#ask and you shall receive my dream child

[peppymintdreams]

i really enjoyed the recent fic of urs where the sakuverse characters were turned into cats !! could u maybe create another version, but with the listeners turning into cats instead ? ꉂ(ˊᗜˋ*)

Ofcourse I can Len…Marston damn you really did convert went from having like 25,000 Xanthus request now they all be Andrew..where’s the loyalty in all truths I have done this version of the story before it just got scrapped

Paws and prejudice

oh no the wizard is back but instead of turning the Sakuvohs into a cat the wizard turns YOU into a cat

Luca

Luca was peacefully reading on the couch, Mocha curled up at his feet, when a familiar, spine-chilling laugh echoed through the apartment. He froze, his book slipping from his hands.

“No… no, no, no, not again,” he muttered, standing up and scanning the room.

Before he could do anything else, a puff of glittering smoke appeared in the middle of the living room. The Wizard—yes, that wizard—emerged, his staff gleaming with mischief.

“Hello, young lovebirds!” the Wizard announced, his eyes twinkling with glee. “Did you miss me?”

“No!” Luca snapped, his voice higher-pitched than usual. “What do you want now gandolf? Haven’t you done enough?!”

The Wizard tilted his head, mock hurt painting his face. “But Luca, dear boy, you were such fun last time! I thought I’d mix things up.” He twirled his staff dramatically, pointing it directly behind Luca.

“Wait, behind me?” Luca spun around to see you standing there, looking utterly baffled.

“Hey, Luca, what’s—” Before you could finish, a bright flash of light consumed the room.

When Luca’s eyes adjusted, you were gone. Instead, sitting on the floor in your place, was a… cat.

Luca stared, wide-eyed. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no.”

The Wizard cackled. “A perfect match for your precious Mocha, don’t you think?” With that, he vanished into another puff of glitter, leaving Luca standing in stunned silence.

You—now a sleek, slightly disgruntled-looking cat—let out an incredulous meow.

“Mc?!” Luca crouched down, panic written all over his face. “Oh my god, it’s you, isn’t it? Please tell me that’s you!”

You meowed again, flicking your tail in annoyance.

“Oh no,” Luca groaned, running a hand through his hair. “This can’t be happening. How am I supposed to fix this?! I don’t even know where that wizard lives! Do wizards have homes? Or lairs? Oh god—what if you’re stuck like this forever?”

You padded up to him, headbutting his knee to calm him down.

“Okay, okay,” he breathed, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “We’ll figure this out. Together. Somehow.” He reached out to scratch behind your ears, and despite everything, you purred.

Luca couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “I mean… you’re still cute as a cat, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think you’re going to enjoy being stuck on a diet of kibble.”

Mocha wandered over, sniffing at you curiously before letting out a friendly chirp. You shot her a look that could only mean, I am not amused.

“Alright,” Luca said, standing up with determination. “First, I’m going to find that wizard. And second—well, I don’t know what second is yet, but we’re fixing this.”

You meowed again, pawing at his leg as if to say, You better fix this.

Luca bent down to scoop you up, holding you gently but firmly in his arms. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. No matter what.”

And with that, the two of you—well, Luca and Cat!You—set off to track down the mischievous wizard once and for all.

Isaac

Isaac had just finished organizing a pile of case files when a familiar shimmer of light flooded the living room. He turned sharply, his instincts kicking in before logic could catch up. Standing in the center of his home, smirking as if he owned the place, was the wizard from before.

"You again," Isaac growled, his hands clenching into fists. "I thought I made it clear I wasn’t in the mood for your tricks."

The wizard laughed, twirling his staff with an air of theatricality. "Oh, Detective, you were such fun the last time. But I’m not here for you today."

Isaac’s eyes narrowed, a chill creeping up his spine. “What do you want?”

Before the wizard could answer, footsteps echoed from the hallway as Pickle walked in, carrying a plate of cookies. They stopped mid-step, their eyes darting between Isaac and the uninvited guest.

"Uh… Isaac?" they said hesitantly. "Who’s this?"

"Trouble," Isaac replied, his voice taut.

The wizard’s grin widened. "Oh, your little partner! How quaint. It seems you’ve both been living quite peacefully since our last encounter. Let’s... shake things up, shall we?"

Before Isaac could react, the wizard raised his staff, a flash of golden light erupting from its tip. Pickle dropped the plate with a startled gasp, the cookies scattering across the floor.

When the light faded, Isaac blinked—and found a small, fluffy cat sitting where Pickle had stood.

"...Pickle?" he asked, his voice low and disbelieving.

The cat looked up at him with wide, familiar eyes and let out a tiny, plaintive meow.

The wizard clapped his hands together, clearly pleased with himself. "Much better, don’t you think? They make quite the adorable feline."

Isaac’s jaw tightened, his fury simmering beneath the surface. "Turn them back. Now."

"Where’s the fun in that?" the wizard replied. "Perhaps this will teach you both a lesson in humility."

Isaac took a step forward, his tone dropping into a dangerous growl. "You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Fix this, or I’ll make you regret ever stepping into my home."

The wizard laughed, clearly unfazed. "Oh, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to sort this out yourselves. Good luck, Detective." With a final wave of his staff, the wizard vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Isaac standing alone with the now-feline Pickle.

Isaac knelt down, his piercing green eyes softening as he studied the small cat sitting on the floor. "Pickle?" he murmured.

The cat let out another small meow and padded closer, brushing against his leg in a gesture that was both affectionate and apologetic.

Isaac sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Of all the things that could’ve happened today…"

He reached out carefully, scooping them into his arms. Pickle’s tiny body fit perfectly against his chest, their soft fur warm under his hand. Despite the absurdity of the situation, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"You’re lucky you’re still cute," he muttered, cradling them gently.

Pickle purred, the vibration a soothing hum against his chest.

The next few hours were… an adjustment.

Isaac set up a cozy makeshift bed for Pickle on the couch, though they stubbornly refused to use it, preferring instead to curl up in his lap whenever he sat down.

He tried to focus on his work, but Pickle had other ideas. They climbed onto his desk, swatting at his pen as he attempted to jot down notes.

"Pickle," he said warningly, raising an eyebrow. "I’m trying to work here."

The cat blinked up at him innocently before batting at his pen again.

Isaac sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you."

Pickle hopped into his lap, curling up with a satisfied purr. Isaac shook his head, a small smile breaking through his stern exterior.

Later that evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Isaac sat with Pickle in his lap, stroking their fur absentmindedly.

"We’ll figure this out," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "I’ll find that wizard and make him undo this. I promise."

Pickle looked up at him, their eyes filled with a mix of trust and affection.

Isaac leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of their head. "Until then, you’re staying right here with me. No more wizards, no more trouble. Just us."

Pickle let out a soft meow, their purrs filling the quiet room.

Isaac’s resolve hardened. He would find the wizard, no matter how long it took. And when he did, he’d make sure nothing—and no one—ever messed with his Pickle again.

Andrew

Andrew had barely recovered from his last encounter with the eccentric wizard. He was just settling into a rare quiet evening with Darling when the unmistakable sound of a cane tapping against wood echoed in the room.

He looked up sharply. "No."

The wizard grinned, his beard practically shimmering with mischief. "Ah, Andrew! A delight to see you again."

Andrew stood, already exasperated. "Whatever you're planning, don't—"

But before he could finish, the wizard pointed his staff at Darling, who was sitting on the couch with a mug of tea.

“Wait, what—” Darling began, but the room flashed with light, and where Darling had been, a small, fluffy gray cat now sat in their place, blinking wide, confused eyes.

The mug toppled over, spilling tea onto the floor.

Andrew froze. “You did not just—”

The wizard chuckled. “A little balance in the universe. You got your turn, now it’s theirs!”

Before Andrew could launch himself at the man, he vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving behind only a faint scent of lavender and chaos.

Andrew turned his attention to the cat. “Darling?”

The cat looked up at him, tail flicking. Their eyes—still unmistakably theirs—narrowed in what could only be described as irritation.

“Of course,” Andrew muttered, running a hand down his face. “Because why not?”

Over the next hour, Andrew did his best to manage the situation. Darling, however, seemed intent on making it difficult.

When he tried to pick them up, they bolted under the table. When he brought over a bowl of water, they gave him a look that screamed really? When he sat on the couch, trying to think of a solution, Darling jumped onto his lap, batting at his tie with smug precision.

“Don’t think I can’t tell you’re enjoying this,” Andrew grumbled, watching as they stretched luxuriously, their little paws curling.

They meowed, and it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Andrew sighed. “You’re insufferable as a person and as a cat. Impressive consistency.”

Darling climbed onto his shoulder, settling there like they owned the place. Andrew felt a purr rumble against his neck and rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched with an unwilling smile.

The wizard reappeared later that night, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Well, Andrew? Enlightened yet?”

“Change them back. Now.” Andrew’s voice was calm, but his eyes were dangerous.

The wizard raised an eyebrow. “No gratitude? I thought you’d appreciate the symmetry.”

“I don’t appreciate anything about this,” Andrew said tightly. “Especially since someone spent half the evening shredding my notes.”

Darling, still perched on Andrew’s shoulder, batted innocently at his hair.

The wizard chuckled. “Alright, alright. I’ll undo it. But only because you asked so nicely.”

He waved his staff, and in another flash of light, Darling was back to their human form, looking disoriented but otherwise unharmed.

Andrew quickly wrapped an arm around them, steadying them. “You okay?”

Darling nodded, rubbing their eyes. “Yeah, I think so.” Then they smirked. “But you have to admit, I made a pretty great cat.”

Andrew stared at them, exasperated. “You destroyed half my work!”

“Don’t leave papers where they’re so easy to shred,” Darling replied cheekily, leaning into his side.

The wizard disappeared once again with a satisfied hum, leaving Andrew shaking his head.

“Next time,” he muttered, “we’re getting a restraining order against that man.”

Darling laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Relax, Andrew. At least you didn’t get turned into a cat again.”

“That’s not the comfort you think it is,” he said, but his arm tightened around them nonetheless.

Elias

Elias stared at the tiny, fluffy creature sitting in the middle of the living room floor, blinking up at him with wide, unmistakably Barista-like eyes.

