#and that's a tag with over 4000 works in it?

[rai-knightshade-art]

"...passed down like Folk Songs, the Love lasts so... Long..."

-Taylor Swift, seven

Or,

There are ghosts in the Temple of Silence.

There are ghosts in the Temple of Silence, and you know this, because you've seen them, ever since you can remember.

You also know that no one else can see them; you know this, because you used to mention them to your elders, only to be scolded for lying and telling tales.

You stopped mentioning them pretty quickly, after that.

But that doesn't mean they aren't real.

They're real, because you can hear little feet running through the Temple halls, echoing off the stone walls, even though you're one of the youngest people still around.

They're real, because you can hear peals of laughter, bright and cheerful, even though no one really laughs here, not anymore.

They're real, because you catch glimpses of them out of the corner of your eye, a child with braids chasing another with snow-white hair.

And you know they're ghosts, because you've never seen a child with all white hair before.

"Sethos? Are you listening to me?"

You startle, quickly turning back to Bamoun from where you were staring off down the hall, the ghosts already long gone. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Grandfather; just... Thought I saw something, is all. I'm listening now, you were talking about remodeling the room of Gurabad texts, right?"

Bamoun nods in acceptance, already turning to continue your walk through the halls, but as you fall into step beside him, you can't help but think--

That, for a split second, you saw grief in his eyes.

And you wonder if, maybe, he can see the ghosts too.

"Master Cyno, can you braid my hair?"

You stare, perplexed; you've watched over Collei as a favor to Tighnari a handful of times now, but this is the first time she's ever requested anything of you.

But, she's looking up at you with big, hopeful eyes (that Tighnari will swear up and down she definitely didn't learn from him), and you can't bring yourself to deny such an earnest request.

"I've never braided hair before, but I suppose I could try."

And soon enough you find yourself, hairbrush and ties in hand, staring down at a bob of short green hair, somewhat at a loss on where to start.

So you start brushing, the one task you know well. And as one hand brushes, the other comes up to card through the forest colored strands, absentmindedly separating some out, just behind her left temple.

Soon you're separating and weaving, a small braid slowly coming to life without even realizing it. It's a little uneven, the sections not quite divided right, but it's far better than most first attempts.

And when you're most of the way through with that one, your other hand starts pulling together a matching braid on the right, until, eventually, you're staring down at two braids, wrapping across the crown of Collei's head, criss-crossing in the center, and continuing just a little further down on either side until they're tied off. They bounce as Collei moves.

Silently, you hand her a mirror. "Wow, Master Cyno! You're a natural! I'm gonna go show 'Nari!"

You watch her run towards the door, a blur of green, her violet eyes flashing as she turns back to wave at you--

--and yet, for a split second, you see someone else in her place, brown curls dipped in white bouncing, a pair of green, green eyes shining with mirth--

--but then, the moment ends, and all you see is Collei, bounding out the door.

And you're left staring down at your hands, and yet, not really seeing them at all.

She said you were a "natural", and you-- you desperately want to believe that.

And yet.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, somewhere within the emptiness that exists where you know, with absolute certainty, that your memories from before you were seven* years old should be...

...a cold feeling of knowing starts to grow.

Talent had nothing to do with it--your hands have braided hair before. Many times, in fact; enough to make it muscle memory, almost as easy as breathing--

--and you have no idea how you know that.

(And your hair's always been white... Hasn't it?)

*we don't have any canon ages for how old Sethos and Cyno are now, nor what age they were when the Ba Fragments were implanted and Cyrus left with Cyno, other than the photos of young Cyno from Cyrus, where he could be any age between 5-10ish. The number 7 was chosen for thematic parallels with the song

[tevintersnakes]

there we go, some quick sketches so there is something in my art folder for this month

[jamingbenn]

year in review - hockey rpf on ao3

hello!! the annual ao3 year in review had some friends and i thinking - wouldn't it be cool if we had a hockey rpf specific version of that. so i went ahead and collated the data below!!

i start with a broad overview, then dive deeper into the 3 most popular ships this year (with one bonus!)

if any images appear blurry, click on them to expand and they should become clear!

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before we jump in, some key things to highlight: - CREDIT TO: the webscraping part of my code heavily utilized the ao3 wrapped google colab code, as lovingly created by @kyucultures on twitter, as the main skeleton. i tweaked a couple of things but having it as a reference saved me a LOT of time and effort as a first time web scraper!!! thank you stranger <3 - please do NOT, under ANY circumstances, share any part of this collation on any other website. please do not screenshot or repost to twitter, tiktok, or any other public social platform. thank u!!! T_T - but do feel free to send requests to my inbox! if you want more info on a specific ship, tag, or you have a cool idea or wanna see a correlation between two variables, reach out and i should be able to take a look. if you want to take a deeper dive into a specific trope not mentioned here/chapter count/word counts/fic tags/ship tags/ratings/etc, shoot me an ask!

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with that all said and done... let's dive into hockey_rpf_2024_wrapped_insanity.ipynb

BIG PICTURE OVERVIEW

i scraped a total of 4266 fanfics that dated themselves as published or finished in the year 2024. of these 4000 odd fanfics, the most popular ships were:

Note: "Minor or Background Relationship(s)" clocked in at #9 with 91 fics, but I removed it as it was always a secondary tag and added no information to the chart. I did not discern between primary ship and secondary ship(s) either!

breaking down the 5 most popular ships over the course of the year, we see:

super interesting to see that HUGE jump for mattdrai in june/july for the stanley cup final. the general lull in the offseason is cool to see as well.

as for the most popular tags in all 2024 hockey rpf fic...

weee like our fluff. and our established relationships. and a little H/C never hurt no one.

i got curious here about which AUs were the most popular, so i filtered down for that. note that i only regex'd for tags that specifically start with "Alternate Universe - ", so A/B/O and some other stuff won't appear here!

idk it was cool to me.

also, here's a quick breakdown of the ratings % for works this year:

and as for the word counts, i pulled up a box plot of the top 20 most popular ships to see how the fic length distribution differed amongst ships:

mattdrai-ers you have some DEDICATION omg. respect

now for the ship by ship break down!!

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#1 MATTDRAI

most popular ship this year. peaked in june/july with the scf. so what do u people like to write about?

fun fun fun. i love that the scf is tagged there like yes actually she is also a main character

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#2 SIDGENO

(my babies) top tags for this ship are:

folks, we are a/b/o fiends and we cannot lie. thank you to all the selfless authors for feeding us good a/b/o fic this year. i hope to join your ranks soon.

(also: MPREG. omega sidney crosby. alpha geno. listen, the people have spoken, and like, i am listening.)

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#3 NICOJACK

top tags!!

it seems nice and cozy over there... room for one more?

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BONUS: JDTZ.

i wasnt gonna plot this but @marcandreyuri asked me if i could take a look and the results are so compelling i must include it. are yall ok. do u need a hug

top tags being h/c, angst, angst, TRADES, pining, open endings... T_T katie said its a "torture vortex" and i must concurr

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BONUS BONUS: ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA

as an a/b/o enthusiast myself i got curious as to what the most popular ships were within that tag. if you want me to take a look about this for any other tag lmk, but for a/b/o, as expected, SID GENO ON TOP BABY!:

thats all for now!!! if you have anything else you are interested in seeing the data for, send me an ask and i'll see if i can get it to ya!

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔖𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔞 𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔭

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: now that you’re finally reunited together at the lodge, you help Mike patching up his left hand after what he went through at the sanatorium. He shows his appreciation the only way he knows how: by wrecking you completely.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Established relationship. Taking care of Mike. Some gore details but nothing too explicit. Make out session. Dirty talk. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Dom Mike Munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 4000

You traced your fingers over the worn cover of the book the stranger had left behind along with many other things. It smelled of old paper and smoke, something that had been carried through decades of harsh winters and open flames.

Chris had gone with him.

Brave, loyal, stupid Chris.

You respected the hell out of him for it, but you doubted you could have done what he was currently doing. Not after what Josh had done to you. The sheer fucking terror of that night as you ran through the snow until your lungs burned, your hands raw from clawing through ice and tree bark, the weight of exhaustion dragging at your legs.

If Mike hadn't found you when he did, if he hadn't stripped off his own jacket, wrapped his arms around you and dragged you back to warmth, hypothermia would have turned you into just another body on this goddamn mountain.

You swallowed hard, running a hand through your hair, trying not to let the worry consume you, thumbing the book's edge.

"Hey," a familiar voice murmured, low and soft.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, a solid and comforting weight pressing against your back. Warm lips brushed your cheek, the scrape of stubble a slow, pleasant scratch against your skin. He smelled like sweat and smoke, the faintest trace of cologne that had long since faded but still clung to him.

Mike’s head settled on your shoulder like it belonged there. "Whatcha lookin' at, babe?" he murmured, voice rough but quiet.

You felt yourself lean back against him instinctively, seeking out his warmth. His arms tightened around you, solid, protective, the heat of him seeping through your layers of clothing.

"That man’s book," you murmured. "Might be a diary or something. There's a lot of stuff about those wendigos."

Mike made a soft sound that was meant to allude acknowledgment, but he wasn’t really paying attention. You could feel how distracted he was, his hold on you heavier, his thumbs brushing absentminded circles over your hips.

"You're warm," you mumbled, letting your fingers slide over the book's worn edges.

"Mm." Mike nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. "You're still freezing."

You let yourself close your eyes for a second, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Then he hissed.

Your eyes snapped open.

"Mike?"

"S'nothin," he muttered.

You twisted in his hold, looking down. His left hand, wrapped haphazardly in cloth, speckled with new droplets of fresh blood, the skin around the edges darkening with a sickly yellow hue.

Your stomach lurched.

"Mike," you said again, this time sharper. You reached for his hand and he winced as your fingers curled around his left wrist.

"Babe, seriously, it's—"

"How long has it been hurting?"

He hesitated.

"... Dunno."

"Mike."

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing at the back of his neck with his good hand. His jaw worked, lips parting like he was about to brush it off again, but you weren't in the mood for his bullshit. He'd lost fingers, had barely any supplies to clean or dress the wound, and now he was just acting like it was nothing? No. Fuck no.

You grabbed his wrist, turned on your heel, and dragged him toward the stairs.

"You're getting this checked out."

"I am checked out."

"Not what I meant, and you know it."

Mike was taller and definitely stronger but didn't apply any resistance. He let you haul him up the stairs, grumbling the whole way even as you ignored every attempt at reassurance he threw your way.

When you reached the bathroom, you shoved open the door, flicked on the dim light, and pushed him inside.

"Sit," you ordered, gesturing to the edge of the tub.

Mike gave you a look, somewhere between amused and exasperated, but he sat. "So bossy," he muttered.

You crossed your arms, eyeing the way he was cradling it. "I don't get why you're acting like this is nothing."

Mike exhaled through his nose, glancing away briefly before looking back at you. "It's not nothing, it just hurts, yeah, but I'll live. You don't have to—"

"I do have to," you cut in sharply, dropping to your knees in front of the cabinet. "Because if I don't, you won't."

Mike let out a sigh of annoyance, legs spread lazily, one arm draped over his knee. "Are you always this rough with your patients, doc?"

You ignored him, kneeling to rummage through the cabinets, tossing aside spent candle stubs and old toiletries in search of medical supplies.

Behind you, there was a beat of silence. Then a low, appreciative hum.

Slowly, you turned your head just enough to catch the way he was leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes raking over you with a lazy and warm smirk.

He was checking you out. You put yourself literally on your knees in front of him, though. What was there to expect from him?

You pulled out all the supplies that you needed, taking a steadying breath before finally turning back to him. His eyes flickered down to your lips so fast you almost missed it, but you caught the way he licked his own right after.

Focus.

You huffed, shaking your head, but your pulse was already picking up, skin burning under his attention. He was hurt, but that didn't stop him from watching you like he wanted to drag you right into his lap.

The cloth Mike had wrapped around his hand at the sanatorium was stiff with dried blood, its edges dark and crusted where it had fused to his skin. As you carefully took his wrist in your hands, you could feel the faint tremor in his fingers, the way tension rolled through his muscles.

"Alright," you murmured, voice steady but quiet. "I'm gonna take this off, okay? Might sting a little."

Mike let out a huff, trying for nonchalance. " 'M not a baby, doc. Do your worst."

The moment you started peeling the fabric away, he sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching so tight that the muscle twitches beneath his skin.

The cloth resisted at first, sticking where dried blood had hardened over raw tissue. You worked slowly, peeling inch by inch, watching as fresh beads of dark crimson welled up in places where the wound had begun to heal over.

Mike inhaled sharply through his nose. His free hand gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

The cloth clung like a second skin.

Dried blood, thick and dark, had cemented it to the raw, exposed tissue beneath, and as you worked slow, methodical, careful not to rip too hard, Mike's body tensed, muscles coiling beneath your hands. His jaw was locked tight, breath a little too controlled, like he was forcing himself not to react.

The fabric resisted, the edges fused to the cuts where his fingers had been, and with every slow pull, fresh beads of crimson welled up, tracing thin, sluggish lines down his palm. His breath stuttered once when you reached the worst of it, the exposed ends of his two amputated fingers, swollen and dark, the skin around them an angry mix of purple bruises and sickly yellow where trauma had already started its slow decay.

Mike turned his head, like he didn't want to see. For a guy who'd hacked off his own fingers with a rusty machete, he looked pale.

"Not fully clotted," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "Need to clean this before it gets infected. Still think this is nothing?"

Mike made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Looks badass, though, right?"

You didn't answer, just reached for the antiseptic.

The second the cool sting soaked into the torn flesh, Mike jerked.

"Motherfucker—!" His head knocked back against the bathroom wall, his whole body going rigid. His free hand, the one not currently being brutalized, gripped his thigh so hard you swore you heard the fabric strain.

"You could warn a guy before going in dry," he gritted out.

You smirked. "That sounded suggestive."

Mike cracked one eye open. "And you didn't deny it."

"Would it make you shut up if I did?"

His grin was wicked. "Absolutely not."

