream for help, an arrow hit the avatar straight in the nape and dropped to the ground dead. You limped backwards, seeking an escape route, when suddenly someone grabbed your shoulders and pushed you against the rough tree bark. You body trembled, hitting whoever it was on their chest in an attempt to break free. But all efforts were futile as they held onto you tightly, shaking you vigorously.

“Sis, it’s me– you’re safe,” His hands traveled around your body to check for any serious wounds. The sound of his voice brought a sense of relief over you; your brother's caring demeanor enough to make you feel at ease and secure. Your face softens, “Are you hurt anywhere?” Neteyam anxiously asked, trying to get a hold of you.

“Ankle,” You exhaled, feeling the sharp pain shoot up again, “I sprained my ankle.” 

He looked around, making out a path to safety. When he manages to form a plan inside his mind, he carries you like a princess, arms securely around your waist and under your legs. Neteyam ran face-first into the battlefield, making sharp turns whenever necessary to evade any incoming bullets. With no bows or means of retaliation, you were both defenseless. You could only grab tighter as your heart hammered tightly on your throat.

“Na’vi!” Neteyam stops dead in his tracks, an expression akin to a deer caught in headlights. 

“Please, we just want to go home” Neteyam begged, his voice barely higher than a whisper. The light of the eclipse illuminated his features, and he instinctively pulled you closer to him as he took a few steps back. You could feel his exhaustion both physically and emotionally; a weariness that seemed so out of place on such a young soul. Everywhere around you was utter stillness- you couldn’t breathe, the tension in the air heavy and stifling.

“I’m sorry,” And before your brother could grab the dagger tucked to his loincloth, the avatar fired her gun towards you both as Neteyam thrashed in panic, throwing your beaten body to the side as he rolled off somewhere. The dreamwalker quickly towers over you and you could only close your eyes shut, waiting for cruel death. In a blink of an eye, her body drops dead and Lo’ak immediately rushes to your aid. 

Only then did you feel the searing pain in your leg, the sensation of a bullet wound as hot blood slowly oozed out. It was nauseating, the smell of iron and the redness of it. Your eyes widened in realization as you clung to your younger brother, “Neteyam! Did you find Neteyam?”

Lo'ak hurriedly hoisted you up and with sheer adrenaline, you limped to the other side, searching for your brother. Your eyes darted to his body, stiffly lying on the grass and breathing shallowly. You couldn't bear to look at the blood that stained his abdomen; it was a sight you wish to never see, ever.

“Oh, Neteyam,” You shakily put pressure on the bullet wound, only for him to violently grab both of your wrists and desperately claw at it. You could only scream aloud as the blood spilled out more and more as he writhed and struggled. “I know, I know, I know, I know– please, please just stay still.” Your words came out as a disgusting croaking slur, tears unable to keep themselves at bay. 

“__, I don’t want to die yet.” He cried out as you tried to keep your hold firm, “Father—father had asked me to stay, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stay there and wait. I.. I don’t want to see his face when he realizes I didn’t listen-- that I failed him again. __ save me, please.”

He said hurriedly, breathing heavily every word. Save Neteyam, save Neteyam.

His jaw clenched violently, spit bubbling the corners of his mouth as he grabbed onto you tightly. The noises he let out had tugged on your every heart string, snapping it over and over. He struggled in your arms, pupils blown wide and teary. “Please great mother, not my brother, not like this– Lo’ak help me!” Your head sharply turned to his unmoving figure, eyes darted to you and Neteyam. You cradled him close, not minding the crimson cot coating your own body.

You were unable to think and you had your own wounds that needed to be tended to, but you couldn’t be bothered to put him down– to accept his already fleeting breath would soon be none. You kissed his temple, rocking his body. “I’m here, I’m here Neteyam.”

“I don’t want to die,” his eyes averted to the incoming figure behind you and he drew a harsher inhale. your father had pushed you aside to aid Neteyam, immediately checking for an exit wound. He was met with a loud cry, squirming uncontrollably from Jake’s sharp movements. When he saw blood gushing out the same on the back, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he let out a sob.