“Oh, come on!” Elias groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Why is it always cats with that guy?”

Barista—now a small, gray tabby—let out an irritated meow and pawed at the hem of Elias’s jeans, clearly demanding he do something.

“I know, I know,” Elias muttered, crouching down to look at them more closely. “I’ll fix it, I promise. Just... give me a second to process this, alright?”

Barista sat back, tail flicking in irritation.

“This is ridiculous,” Elias continued, pacing the room. “First, he turns me into a cat. Now it’s you. What’s next? Warden? Tara?”

Barista let out another insistent meow, clearly unimpressed with his rambling.

“Okay, okay,” Elias said, holding up his hands. “Let’s think this through. Where is that wizard? Did he just poof away like last time?”

Barista nodded—or at least, it looked like a nod.

“Of course he did,” Elias muttered. “Why stick around when you can just turn people into cats and leave?” He sighed and turned back to Barista. “Alright. First things first—you’re okay, right? No weird side effects? No sudden urge to chase mice?”

Barista gave him a flat look, their tail flicking again.

“Right. Dumb question,” Elias said, smirking a little despite himself. “You’re still you. Just... smaller. And furrier.”

Barista let out a small, pitiful meow and hopped onto the couch, curling into a tiny, defeated ball.

“Oh, hey, don’t do that,” Elias said, sitting down beside them. He gently scratched behind their ears, and Barista immediately leaned into the touch, purring despite their annoyance.

“See? Not all bad,” Elias teased, grinning. “You’re still cute. Just in a different way.”

Barista swatted at him with a tiny paw, but the purring didn’t stop.

“Okay, okay,” Elias said, chuckling. “No more jokes. Let’s figure this out.”

He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through his contacts. “I’ll call Tara. Maybe she can help track down our favorite spell-happy wizard and—”

Before he could finish, there was a loud pop, and the wizard appeared in the middle of the room, looking as smug as ever.

“Enjoying the transformation?” the wizard asked, stroking his beard.

“Are you serious?” Elias snapped, standing up. “What is your deal with turning people into cats?”

The wizard shrugged. “It’s a hobby.”

“Well, your hobby sucks,” Elias shot back. “Change them back. Now.”

The wizard raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about I don’t throw you out the window?” Elias growled, stepping closer.

The wizard chuckled. “Alright, alright. No need to get violent. Hold still.”

With another pop, Barista was back to their human self, sitting on the couch with a dazed expression.

Elias immediately dropped to his knees in front of them, cupping their face in his hands. “You okay?”

Barista nodded, blinking a few times. “I think so.”

“Good,” Elias said, pulling them into a tight hug. “Because if that guy had turned you into anything else, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

The wizard cleared his throat. “Well, my work here is done. Until next time!”

“There won’t be a next time!” Elias shouted as the wizard disappeared with yet another pop.

Barista let out a soft laugh, leaning against Elias. “At least he didn’t turn you into a cat this time.”

“Yeah, well,” Elias said, holding them closer. “Next time, we’re investing in some anti-wizard charms or something. I’m not risking this again.”

Barista smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Agreed.”

Xanthus

Xanthus was already on edge the moment he stepped into the shadowy woods. He could feel the magic lingering in the air, thick and stifling like a storm waiting to break. His coat swirled around him as he stepped carefully over gnarled roots, silver eyes scanning for any sign of trouble—or the wizard who had been a thorn in his side for far too long.

But as he approached the clearing where he had last sensed your presence, something wasn’t right. You weren’t there, but instead, a small, trembling ball of fur sat in the center of the mossy ground.

“...Love?” Xanthus called, voice sharp and wary.

The creature perked up at the sound of his voice, and Xanthus froze as a pair of wide, familiar eyes looked up at him. Except they weren’t your eyes—they belonged to a cat.

A very confused, very fluffy cat.

“Oh, for the love of—” Xanthus muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He crouched down as the cat scrambled toward him, tripping over its own paws before pressing against his knee with a pitiful meow.

You. Of course, it was you.

He sighed, picking you up carefully and holding you at arm’s length. “I’m assuming this is the wizard’s doing again?”

You let out an indignant meow, your tiny tail swishing furiously.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Xanthus said dryly, tucking you against his chest as he stood. “You couldn’t have just stayed inside for one day, could you?”

Another meow. This one sounded suspiciously guilty.

As he carried you back toward the manor, Xanthus’s mind raced with possibilities. He needed to find a way to reverse the spell—and quickly. But for now, he had a much bigger problem.

You, apparently, had no intention of behaving like a normal cat.

The moment he set you down in his study, you bolted onto his desk, knocking over a stack of papers and scattering them across the floor.

“Seriously?” Xanthus growled, snatching you up again before you could knock over his ink bottle. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying this.”

You purred loudly, curling into his arms with a smug expression that made him groan.

The door creaked open, and Xanthus turned to see Dontis leaning casually against the frame, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he took in the scene.

“Well, well,” Dontis drawled. “Didn’t take you long to adopt a pet, Xanthus. Though I must say, the resemblance is uncanny.”

“It’s not a pet,” Xanthus snapped, holding you up for emphasis. “It’s Love.”

Dontis blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re telling me the wizard turned them into a cat? Again?”

Xanthus’s glare could have melted steel. “If you’re not here to help, leave.”

“Oh, I’m definitely staying,” Dontis said, strolling into the room and inspecting you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “This is too good to miss. How does it feel, Love? Being a cute little furball?”

You hissed at him, and Dontis laughed even harder.

Xanthus sighed, setting you back down on the desk. “Enough. I need to figure out how to fix this.”

Dontis smirked. “Or you could just keep them like this. They’re much quieter as a cat.”

You swiped a paw at Dontis, narrowly missing his hand.

Xanthus pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Dontis, I swear—”

“Fine, fine,” Dontis said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But if you need a sitter, you know where to find me.”

As Dontis sauntered out of the room, Xanthus turned back to you, his expression softening despite his frustration.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered as you stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “This is your fault.”

You meowed, hopping into his lap and curling up with another loud purr.

Xanthus sighed, stroking your fur absentmindedly. “Let’s just hope I can fix this before you get too comfortable.”

Though, judging by the way you nuzzled into his hand, it seemed you already had.

🍬

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or incorrect quotes or head canons and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[cvnt4him]

IIDA WITH A PREGNANT WIFE 🙏🏾🙏🏾🙏🏾

ask n you shall receive‼️

Some time ago you were talking amongst your girl friends, gathering around and chatting about whatever topic came up. First it was how you husbands/boyfriends were, then it was work, then it was something you'd seen online, and then ochako randomly surprised everyone with some news.

"I'm pregnant!"

Dramatic gasps coming from around the table, all the girls squeal and congratulate ochako in mushed together tones, you were so happy for your friend! She was starting a new chapter of her life with the love of her life and you thought that was truly amazing!

Sooner or later it had you zoning out in front of the love of your life, he was speaking to you about something that had instantly slipped your mind. You were just blankly looking at him, his biceps, his pretty face, the way his jawline was so sharp, and how thick his neck was. You wanted to litter marks all over him leaving no inch left un painted.

He soon instantly realized you weren't paying attention, his words falling into deaf ears. Tenya hummed in disapproval. He couldn't believe you were zoning out like this!! He put his hands into his hips and looked at you with a look that made you absentmindedly bite your lip. He could be so sassy yet not even notice it.

The way you bit your lip and your pupils looked blown wide instantly made him see something hiding behind you, he swallowed hardly and fixed his clothes clearing his throat then moving to sit next to you on your couch. Your eyes follow, you look at him and blink a couple of times before slowly coming back to reality.

Tenya grabs your hands and held them in his larger ones, he created a warmth in between both of your hands. It was so comfortable and loving, the way he looked at you with those beautiful eyes, ones that swallowed you whole with just a glance, he could tell a story without even speaking. He was just so beautiful without even trying it was enviable.

"my love.. is something the matter? You seem to be spacing out quite a lot these days. I'm getting quite worried. Are you sick or feeling under the weather in some way? Is there anything, anything at all that I can do to satisfy you?"

Tenya went on and on trying to find a quick solution to an unknown problem. He turned his head to the side like a lost puppy and that only made you whimper lowly. He heard it and was quite concerned he just didn't know what to do. He sighed beginning to speak again before you quickly shut him down.

"i want to have a baby."

"I- what."

His face was serious and his eyes were wide. Had you just said what he thought you did. Your saddened yet turned on face never changed, you looked at him with pouty blown wide eyes that only ever made him love you more. He was speechless, truly he was.

"I— a- a baby? With me? Really.."

Tenya stumbled out, tenya loved his job and he loved you just as much. The thought of you wanting to have a child, a family with him was nothing less than a dream. It was something he had thought about and hoped to talk to you about. He wanted a legacy sure, but most importantly he wanted to see you waddle around his house full and swollen with his seed. His kid, growing inside of you like he planted it to do.

The thought of him putting his child inside of you made him feel filthy. The fact he thought of you like this, all pregnant and aching for him made him feel so so disgusting. He felt like a pig, but God he just wanted to get you pregnant, and now that he knows you want it he just doesn't know how to control the feelings burbling inside.

After getting you pregnant his main priority was assuring that you took off of work immediately. He wanted you resting at all times, he didn't want you to move not even if you absolutely had to. He wanted to do everything for you.

Tenya was so glad he could see you like this, you were pregnant with his child. The next Iida would have your DNA glowing through it. That just felt so right to him. But the thought of it was also so dirty. He couldn't help but to think about how the two of you made your little child growing bigger inside of you each and every day.

He would hold you tightly and tell you how excited he was while rubbing your tummy, tenya is a big strong guy he can carry you every where if need be. Of course it isn't because you would never have him do that but just the fact that he would makes your heart flutter.

Tenya loves the fact that every time your tummy gets bigger you have trouble bending down, like putting on socks or your shoes or even your underwear. You groan in frustration anger growing inside of you as you try to put your flats on, you hated wearing anything other than them as other shoes began to get rather uncomfortable. Tenya simply chuckled at you getting all angry over nothing, he walked over to you and bent down putting your shoes on for you while you hold onto the wall for support. You thank him with a giggle and go on about your day.