You sighed but didn't fight it. If he wanted to talk his way through the pain, you'd let him.

Still, when you pressed a little too hard near the exposed bone, his breath hitched sharply, his amusement faltering for half a second.

"If you wanted to hold my hand this bad, you coulda just said so" he rasped, cracking an eye open.

You scoffed, fingers tightening slightly around his wrist. "Yeah, real romantic. Holding the bloody stump where your fingers used to be."

Mike smirked. "Hey, don't kinkshame."

You groaned in annoyance and he grinned, even as another sharp inhale betrayed the pain lancing through his hand. "Seriously, though. You're really good with your hands, babe. Ever consider nursing?"

"I am considering strangling you," you muttered, reaching for fresh gauze.

Mike exhaled a laugh before leaning in up close to your face.

The movement was so casual and natural that it caught you off guard. One second he was watching you and the next his face was too close, his breath warm against your cheek as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek. His light beard scratched and heat curled under your skin, a slow, involuntary reaction that made your fingers tighten against his forearm.

Your jaw clenched. "Mike—"

He hummed. "Mmh?"

"You're bleeding."

"Uh-huh." He grinned, smug and lazy and when you adjusted your grip on his wrist, he made a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat just to mess with you.

"Jesus Christ, Mike."

"What? I'm just appreciating my hot, talented and very caring boyfriend for patching me up."

You pulled the bandage too tight just to make him hiss in pain.

Mike grinned through clenched teeth. "Fuck—okay, point taken."

"Finally."

Mike chuckled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

His fingers twitched again. His hand curled slightly, as if testing, as if waiting for something that wasn't there anymore.

You hesitated for only a second before tightening the last wrap around his palm. "Gonna feel different for a while," you said, keeping your tone light, casual. "Your grip, I mean."

Mike snorted. "Shit, you think? I just lost two fingers, babe."

His usual sarcasm was there, but something about the way he said it felt different.

You taped the gauze in place, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Mike had survived everything tonight. He had fought through it all with nothing but adrenaline, sheer luck, and that reckless defiance that had always defined him. But now that he was sitting still, now that the worst of the pain was fading into a dull, pulsing throb...

Now, he had time to think.

And it was hitting him.

His fingers were gone.

Forever.

He wasn't going to wake up tomorrow and have them back. This wasn't just some temporary wound that would heal with time.

It was permanent.

He flexed his remaining fingers absently, as if testing his grip, his jaw tight.

"Feels... weird," he muttered, almost absentmindedly. “Think I'll still be able to hold a beer?"

He was joking but there was something off in the way he said it.

You looked at him, really looked at him. The tension in his shoulders. The faint, forced edge to his grin.

He was thinking about more than beer.

His fingers. His hand. The permanence of it. How people might look at him and how much harder things were gonna be now.

You finished wrapping his hand, smoothing the last bit of gauze in place with a final, deliberate touch. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold.

Leaning back on your heels, you exhaled, shaking your head. "Guess I'm the one who has to handle all the hard stuff now."

Mike blinked.

For the first time all night, he was speechless.

"... You flirting with me, doc?"

You shrugged. "Just making an observation."

Mike let out another laugh, but this time it was real. His shoulders relaxed, the tension bleeding out of him just a little.

His grin was real this time.

“Don't even start, man. If anyone's gonna be handling shit, it's still gonna be me."

You lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah? Kinda hard to do that when you're down a couple fingers."

His smirk sharpened, eyes dark and dangerous, flicked up to yours and something in the air shifted as he leaned closer, his lips just a breath from yours.

"Also, real talk—what if I can't give proper back rubs anymore?" He leaned in even closer, voice dipping into a low murmur. "Or, y'know... other things?"

You shoved his shoulder, feeling your face heat up instantly. "Jesus, Mike."

"What?" He grinned, smug as ever. "This is serious. I had skills, babe. Top-tier skills."

You rolled your eyes. "You still have a perfectly functional hand."

Mike smirked. "Yeah, but both were better."

"Oh my God."

"You're picturing it now, aren't you?"

You let out a frustrated, flustered noise, turning away. "I'm leaving."

Mike laughed, low and rich and tugged you back toward him before you could escape. "No, no, no. C'mere."

You stumbled, landing right between his legs, hands instinctively pressing against his chest.

His teeth grazed your jaw, voice dipping into a low, teasing growl. "You worried I can't fuck you properly anymore? You really think losing a couple fingers is gonna stop me from wrecking you?"

A sharp, involuntary shudder ran through you. You gritted your teeth. "I was worried about your hand, you asshole."

Mike grinned, lazy and wolfish, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. His good hand slid along your thigh to make your muscles tighten beneath his touch.

Your throat went dry.

Mike leaned in, pressing close, his body heat sinking into yours. His lips ghosted over your jaw, his breath hot as he murmured, "Keep up that attitude, babe. We’ll see if you keep acting like this when I spread you open and make you beg.”

Fuck.

You barely had a second to process before his lips crashed into yours.

A mess of teeth and heat and sheer desperation. You gasped, barely able to keep up and Mike took the opportunity, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned it. His grip on you tightened, fingers digging in like he was staking a claim, like he needed to feel you against him.

Your hands shot up to his chest, gripping at his shirt, and fuck, he was solid, hot, broad, so damn strong even now. Then his hand dropped lower, sliding down your back, curving over your ass in a slow, possessive squeeze that made heat bolt straight to your core.

"Fuck—“

Mike hummed in approval, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip before he bit down. "That's it."

His arms tightened around you and you barely had time to register that he'd lifted you before his body slotted between your legs, pressing firmly against you.

A single, quiet grunt slipped through his teeth as he moved so quick despite the way his injured hand should've made it difficult.

"Mike—"

"You worried about my hand? Babe, I could still fuck you stupid with one hand tied behind my back," he muttered, his mouth already on your throat, his hands gripping you tight, controlling the pace.

Heat spiked through your veins.

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging him closer and Mike groaned. A low, deep sound that sent a thrill straight down your spine. Your nails bit into his shoulders, head knocking back as his mouth moved, claiming every inch of exposed skin.

His grip on your jaw tightened, angling your face exactly how he wanted, his thumb swiping rough over your cheekbone before he was on you again. Kissing you deeper, hand sliding down your back, fingers curling at the base of your spine before dropping lower, gripping at your waist to pull you against him.

His head spun with the warmth of your mouth, how your body molded so easily to his and the quiet, breathy noise you made.

He groaned into your mouth, fingers flexing to get a better grip on you, to take more. Because right now, the only thing he wanted to think about was you.

His perfect, hot as fuck boyfriend.

The taste of dried blood clung to your tongue as Mike kissed you. His lips were chapped, rough from the cold and when you pressed harder against him, his teeth scraped yours, a sharp, desperate clash that sent fire straight to your gut. The scrape of his stubble against your skin was maddening, dragging a raw burn down your jaw as he moved from your lips to your neck, breathing you in like he couldn't get enough. His hands gripped your waist tight, fingers digging in with bruising force, like he was trying to brand himself into you.

Your legs tightened around his waist, holding him flush against you and he groaned into your throat, the sound low and rough as his teeth, sharp and claiming, bit down.

"Shit—Mike," you gasped.

He just chuckled against your pulse, hot breath sending a shiver racing down your spine. "Yeah, sweetheart?" His voice was thick with amusement, but when he pulled back to look at you, his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, hunger etched into every line of his face.

He swallowed your next breath in another kiss, deeper this time, tongue pushing past your lips. His injured hand stayed at your waist, firm and grounding, while his good hand slid lower, rough fingers finding the buckle of your belt.

You barely had time to react before he flicked it open in one practiced motion, dragging your pants down enough to expose you to the cool air. A sharp shiver shot through you at the contrast, your skin burning hot from his touch and freezing from the exposure.

"Fuck, babe. You're already hard?" he murmured, voice drenched in heat.

You could barely bite back the whimper that threatened to escape when his fingers wrapped around you, his grip firm but teasing, dragging slow strokes up and down your length.

He sounded entirely too pleased with himself, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, then lower, nipping and sucking marks into your throat as he kept working you over with slow, torturous strokes.

Your breathing came ragged, uneven, and you barely registered when his fingers left you until they were lower, pressing against your entrance.

A sharp inhale shot through you as he teased the tip of one finger inside. It wasn't enough.

"Relax," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, "Lemme take care of you."

The second finger pushed in, scissoring you open and you clenched around him, a choked sound escaping your throat. Mike groaned, his hips pressing forward, letting you feel just how hard he was through his jeans.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice wrecked. "So tight, even after all the times I've fucked you open like this." His lips dragged over your throat, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

You couldn't answer. Not when his fingers were fucking you open with precise, practiced motions. His pace quickened, pushing deeper, stretching you until it burned, but you wanted more, needed more.

"Please," you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper.

Mike chuckled, the sound low and dark. "Please what, sweetheart?"

You groaned, nails digging into his back. "Fuck me, Mike."

That was all it took.

He withdrew his fingers abruptly, making you whimper at the loss, but then he was undoing his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free himself. You barely got the chance to breathe before he was pressing against you, the thick heat of him nudging your entrance.

You tensed, fingers gripping his shoulders, breath catching in your throat.

Mike leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. "Breathe," he murmured, "I got you."

Then he pushed in, stretching you wide around him even further than his fingers had already done. The burn was sharp, overwhelming, but fuck, the feeling of him filling you up, stretching you to your limit, was everything.

Your jaw clenched, a shuddering gasp escaping as he bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours.

Mike groaned, his head falling against your shoulder. "Jesus fuck," he gritted out, his fingers digging into your thighs. "Always so fuckin' tight for me."

He throbbed inside you, every inch of him stretched you open, forcing you to take every bit of him.

Then he moved.

The first thrust was slow, dragging every inch of him against you before slamming back in, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your head fell back against the mirror, teeth clenched to suppress a broken moan.

Mike grinned against your throat. "Let me hear you," he murmured,

He set a brutal pace. Each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, slamming deep, hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body tighten.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his teeth dragging over your jaw. "So good for me."

Your nails raked down his back, your body tightening around him with every deep, relentless stroke.

"Shit—" His breath hitched, his rhythm stuttering for a fraction of a second. "You're squeezing me so fuckin' tight, babe."

You barely registered your own voice, wrecked and desperate, babbling his name over and over as he fucked you open.

His good hand slid up your chest, fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump.

"You love this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your lips.

You could only nod, your hands tightening around him as his pace grew frantic, reckless. His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping against yours with desperate force.

"Close," you gasped, body tensing.

Mike groaned, his grip on your waist tightening. "Fuck yeah, come for me, sweetheart."

Then he angled his hips just right, hitting deep, and that was it.

Your orgasm hit hard, pleasure slamming through you, leaving you shaking as you clenched around him. Mike groaned at the feeling, his rhythm stuttering.

"Fuck, fuck—" His breath came in ragged gasps and then he was slamming into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat. You felt the heat of his release as he came, filling you completely, his body trembling against yours.

You both stayed there, panting, trembling, bodies locked together in the aftermath.

After a moment, Mike let out a breathy chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw.

The bathroom was a mess.

The counter was damp from where you'd been pressed against it, your clothes haphazardly tossed somewhere near the sink, and Mike, smug bastard that he was, looked deeply pleased with himself.

"You good, sweetheart?" His voice was hoarse, rough around the edges, but still dripping with that lazy, teasing confidence. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, his grin downright sinful as he glanced at you, sprawled against the counter like you'd just had the life fucked out of you, which, to be fair, you had.

He hummed, reaching for his shirt-before pausing, wincing slightly as he flexed his injured hand. It wasn't as bad as before, but you still noticed the way his jaw tensed and how he carefully curled his fingers like he was testing them.

"... Does it hurt?" you asked softly, watching him.

Mike glanced at you, blinking, like he hadn't expected the question. Then he snorted, shaking his head. "Nah. Feels fine."

"Mike."

He sighed, rolling his eyes but smiling as he lifted his hand, wiggling his remaining fingers. "Look, I can still flip people off. That's what really matters, right?"

You gave him a flat look.

Mike chuckled, stepping closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. His voice was softer now, lower. "I'm good, babe, Promise."

You let out a slow breath, still unconvinced, but before you could argue, Mike smirked again, reaching down to tug his jeans back up. "Damn. Y'know, you really are somethin' else," he mused.

You eyed him warily. "Why do I feel like I'm about to regret asking why?"

Mike grinned. "Because. You're sittin' there, lookin' all blissed out after I rocked your world, and somehow, the first thing you're worried about is my fuckin' hand."

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "I take care of my dumbass boyfriend. Sue me."

Mike let out a low chuckle, leaning in to nip at your jaw. "Yeah, yeah. You love my dumb ass."

You scoffed, swatting at his shoulder, but he caught your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm before releasing you.

"... Yeah," you admitted, voice quieter. "I do."

His smirk softened into something more genuine, his fingers curling under your chin to tilt your face up to his.

"Good," he murmured, lips brushing against yours. You smirked, brushing your thumb over his jaw.

For once, Mike didn't have a snarky reply. He just kissed you again, slow, deep and lingering before pulling back with a lazy grin.

"C'mon," he said, offering his good hand to help you up. "Let's get outta this bathroom. Chris should have come back already by now."

You laughed, taking his hand, letting him pull you to your feet.

Yeah. You were stuck with Mike Munroe.

And honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way.

[r0tting-rat]

"Little pest."