Jake put pressure on it nonetheless. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” His words slurred together desperately, reducing to nothing but whimpers. Your lungs deny you of any more air as you watched him struggle— even in the brink of death, he had the need to apologize. Apologize for things that wasn’t even his fault, for things that was beyond his control. You kneeled just behind your father, gaze moving between Neteyam’s body and your bloodied palms. “I’m s-sorry, please don’t be mad.”

How he addressed Jake had only weakened his already beaten heart. “Save your breath, son, please.”

Everything seems to remain still for a minute, then came the shriek of your mother. You stayed there, almost lifeless yourself. You didn’t wanna see; didn’t wanna see how Neteyam’s body is limp under your father’s hold— how his eyes falls crestfallen and void of any emotion. Your siblings watch as Neytiri litters her first born with kisses, how she embraces every skin she can touch closer to her. “Not my son, eywa please.”

Eywa had granted him rest in its worst kind.

–

When he died, the same bullets went through you and it remained situated there, gnawing your insides and pounding it to mush, eating everything it can and rotting your entirety to an ugly void of a shell. It was getting heavier; his body soundly resting above the delicately woven cloth, carried by his mourning family. You could feel your feet sinking down the very soil you stepped on and you visibly faltered every move. 

His cold hand gripping tightly around your wrist, his blood drawn between the lines of your palms— your soul was left to relive that night in a loop, scream bellowing until nothing was let out but breathy weeps of what was left of you. 

It was bound to happen; death loomed and you dare played with it nonetheless. You should have known better than to let Lo'ak wander, let alone join him.

You stopped walking, changing everyone's solemn looks to a confused one. “Father, I can’t do it.” You whispered.

He remained tight-lipped, staring at you solidly that you could hardly decipher his expression. Jake was never one for emotions; it was as if he was programmed to tuck everything that made him feel under a gun's trigger– it was the soldier in him, finding it easier to be calm with a weapon nearby, but right now he was absolutely defenseless; stripped bare and vulnerable and he hated every moment of it; resented the fact that he failed protecting everyone, not just as clan leader, but as a father too. The latter weighed more than anything else. It dulled him to dysfunction and he could barely breathe– could barely recognize his daughter in front of him.

You took his stare differently, a cold-shoulder. Before Neytiri could approach your figure, you ran; away from the voices and guilt, away from him. Neteyam’s blood burns brightly on your very hands and you’ve swallowed down the blame, forever residing within you. 

You buried something so alive and you feared it would never let you rest.

☆ mauve here! i now introduce a new series of mine that i am so excited to work on. (i know i said i'd be inactive, but i couldn't help but finish this one draft) neteyam's dying scene is heavily inspired by the game, the last of us! this feels rushed, but i needed an opening to start the series so rest assured, there would be lengthier pieces after. criticisms are welcome. feel free to point out any mistakes. mauve out >:]

Tags: @aonungsmate ♡

© avatarkv, do not repost.

[bloodlust-1]

.·:*¨ Night Affairs ¨*:·.

Astarion x fem Tav — Explicit 18+

Summary: Oops! Tav accidentally ate a mushroom that causes her to completely lose her mind. Astarion finds her in this state and enjoy each other’s company, A little too much.

T/W: smut!

Notes: this is Pre- Astarion telling Tav his feelings for her. Also, this takes place in the under dark! Happy reading~

Tav’s body felt a subtle change that began to take hold on her. At first, she felt a gentle warmth spreading through her veins, accompanied by a tingling sensation that danced across her skin. Colors seemed to intensify, becoming more vivid and vibrant with every passing moment. Gods, she was feeling the consequences of mistaking a mushroom for something safely edible. Damn it, these mushrooms in the under dark are all confusing to her. How was she supposed to know it’d make her delusional?

It was already time for everyone to settle in their tents. Tav would have been trying to catch some Z’s like everyone else, but As time passed, Tav’s perception of reality became distorted. The world around her transformed into a kaleidoscope of swirling patterns and shifting shapes. Sounds became amplified, echoing through her ears with an otherworldly clarity. Her senses were heightened to an extraordinary degree.