Being on your feet is a pain in the ass, it's bad on your back and it's just tiring. You've noticed that you've gotten more and more tired as the days go by, you hated not being proactive sometimes and your feelings for alot of things have just been heightened. You get angry quicker, more emotional it's just a lot for you sometimes it's quite overwhelming.

Your lovely and caring husband tenya notices and he hears you. He heard how you hate being pregnant, he understands how tiring and annoying it is so when you complain to him how your back hurts or how your feet are aching he's quick to lie you down and rub your feet or gently apply cold oil onto your back and massage into your skin. His large warm hands tracing up and down your back gliding across your shoulders and wrapping around the back of your neck before sliding back down your back. Tenya whispers sweet things into your ears like how proud of you he is, how strong and smart and perfect you are for him, how he can't wait for you to be the mother of his child and how he can't wait to meet your child. It all gets to you and makes you tear up which eventually leads to you down right so being in his arms.

You love looking at your ultrasound pictures. Seeing your little child that the two of you made just sit inside of you makes you so happy. The thought of being a mom scares you, and the fact you're going to have to push out a whole kid sooner or later fucking terrifies you, but tenya is always there to make you feel so much better and so strong.

Tenya is such a king, he lays his head on your stomach and the baby kicks him in the head. He scoffs with a huge smile on his face, matching the surprised and happy face you make. You both look at each other then back down to your tummy in union it makes him laugh loudly while he lies his head back onto your tummy. You laugh as well and he can feel the way you tummy moves up and down as you do.

He feeds all of your cravings with no questions asked. No hesitation no back talk, he's just up and at em. Tenya is so quick to ask you if you need anything, absolutely anything before he lies down next to you. Sometimes it's so hard to want to get up when he lies down into his comforting slot beside you. The warmth that created in between the two of you just soothes him and lulls him off to sleep.

Everytime tenya tells you in some way shape or form how much he loves you and how proud of you he is. He tells you how he can't wait to meet his child and how he can't wait to see you give birth. Everything scares you, the thought of being a mom, being a new mom, and having to push a kid out. But having tenya by your side telling you how strong and empowering you are just seems to give you confidence as if you could conquer the world.

AN: this was fun to write, I havent really been in the mood to do much but writing this madr me feel better.

I'm gonna start writing for haikyuu soon so feel free to request HQ cuties gang ‼️‼️

[mydearlybeloathed]

── 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Long ago, you were cursed to one day sleep for an eternity—unless you’re presented with true love. You thought destiny couldn’t find you on the high seas, but when you're sorely mistaken, it's up to a certain swordsman to get his act together and rescue you from eternal sleep.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: zoro x princess!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.4k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: tw blood, sleeping beauty au, meddling faeries here and there, stubborn swordsmen and lovelorn princesses, no use of Y/N, light angst, major fluff

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: falling - timothy cole

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝔒𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔞 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢,

a very many years ago, twelve Wise Women from the Isle of Perminion—faeries was a more precise term, but they felt the label struck too much fear into their mortal fellows, and in this economy, faeries need willing clientele—were invited to the presentation of a young princess from an old kingdom. Each bestowed upon her gifts coveted by all. Beauty, grace, love, and the like. 

It was the thirteenth Wise Woman who took it all back.

“You dare not invite me to this celebration of life? Fine. Forget me. But not before I give the princess my own gift. She’ll grow beautiful, wise, and loved, as my fellow Wise Women decreed—but one day she’ll lose all that to the prick of a spinning wheel and fall dead to my power!”

Your life had just begun, and had already gone to shit (forgive such undignified language, unfit for a princess, but really, you felt you deserved some leeway).

The whole of the kingdom knew the witch’s speech by heart, saying a prayer each night in the hope that their princess would be fortunate enough to never cross a spinning wheel in all her life. And from the rail of her tower’s terrace, the princess dreamed of someday joining them. Not in their prayers, but in celebration that even the worst curses are no match for the blessed princess of their kingdom. Blessed, as she once was, before the outrage of Carabose found her.

But that was only the dream of a foolish child.

Foolish dreams. You were cursed not only in the very literal sense but also by the paranoia of your parents, the king and queen of your revered nation. Not a soul outside the castle walls had seen their princess since the day of her introduction—the day you were cursed to one day cross the spindle of a spinning wheel, and die.

Well, not die. Your godmother, Rosalie—the twelfth Wise Woman and the only one that mattered in your opinion—had gifted you a chance at survival. 

“The princess will not die upon pricking the spinning wheel. She shall only sleep till… till she receives a display of true, compassionate, unbridled love.”

It was the first thing Rosalie could think of that would lessen the blow of the witch’s spell. 

And yet despite this security, your parents locked you away, terrified of what would happen to their little princess should she cross that fated hunk of wood. Honestly, it was beyond embarrassing being destined to be bested by a hunk of wood, but that’s just your luck, you supposed.

It was also just your luck that one day when you’d just barely given up all hope of living a fulfilling life, a certain crew of pirates found your kingdom, caused the uproar of the century, and managed to help you escape all in just two days. 

With the wind in your face some months later, it seemed all your dreams of grandeur were coming true; far away from your castle, you sailed the seas with real friends at your side. You never worried about your curse, for why would you ever find a spinning wheel at sea? It was silly to fear the fate set before you. 

Rosalie always told you that destiny cannot be fought, but look at you now, proving her wrong. 

(It’s like you were asking for things to go wrong).

The day was windy and bright, with sparse clouds high above and cool grass underfoot. The Going Merry rest at the docks of the little coastal city, Usopp making repairs in record time. You couldn’t help but wish to go out and explore, taking full advantage of your freedom.

You took Zoro with you, of course. You’d never leave the ship without your loyal guard at your side. 

Zoro. What to say about Zoro? In your opinion, he was probably the love of your life, if he ever got over himself and admitted he loved you too. Either way, you would never picture life without him by your side, even if he brushed off all your teasing advances with a roll of his eyes.

“Here,” you motioned him to your side, feeling warm inside with the familiar bump of his shoulder against yours. You picked up one of the ornate golden rings displayed at the market stall before you, grinning like a devil as you lifted your hand to measure it up against your skin. “What do you think? I prefer silver, but gold would match your earrings.”

Zoro, lovely and clueless Zoro, only tilted his head, aforementioned earrings chiming against one another. “I think it's nice, but why d’ya wanna match?”

By the time you slipped the ring on your fourth finger, he saw where this was going. “Hmm, no reason.” You handed the ring back to the seller and smiled up at Zoro’s perturbed, blushing face. 

“Sorry, you’re just so easy to tease.” He grunted in reply, drawing another smile out of you. Your eyes got all misty, like they always did when you looked at Zoro, and the words escaped your lips before you could stop them. “Go out with me.”

Zoro kept his gaze firmly on the sky, his shoulders far too stiff to be comfortable. “We’re… too busy for stuff like that.”

It all felt like a mildly disappointing routine at this point; you asked, he dodged around giving you an explicit no. Perhaps if he actually got the nerve to deny you, you’d have given up, but Zoro always left you with that small hope that one day his answer might change.

Still, something in you held the strong consideration to give up. Lovelorn and yet hopelessly deep, it was a tempting option. Surely, pursuing someone so adamantly disinterested was a lost cause. But what if, you dared to call back, silencing your doubts.

“C’mon,” you relented. “I need some new fabrics.”

You scooped up his hand and he let you drag him down the street to a little boutique on the corner. The door rang when you entered, and Zoro tried to ignore how your hand still clung to his even as the door clicked shut behind you.

“I wanted to make Nami a new dress,” you said as you beelined for the shelf of various fabrics. “You know, to make up for the one I ripped.”

He didn’t try to pull back, only standing at your side as you skimmed your free hand over a set of pinks. “Still don’t get how you ruined it that badly. It was practically in two pieces.”

“You were there. I was in a tree.”

“But why?”

Your silly smile rose to meet his gentle grin. “Because I wanted to? You could have joined me, but no, you stayed all alone on the ground like a loser.”

“If I was in the tree, who would catch ya’ when you fell like an idiot?”

With a scoff, you let go of his hand and picked up some pink and blue fabric, failing to see him watch you longingly. “Touche.”

Zoro was never sure what to make of you—you were like nothing he’d ever faced before. The day you waltzed into his life and started up your little flirtation game was the day Zoro found his most formidable opponent in the love you shared so willingly.

There was your habit of getting into trouble too—trouble he often dragged you out of—which didn’t help much either.

Zoro thought princesses were meant to be graceful and poised, as Vivi was, but you toppled those expectations at the very foundation. At this point, it wasn’t really a question of if he returned your feelings, but if he was able to voice it. As far as Zoro was concerned, the answer would always be a firm no.

As you started to stack the pink and blue on your arm Zoro reached to take them from you, draping the fabric over his shoulder. He returned your appreciative smile with a slight nod, heart warm at how you doted on him with your eyes alone.

Yeah, it was better this way—you waiting for something that would never happen, and him standing stoic at your side, nothing but a loyal companion.

“Miss.” Your voice, calling to the cashier, broke him from his less-than-happy thoughts. “Have you got any purple?” You swiftly turned back to Zoro with a brief, “Robin said she likes purple.”

The cashier looked up from her book, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I just finished some this morning,” she said with a grin, getting up to lift the gate in the counter and motioning for you to follow her into the back of the shop. “I’ll show you.”

Zoro’s skin prickled as you glided after the cashier, shooting him a smile as you disappeared through the door. He was left standing with the odd sense that something was wrong. 

Maybe it was the way a sudden draft hit his back despite there being no ventilation, or maybe it was the fact that you walked under a ladder earlier just to piss him off. Or, perhaps, it was the flash of green in the cashier’s eyes as she passed by a mirror.

Whatever it was, he stayed put, trusting he would be there to help you the moment you needed him. Zoro was always there when you needed him. Neither he nor you had reason to doubt this fact.

You felt completely at ease as you entered a small, dim room full of messy shelves, half-knit sweaters, and heaps of yarn. “Here,” the cashier pointed to a table at the center of the room. “Is this the shade you had in mind?”