Hi Magpie!!! Gift :> Just a lil thing for a very talented someone with an incredible au. Yeah I'm a huge simp for their alien boys what about it /silly

Pairing: Alien King!Eclipse (by @sleepymagpie-draws) x Gender Neutral Reader Warning: None, maybe just a bit ooc (sorry mags) Words: 4000+ Summary: You're bored and can't sleep. Thank god you have someone to annoy to pass the time <3 Heavily inspired by this ask/art!!! Literally died when I saw it he's so beautiful. Additional tags: TouchSTARVED reader. Starved as hell. Also fluff fluff fluff so much fluff. Magpie I love him can you tell. (Reminder everyone that the reader has techincally been kidnapped, but they're pretty chill about it dw)

Who said being kidnapped by aliens is a terrifying and horrible experience? It has already been months since Sun literally grabbed you and brought you with him, and you have yet to be put on a vivisectionist's table. In fact, all you have known since then are silky sheets, soft pillows, ornate plates of fresh fruits you have never seen before, and heavy pieces of jewelry that hang down your neck and rest fresh against your sternum. You live better than you used to back on Earth, spoiled rotten by three royals every single day of your dull life, sleeping in a bed three times the size of a human one, and with countless workers ready to be summoned at your every call. Although, you have to admit that you much prefer the attention of your “captors” compared to the one of their servants, feeling like their soft touches work like a relaxing balm on your mood. 

The one of the three brothers you see less is Eclipse, and even if you can bet your money on the fact that he must be constantly busy due to his duties as a king, you can’t help but wish you could spend more time with him, craving the way he gently scratches the top of your head with his claws whenever he manages to stop by and pay you a visit.

Rolling around in the soft sheets of the bed you are resting on, looking up at the dull ceiling, you feel like a pampered and neglected pet at the same time, left to the care of strangers who refuse to speak more than quick sentences to you, covered by precious gifts from head to toe and fed with silver spoons while also being locked alone in your quarters for hours without end. 

You complain, of course. To Sun, Moon, and anyone who’s willing to swing by and listen, really. You grumble and whine; you roll on your bed and do your best attempt at puppy eyes, but all the brothers do is laugh and caress your cheeks. There are rules—they say—rules that can’t be broken, and each time they remind you, you roll your eyes. They promised you books and games to pass the time, but as you wait for the shipment from Earth to arrive, you are left with nothing. You don’t understand the language of the heavy volumes collecting dust in the bookshelves of your room, and something tells you you wouldn’t enjoy reading them even if you did.

The part of the brothers’ visits you hate the most is when you see them stand up and prepare to leave, because you know that the very moment the door closes behind them, it locks, leaving you stuck in your room for hours. There’s no real keyhole in your door, so you can only guess how it works, but from what you have gathered so far, it seems like it’s semi-automatic but opens only when you’re coming in from the outside. Listening to Sun and Moon made you realize another thing as well: their rooms seem to be close to yours—maybe even adjacent—and the thought infuriates you. So close, and yet so far! Why do they so rarely visit you if they are so close by? Do they have other places to rest? Do they sleep at all? Are the bedrooms just for show? Drowning in questions, you decide that it’s time to break some rules, and when Eclipse finally stops by to visit you after dinner, you come up with a plan. 

The alien is so tall the tip of his crown brushes over the canopy of your bed as he leans over your draped form on the bed. He rests one of his hands on top of your head, brushing your hair back, and you look up at him with a pout.

“Finally decided to pay attention to me?” you say, swatting his hand away and sitting up. You know you’re being a brat, but if they so desire to treat you as a glorified pet, then you might as well show them the reality of owning one. From under his crown, which you consider more like a helmet or mask, you hear the disappointed clicking of his mandibles that translates through your magnetic ring with a soft cooing sound.

“Oh, my pet, are you feeling neglected?” he asks, coming back to gently run his claws through your hair. He loves to do it, and you love allowing him.

“I’m bored, Eclipse.” You have no qualms about calling him by his real name, ignoring any honorific everyone around keeps suggesting to you. “I’m bored, and it’s been almost a week since your last visit.”

You shift back on the bed a little so it doesn’t seem done on purpose, and you watch as the terrifyingly huge alien climbs on the disarranged covers to follow you. He never fully enters your personal space, always keeping enough room between the two of you to keep things “formal,” in a way, but you also noticed how he likes to have you at arm’s length. Every time you are in the same room as Eclipse, one of his four arms is always touching you, resting on your head or shoulder, tilting your chin up, sometimes even running his claws from the base of your spine to the nape of your neck just to see you shiver and glare at him.

“My apologies,” he says, and his words sound sincere, “I promise the shipment will arrive shortly; you’ll have your books in no time.”

“It’s not the books that I want, though,” you reply, leaning closer, and that causes Eclipse to slightly move back, like he’s scared you might end up too close to his face. “You kidnapped me, dragged me here, then proceeded to simply ignore me.”

You weren’t being ignored, of course. You were just acting dramatic so as to get what you wanted.

“I’m sure I do not need to remind you who of the three of us is the one at fault for your presence here. As I told you already, I’m afraid I cannot bring you with me while I work, pet,” Eclipse sighs, “After we expanded on your little planet, both Sun and Moon’s responsibilities and tasks have doubled as well. It has to be said, your fellow humans are quite rowdy.”

You turn your head away, pretending to look saddened by the news—nothing you hadn’t expected, of course, but still.

“Also, the thought of you roaming these halls alone makes us all uneasy,” he adds, “You could get lost, or someone could see you and be scared to the point of calling the guards on you. That’s why we must lock your door, my pet, to keep you safe.”

“Not because you think I might run away?” you question, eyebrows rising up with skepticism, and Eclipse purrs with amusement.

“Run off? And where to, silly?” he laughs, “You wouldn't even know how to leave this place, let alone return to your home planet.”

He’s right; running from them would have been stupid. Plus, you don’t really want to escape—not when you have two princes and a king spoiling you like that—you just need to leave that damned room for at least five minutes so as to not go mad! Is it too much to ask not to be subjected to psychological torture?

“Are you returning tomorrow morning?” you ask, hopeful, and Eclipse shakes his head. You groan, now seriously disappointed, and try not to lean too much into the touch of his hand caressing your cheek. The contact burns, like living embers, and you have to stifle a second groan. It’s been so long since you had some form of physical contact with a human, and something tells you it’s starting to take a toll on you, making you more compliant and demanding of attention. It could be due to the unfamiliar setting, which you simply can’t grow accustomed to despite how much you walk the perimeter of your large room, or the complete absence of familiar faces, but the cause of it doesn’t matter. All you know is that you need to be hugged, to be cuddled, to be held, and to be caressed. You’re touch starved, so hungry for it you could just throw yourself at Eclipse and cling on his neck until he relents and decides to sleep there with you or bring you to his room—either way, you’d get a full night of cuddles; too bad common decency stops you from hugging a king like a koala. 

“I have an important meeting in the morning, so I’m afraid not. I’m sure Sun and Moon might be able to clear their schedules in the afternoon, though, so don’t fret.”

His words are apologetic, but you feel as if they were said with the sole purpose of bringing you harm because they do nothing but hurt you. 

Eclipse leaves after a while of chatting, bringing all the warmth of the room with him, and you watch him from your spot on the edge of the bed as he walks towards the door. You’re on your back, head hanging down the bed, staring blankly at the heels of the king and mentally preparing your next move. You act fast. The door opens, Eclipse slips away, and right before it closes, you throw a pillow in the gap of the threshold. The noise of the pillow falling is soft and muffled, and Eclipse doesn’t seem to notice that the door hasn’t closed completely behind him; instead, he simply walks away in the white corridor outside your room, and you stare at your successful attempt with surprise. You actually did it! The door is still open, blocked by the red pillow, and you finally have access to the rest of the rooms. 

Carefully standing up from your bed, like afraid someone from outside could hear you, you make your way towards the exit and peek out, hoping not to be met with Eclipse’s disappointed masked face. When your eyes travel the length of the long corridor extending before you like a white snake, you find no sign of any alien, and a smile splits on your lips from ear to ear.

The idea of immediately beginning to explore is alluring, but you know better than to leave when it’s still so early. You must wait some time until you’re sure Eclipse must have already retreated to his room for the night, and then enact the second phase of your plan.

Once you’re finally sure enough time has passed since the king has wished you goodnight, you finally push fully open the door of your room, looking around once more to make sure the coast is clear. After that, you put the pillow back to stop the door just in case it couldn’t be opened from outside like you thought, and walk in the direction you’re almost sure Eclipse has taken. During your short trip, you notice the complete lack of furniture or wall decorations in the halls, mumbling to yourself about “rich people’s lack of taste,” occasionally finding a door and trying to open it with no success, and you’re just about to give up when you finally place your open palm against one tall frame and see it move at your gentle touch. 

You stare in disbelief at the room opening before you, large and barren at the same time, trying to understand who the place belongs to while lingering on the door sill. In the darkness you see thousands of books neatly arranged on tall bookshelves, with their colorful and ornate hard covers staring at you as if they’re aware you’re a stranger, and as you enter you notice many have a broken spine. Those books, you realize, have been well loved by someone, or maybe simply re-read dozens of times out of need. It doesn’t matter to you, because what you’re most interested in is the second door in a corner of the room, likely leading to the actual bedchambers. It seems like the initial area has been arranged to be used as an office, separated from the personal spaces, but if that isn’t the truth, then you might have simply stepped into a random library and made a fool of yourself in front of the books. The hair on the back of your neck is standing up, and the monkey part of your brain keeps screaming that there’s someone watching you, but the deeper you go in the quarters, the more you keep telling yourself that it’s just your imagination. Your bare feet leave a slight trail on the carpet in the middle of the room as you walk towards the second door. 

As expected, the second room is more similar to a bedroom, although it doesn’t seem to gain any form of personality compared to the office you just left, almost as if the owner of the room doesn’t spend too much time in it. It wouldn’t fit Sun to sleep into such a sterile and dark ambience, and you feel like Moon would also take some more care into creating a welcoming area for himself, so that leaves out only one of the three brothers. 

The size of the bed confirms your theory: you have ended up exactly in Eclipse’s room, and you’re face to face with his sleeping form. Or, at least you guess it must be him, considering how dark it is in that corner. The only source of light in the room is a large window kept almost entirely shut, not allowing a ray of starlight to enter, so you really can’t be sure of anything.

The canopy bed in front of you is enormous, of a deep burgundy color, and see-through curtains drape over it to hide the figure in the middle. As you study the fabrics with the tips of your fingers, testing the softness, you find yourself enamored by it, beginning to press your open palms in the covers and then your face. You breathe in the scent, delicate while also heavy in your nostrils, and recognize the amazing aroma Eclipse brings with him everywhere he goes. You have no idea if it’s his favorite perfume or simply his natural scent; all you know is that it reminds you of the time you fell asleep on the king’s cape while he stopped for a visit, and the morning after, you found it still draped over you like a heavy cloak.

With your face in the covers, you simply close your eyes and let the memory play in your mind, affection blooming in your chest and throat like a warm flower, not noticing the dark frame towering over you from behind. Eclipse, from the height of his 8 ft, looks down at you like you’re nothing but a silly rabbit caught in a trap, about to be served for dinner to a horde of hungry guests. 

“What exactly are you doing here, little pest?�� he asks, and his deep growl makes you jump in the spot. When you turn around, your heart is racing, your eyes are wide open, and you feel more like prey than ever before in your life. As soon as you realize that Eclipse isn’t wearing his crown, you suddenly feel your blood pumping in your throat, and your cheeks grow warm at the sight of the red marks around his eyes and the dark color of his face sweetly mixing together, hypnotizing you for a second. All you can think of in that little head of yours is that the male should take off the helm more often so as to let his beautiful eyes see the light of day. 

It isn’t the first time you saw him without the headpiece; sometimes he takes it off after he comes back from a long meeting with his advisors, and the sight always strikes you like lightning.

Eclipse—it has to be said—is beautiful. Not only for the eyes, which are of a wonderful milky color that makes you feel as if they’re cursing you with some kind of magic, but also for his soft features, unfortunately hidden for most of the time. Did his citizens even know their king looked like that? Heavens, you suddenly remember why you’re so happy that you’ve been kidnapped.

Eclipse is wearing something similar to a robe that wraps around his torso while leaving his chest open, with long sleeves covering his four large arms, and everything is kept into place by a tie in the front. He must have been on his way to go to bed before you interrupted him.

“It is only polite to answer when a royal addresses you,” the alien angruily reminds you, and you suddenly realize you haven’t said a thing since he entered. 

“I just… I wanted, I was…” None of your sentences are making sense, so you swallow the lump in your throat and force your mind to clear itself of all the other distracting thoughts. “I just wanted to spend time with you, Eclipse.”

That sentence paired with some well-played puppy eyes is enough to make the alien sigh and relent, annoyed, probably too tired to argue with you after a long day of work.

“I don’t know how you left your room, but that’s unimportant now. You should return, it’s late,” he says, and you pout.

“Why can’t I sleep here?” you ask, and Eclipse looks down at you like you have grown a second head. 

“I have a meeting tomorrow morning. Have you forgotten?” he sounds incredulous, “I’ll wake up early.”

You shrug after fake-pondering for a second. You had already made your decision. 

“I don’t mind,” you reply with a small smile, “I sleep for the most part of the day anyway, so I’m well rested.”

Eclipse’s eyes turn into slits as he stares down at you, one pair of arms crossed over his chest and the other pair of fists on his hips. You can’t help but admire the dip of his collarbones as the fabric of his robe reveals more of him.

“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” he sighs, and your smile widens as you see his resolve start to break. You shake your head, and Eclipse finally relents. “Fine, get on the bed already.”

With a smug expression, you jump on the soft covers, happy with your little win, and you watch from behind the see-through curtain the king as he walks back in his personal library and returns, a moment later, with a book in his hand. You turn around, curious, and realize that the frame you thought belonged to Eclipse was actually just a bunch of pillows stuffed under the covers. Had he put them there because he had heard you come in? That would explain why he was ready to jump on you the very moment you turned your back.

The king motions you to get under the covers, then parts the curtains to slip in himself. Your eyes don’t miss the way his tense frame relaxes once his body finally rests on the mattress, as if the dark red sheets weren’t made of fabric but rippling water of a warm spring. One of his hands wraps around you, caressing your back, and you take it as a sign you can scoot closer and lay your cheek on his chest. The contact is pleasant, sending a nice buzzing of emotions down your spine, and you find yourself leaning onto him more and more every second, warm face resting on a cold and hard exoskeleton with a sigh. His main pair of arms opens the book on a page in the middle, and, with his back against the headboard, he begins reading a book with pages covered in mysterious letters and signs.