She wondered outside her tent, away from the camp unknowingly, and stumbled her way around the underdark. It was beautiful with its luminous plants of all kinds. Tav’s thoughts took on a dreamlike quality as her mind wandered through uncharted territories. She experienced a profound sense of euphoria and introspection, as if she had been granted access to hidden realms of consciousness. Time lost its meaning as minutes stretched into hours and hours into what felt like an eternity.

From a short distance sat Astarion, admiring the access he had to life again. He wouldn’t admit it, but he loved the adventure away from home no matter how much he missed Baldurs Gate. He was in deep thought about his situation until he heard dragging noises. He reached for his knife as he saw Tav, clumsily dragging her feet around. Her eyes were widened, almost sparkling from reflections from all the glow of the mushrooms. There was definitely something off about her.

Tav's eyes caught Astarion, by his lonesome in deep thought. She noticed his odd stare at her, "Oooh, Astarion! My favorite person in camp. Isn't it soOooOoo beautiful tonight?" She drunkenly plopped her body onto the ground, now sitting next to him.

Astarion's eyebrows crocked, and he noticed her pupils were dilated. "Oh dear, I see what's going on here. What did you eat?"

In this altered state, Tav's emotions fluctuated wildly. Waves of laughter washed over her as she found humor in the simplest things. Tears welled up in her eyes, not from sadness but from an overwhelming sense of beauty and interconnectedness with the world around her. "I didn't knoooow, please don't be mad at me. I just want to see the pretty plants tonight." Tav wiped away her unjustified tears, her mind was going insane. She could only cling to what little hold she had on reality.

Astarion tilted his head and stared at her. He was unable to take his eyes off her, often staring directly into her eyes or admiring her physical features. He adjusted his posture to face her. Admittingly, Astarion was already catching feelings for Tav the night they indulged in each other's bodies. It was just a part of his plan to manipulate her, something he knew how to do all too well. He just didn't expect to enjoy himself more than usual. It actually felt— good?

Astarion cleared his throat, "You must be losing your fucking mind. I bet anything we talk about now you won't even remember by tomorrow."

Tav slouched her head on his shoulder, her body twitching every so often, "I reaallyy don't want this to end. I lovE traveling w-with you guys, so much fun. I'm scared to go back home..." She spoke with slurs and all kinds of messiness. However, due to the fault of the mushroom she ate, the truth comes spilling out of her mouth uncontrollably.

Astarion perked up, "Scared? Darling what in the hells do you have to be scared of?" It wasn't like she had Cazador hovering over her shoulder. She couldn't possibly feel what he felt.

Tav's face ingrained with sadness. She clutched her trembling hands together, trying to steady herself. The fear that gripped her was suffocating, threatening to consume her entirely and the high didn't help her cope either. Home for her was anywhere but home. She wanted to run as far away as possible from this place that held nothing but darkness for her. "It's hard t-to talk about...You know that feeling that power someone has over you. It's hard to escape something that happened for soooo loonnngg." She rubbed her wide tired eyes. The area around her started to feel like it was melting with colors.

Astarion furrowed his brows, oddly, yes, he knew that feeling. But why did she know that feeling, "I do. But why—“

Tav cut Astarion off quickly, "I LOVE making bread. I have a hidden talent for it...Although now it isn't a secret anymore, so now you know." Tav cracked up a laugh, the little random bursts of confessions entertained her. It was hilarious to her. For no reason of course other than the mushroom effect.

"Uhh, right..." Astarion chuckled softly. She's ridiculous. It's actually entertaining to him how obliviously out of her mind she was. This was great blackmail fuel, or perhaps something he could poke fun at her for.

"Y-you are my favorite camp friend." She smiled goofily.

"Friend? What about our late-night tryst, Did you not enjoy yourself?" Astarion felt offended at her comment. Favorite, sure, but friend? This 'friend' comment did not fit into his plans. Although, lately he has been catching himself smiling at Tav more. He started to notice himself staring at her longer, maybe even lustfully? His heart raced whenever she got close to him, this was unfamiliar territory for Astarion. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "Would it make you happy to try again?"