A grin split your face as you felt the fabric, marveling at its softness. It was high-quality stuff, definitely not cheap. But you thought of Robin, who had done so much for you, and felt it was worth the possible loan from Nami.

“It’s perfect,” you replied. “How much?”

“Oh, it’s on the house.”

You startled instantly, eyes darting up to find the cashier absent from your side despite her voice being right in your ear. “Come again?”

“You can have it.” Turning slowly, you found the woman sorting through a surplus fo purple fabrics. “I have plenty.”

A gentle laugh escaped you. “Thank you so much. My friend will love it.”

The cashier swiveled on her heel and leaned against the table, head cocked to the side. Had her eyes always been so vibrant an emerald? They almost seemed to glow. “No, thank you, Your Highness.”

Chills ran up your spine at the formal address, all air expelled from your body as you choked out, “Pardon me?”

Caught up in the green of the woman’s eyes, you didn’t notice a misty tendril swirling up your body till it clouded your vision, directing your captured attention to the corner of the room. There in the shadows was a contraption you’d never seen before, yet you knew its purpose instantly. 

The purple string being woven gave it away. How had you not noticed the spinning wheel before? 

The fabric slipped from your fingers and fell to the floor in a lump. You darted for the door, yet your feet never moved an inch, cemented in place. Was that a tear on your cheek? No, it couldn’t be. You never cried. And yet, a salty streak ran from your eye to your jaw now, as if your body knew what your mind denied: your fate had caught you.

“Stop.” You weren’t sure who you spoke to. Your feet that started to creep toward the spindle? The husk of a woman, possessed by some evil spirit of a bitter sorceress? Destiny herself? Whoever you ordered refused to listen as you closed in on the wheel and raised a steady hand.

A half-lived life flashed before your eyes. A princess sat alone in a room, loneliness her only companion. A girl stood on a ship, tasting freedom for the very first time. A woman stared at a man, knowing this was what love felt like. 

A light pinch shocked your whole body, and you finally broke from the spell to find your index finger pierced into the sharpest of spindles. A cackle echoed from every corner of the room as the cashier collapsed on the spot. 

One thought broke through your slowly fading mind. Traitorous, wobbly feet took you to the door, flinging it open and leaning you against the doorframe. Your heavy eyes ached, Zoro’s voice so far away. You didn’t feel his hands on your arms as you sank to the floor.

Your labored, panicked breathing matched your flickering, terrified eyes. “Spindle.”

And you lay fast asleep in Zoro’s arms a moment later, peace written in your features. Your chest rose and fell gently. Zoro gazed down at the sleeping beauty, uttering your name over and over, practically paralyzed… Until he noticed the tiny bit of blood dripping from your fingertip, and he looked into the ajar room. A spinning wheel stood right in his line of sight, the wheel creaking as it spun slowly.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You had never told any of your friends about the curse, too embarrassed to do so. Was that a lapse in judgment? Perhaps, but you were too asleep to know.

Now Chopper stood at your side, holding his stethoscope over your heart. He set the scope around his neck a moment later, putting his hooves together nervously. Chopper felt the whole crew staring at his back like a brand. “I think—Well, I think she’s sleeping.”

Luffy had been deathly silent through the whole ordeal, not taking his eyes off you since Zoro carried you back to the ship in a hurry. “Then let’s wake her up.”

Sanji slapped a hand over his mouth before Luffy could start yelling, shoving out a sigh. “We tried that, didn’t we? Marimo shook her for five minutes before we could pry him off her.”

Everyone waited for when the swordsman would quip back his own insult, but the usual pattern was thrown off by a strange silence. Even Sanji looked around, confused to find Zoro nowhere in sight. 

Sanji blinked a few times before he placed his hands on his hips. “Now where the fuck is he?”

From the corner, seated in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, Robin spoke up for the first time all evening. Her thoughtful eyes stared into the space ahead of her. “I saw him leave a moment ago. Said he had to get something.”

Not even a second later did Zoro barge down into the galley. In one hand he held a spinning wheel of all things. In the other, he held a woman’s arm in a vice. 

Nami jumped to her feet, aghast. “Zoro, what—?”

He nearly threw the woman before them all, his brows drawn into an expression of ruthlessness. “Well? What did you do to her?!”

With her eyes wide and breaths short, the woman violently shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean!”

Sanji stepped forth intending to sock Zoro in the face for scaring the woman, when Zoro turned on him and spat, “This woman’s the reason she’s—she’s sick!”

That was all it took for Sanji, somehow still poised, to face the terrified woman now encircled by a crowd of frowning pirates. Sanji grabbed the woman’s arm, not as harshly as Zoro had, but just as firmly. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” she sputtered, gazing over at where you laid limply on the table. “I… I remember her. She wanted purple fabric.”

Zoro nearly had the mind to throttle the woman. “You led her into the back room and minutes later she stumbles out and—and sleeps!” He slammed the spinning wheel on the ground, startling everyone around. “She said spindle. What’s this? Some sort of… torture device?”

The woman did nothing but blink at him. “It’s a spinning wheel.”

“What’s it do?”

“It spins.” Suddenly the woman had the nerve of a warrior, righting herself to face Zoro’s glare. “I don’t know what you think I did, but I didn’t. All I know is I led her to the fabric and…” 

All her words fell short as she stuttered to find them, her brows screwing together. “And I don’t remember. I—I don’t remember what happened.”

Sanji seized her shoulders and leveled her with a look. “I need you to remember, madam. It means that girl’s life or death.”

The woman stood frozen, stunned as she stared into Sanji’s eyes, her cheeks turning a concerning shade of pink. Nami rolled her eyes and promptly shoved him out of the way, snapping in the woman’s face. 

“What do you mean you don’t remember?” Nami asked sharply.

“I mean I don’t remember.” Their captive grew increasingly frustrated, and maybe a bit nervous as well. “I walk that bitch into the back, I black out, and I wake up to this guy dragging me out of my home!”

Just as Zoro gasped (“Bitch, huh?”), Robin stood and slowly made her way toward the spinning wheel, running her hand over the wood and grazing a finger over the sharp needle. Inspecting the spindle close, she found a bit of dried blood there. She hummed, keeping everyone on edge, and went toward your sleeping form, grabbing your hands and turning them over. “Ah-ha…”

Zoro stepped forward, anxious. “What?”

“I think she poked herself on the spindle.” Robin made it sound so simple.

Nami tapped her finger to her nose as she pondered. “But why would that make her… sick?”

“Poison?” Chopper offered at the same time Robin answered, “Magic.”

“We don’t have time for speculation,” Sanji gritted as he fished around his pockets for his lighter, cigarette between his teeth. “Can we test for what poison it could be?”

As Chopper started to ramble about some tests he could run, Zoro stared daggers at the spinning wheel. Now, he wasn’t superstitious, but perhaps he was a little stitious, because the longer he stared at the wheel the more he remembered about what transpired in that shop.

“Why would it be magic?” Zoro asked suddenly, silencing the room. 

All eyes found Robin, who was now sitting on your bedside holding your hand. “She’s a princess, right? The princesses in the stories I’ve read dealt with a lot of bad magic.”

Nami shook her head. “This isn’t a story, Robin.”

The debate went on like that, really going nowhere at all, the cashier woman tentatively slinking away during the rabble and inevitably going forgotten. Luffy ignored them all, approaching you and lifting your hand to inspect as if he’d find some kind of sign in your pierced fingertip. 

And just maybe, he did find something. “Hey, Nami?”

She ran a hand over her face as Sanji and Zoro took jab after jab at one another, the stress of your condition getting to the both of them. “Yeah, Luffy?”

He followed a very excited thought bunny here and there, after princesses and stories until it hopped to a stop in front of a certain royal friend of theirs. You appeared next, smiling like he wished you would now. “Vivi? Yeah, I know her. We go way back.”

“Call Vivi,” he ordered, closing the discussion as he too sat at your side and started to poke at your sides, as if tickling you would be enough to break this spell.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Often, your dreams gave way to the most horrible nightmares, and always, you would find refuge in the realm of day. Until now. No matter where you ran a firm sheet of black blocked you in. Air as frigid as the Arctic enveloped you. No friend in sight, no solace from the cold. 

Finally falling still, you blinked, and you stood in the middle of your tower, back in your kingdom. The high-reaching walls created that familiar dome painted with the long-forgotten stories of your people. The marble floors chilled your bare feet. Your bed leered at you from the far wall, whispers inviting you back into its clutches that would send you spiraling further into this forever sleep.

Panic surged up your chest till you gasped for air, losing your grip quicker than you could keep up with. Laughter taunted you from every corner till you started to scream and shout and call out for anyone to help you. But the door held fast against your pulling and thick briar thorns wrapped all around the balcony. 

Still, you clawed at the spiraling thorns, prying to see through, blistering your palms on their heated stalks. Your whimpers were followed by a loud, echoed roar, a harsh gust of wind cast down from the wings of a soaring lizard you’d only ever dreamed of. 

You whirled around to catch a better view of the creature’s mass, clutching at your heart as those gargantuan claws settled down on the tower of your bedroom. Two nostrils blew smoke that encroached the balcony and the depths of your room. The dragon’s eyes held no mercy as she gazed down with malice. 

This curse played a cruel joke, trapping you within the bars of your own mind, turning your fantasies against you. Your every turn showed you more wonders turned horrors the longer you searched for them; the clouds formed words you wouldn’t dare to repeat, the grass down below burned in confusing patterns, and the voices of those you held dear echoed from somewhere nearby.

Your fretful mother. Your paranoid father. The gossiping handmaidens. The superstitious priest. All lamented your fate, screaming how they knew it was a matter of time before the curse finally found you, tearing into you for ever even dreaming of leaving. You really should have stayed. This wouldn’t have happened if you’d piped down and stayed.

Then it was Luffy, Nami, and Usopp. “Why did you ever ask her to join us?” “Not sure. I thought she was something she wasn’t.” “She’s just a liar.” “A dead weight.” “A curse.”

Robin’s voice pierced her eardrums as your knees hit the ground. Why had she ever given you the time of day? Some sheltered little princess without enough common sense to know a spinning wheel when she saw one. And Chopper, his sweet voice turned sour. How pathetic. Beaten by a piece of wood.