You can’t help your curiosity, and the words slip out of your mouth even before you can stop them. You don’t want to bother him, but you crave to hear him talk to you some more. 

“What are you reading?” you ask, and Eclipse begins to smile.

“Fiction. After so many hours spent on documents, I need something to distract my mind.”

“I didn’t take you for the type,” you murmur, and your sentence makes him laugh.

“You just don’t know me enough, pet,” he almost purrs, and once again your face heats up. How can he say that as if it was nothing? You do want to know him more—in fact, you want to know everything about Eclipse. You want to know his favorite books, his favorite scents, what he does in the morning after waking up, and what he likes to eat. You want to ask about his childhood, you want to spend time with him and his brothers, you want to learn more about their culture and more about them as well. You want to be able to spend every second with the three of them, but you can’t, so you cherish the moment you have with Eclipse before you eventually fall asleep.

“That’s something we can always change,” you say, nuzzling closer to him and closing your eyes for a moment. You’re so close you can hear the pumping of his heart under his exoskeleton, and the sound of it is almost lulling you to sleep. “What’s the story about?”

“Ah, just a tale about two lovers,” he explains, “It’s tragic, but I can’t fall asleep without reading at least a chapter.”

“I hope it’s not too tragic,” you murmur, “It’d be sad if one died.”

“I must agree with you here,” Eclipse hugs you even closer. “They’re made for each other. If one were to pass away, I have no idea what the other would do.”

You feel cradled by the gentleness in his words, the emotion that you so rarely hear in them, like a hand caressing your cheek and tilting your face up. When you do open your eyes, you find Eclipse fondly looking down at you with a small smile.

“Keep going,” you mutter, fighting with your own heavy eyelids as you speak, “I wanna know about them…”

“Sleep, my dear pet,” Eclipse whispers instead, bending down to kiss the top of your head, “I’ll tell you more tomorrow.”

You don’t want tomorrow to come, you know you wouldn’t stand to see him wearing his crown and leave for the day. The thought is so painful you curl up into a ball and groan, and you stop only when a pair of strong arms hold you close to a hard chest, and you realize that Eclipse has fully slipped under the cover and is now gently hugging you, one hand on the nape of your neck, another burying its fingers in your hair, and the last two resting on your hips. Another kiss is placed on your forehead, and you swear you might just start boiling on the spot.

“What about your book?” you ask with a tired and groggy voice, wrapping yourself around Eclipse some more, like you’re afraid someone might come in and untangle you from him. 

“It’ll wait,” the king answers. 

“But you said you can’t sleep without reading…” Your eyes are closed again, and this time you feel like they might not open until morning.

“This can work as well.” 

You finally fall asleep cradled and hugged by Eclipse’s arms, uncaring of his hard shell being so different from any kind of fur or skin humans might find more comfortable, and when you do manage to sleep into your own world, you do it with a smile on your lips. You’re no longer afraid of turning around right after waking up and finding the bed empty and cold, not anymore, not when Eclipse is making up for all the lack of affection you had to endure. 

Next time, you’ll try to see if you can rope Sun and Moon into it too. It’d be nice to have a sleepover all together.

[the-one-that-weeps]

Every time someone in this godforsaken fandom says "I think we've talked about misogyny enough" I want to hit them with a hammer. No we haven't.

We haven't even talked about the deep "Ruikasa&Akitoya Vs. literally everyone else" imbalance enough but imagine all of the people that get pressured into writing specifically for male/male ships simply because otherwise they won't get any appreciation.

Yes it's a cowardly thing but when you see Ruikasa having over 4000 fics and Ichisaki having like 5 in total obviously you're going to be discouraged. Obviously you'll be biased into creating Ruikasa instead of other ships.

And as someone who depends on appreciation in particular to do any work at all obviously that's going to have a lasting consequence. Some people spend 4 hours crying in front of a screen just for 3 people to like their work and leave, it's understandable if they lose passion for creating at all, you guys killed them.

It's even in how we handle m/m ships. You go into a fic that's tagged Rui&Tsukasa(platonic), someone in the comments always goes "okay but when do they kiss". You go to an action-packed longfic, someone always ends up going "okay but when do they kiss".

Fuck you guys. Actually. This is a silly piano tiles game about Hatsune Miku, we should be one of the MOST CREATIVE fandoms in history and somehow people still get mad over two boys not kissing immediately after getting introduced. It's so fucking difficult being a content creator in this fandom because you always end up having to take the same route. They meet they tease they kiss. End of story. "Oh you're doing something "lame" instead? -1 kudo. Bring me my yaoi next🖕"

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt15

Into the Secret Archives

(Summary): After her meeting with the archons, Nahida decides to do some further research into the mysterious brooch found in the Akademiya’s secret archives, while you and company get ready to depart from the comfort of Dawn Winery

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): Nahida, traveler!Lumine, abyss prince!Aether, Paimon, Childe, Diluc, & Kaeya

(Tags/Warnings): Men being petty, possible inaccurate character lore, use of (y/n), (if I missed anything lmk)

(Word Count): 1.3k

(A/n): Sorry if this might read a bit awkward, I’m a bit rusty with writting

Italics = book excerpts

A mess of scrolls, tablets, and books litter the floor of the basement of the Akademiya, a room that the attending students nor most of the faculty doesn’t know about its existence

There the dendro archon sits on the floor reading every document she can find pertaining to the life of the creator; sleep threatens to overtake her for she has been at this for hours but she is determined to at least find something that could aid her and the other archons

Her small hands rubbing the weariness from her eyes she picked up another scroll and began to read it, the document seemed to be useless like the previous ones until her eyes came upon an interesting sentence

“I once saw the creator with a chest pin during their battle with the adversary from another land.”

All tiredness left the little archon’s body. The brooch was seen by at least someone and “adversary from another land?” could this person be talking about a descender? If that’s the case then why would a descender come to Teyvat to fight their Grace?

She looked to see who wrote this manuscript, John Dee. She heard that name before, quickly skimming through the scrolls, tablets, and books she found the researcher’s name. An astrologer, alchemist, and occultist from over 4000 years ago. With newfound vigor Nahida thoroughly read the each of his manuscripts he wrote throughout his life and found that the brooch fascinated him

“Could this chest pin have gave their Holiness their power?”

“During the battle I saw 4 stones in the chest pin, one was yellow, the other was purple, the third was red, and the last one was white. They all shine with a brilliance that no precious stone on Teyvat could.”

“Perhaps the pin could be a way for their Holiness to connect to Teyvat? Or maybe the gods to be connected to humans?”

“Upon further reflection the chest pin could be a source of their powers.”

“The brooch could be a source of their Grace’s powers?” Mumbled the little archon

That can’t be, can it… the all powerful creator needing to rely on external power and not having it within them?

Picking up another book by the same man Nahida quickly read through the pages until she stopped at an interesting excerpt

“Oceanids are known to segment themselves into mimics. Perhaps the same could be said with their Holiness, segementing themselves into 4 different beings?”

Thinking back on her first encounter with the brooch, the small god did feel 4 different auras but they felt similar to each other, all felt similar to your presence whenever you would use her as a vessel

Whatever the case may be, all that Nahida knows is that once the gems are put into the brooch many answers will be revealed

On the other side of Teyvat there you are letting Aether write a letter for the Tsarita and her Harbingers

“My sword training have been going well, I’ve been told that I’m making excellent progress. Also thanks to the Cavalry Captain and the twins they have helped me in controlling my cryo powers, however they still need a lot more work. The ship heading to Fontaine is coming soon so I and the others will have to get ready to depart. Sincerely yours, (Y/n).” You finished

Aether puts the pen down on to the desk and you opened the window and called for a bird. After a few exchanges the bird took the rolled up letter and flew off into the horizon. After you closed the window and drew back the curtains you turned towards the blond

“Your Grace, the spell that I put on you is about to wear off.”

It took you a couple of moments to remember the spell that hides your divine presence from anyone and especially your doppelgänger, you didn’t realize how long it has been and to be honest really impressed at the duration of the spell

“Okay, do what you need to do.” You said standing in front of the prince

Aether’s hand began to glow in the deep blues and purples of the abyss, he brought his hand to your head and instantly you feel something covering your entire body in manner similar to a blanket. After Aether brought his hand down from your head you looked at your hand to see the cool colors slowly fade away, you turned towards the twin

“How long does this spell last?” You asked

“It only lasts for a about a couple of weeks, I would saw at most 3 weeks.” Aether replied

“Is there a way for me to learn the spell so I don’t have to bother you every time the spell is about to wear off.”

“Oh, you can never bother me, your Grace. And I like doing it for you.” You saw a subtle blush creep on the young prince’s features

He’s so babygirl!

You almost hugged him but was stopped when your attention was diverted towards the door opening. There you see Diluc in the doorframe

“Your Grace, the ship is almost here. Let’s get you settled in your crates.”

You and Aether followed the redhead down to the cellar, there you see Lumine, Paimon, Childe, and Kaeya waiting for you. You also see 4 crates, all have cushioning. Diluc leads you to one that has the most padding

“Here is your crate, your Grace.” Diluc lead you to a crate that had a lot of cushioning

“Hey, why does my crate have less padding than theirs?” Childe asked leaning in to take a look at his crate which does have a lot less padding compared to yours even less than the twins

“I ran out of padding, Harbinger.” Diluc hissed out

“Diluc, don’t be like that!” You scolded the redhead before turning towards the ginger. “My crate has a lot of padding, I’ll give you some of mine.” You said, but before you can take some of the cushioning out you hear Diluc clear his throat

“I just remembered there might be some more upstairs!” Diluc urged before he went up the steps

You heard Kaeya chuckle and you turned your head towards the Cavalry Captain

“Sorry about my brother, he has a rocky history with your organization.” He opened his good eye and looked at the harbinger. “I don’t blame him, considering what happened with-”

“Kaeya!” You warned the blue haired man. “I don’t have to tell you to be civil with each other!”

Kaeya raised up his hands in defeat. “I understand, your Grace.”

Diluc finally comes down with cushioning that doesn’t look has pristine as the cushions in yours and the twins crates

“Good the both of you are here. So I don’t have to repeat myself, we all have a common goal in defeating the imposter. If we bicker about past grievances we will get nowhere and worse my doppelgänger might get their hands on me.” You advised

“You’re right, your Grace. I will do my best to be as civil with these people.” Diluc said, his disgust evident on his face, but you take what you can

You look at Kaeya to see him nodding in agreement with his brother

“Bwah, it’s so scary that their Grace can be super intimidating on a whim.” Paimon said as she hid behind Lumine

“I don’t mean to scary, I just don’t want infighting!”

“Their Grace is right, we all have an enemy that has all of Teyvat and the archons under their control. If we lose focus then we risk the possibility of that imposter capturing their Grace again!” Lumine said as she crossed her arms

Childe walks towards his crate before turning towards Diluc. “If you’re still raw about what happened, we can fight after all this blows over.” Childe said and then he entered his crate with the new cushioning in it

You and the twins enter your crates and you watch as Diluc secured the top to your crate, leaving you in total darkness

“Safe travels your Grace.” Diluc said

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @ghost-mint @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerpesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3am3r @yuriclouds @artwitch @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn @starxvs @dreamoffireflies06 @desirabletravel @bidisasterforevermore @dxprived4-starboys @angstylittleb1tch @lhaol

[bullet-prooflove]

Can I get "desperate love confession" for Tim and Lucky please?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @fallmoreinloveeveryday @elenavampire21 @floralfloyd @lamaudite

Companion piece to:

Lucky - Tim's assignment doesn't go to plan.

Stars - Tim's not like the other guys.

The Good Book - Tim makes you a promise you don't think he can keep.

After Tim’s convoy is blown up, they don’t let you see him.

You’re not on the list, they tell you.

The thing is you know that there is no one on that list. He has no family, his friends were all in the Hummer with him, most of them dead from the IED that blew up the vehicle. There’s just him alone, in a hospital bed with Lord knows what injuries.

You break into the field hospital later that night. You’ve heard he’s going to be airlifted to Germany in the morning. That means his injuries are severe, that they’re require more care than he’ll get out here in a tent situated in the desert. It’s that that frightens you because it means that there’s a very real possibility that you won’t see him again.

He’s unconscious when you slip into the makeshift ward after midnight, attached to a ventilator that’s seen better days. The sheets are drawn up to his waist revealing thick bandages across his chest. Small burns pockmark his shoulders, first degree you think from the cherry red colouring.

You pick up the chart from the end of the bed, studying the information intently.

The worse damage is the shrapnel from the secondary explosion, they’ve managed to remove as much as possible from his chest but there’s a few pieces close to his heart that they don’t have the resources to take out. It’s going to require a major operation with a cardiothoracic surgeon, which is why he’ll be on his way to Germany tomorrow.

It’s bad, you realise as you continue reading. Really fucking bad. If any of that metal inside him shifts, he’s at risk of bleeding into his chest cavity.

“I know we’ve never said it but I love you.” You whisper as you use your fingertips to brush his hair away from his features. “I need you to do your best to get through this surgery, to come back to me.”

You don’t know if he hears it, the sedation he’s under it’s strong. You need him to know that despite the fact you won’t be there, you want to be, that you’re thinking of him even though you’re over 4000 miles apart. You take the black Sharpie out of your pocket and turn his wrist over, drawing a four leaf clover on the underside. You press a kiss to it before you leave, hoping he’ll understand the significance.

It’s thirty six hours later that Tim wakes up in military hospital in Germany. His chest feels like it’s on fire, every breath a labour. He raises his hand to touch the bandages and that’s when he sees it. The black four leaf clover, drawn on his skin.

“Lucky.” He rasps, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes.” The nurse says kindly as she reviews his vitals. “You were very lucky indeed.”

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[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

How would Joker feel if Y/n died? Can you write something for this?