"Oh! Yes, yes. Something in me tells me that'd make me very happy. But hold on! You dont reallyyy mean that do you?" Tav leaned away from him, and crossed her arms doubtfully.

"I— actually don't know. It doesn't really matter what I say now, you'll wake up tomorrow with not a zero clue." His mind wondered. Even if he confessed maybe having feelings for her, she would be oblivious. But it could also be a good moment to test the waters. If Astarion got a bad reaction from Tav, she'd forget all about it the next day. This could be an advantage for him.

"What if I told you you're incredible? That my plan to easily course you didn't work. That my master plan fell apart and every little thing we did together felt— meaningful…That in the midst of this mess I actually find myself caring for you?" He softly pushes away a strand of hair that swayed over Tav's face. His heart started to race to see her reaction.

To his surprise, Tav fell quiet and stared up at him. Her face flushed red and her eyes went a little watery. "You do..?" She spoke softly. Her breathing became heavy. Tav went and wrapped her arms around him in a warm and comforting embrace. The world around them seemed to fade away as they held each other tightly.

At that moment, all of Astarion's doubts melted away as he felt genuine affection and acceptance from Tav. He couldn’t believe that she reciprocated his feelings, and it filled him with an overwhelming sense of joy and relief. As they sat there embracing each other, time seemed to stand still.

The hug spoke volumes without the need for words. It conveyed a deep connection between them, finally acknowledging their feelings for each other. It was a moment of vulnerability and trust, where they could let down their guards and allow themselves to be open to the possibility of love. After all, Tav was Astarion's first consensual sex affair where he didn't worry about Cazador. He could not ever imagine taking her to him. She actually made Astarion feel love. This made him only want to protect her from any harm.

"I promise I'll make this sound better when you're not out of your damn mind." Astarion held her close. It was such a refreshing feeling to love someone instead of loathing someone. He felt the heat of his cheeks flush, and Tav tugged on his sleeve.

"C-Can I kiss you, Astarion?" The way she looked at him with those eyes of hers. Big, full of lust. He saw this same look the night they had sex.

He chuckled cockily, "You couldn't help yourself? I would like that." No one ever asked for his permission, it was admired greatly by him. His lips covered hers in a swift motion, and a soft smooch was placed on her lower lip. Her skin was so warm compared to his, and it only made him yearn more for that warmth.

There they were, in an atmosphere lushed with glowing plants as they held each other tightly in its nature. They kissed each other until it got sloppy, their breaths going in haste. Astarion pushed his body over hers, forcing her back onto the soft moss.

Astarion gazed down at Tav. It took him back to that night, how beautiful she looked under the moonlight, and how beautiful she still looked now. He felt lucky to have met such a beauty, she had a charm he only saw from royalty. The kind that has people swooning over her hand, begging to make her their beloved. Not many people could say they bestowed these kinds of looks.

"Astarion?" a whisper left her lips, cutely yet— begging. Her eyes averted from his and she felt her body tense. No mushroom could mask her lust for Astarion's touch, it was written all over her face. Her little trembles of excitement gave it away.

"Just say the words, love. You know I can give you all the pleasures, Your wish is my command." His hands traveled up and down her thigh, caressing her skin tenderly.

Tav nodded as a shiver ran up her spine from his touch. She spoke with a soft tone, one that begged for him tenderly, "I need your touch."

"As do I." He hovered over her small stature, placing his lips gently on hers. A soft kiss it was. It was different from their last kiss because that one was just lust. This kiss had a heart in it, so naturally it felt so much better. Especially when the warmth of her blood heated his cold lips.

Astarion shut his eyes tightly, and a tingle ran up his spine. The passion from the kiss scrambled his mind because why did love feel this good? Love never felt good. Cazador claimed all of his spawns were a family, something to love. That was no love. But Tav, however, felt completely different. Even regular sex felt amazing, which was also just bland for him.

Astarion kissed her lips until they couldn't no more. Both gasped for air as their adrenaline ran threw their bodies. Astarion's shaft pushed hard into the seam of his pants, and it poked her inner thigh. He then adjusted himself so that he wasn't poking at Tav anymore.