The worst of it all was when his voice broke through all the rest despite how she tried to ignore that rumbling tone she once learned to crave. Zoro’s words were direct and clear. She’s finally gone. God, I was this close to just silencing her stupid mouth myself.

To think he would ever actually love her? How foolish of you.

The walls of your dreams closed in swiftly, caging you in and suffocating your hopes till you were left a husk, floating amidst the torment. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Vivi had been silent for so long Luffy wondered if she’s gotten distracted and walked off. Nami shuffled closer to the snail transponder. “Vivi?”

“Sorry,” her voice reappeared, a slight crack to it. “I just… you said she pricked a spindle?” Nami hummed in agreement, and Vivi expelled a long sigh. “She’s been asleep since? You can’t wake her?”

“That’s what we said,” Zoro snapped, shutting up at Nami’s sharp glare.

“It’s just… I mean, I’ve only heard stories. She only talked about it once, in a letter she wrote to me. That’s the only way we could talk since her parents locked her away—”

“Stories about what, Vivi?” Nami guided the tense princess back as Zoro started to pace back and forth, his hands raking at his hair.

She was silent for two whole seconds, and then, “The curse.”

The whole room fell still.

“They say a dark Wise Woman cursed her when she was baby, so that one day, she would prick her finger on a spinning wheel’s spindle… and die.” She rushed to amend herself, “But then another Wise Woman fixed it. She won’t die, but fall asleep… until someone shows her an act of true, unconditional love.”

For a long while the whole room is held captive by silence, eyes flickering to where you snoozed nearby. Zoro couldn’t look away. The way you looked so peaceful pained him in a way, knowing you were trapped in a place he couldn’t save you from. At least the tiny grin on your face gave him confidence your everlasting dreams were nice.

“How do we do that?” he heard himself asking.

“I—I don’t know. I thought it was a story to justify her isolation—”

“Well, obviously not.”

“Zoro,” Nami’s words cut sharply. “Take a walk.”

“But—”

“Walk.”

He stood with as much noise as he could, knocking his chair back and stomping out of the room. Zoro stopped just at the door to cast a look at you, highly aware of the eyes of everyone on him. His hand closed around the doorframe, his heart tightening, and he left without another word. 

Letting the others see how much he cared for you would just make everything infinitely worse. Zoro couldn’t handle that level of teasing on top of your sickness.

Zoro stepped out onto the deck, now basked in moonlight, and rushed to lean against the railing. His skin felt feverish in contrast to the cold dread coursing through his veins. Why hadn’t you said anything? Sure, he probably wouldn’t have believed you, but maybe… maybe he wouldn’t have let you leave his side so quickly.

And now this? This formidable task would supposedly save you. An act of true love? What could that even mean?

With his eyes on the sky, Zoro let out a shaken sigh. He would tear every one of those stars down if it meant you would be okay. Would that be enough for this curse? Or would he have to take down the moon as well and lay it at your feet?

No… no, certainly nothing he could do would ever be strong enough to save you. For so long he’d put off your advances, too stubborn to face the emotions building up in his heart… Zoro doubted he held the strength to perform such an act, and that notion threatened to crush him. 

He too had read the stories Robin spoke of; stories of princes who swooped in and saved the princess with a kiss. You needed one of them—those princes—and Zoro was far from royalty.

If anything, he was the knight in rusted armor who failed.

But, an idea crept out of the depths of his mind, crawling to the surface till his heart pumped at the possibility. He was no prince, no knight, and no cursebreaker—but Zoro was a hunter.

He burst back into the galley with a crazed look in his eyes. “Vivi?”

Her voice crackled out from the startled snail. “Yes?”

“Where do we find this Wise Woman?”

Not even a day later, the crew set out on the sea once more, a new destination in mind: the secluded island of the so-called wise and elusive faeries. 

Zoro stood at your bedside, too afraid to reach out and take your hand, making a solemn oath.

“I will find a way to save you if it is the last thing I do.”

If only the swordsman would have known—the strongest of magic lies in promises. If only Zoro had the eye to see the tendrils of magic curling around your sleeping body, tightening around you as the curse shivered away from his declaration. Spirits hissed from the corners fo the room and shied away from the mere passion behind his eyes. Somewhere distant a sorceress coiled her fists around nothing as her hold on the slumbering princess slipped through, little by little. Could he have fathomed it, he would have known he held more honor than the mightiest of princes. 

But he couldn’t fathom it, so he failed to notice the magic encircling his heart, seeking out any cracks in his steel-strong pride. There were none to find. The magic had nowhere to go, and until the hunter’s pride wore down, nothing would change. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Your godmother turned out to be a real bitch, by Zoro’s standards. First off, she was waiting for them on the shore, like a creep. In her witchy get-up, Zoro could have mistaken her for the one he meant to run through with his sword. 

“What’re you supposed to be,” he sneered as she made her way up the gangway, practically making herself on home on the deck. 

She met his glare equally. “I’m your only hope, dear. Now wipe that look off your face. You’ll get stuck like that.”

Rosalie took control of the situation in her stride, heading down to the galley and acting as if she owned the place. Only Nami seemed to be put off by this, standing at Zoro’s side with her arms folded as the rest of the crew gathered around the Wise Woman.

“She was always too stubborn for her own good,” said Rosalie fondly, a tiny grin on her lips. “Luckily for you, Carabose never strays far from the island. It’s the source of our power, and the poor, scaly, greedy thing would just die if she lost her magic.”

The radiant faerie pulled her dark curls forth, scrunching up her angular nose as she thought of the witch to blame for her dear princess’s condition. She sucked in a breath and released it harshly, suddenly appearing much older than before. “I must thank you. My princess deserves so much more, and you managed to give it to her, if only for a little while.”

“You talk as if she’s dead,” Nami grumbled. The look Rosalie gave her then was far less than comforting.

“Well, unless you have a source for true love nearby, she’s as good as it.” Zoro’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword, his eyes slamming shut as that grief washed over him again. Rosalie’s eyes flickered to him, an unnoticeable shine in her eye and a tilt in her lips. 

(Wise Women see much more than the normal eye, and just now Rosalie spotted the remarkable fuchsia tendrils of a very special kind of magic, so rare many thought it mere myth… yet it was swirling around the swordsman’s heart).

She turned to face the crew in their entirety, her expression grave. “Only the caster may raise a curse unless it is broken according to certain parameters. I may be able to deal with Carabose through negotiation. We… have a history.” Rosalie ruffled slightly. “She might have mercy and relinquish the curse herself.”

Zoro scoffed, drawing the faerie’s attention. “And if she doesn’t?”

Rosalie’s eyes flashed. “Then I’ll cut her down and hope that is enough.”

Sanji shook his head, blinking like he was forcing himself to deny Rosalie’s beauty. “And what will we do?”

“You’ll be with me. If Carabose dies and she does not wake… one of you will have to make a sacrifice.” Rosalie assessed them all with cool eyes, reveling in their discomfort, till she cracked a smile and tossed her head back. “I jest, I jest! However, we will need to come up with a display of true love after the deed is done and our princess has not woken.”

Zoro continued to bristle at the faerie’s coolness, grinding his teeth as she floated about the room, mumbling to herself. He dropped his swords on the table with a clang, startling Rosalie. “I can kill the witch myself. Give me ten minutes, and it’ll be done.”

“I know you are desperate to save your friend, Swordsman,” Rosalie simpered. “But you’ll be staying here.”

His blood was boiling at this point. The plan at hand was hardly what he’d had in mind. Zoro shook his head firmly and grasped his composure tightly. “I need to do something.”

“And you will! You’ll be guarding our princess.” Rosalie dared to set a hand on Zoro’s shoulder, making him go all stiff till he caught her steely gaze. “Carabose controls many of the spirits of the island. I wouldn’t put it past her to send one of them to whisk the princess away. You perhaps have the most important job of all.”

Yeah, right. Zoro locked eyes with Nami over the faerie’s shoulder, sharing a silent agreement as he shrugged the woman off. “Nami can stay behind—”

“No.” Rosalie’s grip tightened around his shoulder as the temperature dropped instantly. “You will stay, and Nami will come along.” Her smile felt sinister. “I am Rosalie of the Wise Women, and you are just a man with a sword. I have conquered kingdoms in the name of her parents. What have you done?” 

“I’ll kill the witch,” he said weakly. “And I’ll save her.”

“Kill the witch,” she mocked him. “You mean to tell me that’s an act of true love, swordsman?” Rosalie leaned in close, her voice as soft as wind. “How can you say you love her when you let her go, Roronoa Zoro. Now stay put and don’t make the same mistakes twice.”

She swept away as swiftly as she’d closed in, leaving Zoro breathless and unsteady. Rosalie clapped her hands together and faced Luffy with a grin. “Now, Captain. You understand the plan?”

Luffy looked all around, making eye contact with each of his crewmates, till he found Zoro, who leaned against the wall having some sort of crisis. Words rose up to his tongue, ready to lash out and tear the faerie to bits when he saw it. The tendrils were growing brighter. Slowly, he turned to Rosalie, who met his gaze unblinkingly. “Yeah, I got it.”

Usopp shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, Luffy, I don’t think—”

“I trust her,” he declared, and that was that. Usopp nodded, followed by the reluctant rest. Zoro’s eyes flashed up to meet his captains, unsure about how confident Luffy was, but not willing to ever doubt his friend. 

“Splendid,” Rosalie simpered. “I’ve no doubt Carabose is waiting for us, so we’d do best to keep up our guards.”

As she rounded everyone up and led them out of the galley and off the ship, Nami brought Zoro aside, her brows furrowed. “I don’t like this,” she murmured. “But I trust Luffy.” Zoro grunted as if to agree, his eyes unfocused. Nami gave his shoulder a pat as she passed him. “Just stay with her. Who knows, maybe she’ll know you’re there.”

And Zoro found himself all alone, the ship a deathly quiet he had never witnessed before. He could hear his every breath and feel the rock of the ship. A creak came from somewhere nearby, pinching at a sensitive part of his mind. Zoro took a few weightless, shallow steps down the hall, his hand running against the wall, until he came face to face with the door of your bedroom. 