My Everything

Ledger!Joker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, mention of suicide, violence

Summary: Y/n is killed by one of Joker’s many enemies and as we can all predict, J loses his everloving mind

Author’s Note: Thank you thank you thank you for this request beloved anon!!!! This has been my favorite thing I’ve ever written so far. And also the longest I’ve wrote in one sitting. I’m so proud of myself, I wrote almost 4000 words! I need to do that more often.

This is going to be an angsty one. But it’s not all bad. My oc Matilda makes her debut and there’s a ton of bromance going on between J and his right hand man. As always, enjoy! <3

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @unholiiness

“She’s gone…she’s…she’s…” Joker mumbled to himself.

The phone slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the floor. He sat down on a chair and stared out into space, disassociating. 

Frost noticed his boss from across the room. He knew those distant eyes from anywhere. It only meant trouble.

“Boss! Boss! Snap out of it!” He shouted.

Joker jumped up out of the chair. He grabbed Frost by his shirt collar and shook him in anger.

“What the fuck happened, Frost?! How did they get to her?!” Joker thundered.

“I-I don’t know! There’s no way they could’ve gotten past the security we set up. I’m just as shocked as you are!” Frost pleaded his case.

Joker grumbled and released him, sending him tumbling to the floor. Frost was right. Nothing was out of the ordinary. The security and all the cameras J had set up for your apartment were all working fine that day.

Joker stormed into the control room with Frost tagging along right behind him. He scanned the footage from that day and stopped when he saw movement around 2 pm. No wonder the cameras didn’t catch anything. You had left the apartment.

He felt a sharp pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have left you alone for so long. If he had been home or nearby he could’ve saved you. 

Frost’s phone dinged and he glanced at it. He looked up at Joker gravely.

“They found her body. She’s in the boardroom.”

Joker didn’t say a word and marched straight out of the control room into the boardroom. He pushed open the double doors and walked up to the table. His henchmen backed away in fear. 

Your body was placed carefully on the table. You looked so pale, your hair was a mess, and you were splattered with blood. Clearly you didn’t go down without a fight. Joker felt a lump form in his throat. He hated himself for letting this happen to you.

As Joker observed, Frost came into the room behind him and motioned for the goons to leave before things got ugly. The men cleared out and Frost walked up to Joker. 

“Um, boss, what do we do now?” He asked.

Joker turned and looked at him solemnly. “I don’t know…”

They stared at the table in silence for a while. Joker couldn’t stand it. A surge of rage swept over him and he slammed his fist on the table, causing Frost to jump.

“Keep her here. I’m going out. I’ll figure out what to do with her later and give her a proper burial and all…” Joker trailed off.

Frost nodded.

Joker grabbed his jacket off of a hook on the wall, threw it on, and rushed out the doors. He had no idea where he was going but he had to get away from this. He ran down the sidewalk, his brain moving a hundred miles an hour. His worst fear had come true. You were taken from him in cold blood. 

The crisp Gotham night air burned in his lungs as he ran. Long before he donned his Joker persona, running had always helped him clear his head. The adrenaline was a temporary relief from the pain.

It was dark, not many people lived in this area, and he was wearing casual clothes so he didn’t have to worry about being seen. Not that he cared. Nothing mattered anymore.

Joker gave one last burst of energy and stopped, panting. He ended up on the west side of Gotham harbor. A bridge was a few feet ahead. He walked up to the railing and gazed out over the water. The moon cast a shimmering reflection on top.

He sighed. Nights like this reminded him so much of you. You loved to go on walks through the park or other scenic spots in Gotham on cool, clear nights, holding his hand and skipping down the sidewalk without a care in the world.

You were his light in the dark places, his rock, his everything. You showed him real genuine love and compassion. You made him feel alive again. Now you were gone and he would never forgive himself. 

He breathed heavily as he felt the intense emotions weigh down on him. His first response to your death was shock and then fury but now the reality of the situation hit him and he broke down. He felt his breathing hitch and tears form. He blinked them away with a snarl of disgust. He would not succumb to such weakness!

But he underestimated the effect you had on him and felt the anguish come surging back. Then Joker did something he hadn’t in years. 

He began to cry. 

It started out soft but the more the tears fell, the louder he wept. These tears were long overdue. So much pain over the years but he could only think about you. 

“Oh God, why? Why her?” Joker sobbed.

He looked out over the water again, letting his misty eyes wander down to the base of the bridge. The waves crashed against the stone pillars holding the bridge up. Clusters of giant rocks lined the two banks. It was at least 30 feet down.

He felt the sudden urge to jump. He rejected it at first. He wasn’t done yet. He still had many years of causing chaos left but then he thought of how different his life was going to be. 

No more beautiful smiles to come home to after a gruesome day’s work. No more warm cozy mornings spent cuddling with you. No more late night strolls at the park. No more shared laughter. No more y/n…

A life without you wasn’t worth living. So he went for it. He turned his back to the water, spread his arms out wide, looked to the sky, and fell backwards. He closed his eyes as he went over the railing. 

The sound of the crashing waves got closer and closer until…silence.

…

Joker opened his eyes and looked around groggily. He was strapped to a bed and hooked up to several things in Arkham’s infirmary. At first he didn’t fully grasp what he was seeing. Then it hit him. He regained his senses and jolted as upright as the restraints would allow him. He wriggled around and struggled against them.

A nurse came running in and grabbed his shoulders, trying to calm him down. Joker recognized her as Matilda.

“J, relax. It’s alright.” His favorite nurse said gently as she eased him back. 

“No, no, no! It’s not alright! It’s…it’s…” He struggled to get his words out and panted.

Matilda rubbed his back in another attempt to calm him. 

“You have got to calm down, honey. You’re hooked up to a heart monitor. It starts going off and they’re all gonna come running in here like chickens with their heads cut off.” 

Joker breathed in and out and tried to think clearly. His head was spinning with a sensory and information overload.

“Why am I here? What happened?” He blurted out.

“They found you at the bottom of the bridge at the harbor last night. You jumped.” Matilda responded calmly. 

Joker groaned as the events from the previous day came back to him. He woke up thinking it was all just one horrible nightmare but once again reality came crashing down. 

“Why did you do it?” Matilda asked.

Joker looked up at her with sorrowful watery eyes. The older woman had never seen such a look on his scarred face before. 

“My sweet girl, my y/n, she’s…she’s dead.” He mumbled.

He was delirious with grief. Matilda could see that now. Under normal circumstances, he would never have shown such emotion. 

And hold up, the Joker in love with someone? It seemed so unbelievable. Throughout all of his time in Arkham he’d never once mentioned this girl to Matilda. Most likely to keep her safe and hidden.

“Who was y/n? A lover? A girlfriend?” Matilda questioned him.

“She was my everything…my special treasure that made me feel again. She never hurt anybody. She didn’t deserve this.” 

“I’m so sorry, J. She sounded like a wonderful person. Listen, I know you’re still grieving but try not to think about it too much. You need to rest. You hit those rocks pretty hard. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

“But I can’t stop thinking about her. It feels like a part of me has been ripped out of my chest.” Joker whined.

“I know dear, but you mustn't dwell on it too much if you’re going to recover. Just lay here and rest. Your body will thank you for it.” 

“Okay…” Joker murmured as she pulled the blanket resting on his legs up over his chest and then left the room to finish her rounds. 

The rest of the day Joker laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. All he could think about was you. Your absence felt like a gaping hole in his heart.

A few other nurses came by throughout to check on him. He didn’t speak a word to them. They didn’t either. He let them do their job and get out. Normally he would torment them by being difficult or teasing them but this time he just didn’t have the energy. 

That evening he grew restless. 

What am I doing here moping around? I should be out there getting even!

It had just occurred to him that by giving up he was letting your murderer go free. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? He would not allow that. He was extremely glad he didn’t die. Even if he didn’t think of it when caught up in the moment, it would haunt him forever that your killer got away.

Sofia Falcone and her lackeys would pay. But first, Joker needed to escape.

He waited until a young nurse came in a little later to give him a sedative that would help him sleep. Before she could prepare the syringe, he looked up at her innocently. 

“Um, nurse, can you loosen these straps? They’re really botherin’ me.” He asked nicely.

The nurse laughed to herself. “Ha. You think I’m gonna loosen your restraints? No way. Nice try though.”

“Please? Just a little bit…” He said and stared her down with his big pleading brown eyes. This was when his handsomeness really came in handy. 

The nurse sighed. “Well, okay. But only a little bit.”

She bent down and loosened the buckles on his wrists a notch or two. When she came back up, Joker head butted her and she collapsed onto the ground. 

He slipped his hands free from the straps and unbuckled his feet. Then he unhooked himself from the different monitors and quickly took his IV out. He grabbed the nurse’s badge and keys and sprinted out the door. 

Luckily, the infirmary was close to the back entrance so he could get out much faster than if he was coming from his cell. He dashed down the stairs to the ground level and through the halls, shoving a few nurses out of the way as he went. He had a small limp in his leg but other than that he was able to run just fine.

How did I survive that fall? He thought as he ran. 

He made it to the double doors of the back entrance and used the nurse’s badge for the identification scanner that unlocked them. Regardless, someone must have reported him because the alarm went off anyway. So much for stealth.

“Screw this.” Joker muttered and ran into the parking lot. 

He used the nurse’s car keys to find which one was hers. A small white car flashed in response. It wasn’t much but it would have to do. He hurried over to it, climbed in, started the engine, and took off. He made it to the gate and sped through just as another car came through the opening. The guard stationed there just sat there dumbfounded.

Joker flew across the bridge and into the mainland where the cops were waiting. He groaned loudly in frustration but kept going. He drove straight towards them as bullets whizzed past his head through the windshield and the windows. Then he made a sharp turn and went around the blockade of cars. 

The police hopped in their cars and sped after him. Joker weaved in and out of other cars as he drove into the city. He made turn after turn and took back alley after back alley, trying to lose them. Finally, he crashed into a dumpster in an alleyway, crawled out of the car, and hopped the fence before the cops could get there. 

He ran down the sidewalk, unsure of what to do now. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. There was a very high chance they were going to catch him and drag his ass back to Arkham. He couldn’t let that happen.

Suddenly a black car pulled up beside him. The driver rolled down the window and shouted, “Get in!” 

Joker breathed a sigh of relief and climbed in. It was Frost, there to save the day like always. Frost made a quick glance to the passenger seat as he sped off. Joker was wearing white scrubs, no makeup, his hair was everywhere, he was covered in bruises, his forehead had a bandaged gash on it, and his lip was busted.

Frost chuckled. “You look like shit.”

“I’m aware…” Joker grumbled.

“I saw the escape on the news so I figured you needed some help. And I also saw that you, uh, well…I’m just glad you’re still here, boss.”

“Aw, quit your blubbering and drive, Frost. I’m fine. I won’t try it again. Y/n wouldn’t want me to.”

Frost nodded and looked into the side mirror. The cops had gone in the other direction so he slowed down a bit. A few minutes later he made it to the hideout. He pulled into the garage and parked. 

Joker thrust the door open and made a beeline for his office/sometimes living space. He desperately wanted to get cleaned up and change his clothes. He shut his office door and flung the closet open. There were spare suits and casual clothes hanging in there. He grabbed his signature purple suit and laid it out on the desk to change into. 

He walked into the built-in bathroom in his office and locked the door. He ripped the bandage off his head and examined the gash. 

Yeesh. That’s nasty. He thought as he threw the gauze away. 

He turned on the shower and stripped off as he waited on the water to warm up. He looked at his body in the mirror. His body was dotted with bruises and small cuts. He still had no clue how he survived that fall.

Once the shower was ready, Joker hopped in and started washing himself off. He didn’t know why but Arkham always made him feel dirty. Whether it be the combined smell of bleach and vomit or those itchy patient scrubs. 

The hot water stung his wounds a little but Joker relished in it. The water comforted him and soothed his aching muscles. The last two days had been hell. This was a temporary escape from his current circumstances.

Joker finally returned to the real world and shut off the water. He staggered out and dried himself off. Then he secured a bandaid on the gash and slathered white paint over it, quickly reapplied his makeup, and dyed his hair green again. When he was done he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked back into his office. He dressed himself, careful not to smudge his makeup too much.

He went to the lounge room, where Frost was sitting on the couch drinking some coffee. He looked up and waited for Joker to speak.

“Go call everyone together for a meeting. We’re nailing that bitch.” Joker ordered gruffly.

“Yes sir.” Frost replied and hopped to it. 

Not long after, the goons were all seated in the boardroom as Joker had requested. He walked in and the whole room fell silent. All eyes were on him. He cleared his throat.

“As some of you are already aware, something very important to me has been…taken. Sofia Falcone is responsible. And as you all know, we’ve been waging in a bit of a war for years now. I did a pretty good job eliminating Gotham’s mob but then she came along and rebuilt her father’s empire, encouraging others to rebuild and ruining all my hard work. This is the final straw. We’re going to storm her headquarters tonight and destroy it along with everyone inside.”

The men cheered but quickly silenced themselves when both Joker and Frost glared at them.

As Joker laid out the plans, Frost couldn’t help but feel a knot of fear turn his stomach. The Falcones were dangerous. It was a suicide mission. The majority of the goons were probably going to get killed. Joker knew that but it didn’t matter. He had to avenge y/n or die. Frost came to terms with it, deciding it was a noble cause.

Once everyone was armed and ready to go, they all piled into the four black cars lined up in the garage. Joker and Frost got in the last car in line and took off. To not draw attention to themselves by traveling as a group, the cars each headed out in different directions but were all going to the same place. When they reached the Falcone base of operations (an abandoned club), the cars pulled in towards the back of the building. They walked up to the door and waited for Joker’s instructions.

Joker stood up on the steps and looked over all of his men.

“Shoot to kill, boys. But Sofia is mine.” He growled.

Frost kicked in the door and stepped aside. The goons stormed in and began shooting at everything. Sofia’s men were caught off guard so many of them were killed instantly while others had a delayed reaction. Groups of Joker’s men moved into other rooms to attack. Blood and debris was strewn through the air. Men were dying left and right and more so of Sofia’s than Joker’s.