"I want to save that for later, my dear. A day when you can wake up and remember it. So you can come to me in the morning with flushed cheeks and a racing heart." Astarion didn't want to sour a moment where he could make love and not just have sex. He'd rather wait for Tav to be completely aware of herself.

Tav nodded in agreement. Her body felt like she was floating on a cloud. Her high still clouded her mind, and her body still yearned for him. "Could you suppose still spoil me...?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Cheeky aren't we?" His hand raced down her curves, exploring the warmth of her skin, "I suppose I can, pet." Without a thought, Astarion swiftly tugged down Tav's pants. He pulled her legs apart so that her core was to full access to him.

His lips planted kisses all over her neck. The heat of his rough breaths hit Tav's skin, causing her goosebumps to crawl all over. All the while Astarion's hand was caressing over her folds. His fingers moistened as it stroked over her slit. Tav let out small moans as his fingers rubbed her clit. His motions were skilled, almost like a second nature to him.

“M-mphh…” Tav clutched onto the cloth of his shirt. His kisses grazed over her neck tenderly, and he nibbled on the lobe of her ear, “How does that feel?” He spoke in a breathy tone.

“Amazing.” She purred. Her legs twitched from Astarion’s touch. She became sensitive and more wet as he circled around her clit. He seemed pleased with the performance Tav was giving, the moans were a validation for him. But he wanted feel more of her.

With two fingers, he slipped it into her entrance. Tav gasped out of pleasure, the feeling was all too much and she spreader her legs more for him. He bucked his hand in and out of her. The warmth of her walls encased around his fingers, begging for more.

Tav cupped Astarion’s face, pulling him into a kiss that was muffled between her moans. His tongue danced with hers, a sweet taste he’s been thinking about the day they first kissed. Her back arched for him more, and it was granted, a third finger slipped into her and she pulled away from the kiss. A pleasurable wince left her lips and Astarion looked at her with red piercing eyes. He enjoyed watching her crumble under him. It made him feel powerful.

Tav’s head hung back as moans and groans left her mouth like a lyric to a song only Astarion could produce. Her wet core made it easier for him to fuck her with his fingers fast and swiftly. His arm burned as it continuously fucked her, he didn’t break his motion while beads of sweat formed on his temples.

Astarion suddenly lowered his head, he kept his fingers in her, and now his tongue was over her clit. His saliva trailed down between her inner thighs as her moans grew more intense. Her hand gripped a chunk of his hair, forcing his face closer into her core.

His tongue played with her clit, rubbing it in circles as his fingers thrusted in and out of her. An intensity swelled in her lower stomach, she gripped Astarion hair tighter as her finish comes to a near.

“F-fuck! Ahh— S-starion..” her back arched more and more against his face, like a two magnets attracting each other. His steamy breath huffed against her sex, awarding him with more groans. It was absolute bliss for Astarion. It was his first time spoiling someone like this. It felt so intimate and so passionate. If this is what sex felt like with a lover, he wanted to do it over and over again.

Tav yelled out a final moan of pleasure before releasing onto Astarion’s face. His tongue dragged along her folds, licking up any wetness he could as if he was drinking blood. He kissed her moistened core, he then picked up his head from between her legs.

Astarion used the back of his hand to wipe the cum off his mouth, his eye contact was like daggers. “Mmm…That taste of yours. It’s amazing.” He wrapped his fingers around the band of her pants, and pulled them up. Cleaning her up was a love language for him. To destroy someone sexually and then cleaning up the mess he caused, it was so liberating. Especially since it was Tav.

Tav sat up, her skin moistened red on her cheeks, “you’re too good at that. Do it again.” Tav teased him. She liked to have fun with Astarion even at the most tense of times.

“Cheeky pup. You might get tired of me if I keep spoiling you like this, however I couldn’t imagine ever getting bored of that taste of yours. You’re magnificent.” His finger stroked the side of her face softly. “Shall we get some rest? You’ll be needing it tomorrow when you’re sore.”