Too long he stared at the door before he shoved at it, swinging it open wide. Zoro surged inside with so much gusto his muscle memory urged him to reach for his swords, but he’d left them in the galley. Instead, his hand grasped at air whilst he vacantly stared about the room. 

You lay soundlessly atop your bed, hands crossed over your chest like a corpse. Zoro instantly moved to adjust your arms, laying them instead at your sides. There, that was better.

His brows screwed together; where a smile had earlier been gracing your lips, a firm frown now replaced it. Your face contorted, your mind plagued by an enemy Zoro couldn’t fight. Ensuring he didn’t make a sound, Zoro took a knee and drew close to your face, folding his arms on the edge of your bed and resting his head there.

Sweat beaded along your forehead, distress clear on your face. Without thinking Zoro reached to wipe it away with the back of his hand, initiating a kind of intimate contact only you had ever thrust upon him. He shocked himself, frozen with his hand on your cheek before he cleared his throat and returned to his original position.

Hours he stayed like that, eyes dutifully watching over your face, pulse spiking at every sign of distress caught in your features. Your brows pinched together, lips parting as a strangled sigh left you.

Perhaps… Zoro threw caution to the wind and reached for your hand. You didn’t budge, but—and maybe he was seeing things—it looked like your face softened up a little bit. So he stayed just like that, rubbing circles into the back of your hand.

He lifted his gaze to the window, where the sun was beginning to set once again. “Wonder if the others found that witch yet…” They could be fighting for their lives, if Rosalie’s dumb plan fell through. He should be out there. Zoro’s eyes flickered all around the blue sky, worry eating at him, till he finally rose to his feet and dropped your hand. 

“I’ll be back—” Your instant whine had Zoro practically jumping out of his skin and descending back to your side all at once. “I mean, they can probably handle it. I’m still here.”

Your face returned to a state of calm as if you’d never moved at all. He scoffed out a laugh, murmuring fondly, “You little shit.” Again, little shifts in your expression hinted at a nightmare. “What’s goin’ on in there, huh?”

(Your dreams had taken a drastic turn. Dragon fire shot past your head, close enough to singe your eyelashes. The broom you’d taken up as a weapon splintered against the scaly back of your guard. The serpent burned away at the roof of your room, circling like a vulture, taunting echoes slipping off her forked tongue. As your eyes continued to flutter, sleep beckoning like a long-lost friend, you didn’t dare to succumb to the call. Should you sleep, you felt certain you would never, ever wake up. 

Yet, you were so tired. It couldn’t hurt… if you rested your eyes… if only to escape the taunting of his voice. He’s glad you’re good as dead. He never had to deal with your pining ever again. 

Every echo of doubt had you believing that just maybe, it might be true, sending you deeper into this eternal insanity).

“Zoro.”

The swordsman didn’t breathe. He couldn’t. “I’m here.” If his words had any effect on the state of you, it didn’t show. You only rustled sharply, eyes flickering all around behind your eyelids… until you fell deadly still. “Hey now. Don’t slip away just yet.”

Again, he took up your hand, willing you to keep giving him signs that you weren’t too deep into slumber. “An act of true love. Sanji could probably pull one of those out of his ass.” That thought sent him on a tangent, pictures of your effervescent smile flashing across his mind. 

Days ago, he’d been so secure on never revealing his feelings to you. The pair of you would have lived all your lives revolving around one another until you inevitably gave up, and it would be for the best. Right then and there, though, Zoro felt certain if he never looked into your eyes again he would never forgive himself for every time he turned you away. 

“I’ve always wondered,” he whispered. “Why you don’t just go after the lovecook. It’d be a hell of a lot easier than dealing with me.” 

Zoro made himself comfortable, leaning his head on the bed. “If… when you wake up, let’s go do something, like you wanted. You like painting, right? We’ll go painting. I’ll probably offend the very act of art, but maybe you’ll laugh at me, and it’ll be okay. I’ll throw paint in your hair and you’ll punch me, and it’ll be a real good time.”

Nothing. Your chest rose and fell at a concerningly slow pace. “When we get you back… I’ll apologize. For being an idiot.” Had your lips always been so dry? “But you have to wake up to hear it.”

Your condition remained unchanged… save for the stark silence coming from your nose, and the eerie stillness of your chest. Zoro’s gut churned. You were only meant to sleep, so why weren’t you breathing?

(The sleeping beauty dared to lie down, the tower burning all around her, at ease among the encroaching flames).

His hand felt at you heart, his own stuttering at how faint yours was beating. You looked so blank. Not a flaw in your void expression. Zoro, on the verge of pleading to gods he didn’t believe in, again reached for a sword that wasn’t there as a bone-chilling chuckle echoed from every corner. 

“You can’t save her~” sang a ghostly voice, right into his ear. 

Zoro slammed his ear down on his shoulder to rid himself of the shiver running down his spine. Whipping around, he ground his jaw enough to hear the chip in his teeth. “Watch me, witch.”

Her laughter mocked him. “How? You’re no prince. No knight. What’re you going to do, warrior? Kiss her and hope your honor is enough?” Carabose appeared in a misty shadow behind him, surging through his body like a specter, sending him keeling to the floor. “The princess’ soul has long belonged to me. True love doesn’t exist. Rosalie should’ve known that.”

“You’re wrong!” Zoro bellowed, something deep in his heart constricting, building up a fire in his bones. 

“Oh,” the witch hummed darkly. “I’m sure. This isn’t a fairytale, boy. Kisses don’t wake princesses… and simple swordsmen don’t save them.”

The witch’s cackle faded even as he slashed at the air with his arm, wild eyes searching till they landed back on you, unnervingly calm. If Carabose’s intention was to have her spirits discourage Zoro, she fairly succeeded; but she also succeeded in something else—giving him something to prove.  

His shoulders sunk as he just stared, taking in the hopeless sight before him. It was much too late to confess to his sleeping beauty. Even if they did find a way to wake her, who was to say she would still want him? What if some hero swoops in and takes her away?

He would be deserving of that fate, Zoro thinks, his foolishness crashing down on him even as he falls to his knees at your side once more. 

Make a note that Roronoa Zoro doesn’t believe in magic. It’s all make-believe to help children see the good in the world. He knew that full and well, deep in his heart. But something he knew with far greater certainty is that he would do anything to have the chance to love you as you loved him. 

Magic wasn’t real. But what if? Zoro felt silly for daring to think it, but even then his hand reached to cup your cheek. Wasn’t there truth to every story? Kissing princesses didn’t make the world all right. Fairytales don’t come true. 

But the sun was setting on another day with you held down by this curse, and Zoro felt pathetic and weak and he had no other plan at hand. 

“I’m an idiot,” he confessed the obvious. “I never choose what’s easy except when it comes to you. Which made it difficult, which defeated the purpose and—Never mind.” Peaceful despite the circumstances, you never stirred an inch. “Please wake up. Please… Or I’ll look really, really stupid.”

One hand on your cheek, the other bracing himself against the bed, Zoro pressed the most delicate of kisses atop your cold lips, a horrifying shiver shooting through him at how it felt like kissing a corpse. Lingering, he drew back, breath staggered at how nothing happened. You didn’t shoot awake. Not a muscle in your body twitched. Your eyes didn’t move.

“Please,” he mumbled over your lips, his forehead colliding with yours in a desperate plea. “Wake up. Wake up so I can tell you I love you.”

Unseen magic exploded around the room, wrapping around the swordsman and the princess as pride and honor were laid down at the feet of a curse that died with the far-off scream of a thwarted witch.

(The sleeping princess blinked awake, squinting from the blinding light filtering in through the open ceiling. The dragon faded to mist and the fires blew out with a hush. Words the princess had only ever dreamed of hearing echoed down to her ears, and everything went white).

You awoke from the most horrible sleep, your bones and body aching as something like a cold fever washed over you. A shallow breath fizzled out of you right before your lungs brought in as much air as they could take. Eyes flinging open, your surroundings came into focus in an instant, and you found a figure looming over you with the funniest expression.

Zoro’s face was white as a sheet, eyes wide and brows vaulted, his lips parted. He looked as if he’d seen a ghost, and a laugh left you before you could stop it. You smiled with no abandon as Zoro’s hand traced your jaw. “What’s this about?”

And it all came rushing back like a punch to your gut as Zoro’s eyes bore into you. Your lips fell into a shocked gape. “You kissed me?”

“I… uhm…” 

You slowly sat upright, hands in your lap, head tilted as you admired the man before you in a light like never before. “You love me?”

His eyes pinched shut, and you feared he regretted his confession. Perhaps it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. Maybe he didn’t mean it and you’re stupid for ever thinking he might—

“I do.” He looked as breathless as you felt. “I do love you.”

An eternity could have passed and you wouldn’t have known nor cared, all too caught up in etching his face into your memory. Hesitant, you rose to your knees, bed covers shoved aside, and your hands went to cup his face tenderly. “Tell me again.”

Warmth flooded his cheeks as your thumbs ran over his cheekbones, drawing his eyes back to yours every time they dared to flicker away. He melted into you, one hand falling to your waist and the other cupping behind your thigh. “I love you.”

Another smile burst across your face. “I love you too.” You leaned in close, nudging your nose at his cheek. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

Zoro cracked a grin, his eyes fluttering. “Okay.”

“And kiss you.” 

“Fine by me.”

“I’ll never sleep again. I’m only going to kiss you until they pry me off you, my handsome, lovely, cursebreaker swordsman—Mmph!”

His lips cut you off, surging forth to catch you unguarded. Zoro’s arms pulled you in quickly as you pushed in just as firmly, hands raking through his hair. Years you waited and years you longed. Countless nights you laid awake intending to give up come morning, only to fall back into his eyes. 

All for this. The day your soul knew would come even when your heart was doubting. 

“I love you,” you broke away to say, simply because you could.

And no witch, no curse, no destiny would ever keep you from telling him. 

Giggling at nothing at all, you leaned into him and wrapped him up in your arms, head falling to his shoulder. Your eyes drifted behind him, your whole body freezing at the sight in the corner. “What the fuck is that doing here?”