Joker stood back and watched the chaos ensue with satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of reddish brown hair stream down the hall adjacent to the back room. He made eye contact with Frost who caught on fast. They both went in different directions to seal off both ends of the hall.

Sofia and her bodyguard were trapped in the middle. Sofia dashed back into her office while the bodyguard blocked the doorway. He went to fire at Joker but Joker was too fast and killed the bodyguard with a quick flick of his pistol. 

Joker came inside and slammed the door shut, locking it. Frost stayed out and went back to overseeing the goons. Sofia crouched behind her desk in fear. 

“J-Joker, please! I’m sorry about having your girl killed, honest! Maybe we cut a deal- Aaaah!”

Joker didn’t even let her finish. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her close to his face. He unsheathed his knife and held it between her lips. Trembling with pure rage, he steadied his hand and bared the knife down on her cheek.

“You…took…EVERYTHING from me! She was innocent! She was not involved with any of this! How the hell did you even find her?!”

When Joker got this angry, he sounded demonic. Sofia’s eyes widened in fear. She gasped for air as Joker switched his other hand from her hair to her throat.

“ANSWER ME!”

Sofia cringed. “I…I have my s-sources.” She sputtered.

Joker took a deep breath to calm down and tightened his grip around her neck. 

“I’ve, uh, tolerated our little war over the years, taking hit after hit. You were a hated enemy but not my biggest concern. Now you’ve really gone and done it. I will not ignore you this time.” 

Sofia grunted and tried to wriggle free from his grip. Joker grinned sadistically. 

“You really need to smile more. Here…let me help!” 

He pressed his knife down and sliced upwards. Sofia cried out in pain. Joker laughed maniacally and loosened his grip on her. She kneed him in the groin and pushed him away. Joker brushed it off and shoved her to the ground. She grabbed his leg and pulled him down with her. They fought for what felt like forever. Punching, kicking, pulling hair, whatever they had to do to keep the other down. Sofia was a broad, muscular woman so she put up a good fight against Joker.

Finally Joker managed to gain the upper hand and pinned her down. He drew his pistol and pressed it to her temple. Sofia’s eyes widened in horror. Joker wasted no time and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the floor and her body went limp.

Joker stood up and decided this was enough. He left the office and went back to where the shootout was happening. There were still some of Sofia’s men left. Joker got in on the shooting and killed four of them. Frost took care of the rest. Joker gave him the signal for the next step of the plan. 

“Everybody out! Unless you wanna be burned to a crisp!” Frost shouted to the remaining goons.

They hurried out and piled back into the cars. Frost grabbed two gas cans sitting on the steps outside and handed one to Joker. They both poured them around the building, in every room. Joker purposely dumped some on Sofia’s body. 

He threw a few lit matches down on the ground to get the fire started. Then, once he and Frost were out on the steps, he took a grenade out of his coat, pulled the pin, and chucked it inside. 

Joker and Frost sprinted back to the car. Frost hopped in the driver seat and sped away. The others had already left. Joker looked over his shoulder at the burning building in the distance. It was completely engulfed in flames. He felt content with this outcome.

He successfully avenged you but he’d never be the same again.

[pillow-anime-talk]

Hi it’s me again 😅 can’t get enough, so I thought of Ayato and prompt 12 with fem reader!! Them being childhood sweethearts. Again congrats on 4000 followers, you deserve it :)

# tags: scenario; friendship; fluffy shit; flashbacks; childhood sweethearts; human!reader; sfw

includes: female reader ft. ayato kirishima {tokyo ghoul}

author’s note: hello once again! i hope it's the ayato from tokyo ghoul (not from genshin impact or diabolik lovers), based on your previous request :) thank you for this prompt!

12. “But we are not married.” “Then marry me.”

You and Ayato have known each other for over eighteen years. Now you are twenty-four and twenty-five, have enough knowledge about life and also many situations behind you.

Your friendship is a sequence of pleasant memories, it’s dozens of trips together outside of Tokyo, weeks without contact and months of living in silence, your long-hour quarrels, your live together for three years in small flat, your ‘on college’ chapter, his being a ghoul and all the bad things he’s done, your own first love and his broken heart after several relationships with women... It’s all your moments with a glass of wine or something stronger, it’s just watching horror movies together until dawn, running away from important meetings, also your first serious work and all the other things that have kept the two of you apart for almost twenty years, but also made your relatio stronger than ever before.

You understood each other without words, you understood each other through gestures, facial expressions and the way of breathing. You knew each other perfectly, you knew about all your failures and about every, even the smallest, situation that made you smile or happy. There was no taboo between you, no shyness.

And although Ayato in your eyes has become a really handsome and calm guy, still looking at him to this day you are able to remember his much younger – seven-year-old – version, who stole your favorite bucket from the sandbox and argued with you that he just found it and had to take care of it... At first your friendship was turbulent and full of contradictions; the boy took your toys, scared you and ran away from you, while you called him ‘nasty black cat’ and ‘big dummy’. His father and your mother looked at you with light amusement on their faces, wondering when you will finally come to an understanding.

To this day, you remember how – after almost a year of friendship and playing together in the sandbox – Ayato approached you with a paper bag filled with cookies in your favorite flavor. It was a kind gesture that put the most beautiful smile on your baby face at that time. The boy thought it was really cute. It’s cute to see you happy and looking at him as someone you really like.

“...You should give me a kiss as a ‘Thank you’. I made them with my sister.” He said then an you only giggled under your breath. The present Ayato looked at you with furrowed brows and you just shook your head. You were at the coffee shop.

“But we are not married.” You said seventeen years ago and he just stamped his foot.

“Then marry me.” His declaration was sincere and loud at the time, causing your mummy to giggle and his dad to laugh out loud; he almost dropped the newspaper from his hands.

The memory only made you smile more and more, the tip of your nose turning slightly red.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” The dark-haired man put down the mug with the steaming drink, and you sighed amused.

“I just remembered something...” You began mysteriously, causing another surprised look to be sent in your direction. “It’s a really nice memory.” You looked down at the surface of dark coffee and could have sworn that for a brief moment your reflection looked like a six-year-old version of yourself.

[nine-blessed-hero]

WIP Whenever

Thanks for the tag @hannah-heartstrings

Tagging back (FYI this is a fandom side-blog of DruidX): @aalinaaaaaa @ieppiq @wispstalk @rhikasa @eli-writes-sometimes @hannah-heartstrings @artdecosupernova-writing @mythrilpencil @aquadestinyswriting @reneesbooks @oh-no-another-idea @winglesswriter @pheita

Rules: Share a line or paragraph (or screenshot for non-writing art) from something you recently worked on. If it's on Wednesday - great! If no, no worries :)

I started working on Talis Wants Some 'Shrooms again, so here's a recent snip from that:

As we explored the area around the Ayleid ruin, we found two more clusters of Clouded Funnel Cap. I showed her how to check the cap was good and then watched as she hesitantly sliced it's cap off. "Good work. We'll make an alchemist of you yet," I smiled. Cygwen's face pinched, doubt in her voice as she said, "Yes, Master." I gestured for us to continue, climbing over a boulder in order to reach a higher section of what was now becoming a rabbit trail. "Trust me, even if all you have is wortcraft, it might save your life or the life of a friend in battle. For example, these mushrooms we just picked, if properly prepared, can aid in learning or alleviate the effects of some curses. And there's a reason why mothers make their children drink bergamot tea - doing so really can help stave off an illness." It didn't take us long to fill the quota for Clouded Funnel Cap, prolific as it was in the area. The Tinder Polypore was a bit more tricky, requiring some climbing and gymnastics to get good samples. As we wandered, I pointed out some other plants – Milk Thistle and the odd, struggling, Lavender plant. "I realise it may go against your religion to pick these plants, but it still may be useful for you to know these things. In a pinch, crushed Milk Thistle seeds give off a small glow, and Lavender flowers can help certain 'uglification' curses." "I understand, Master. While it would be against my observances to consume these plants myself, there is nothing which states I could not do so for the benefit of others, such as saving a life."

Now for some complaining/ rubber ducking.

I started writing this in Oct 2020. Normally when I start a story, I have some idea, however nebulous, of how it's going to end. Unfortunately I don't often leave myself notes... So because this is so old, I'm not really sure where I was going with the story, and it's become very obvious now I've come back to it that I'm kind of waffling and I don't know what the point I was trying make with it was.

I should probably mark it as 'Abandoned' and move on, but at 4000, it's a solid chunk of wordage that also introduces Cygwen and Talis' Master, Ysbeth Embertame, so I'd like to post it. But also it feels odd posting without a solid ending. Maybe I should just skip ahead to when Talis has his 'shrooms and they're sampling his mushroom bread at the end...

[mid-nighttiger]

since i was looking at codywan ao3 stats over the years, i thought it'd be interesting to compare with the three other biggest pt-era ships. at the time of posting (2023/08/01), the largest pt-era ship on ao3 is anakin/padme, followed by anakin/obi-wan, then cody/obi-wan, then obi-wan/qui-gon

[Image ID: Graph of total works on AO3 by ship. Quiobi is shown as a blue line, Obikin as red, Anidala as yellow, and Codywan as green. The horizontal axis shows the years from 1997 to 2023, and the vertical axis shows the number of total works from 0 to 9000. /End ID]

quiobi starts increasing moderately but steadily from 1999 to about 4000 works in 2023. there are under 100 anidala and obikin works dated 1999-2009, then both ships start to increase slowly, then faster from 2015-2019, and even faster from 2019-2023 (anidala faster than obikin). anidala overtakes quiobi at about 2500 works in 2019 to reach nearly 9000 in 2023. obikin overtakes quiobi at about 2750 works in 2020 to reach about 8000 in 2023. there are no codywan works until 2009, then it increases slowly from 2015-2019 and grows rapidly from 2019-2023. codywan overtakes quiobi at 3500 works in 2022 to hit nearly 6000 works in 2023

[Image ID: Graph of works posted per year by ship. Quiobi is shown as a blue line, Obikin as red, Anidala as yellow, and Codywan as green. The horizontal axis shows the years from 1997 to 2023, and the vertical axis shows the number of works posted from 0 to 2500. /End ID]

these two graphs confirm my feeling based on my experiences* in sw fandom that quiobi is an old, steadily growing ship. the phantom menace in 1999 sparked the ship, and there has been a moderate but steady 50-100 works per year since then til 2014, when it starts to grow. after 2016 and 2020, there are some moderate step-ups in the number of works posted per year (200-300 and 300-500, respectively), but not the huge spikes of the other ships

anidala and obikin share pretty similar growth patterns, with the number of works per year being pretty low until 2016, when it jumps to 500-600 (overtaking the number of quiobi works posted per year), then jumps again in 2020 to over 1000 and has been growing ever since. i already discussed codywan in my previous post, but in brief, there is a low growth from 2015-2019 of about 100 works per year, before it spikes in 2020 and catches up with the number of anidala and obikin works posted yearly

*when i got into star wars fandom, quiobi was the pt-era largest ship. i never felt that it was losing popularity, just that other ships were growing faster

[Image ID: Graph of year over year growth by ship. Quiobi is shown as a blue line, Obikin as red, Anidala as yellow, and Codywan as green. The horizontal axis shows the years from 2000 to 2023, and the vertical axis shows the percent growth from -100 to 1100. /End ID]

what's interesting here that all of the ships had spike in growth in 2016, most likely from the force awakens being released in december 2015 and sparking new interest in star wars, and 2020, possibly from folks quarantining at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic and spending more time writing. season 7 of the clone wars being released in 2020 could have also been a factor. it would be interesting to see if other fandoms also had a spike in new works in 2020. anidala had a spike in 2005, when revenge of the sith was released. there are no obikin works dated 2004 on ao3, which is why there is a gap in the graph from 2004-2006 (percents don't play nicely with zeroes). not shown on this graph is the jump from 1 quiobi work dated 1998 to 104 works dated 1999, because that is a 10,000% increase that completely destroys the vertical range

notes:

largest ships were determined from the relationship tags in the "Star Wars - All Media Types" tag on ao3

works from each ship tag on ao3 were filtered by date. no other filters were used. some works may have been tagged with multiple ships (e.g., codywan and anidala) and/or with a 3-way ship (e.g., obianidala)

each year shows the number of works at the end of that year (i.e., 2022/12/31, 2021/12/31, etc)

data for works posted by year and for % growth for 2023 was extrapolated from the number of fics posted in 2023 so far. at the time of making these graphs (2023/08/01), there have been 191 quiobi, 1391 obikin, 2205 anidala, and 1179 codywan works posted in 2023

technically, the graphs show the number of works updated, not posted, as i could not find any option to filter works on ao3 by date posted

since quiobi, obikin, and anidala are all significantly older than ao3 itself, these graphs are of limited scope pre-2009. pre-2009 data is affected by which works were imported from older archives and/or backdated by their creators moving to ao3

deleted works were not accounted for

[fated2bydesign]

Hi, I saw the prompt thing. Interview with an Attendant/Your DCA's talking to someone about something that happened in in there past that makes them who they are today. Feel free to ignore this if it's too spoilery.

Nah, I got you! I’m just going to spoiler the content since his past has been scratching around in the back of my head.. Hmm... Tell you what, let's see if you or anyone else can guess who the reporter is talking to with this one, and I might post a part 2. By the way, I mean can anyone guess his Name Name? Not just what unit he is.

This is just over 1000 words, but honestly, I have about 4000+ words written because I went overboard, so hopefully, someone figures it out because that would be awesome! Though if not, I'll still post it in its entirety; it'll just be after I've posted the next chapter of Missing Gears.

Also, look at the tags. There is content that may not be for everyone, and mentions of harm to children are present. You have been warned.

He watched her closely as she coasted around the room, observing the various tools and trinkets that lay about the work tables of Parts and Service. "So you wanted to ask me something?" His voice pierced through the silence with a deep, mellow tone. His demeanor was like that of a confident feline, watching the human with amusement. 