💤

The next morning Tav woke up with an aching head and also…a soreness between her legs? She brushed off the feeling and greeted her fellow camp members. Gods was she never touching another mushroom ever again. She pretty much went blank but she remembered a faint memory of Astarion face. But, she couldn’t tell if it was a wet dream or not.

She yawned and went to stroll around the camp to chat. When she made her rounds to Astarion he flashed her a welcoming smile, waaay nicer than he usually was, “Well look who we have here. How’d you sleep my dear?”

Tav pleasantly nodded her head to his kind words. “It was strange…but much needed. How did you sleep?”

“Wonderful. I wanted to say thank you for last night. It was…an experience I won’t forget.” He clicked his tongue softly. His face was smug and he walked away from Tav, who fell silent.

Her heart dropped in her chest and it all clicked together. The soreness, the stickiness she felt in her pants, and Astarion being extra nice. A moment she had alone with him and she could barely remember what was said. Tav was mentally cursing herself in her head. She was very fond of him and honestly, she wanted to figure out their dynamic. Only Astarion could tell the tale of their late night affair, but for now, Tav wondered all about her wet dream. Or so she thought.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage !

[octuscle]

Hey I love to become Stereotypical blonde football player guy with amazing muscles and a hairy body

"Why don't you take this spring break too, darling?" "Why don't you relax after your first semester, you've been so hard-working, boy" You can't hear it anymore. After the exams, you would have loved to go to the mountains. Hiking. And explore the starry sky at night. But no, you gave in to pressure from your parents and set off for South Beach in your ancient VW Jetta. This is going to be endlessly embarrassing. You're pale, chubby, completely untrained. You're a virgin. No one has ever sucked your pathetic little cock. And you've never sucked anyone else. For your taste, it should have stayed that way. But now it's Florida. And you don't even drink alcohol.

Your father actually found a cassette entitled "Freshman's Guide to Spring Break". It's embarrassing enough that you only have a cassette player in the car. You listened to your beloved 12-tone music during the whole journey. Schönberg was a genius after your own heart. But now, just under an hour before your destination, you put the cassette in. Accompanied by hip-hop, someone speaks in a nasty slang. You can just imagine the guy Football-Jock. One of the guys who bullied you at college last year. "Yo, dude! let me tell you ha to get da hottest spring break. You'll have more sex n more fun dan you can imagine." You take a deep breath. This is going to be great… "You should start uh year in advance n get your muscles burning every day. An important motto of spring break is n remains 'sun's out, guns out'." Well bravo, then you can turn around right away. What kind of stupid advice is that an hour before you get out of the car? A little late, perhaps, to… Damn it! Your muscles are swelling. And in your head, a profound knowledge of the gym matures. Hey, the gym is your home. "Bruh, last haircut maximum three months before you go to da beach. Yes, your mommy will be sad about da messy look at christmas. But uh surfer's mane is best for da beach." You said it, dude. You think to yourself. Your hair is flapping in the wind. You love it. "N bruh, don't wash your hair two weeks before. You can smell da sweat from your football helmet in your hair." Hehehe, sure thing. Showering sucks, but washing your hair is for wimps. You love the look when you take your helmet off after the game and your sweaty hair lies wildly on your head. "My tip, dude, is that da last time you shave is two weeks before spring break. Nah one wants uh clean shaven guy on da beach. N while we're on da subject of shaving. You can shave your chest again four days before you get ta steppin. Da stubble on your mighty pecs looks hot." The traffic is getting heavier. More and more party-addicted students are clogging up the streets. You scratch your chest. Yes, the bruh with the podcast coming from the sick speakers of your powerful new car knows all about it.

"So dude, before you hit da road, one last workout. You'll have somethin other dan sport on your mind for da next few days. Nah more showers afta training n keep your training clothes on for da journey." It already smells a bit in the car. But it's the stench of youthful masculinity. Up ahead is the guesthouse where the others from your football team are staying. Some of them are already there. And obviously already drunk. The podcast said that the most important accessory in the car is the cool can of beer for the arrival. Hell yes! You park the car, get out, rip open the can, drink the beer on ex and crush the can between your forearm and biceps. Spring break is only once a year. Let the games begin!