Zoro nearly broke his neck whipping it around only to choke on a laugh. The spinning wheel sat humbly to the side, purple string still running through it. “Probably was a bad idea to keep it in here.”

“You think!” You lightly flicked his nose and got a little grunt out of him. “Let’s burn it.”

A bonfire awaited the crew as they returned, their egos bruised and spirits low despite their defeat of the Wise Woman Carabose. Every last one of them nearly screamed when they saw you stoking the pillar of fire with the brightest smile on your face, Zoro’s arm round your shoulder.

You teetered this way and that, tossed around as they hugged the life out of you. Laughter came easy and the night drew long, stories of their victory recounted and certain questions about your recovery proposed.

“You needed an act of true love,” Chopper wondered, never straying far from your side as he clung to your arm. “So what happened?”

You weren’t at all subtle in your direct look at Zoro, who coughed and averted his eyes to the suddenly very interesting ground. “Someone got off their high horse and—”

“All right!” Zoro laughed awkwardly. “Cook, where’d you put the extra sake?”

Nami silently awed as she dragged you and Robin aside, begging to know exactly what happened. Somewhere through the night, Usopp looked around, lowering his glass from his lips. “What happened to Rosalie?”

You tripped over nothing at that name. “What? My godmother?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “She helped us find Cara-bitch, or whatever… When did she disappear?”

Everyone took a moment to think, blinking quickly as a single answer was formed: they didn’t know.

“That sounds like her. I just wish I could’ve said hello,” you said. 

Zoro hovered at your side, his hand ghosting over yours. “She was weird anyway.”

“Hey!”

The fire fizzled out somewhere close to dawn, though the celebration seemed far from over. Your eyes felt heavy and your body too, but every time you fell too much into drowsiness, cold terror tore through you. You weren’t joking when you declared you’d never sleep again; the prospect petrified you.

“C’mon,” Zoro muttered when your head fell to his shoulder and shot back up for the sixth time. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve slept enough—”

“That’s not what I said.” Zoro stood and offered you a hand, a gentle smile warming you from the inside out. You shoved your hand into his and started the trek below deck, departure unnoticed.

As you passed your bedroom, you stopped and stared at your bed just three seconds before you bee-lined to Zoro’s door, leading him along behind you. Dazedly, you waltzed around each other, preparing for sleep even as your heart pounded in your head. 

“What if I don’t wake up?” you wondered aloud as Zoro sunk into bed.

His eyes found yours and you swore you fell even deeper. “You will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I love you.”

That fact was one of the only real things either of you knew, and for now, it was enough. 

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s

[shadowdaddies]

Dreaming of You

Lucien x Reader smut

warnings: smut, breeding kink, oral f!receiving, p in v sex

A breathy moan flowed from your lips, eyes twisted shut as pleasure rolled through you. Your fingers wound through Lucien’s long hair, gently encouraging the flick of his tongue against your swollen clit.

“Luc, please. I need you inside of me,” you pleaded, voice a soft whine as you peered down at your mate. You stifled another whine as his warm lips left your heat, looking over your round belly to meet your gaze.

His hand rose to softly rub the bump on your stomach, lips pressing a reverent kiss to your womb. A mischievous glint shone in his eye, toned body sliding along yours as he settled over you. 

“Always so greedy. We haven’t even had this one yet, and you’re begging me to fuck you full?” He teased, tongue licking up the shell of your ear as his hand slid to your heavy, swollen breast. 

You moaned, writhing beneath him in a weak attempt to get closer, silently cursing your full womb as your hips wound against nothing. “Yes, please, Lucien. Just please, fill me up,” you nearly cried, slick seeping onto the sheets beneath you.

“As my mate wishes,” Lucien purred, his full lips finding yours as his hands spread your legs as far as they were able, hips settling over your own. You gasped at the feel of his cock against your core, Lucien taking the opportunity to push his tongue past your lips.

He stroked your tongue in tandem with his hips, both of them warm as his cock slid between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. 

“Cauldron, Lucien, please stop teasing,” you pleaded, trying to arch into him. A soft chuckle left his lips, minty breath soft mingling with your own. 

“Apologies, my love. Allow me to make it up to you,” Lucien murmured. You swore you could feel the fire in his veins as his thick cock thrust inside of you to the hilt, the stretch sending waves of pleasure rolling through you. 

“Yes, Luc,” you moaned, nails raking down his back as your mate thrust deeply, slowly into you. It was perfect, erotic, passionate, and you thought you could die of pleasure. Just as you felt the coil inside of you tighten, legs shaking from the pleasure Lucien was giving you, his hand shook your arm, drawing your attention from the moment.

You gasped, eyes blinking rapidly to take in the dark room around you, your mate laying next to you with a concerned expression on his face. You looked down to see your stomach at its normal size, Lucien’s hand on your arm as his thumb gently stroked the skin there.

“Hey,” he murmured. “You were talking in your sleep. Everything okay?”

Flushing furiously, you glanced around the room as you came back to reality. Your hand absentmindedly found your stomach, stroking the place where your child was in your dream. 

Looking up at your mate, you granted Lucien a soft smile. “I was dreaming about you,” you whispered. “And I was pregnant.” Eyes lined with silver as you mourned a life you didn’t know you had wanted, missing the child you didn’t have.

“Is that what you want, my love?” Lucien asked softly. Then, taking in your expression, the scent of arousal growing in the room, he smirked. “You want me to breed you? To make babies with you?”

He slid across your body, stiff cock grinding against your soaked core. “I’m going to fill you up, full of my seed. And when I’m done, I’ll stuff my cum back inside of you with my cock and go again.”

Your breaths grew short, dizzying pleasure overtaking your senses as you felt Lucien’s warm hands pushing up the hem of your nightgown. “Yes, Luc. That’s what I want.”

“Then that’s what shall be, sunshine,” your mate promised, voice thick as he trailed a path of kisses down your neck and chest. Lower, lower, lower.

[juletheghoul]

corrupted

a/n: I asked for requests and y'all came THROUGH. Freaks - all of you!! (same) hope you enjoy this fucking ovulation-fueled fever dream lmao. @quicax3 - I am dedicating everything I post today to you- Happy birthday! 🩷hope ya'll enjoy (not even a little beta'd or proofread lol all mistakes are mine)

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, hand stuff, rough / marathon sex, homeboy paints the boobies- Marcus gets dosed with something and is * d e s p e r a t e *(a little graphic / I guess this could be hurt / comfort?), master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any! 🩷

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.6k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

You frowned to see her darkening his doorstep once more from your place just inside the giant doorway. 

“Announce my arrival to Marcus if you would, I have brought him a gift.” She smiles her prettiest smile at you, moving to walk past you but you hold fast, blocking her path. 

“Apologies my lady, the Dominus is absent. I do not know when he will return and I am not to allow visitors in his absence.” Part of you felt a twinge of guilt at the way her face fell, but the memory of her proposal, and her apparent attempts to change his mind twisted something in your gut. She clutched at the wine bottle in her hands, cradling it as her eyes scanned what she could see of the house behind you. 

“Do you know when he left.” She frowns, eyes focusing on you once more. 

“He has been gone since first light, and as I said before, I am unsure of when he will return. He did not say when he left.” You were telling her mostly the truth, he had left early in the day, but you knew he’d be back before nightfall. He’d told you.

“I could just wait, I doubt he’ll mind–” She flashed her winning smile, thinking it would work on you as it had worked on everyone throughout her years but she had no notion of your ire for her.

“Apologies my lady, I cannot permit you inside, it will be my head.” It would never come to that, you knew it but he would not be pleased. 

“Oh come now.” She huffed just outside the door, crossing her arms and for a moment you saw a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum. One of his guards heard the commotion and came over to assist. 

“Apologies my lady, but you will have to return another time, when the Dominus is here to greet you.” He was large, and her demeanor changed instantly. 

“I have brought him a gift, he will be happy to see me I swear it–” She held the bottle out to the guard and he took it, looking over what seemed to be a dark red wine.

“I will make sure Dominus receives your gift.” He closed the door in her face despite the widening of her eyes at having been left outside, giftless, and unwelcome. She knocked again, but the guard only put the bottle in your hands, and sent you off with a nod. You went about your business and left him to it. 

Your Dominus was true to his word. The sun had just kissed the horizon when he walked through the door. His brow was furrowed in frustration and you rushed to greet him, hoping his business hadn’t gone awry. His eyes found yours and they softened, but only a touch. 

“Shall I prepare your meal Dominus? Or would you care to rest first?” You followed as he made his way towards his study, his stride quick enough to make you hurry after him. 

“I’ll take my meal in my study, fetch me clean water and linens to cleanse before I eat–and the red wine if you would.” He sat at his desk, putting down scrolls he’d brought with him. His talk of wine reminded you of his visitor.

“Oh–I just recalled. You had a visitor while you were away today, Dominus.” You brought the empty basin from the corner and set it up at the little table beside his desk for the water you’d have to fetch. His eyes shot up, his attention solely focused on you. “I obeyed your commands, no one came in–it was Lavinia.” 

His eyebrow raised, and a small, half-smile formed on his lips. The scrolls sat on the desk, forgotten as he leaned back a little in his chair, amused now at the way your chin jut out in uncharacteristic defiance. 

“Was it now? And just what did Lavinia want?” He narrowed his eyes, his smile widened a fraction. 

“I think I can divine what she wanted.” You mumble the words under your breath, picking at your nails and he clears his throat, a gentle warning. “Apologies Dominus, I said, I think I can divine what she wanted. I do not think she took your refusal with good grace. She brought you a gift, in hopes to sway you if I had to hazard a guess.”

“Well, seems she would like me to reconsider.” He crossed his arms, watching your face and it’s hard to keep it free of emotion. “Bring me her gift, I would like to see it.” He gestured to the door with a playful smile and although your belly twisted at the thought of her working her charms on him from afar, you knew in your heart of hearts he simply liked to frustrate you.

The temptation to smash the bottle into pieces was almost too big to ignore. The thought of him being displeased however kept your grip on it tight, kept you obedient as you did everything he’d asked of you. With his hands cleansed, with his food served, you put the bottle onto his desk. 