"Yes, I wanted to interview you. I'm doing a piece on whether robots are able to change as people as a result of experience like humans. Do you mind?" She inquired with a smile in her tone, and he got the distinct feeling from her that she would not be taking no for an answer.

Leaning forward, he placed the bottom of his faceplate in his padded palms, his gloves forgone on the table next to him, as he propped his elbow to rest atop the thigh of his crossed legs. The custom seat creaked under his weight as he leaned forward. "Do I even have a choice? I clearly don't have rights, and Faz'co most definitely already approved this if you, as a civilian, were allowed down here to begin with. So just ask away, dear."

She turned and inclined her head at that. "I meant no offense by it. Just giving you the courtesy. I hope you understand." She then pulled out her recorder from her back pocket and placed it on the computer desk next to him with a click. Evidently, by the red flashing light, it was recording. She sat down in the human-sized computer chair and crossed her legs as she picked up the clipboard she had come in with. "Well, let's just jump in the deep end, shall we? What's the first time that you experienced something that scared you? As in, truly made you question yourself or wish for a way out or an escape from the thing that was scaring you." She asked, and he looked down with a tick tick tick of his internal mechanisms. 

His face contorted into something that resembled a pained expression, the light hum of his fans kicking on as his processor struggled. Then he looked up at her with a flat, empty stare. "I was in the Daycare alone, waiting for the others to return after a late-night system update. The first two kids of the day came in, and I greeted their parents as I had been told to do many times before. Their parents were silent and refused to look me in the eye. The boys were twins and had just turned 12; in their culture, they consider 12 to be the age of maturity. When a boy becomes a man and must prove himself to their God." His words felt cold and yet full of remorse.

"What happened?" She asked, urging him to continue, as she was clearly intrigued as to where this was going.

He exhaled a breath through his nose with a hiss as he deliberated on continuing. "I'm sure you saw the report about the incident where the old Plex had to be closed down? When the others returned, Sun greeted the little ones with a smile and offered to get them something to eat since it was so early in the morning. When he turned around, apparently, one of the boys had their hand in their pocket and started saying, Deus est. Sun jumped on him and screamed for me to pin the other boy. The boy under Sun had his hand close to a detonator, and I turned to see the other fumbling to try and find his. I noticed he seemed sluggish and disoriented, so I grabbed him calmly." He sucked in a breath. "When I grabbed him, I lifted his shirt and found he had an incision about 3 inches long along the top of his stomach with a few wires running out the side of the incision, pinned by staples." He looked away, unsure. "I honestly still wonder what could drive a person to do that to their own child."

"Ah, I did hear something about that. The Downgrade extremist members from the Middle East were inspired by ISIS, and when they crossed the border, they acted like they were refugees from the Pana incident. Honestly, it's quite sad that they think that they are saving the world from itself by killing Robots. Then again, it's not my place to judge." She remarked in absent thought. "What happened then?" She questioned. She looked up at him from her clipboard, and the pencil was twisting around in her hand. 

He looked at her and shook his head, shaking off a thought before continuing. "Sun held the boy, who was definitely more lucid and willing to hit that button, while I held the other boy in my lap, keeping him from getting ahold of his detonator. We sent a ping, and a guard hit the evacuation alarm and cleared the building. We had to hold them down for hours until a bomb squad came out and disconnected the detonators in a way that prevented them from going off with the buttons, then they came in with human-looking synths who escorted the boys outside." He was shaking at this point, and he reclined in his chair as he spoke softly. "That was the first time Sun hit me. He was pissed off that I wasn't able to tell something was off about them. He said it took him 1 minute to realize with his scanners that they were on a sedative, and with only 2 words, he knew that they were dangerous. I, however, missed all the signs. I should have been more observant and diligent. He said I failed to maintain the safety of the people in the Plex and allowed that to happen…" He looked down at his hands as he clasped them shut into fists. "He pulled out one of the loose bars from the play structure and beat me with it, screaming at me. Telling me that I messed up. How I messed up. How messy I was, and how I needed to get with the program because the Location Director's kid plays in the Daycare, and she won't be so kind to me, to just hit me…" His breathing was shaky as he looked up again. "I still remember him breaking down into pathetic sobs, apologizing for hitting me, and telling me about how she just got through doing a round of controlled shocks on them in the cylinder. Apparently, her son turned up with a tiny bruise, and she requested them down for maintenance so she could punish them herself. 17 times. That's how many shocks she gave Sun alone. I got lucky and was assigned to look after a small party that was going on in Roxy's Raceway, so I was given forgiveness for not even being there."

"Gosh, that sounds awful. Is that why your Sun had issues with you?" She questioned curiously. 

"Unfortunately, that was only where it started. His mental state had slowly started to deteriorate after that day."

[kckt88]

The Lost Dragon 2 - Younger.

Summary:

A glace into the childhood of Aemond And Vaelys.

Warnings - Fluff, Sight Angst, First Kiss.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

Word Count: - 4000

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

Eight-year-old Vaelys Targaryen sat cross-legged in the lush gardens of the Red Keep, her silver-blonde hair glinting in the afternoon sun. Her small fingers deftly wove a chain of daisies, their white petals and yellow centres forming a delicate garland. Vaelys hummed a soft tune, the melody mingling with the rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of the court.

She was so absorbed in her task that she didn't hear the stern footsteps approaching. The sudden shadow that fell over her work made her look up, her violet eyes widening as she met the disapproving gaze of Septa Hilda.

"Princess Vaelys!" Septa Hilda's voice was sharp, cutting through the peaceful air. "What on earth are you doing on the ground like that? Look at your dress, it's filthy! This behaviour is most unbecoming of a princess and the future heir to the Iron Throne."

Vaelys blinked, glancing down at her dirt-streaked gown. She shrugged slightly, her small hands still clutching the unfinished daisy chain. "I'm making daisy chains for Uncle Aemond," she said softly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Septa Hilda pursed her lips, her expression growing even more severe. "Nonsense! Boys have no interest in flowers. You should be inside, learning your lessons, not out here making a mess of yourself."

Vaelys frowned, a stubborn glint in her eyes. "But-but-“

The septa shook her head, clearly unimpressed. "-Enough of this. Come inside at once, and let’s get you cleaned up. You have much to learn if you are to rule one day."

Reluctantly, Vaelys rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her dress with one hand while holding the daisy chain carefully in the other. As she followed Septa Hilda back towards the imposing walls of the Red Keep, she cast one last, longing glance at the garden, where the daisies continued to sway gently in the breeze.

Vaelys sat at a small table in her chamber, the delicate embroidery hoop resting on her lap. The colourful threads and intricate patterns should have captured her attention, but her mind was far away from the neat stitches and delicate fabric.

Instead, her violet eyes were fixed on the window, where the clear blue sky seemed to beckon her.

Outside, the sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over King's Landing. Vaelys could just make out the distant silhouette of dragons soaring high above the city.

Her heart ached with longing as she imagined herself among them, the wind rushing through her hair and the world unfolding beneath her.

"Princess Vaelys," came the gentle but firm voice of her septa, "You must focus on your embroidery. This is an important skill for a young lady of your standing."

Vaelys sighed softly, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the threads in her hand. "Yes, Septa Hilda," she murmured, though her gaze remained fixed on the sky.

She could almost feel the powerful muscles of her dragon, Archonei, beneath her, the thrill of flight making her heart race.

"Vaelys," Septa Hilda said more sternly, stepping closer and placing a hand on the girl's shoulder, "You need to concentrate. Embroidery requires patience and precision, qualities that are essential for a future Queen."

Vaelys nodded reluctantly, tearing her eyes away from the window and looking down at her half-finished work.

But the delicate flowers and leaves she was stitching seemed dull and lifeless compared to the vivid, exhilarating world she yearned to be a part of.

"Septa Hilda," Vaelys said hesitantly, "why can't I go flying with Archonei today? Just for a little while?"

The septa's expression softened slightly, but she shook her head. "You have responsibilities, Princess. Flying is a privilege, not a pastime. You must learn to balance your duties with your desires."

Vaelys bit her lip, nodding again, though her heart wasn't in it. She picked up her needle and tried to focus on her stitches, but her mind kept drifting back to the sky, to Archonei, and to the freedom she longed for.

Soon her thoughts turned to her uncle Aemond, and a deep sadness settled in her heart.

Aemond, unlike her and many other members of their family, did not have a dragon. The egg he had been given as a babe had never hatched, leaving him without a bond to one of the magnificent creatures.

Vaelys knew how much he longed for a dragon, how he often gazed at them with a mixture of admiration and longing.

She remembered the countless times she had seen him standing alone in the Dragonpit, staring up at the great beasts with a look of quiet yearning.

It seemed so unfair to her that someone who loved dragons so much should be without one.

Vaelys let out a small sigh, her fingers absently twisting a loose thread on her embroidery. She wished there was something she could do to help him, to ease the ache she saw in his eyes whenever dragons were mentioned.

The thought of her uncle, so brave and determined, feeling incomplete without a dragon, made her feel sad.

"Vaelys," Septa Hilda's voice broke through her reverie, "you must pay attention to your embroidery."

Startled, Vaelys looked down at the unfinished work in her hands. She tried to focus on the delicate stitches, but her mind kept drifting back to Aemond, and she was certain that one day he would have his dragon, if her Auntie Laena had managed to claim Vhagar later in life then there was hope that one day Aemond would be able to soar amongst the clouds.

Vaelys stood at the edge of the training yard, her cheeks tinged pink as she watched her eight-year-old uncle, Aemond, sparring with Ser Criston Cole. The clang of swords and the shouts of encouragement from the onlookers filled the air.

Aemond's silver hair, glinted in the sunlight as he parried and struck, his small frame radiating fierce concentration. Vaelys felt a swell of pride mixed with an unfamiliar fluttering in her chest. She clutched the edge of her dress, her fingers twisting the fabric as she watched him.

Ser Criston Cole, circled Aemond, his expression stern and critical. Vaelys didn't like the crispy man, as she and her brothers Jace and Luke secretly called him.

Criston was always strict and unkind to her and her brothers, though he seemed to treat Aemond and Aegon differently, almost favourably and Vaelys couldn't understand why.

As Aemond lunged forward with his practice sword, Criston deftly blocked the attack and pushed him back. "Keep your stance firm, young prince," Criston instructed, his tone harsher than it needed to be. "You must be steady and unyielding."

Aemond nodded, his face set in determined lines as he resumed his stance. Vaelys felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew how hard Aemond worked to prove himself, especially since he didn't have a dragon of his own. She wanted to call out to him, to cheer him on, but she felt a strange shyness holding her back.

Just then, Jace and Luke came running up to her, their laughter and playful shouts breaking her reverie. "Vaelys, come play with us!" Jace called, his dark hair bouncing as he ran.

Vaelys tore her gaze away from the training yard and looked at her brothers. "In a moment," she said, her voice soft. "I want to watch Aemond a little longer."

Luke pouted but didn't argue. The brothers knew how much Vaelys cared for their uncle, even if they didn't fully understand why. They turned their attention to the sparring match, their interest piqued by the clashing swords.

As Criston barked another command, Vaelys' attention snapped back to Aemond. She saw the frustration flicker in his eyes, quickly masked by determination. He swung his sword again, and this time, Criston nodded approvingly. Vaelys' heart swelled with pride for him.

Ser Criston glanced over and caught sight of Vaelys watching. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he gave her a curt nod before turning back to Aemond.

"Crispy cunt," whispered Vaelys, her voice filled with venom.

Unfortunately, her words did not go unheard. Septa Hilda, who had been approaching to fetch Vaelys for her afternoon lessons, stopped dead in her tracks.

Her eyes widened in shock and disapproval. "VAELYS TARGARYEN!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying the authority of a thunderclap. "What did you just say?"

Vaelys spun around, her face flushing with a mixture of guilt and defiance. She hadn't meant for anyone to hear her, least of all Septa Hilda. "I-I didn't mean it," she stammered, but the septa's stern expression showed no sign of softening.

"Such language is utterly unacceptable," Septa Hilda scolded, her tone icy and severe. "A lady, especially a princess, must never speak in such a vulgar manner. What would your mother say if she heard you?"

Vaelys lowered her head, shame washing over her. She knew her mother would be deeply disappointed, and the thought made her heart ache. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Sorry is not enough," Septa Hilda continued, her eyes narrowing. "You will come with me immediately. You need to learn the importance of proper conduct and the consequences of failing to uphold it."

Vaelys nodded meekly, casting one last glance at Aemond, who was too absorbed in his training to notice the commotion. She followed Septa Hilda back towards the Red Keep, her steps heavy with regret.

As they walked, Septa Hilda lectured her on the virtues of decorum and the responsibilities that came with her noble status.

Vaelys listened in silence, the words washing over her like a cold, relentless tide. She knew she had made a mistake, and the weight of her actions pressed down on her like a heavy cloak.

When they reached her chambers, Septa Hilda instructed Vaelys to sit and write out a hundred lines: "A princess must always speak with grace and dignity." Vaelys obeyed, her hand aching by the time she was halfway through, but she didn't dare complain.

Vaelys stormed through the halls of the Red Keep, her face flushed with frustration. She muttered under her breath, her words a string of complaints about her stupid septa and the unfairness of it all. "Grace and dignity," she mimicked in a mocking tone, rolling her eyes. "I'll show her grace and dignity."

Lost in her thoughts, Vaelys didn't notice where she was going. She stomped around a corner and collided head-on with a solid figure. The impact made her stumble back, and she looked up, startled, to see Aemond standing before her.

“Were you following me again?” asked Aemond, his voice tinged with irritation.

"I-I wasn't following you," protested Vaelys weakly. "I live here too."

Aemond raised an eyebrow sceptically. "Really? Because it seems like every time I turn around, there you are and it’s annoying”.

“I didn’t mean-“ muttered Vaelys her lip wobbling.

"You know, Vaelys," he began tentatively, "Maybe you should try to find some friends”

Vaelys glanced up at him, her expression betraying a hint of sadness. "But I don't want to be friends with anyone else," she admitted quietly. "I want to be your friend."

Aemond's footsteps faltered, his brow furrowing in confusion. "My friend?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "Why would you want to be friends with me?"

Vaelys hesitated, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Because-because you're my uncle and-and I want to spend time with you” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's brow furrowed. “-And what I want is for you to stop following me around like some lost puppy."

Vaelys felt a lump form in her throat at his harsh words, hurt flickering in her violet eyes. "I'm not a lost puppy," she protested weakly, her voice quivering with emotion.

Aemond let out a scoff, shaking his head dismissively. "Well, I don't need you hovering over me all the time, drawing your stupid pictures or making those ridiculous daisy chains-" he retorted, his tone sharp and final.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Vaelys standing alone in the hallway, her heart heavy with disappointment.

Vaelys rushed to her room, her footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty hallway. As soon as the door closed behind her, she collapsed onto her bed, her body wracked with sobs. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

She had thought that Aemond liked her drawings, the ones she had painstakingly crafted just for him. She had spent hours sketching portraits of dragons, other animals and making daisy chains to brighten his day.

Even though she was only eight, Vaelys couldn't help but admit that she liked Aemond. She liked his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. She liked the warmth of his presence.

She would often find herself lost in daydreams of a future where they were married, where they had lots of children, laughing, and playing in the gardens of the Red Keep.

But now, that dream lay shattered at her feet, broken by Aemond's harsh rejection. The realization hit her like a physical blow, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. She buried her face in her pillow, muffling her sobs as she mourned the loss of what could have been.

Yet in that moment of despair, Vaelys still clung to the only comfort she had left—the hope that one day, things might be different.

That one day, Aemond would see her for who she truly was, and maybe, just maybe, he would come to love her as much as she loved him.

Aemond sat alone in his chamber, a heavy silence weighing upon him like a suffocating blanket. It had been almost a month since Vaelys had stopped speaking to him, and the absence of her presence left a strange ache in his chest.

At first, he had welcomed the reprieve from her constant hovering, her incessant chatter, and her persistent attempts to befriend him.

She had always been so annoying, always following him around, drawing him pictures and making those stupid daisy chains. He had thought that her absence would bring him relief, but instead, it left him feeling oddly empty.

He couldn't shake the feeling of sadness that settled over him like a shadow, a nagging sense of loss that he couldn't quite understand.

He missed the sound of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, and the warmth of her smile. He missed the way she would shyly offer him her drawings, her face flushing with embarrassment as she awaited his approval.

He had never realized how much he had grown accustomed to her presence until she had stopped speaking to him altogether. Now, the silence felt suffocating, a constant reminder of the void that had opened up between them.

Aemond sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't understand why he felt this way, why he couldn't shake the feeling of longing that gnawed at his insides, her absence had left him feeling strangely hollow.

As the days stretched on, Aemond found himself wishing for her to come back, to resume their awkward but familiar routine. He missed her drawings, her daisy chains, and even her incessant chatter. He missed her, more than he cared to admit.

Aemond stood at the edge of the training yard, his gaze scanning the scene before him. His attention was drawn to Vaelys as she picked up a wooden training sword, her eyes alight with determination. But before she could even take a swing, Ser Criston's stern voice rang out, cutting through the air like a whip.

"What do you think you're doing, girl?" Ser Criston's tone was sharp and disapproving, his gaze fixed on Vaelys with barely concealed disdain. "The training yard is no place for girls. Leave the swordplay to the men."

Vaelys froze, her face flushing with embarrassment as she lowered the sword, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Aemond watched with a pang of sympathy, knowing all too well the sting of being told you weren't good enough.

A sudden urge burst forth and Aemond found himself speaking up, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "If Vaelys wishes to train, then she should be allowed to," he declared, stepping forward to stand beside her. "It doesn't matter if she's a girl. She has just as much right to learn as anyone else."

Ser Criston's eyes narrowed in disbelief; his expression incredulous. "But-but she's a girl," he sputtered, as if that should be explanation enough.

Aemond's jaw clenched with frustration, but he kept his voice steady. "And what of it? Girls can fight just as well as boys, if given the chance. Vaelys deserves that chance. Look at Queen Visenya a warrior in her own right"

Ser Criston seemed to consider Aemond's words for a moment, his expression still sceptical. But finally, he relented with a reluctant nod. "Very well," he grumbled, gesturing for Vaelys to resume her stance. "But don't expect any special treatment."

Vaelys' face lit up with a mixture of surprise and gratitude as she raised the wooden sword once more, a determined glint in her eyes.

Aemond felt an odd sensation fluttering in the pit of his stomach as he caught Vaelys' gaze across the training yard. Her smile, bright and genuine, sent a warm tingle through him, and he couldn't help but feel a strange tightness in his chest.

He had seen her smile countless times before, but this time felt different. There was something about the way her eyes lit up, the way her lips curved into a soft, affectionate grin, that made his heart skip a beat.

Aemond blinked, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of his own reaction. He had never felt this way before, this strange mix of nervousness and excitement whenever he was around Vaelys.

It was as if a fluttering flock of butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach, their delicate wings beating erratically with each fleeting glance.

He tore his gaze away, focusing instead on the training dummy in front of him, willing his racing heart to calm down. But no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn't shake the lingering warmth of Vaelys' smile.

With a shake of his head, Aemond pushed aside his swirling thoughts, determined to focus on the task at hand.

But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that Vaelys' smile had sparked something within him, something that he couldn't quite put into words.

Vaelys sat cross-legged on the soft grass of the gardens, a book on the Dragonlords of Old Valyria propped open on her lap.

Beside her, Aemond leaned against the trunk of the weirwood tree.

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the pages before them.

“Kostōba isse magic, se zaldrīzes lords hen uēpa valyrio issi ivestretan emagon gaomagon binding spells se horns naejot control pōja zaldrīzoti, se pōnta gaomagon zaldrīzes perzys naejot reshape dōron” said Vaelys (Strong in magic, the dragon lords of old Valyria are said to have used binding spells and horns to control their dragons, and they used dragon flame to reshape stone).

Aemond closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. Vaelys was very proficient in high Valyrian, and her voice was smooth and firm as she spoke the words of their forebears. In truth, it was rather enjoyable,

“Lentor belaerys istan mēre hen izulēpsa zaldrīzes āeksio families hen valyrio” spoke Vaelys (House Belaerys was one of the forty dragon lord families of Valyria).

“Did you know that Jaenara Belaerys and her dragon Terrax-“

“-Flew further than anyone had ever previously dared. She returned three years later after having found only endless jungle, deserts, and mountains. Jaenara declared that Sothoryos was as large as Essos and a land without end” said Vaelys smiling.

“I see you pay attention in your lessons” mused Aemond.

“Only the ones I find interesting” replied Valeys.

As they took turns to read, Vaelys found herself stealing glances at Aemond, studying the profile of his face as he concentrated on the text before him. He looked so handsome, she thought, with his silver hair catching the sunlight and his eyes shining with intelligence and determination.

Suddenly, Aemond looked up, catching her gaze. Their eyes met, and Vaelys felt her cheeks flush with warmth.

"Vaelys," he began tentatively, "Do you ever think about-our future? About whom we might marry one day?"

Vaelys looked up from her own book, her brows furrowing in confusion at the unexpected question. "I-I suppose I have," she admitted slowly, uncertainty creeping into her voice. "But why do you ask?"

Aemond hesitated, struggling to put his feelings into words. "It's just-I don't much like the idea of being married off to a stranger," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to marry someone I know and trust, someone like-like you."

Vaelys' eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushing with warmth at his words. "You mean-you want to marry me?" she asked, her heart fluttering with hope.

Aemond nodded, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. "Yes," he replied softly. "I've always felt a special connection with you, Vaelys. And I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else."

Aemond and Vaelys stood before the ancient weirwood tree, its weathered bark bearing witness to countless generations of vows and promises. The soft whisper of the leaves and the gentle rustle of the wind seemed to echo their heartbeat as they gazed at each other, their hands clasped tightly together.

"Vaelys," Aemond began, his voice barely above a whisper, "I promise to marry you when we come of age. I promise to stand by your side through thick and thin, to love and cherish you for all the days of my life."

Vaelys’ heart swelled with love and gratitude as she looked into his eyes, her own voice trembling with emotion. "Aemond," she replied, his voice filled with conviction, "I promise to marry you as well. I promise to protect you, to honour you, and to love you with all that I am, for as long as I draw breath."

Aemond's heart raced with nervous anticipation as he looked into Vaelys' eyes, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in their depths. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, as he gathered the courage to voice the question that had been weighing heavily on his mind.

"Vaelys," he began, his voice barely a whisper, "May I-may I kiss you?"

Vaelys' cheeks flushed with a rosy hue as she met his gaze, her own heart pounding in her chest. She felt a surge of warmth spreading through her at his words, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swirling in the pit of her stomach.

"Yes," she replied softly, her voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the leaves. "Yes, Aemond, you may."

With a trembling hand, Aemond reached out to cup Vaelys' cheek, his touch gentle and tender. He leaned in slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, until their lips met in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the sweet embrace, their hearts beating as one. It was a moment of pure magic, a promise of love and devotion that transcended words.

After their kiss, Vaelys couldn't help but feel a surge of playful energy coursing through her veins.

With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she flashed Aemond a teasing grin.

"I thought you always found me annoying."

Aemond chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You are annoying," he replied with mock seriousness, "But in the best possible way."

[bullet-prooflove]

4000 Follower Celebration: Finish What I Started - Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

There are so many things that Dean hates about his illness. The hours he spends attached to dialysis machine, the exhaustion, the constant pain and discomfort.

None of that compares to his inability to physically express his love for you.

He tries, oh Lord he does but his dick, it just won’t cooperate.

“It’s ok.” You tell him as you straddle his hips, your fingertips tracing over his grizzled cheek. “It’s just a side effect of the dialysis.”

It’s the first time you’ve tried being intimate since he started this course of treatment and Dean had never envisioned it would have this effect on him. He knows it happens to other people but he never thought it would happen to him.

You can see he’s shutting down. The shame it flushes up his features as he raises to his feet, tugging on his underwear.

“Dean…” You murmur.

He doesn’t say anything, he simply pads into the bathroom and closes the door behind him. You understand that he needs space, it’s not easy accepting the limitations you body puts on you, especially for a man like Dean.

You give him ten minutes, anything more and you know he’s going to end up trapped in his own head. You rap your knuckles lightly on the door.

“We should talk about it.” You say softly and Dean, he doesn’t respond.

Instead he sits on the other side of the door, his head resting against the wood with his elbows on his knees. He can’t explain how impotent he feels in this moment. This illness, it’s eating away at him, it’s taking everything.

He knows if he lets it, it will take you too.

Shit like this, it erodes a marriage, it grinds it into the ground and he doesn’t want that for the two of you.

It takes him a minute to find the courage to leave the bathroom, to gather up his strength to confront the issue. It isn’t just about him, he remembers, it’s about you too. It’s about reminding his loving, passionate wife that he’s still attracted to her, that he wants her as much as she wants him.

You’re still lingering by the door when he opens it, clad in his charcoal grey dressing gown. He leans against the frame as he cups your face, his thumb chasing over the apple of you cheek.

“It’s not you.” He whispers. “You’re beautiful, sexy, any man would…”

“Let’s not go there.” You say gently, your hand coming to rest upon his, cradling it to your face. “Let’s not talk about other men, not when the one I want is standing here in front of me.”

“I hate not being able to love you.” He tells you, his forehead coming to rest upon yours. “Not being able to bring you pleasure…”

“Dean,” You whisper against his lips. “There are other ways to make me forget anything but your name, there are things we try, medications.”

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He murmurs, his fingers coming to rest on the knot that cinches your robe closed. He loosens it and the fabric falls open revealing your bareness. “We can look into that later, right now though, right now I really just wanna finish what I started.”

Love Dean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[animentality]

Astarion hyperfans are moderately insufferable, and I say that with only mild disdain, because there are people who are harmlessly obsessed with the gay vampire, and I don't mind them, even if they completely overpower the entire fandom and have reduced BG3 to being just about romance and the gay vampire.

But then there are the essayists, who insist that only they "truly" understand Astarion.

And they'll write a 4000 word treatise about how they're the only people who love him right and they'll attack people who make jokes about him, and don't treat him like the most tragic and layered fictional character in history.

They're also the ones who'll make any post about Shadowheart or Gale or Wyll or Halsin about Astarion for absolutely no reason.

You could say I'm so in love with Wyll and they'll say but what about Astarion?

You could say I really enjoy bg 3, and not just for the romance, and they'll say oh baldur's gate 3 is an Astarion dating sim for me.

Like alright. Cool. This is the internet and it's not illegal to be obnoxious.

But holy fuck is it obnoxious.

I get that Astarion is popular and I do like him myself. I get the appeal.

But it's irking me.

It's irking me on Tumblr and on TikTok, where it's gay vampire this, gay vampire that.

Every damn post in the tag is just him, and every tiktok is straight girls thirsting over his booktok like romance novel demeanor.

If you're an Astarion hyperfan who's reading this and gets annoyed and replies with what's wrong with people enjoying the game the way they want to, the answer is nothing.

I just personally find it boring and tiring and the majority of the fandom seems to only want to talk about this one specific character and no one else.

And that's like, whatever to me personally.

It gets old and I wish I could just ignore the fandom and be happy with the game but it's kind of hard when you're obsessed with this game and want to see more fan works about it, but every single person only gushes about one person.

I have never seen anyone on Tumblr or TikTok talking about how absolutely devastating the other characters' backstories are, even though they all have tragic stories and they all have kind of tragic endings, even if you do the right thing.

And it's a bummer.

And I'm blocking anyone who clowns around on this post, for not getting the point. This isn't about people just liking a character, or the majority of a fandom being in love with just one person.

It's mostly about my own personal preference, and if you're an Astarion fan who only ever wants to see/think about Astarion content, then keep scrolling and mind your business, as I mind mine.