“So this is what she offers.” He took the bottle in his hand, turning it over with more interest than you would have liked. He opened it, and put it under his nose. You watched him, fighting tooth and nail to keep your expression neutral. He only smiled the harder, reveling in your poorly disguised discomfort. 

“It smells like good wine, but fortified with something.” He poured some into a goblet, swirling it with growing interest. 

“Shall I leave you to enjoy your meal, Dominus?” You kept your head held high, reminding yourself that he had refused her after all, and a cup of wine wasn’t going to change anything. 

“No. I would have you here.” He smiled, bringing the cup to his mouth and draining it in a few gulps. 

It was almost instant, the change in him. 

“Dominus?” You approached him, heart sinking at the way his eyes momentarily lost focus, at the way his face went slack, all of him utterly empty for a moment. A wild fear gripped your heart, surely she wouldn’t poison him? “Dominus? Dominus!” You almost scream, pushing between him and the desk to pull his face up. 

“Hmmm?” For a moment he couldn’t focus, and it looked as though he might faint into a feverish sleep but then his eyes found yours and he smiled, truly smiled. 

“Dominus—“ he moved cat-quick, pulling you into his embrace roughly. 

“Gods above, why do you smell so good?” He pressed his nose to your chest, pulling in greedy sniffs of you while his hands slipped under your tunic. 

“Dominus, are you well? What is happening?” You tried to get him to look at you, but his eyes were focused on his hands, on pulling at the seams of your tunic. You can’t help but let out a little scream when he rips it open. 

“I am going to die if you don’t sit on my cock this instant, Girl, I need it, I need to feel you, I need to take you—fill you with my seed.” He moans out the words, more desperate than you’ve ever seen him and for a moment you give in, his face tilted up to beckon your mouth to his.

There is a strange taste in his mouth, something honeyed and full of an almost seductive smoke. 

You pull away despite his iron grip on your waist.

“Dominus, Dominus wait—” You try to look into his eyes again but it’s like he’s not there. Something in you awakens, and you do something you’ve never even considered, you do something that could cost you your life. You strike him clean across the face. 

The crack of it is loud enough, and hard enough to stop him cold. 

“Dominus—I beg your forgiveness but I need you to listen to my words—I think Lavinia has slipped you some sort of love potion, some magic to seduce you—“ your hands shake as you speak to him, praying to all the Gods that you aren’t punished for trying to help him. 

“Girl…” he speaks slowly, his face splotchy and red and an ache builds in your throat, fear threatening you with tears. “Girl, I think you may be right.” He trembles slightly, his skin warm where you still touch him. You can see the effort on his face to keep himself under control, to keep his wits about him as the potion works through his body.

He stands, swaying slightly and takes the bottle to the door while you watch, clutching at your ripped tunic. He hands it to one of his guards and instructs him to dispose of it, to not let anyone have any of it because it is corrupted.

“Shall I get you something else?”

“I need your body, Girl.” He holds onto the wall for a moment to steady himself, his eyes cast downwards. “I need to bury myself inside you, I am sick with it, I feel as though if I don’t I will surely die.” His eyes are red when they find yours and there is a fire there you have only ever seen after a battle. 

“If you do not desire this, then leave and lock yourself in your chambers. I will make do with my fist.” He takes a steadying breath, waiting with an almost divine patience despite his state.

The anger you feel for Lavinia knows no bounds, that she would resort to something like this to force him to give her his body makes your blood boil. The way in which he devours you however, that makes your cunt clench and drip for him.

“I am yours, Dominus.” You let the tunic fall and beckon to him with open arms. You see his prowess in the moment it takes him to cross the room and all but dig his fingers into you. His mouth is insistent, his hands are rough at your waist and on your breasts, his passion is hard as steel at your hip where it digs into your skin, all of his sharp desire, his sharp edges scraping at your softness with an inhuman strength. 

“I am in pain Girl, every fucking inch of me aches—“ his words are a painful moan as he all but tears at his layers. You help as best you can and once he is bare you gasp. His cock is so red, his balls look so swollen, you think he really might burst if he does not find his release. 

There is no time for gentle touch. 

You turn and bend over his desk uncaring of his papers falling to the floor and present your backside to him. It’s with trembling hands that he slots his cock at your entrance. He enters you with one brutal shove of his hips and moans like you’ve never heard him moan before. Despite your own arousal, you wince.

“Forgive me Girl, I cannot be gentle-“ He does not ease you into it, it is a rough pushing and pulling of himself into your sex and he is too thick, too deep, you feel him in your lungs, in your throat. 

“I do not wish to hurt you, but you feel so fucking good, so tight, so wet I cannot stop myself.” His words help, his true nature helps. You focus on the feel of him, on the reassuring grip of his big hands on your hips, on the noises he makes as his groin hits the plump of your ass with every sharp thrust.

Your cunt leaks around him, coating him, raising the volume on the sounds of your coupling and before long he’s pulled you up, his chin resting over your shoulder while one hand holds onto your breast tight enough to almost hurt. 

“Here it comes—“ he barely gives a warning before he groans long and loud, filling your poor little cunt with his gift. He presses his forehead to the back of your neck, taking greedy pulls of air into his lungs while he keeps himself buried deep. 

You catch your breath for a moment before he pulls out and turns you to face him. His eyes are shut tight, and then he looks down. His cock has not softened, it looks just as angry, just as hard as it did before, his balls still heavy and full of seed. 

“I fear I may be like this for a while, the pain returns even as I stand here.” 

You sit him in his chair and climb onto him, sheathing him inside you once more but this time, with his mess and your arousal easing his passage, and you setting the pace things are better. 

“I will take care of you Dominus, let me take the pain away.” You wrap your arms around him and slip your tongue into his mouth with a deep kiss, relishing the noise he feeds directly into your lungs. His arms are a cage around your ribs, tight enough to make you fight for every breath but it matters not. He feels so good like this, so deep and with every roll of your hips his noises become more frantic, more imploring.

He comes again almost without warning as you keep your rhythm, wincing when he tightens his grip a little more but still, he does not soften. 

He lets out a whine, a pathetic, gorgeous thing when you keep rolling your hips, clenching around him in search of your own climax.

“Please Girl, please please, I beg of you, milk my cock, I need to spill inside you again, over and over, please—“ his voice is not his own, it’s some needy, powerless creature under your spell and you want nothing more than to oblige him. You speed up despite the sweat shining on your shin, despite the ache in your body and again he spills, crying out like a teenage boy touching a woman for the first time.

“Again Dominus?” You’re tired, but it feels so good, and the desperate, slack jawed expression makes you ache for your own climax.

“Yes Girl, Gods yes- again—“ he helps you move, your sweat slicked flesh spilling between his fingers, his lap is a mess of his own seed and your arousal, you cannot stop now. He takes your nipple into his mouth just as his thumb slips into the mess between your thighs and swirls it around your clit. 

Your own climax hits you like a slap across the face- all at once making you seize and he comes again at the feel of it, both of you suspended in exquisite agony.

You are truly sore now, every muscle aches, everything burns. 

“Dominus- I don’t think my body can handle more.” You brush back his hair, placing a small kiss where you slapped him.

“It is a little better now, come to my bed with me.”

Hours pass, and he still stands at attention but he relieves himself with his fist as you lay on his bed. He begs for your hand, and you oblige him. He begs to look at your cunt, and you show him, he begs to let him paint your breasts in his seed, and you position yourself for him, until he finally softens and rests.

You cleanse him, and yourself, and fall into his arms, asleep before you’re fully settled. 

He does not leave his chambers the next day, and orders you to take a full day of rest yourself. While grateful to sleep and give your tired body time to recover, part of you fears he might not want to see you, but then one of the older women brings a feast to your chambers at his instruction, good wine and more food than you could eat in a whole day and you know you are forgiven. 

You smile around your bites of food, content with your thoughts of what he might do in retaliation. 

- Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @alexiamargot06 @purple-fig @picketniffler

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You Series Masterlist

26 Worlds, 26 ways of pleasure

All of these stories are not connected so you can jump around as you like. There will only be 26 prompts in this list, one for each letter of the alphabet.

MDNI - 18+! This entire series is explicit!

Each piece will go into deeper warning tags, please be mindful of your consumption!

♡ Yours, Layla

Main Masterlist

⋆ ˖ ⁺ ‧ ₊ ☽ ◯ ☾ ₊ ‧ ⁺ ˖ ⋆

A for Aphrodisiac (18+): ~2.2k words

✧ On a quest to save your little brother, you and your fated companion Dream of the Endless, run into a small problem in Aphrodite's Temple.

B for Breeding (18+): ~1.7k words

✧ You, Swan Maiden of the Lake become King Morpheus's favorite concubine, but it's not enough.

C for Cockwarming (18+): ~770 words

✧ You and Dream come to a compromise after you asked for some "space." It never ends well for you, does it?

D for Doggy (18+): ~2.9k words

✧ How does an Endless teach you a lesson? Maybe on your hands and knees.

E for Edging (18+): ~4k words

✧ Hell hath no pettiness like a woman ignored.

F for Face Sitting (18+): ~1.4k words

✧ You've waited for 106 years for an apology. So an apology you shall receive.

G for Grinding (18+): ~700 words

✧ Your famous last words: "until my thighs fall off"

H for Heat (18+): ~1.5k words

✧ Dream comes back victorious, helm in hand, after his duel with Lucifer but he comes back to you amidst a horrible heat.

I for Incubus (18+): ~2.9k words

✧ You suppose the deal technically went correctly, but when the incubus said he required your life force, you thought he meant... well your life.

J for Joyride (18+): ~1.6k words

✧ You meet an absolute dream boat after coming out of the theaters with your friends. He promises you the ride of your life.

K for Kleptomaniac (18+): ~1.5k words

✧ You, Lucienne, and Johanna Constantine have decided to go on a girl's trip. Therefore, Morpheus was not invited and in his desperate yearning to have you by his side again, he steals something of yours.

L for Lactation (18+): ~1.7k words

✧ Pregnant with his child and in pain, Morpheus helps release some stress.

M for Muzzle (18+)

N for Neighbor (18+)

O for Offerings (18+)

...

...

...

More to be added soon ❀❀❀

[yuriisclumsy]

I'm so excited that more people started taking cale request!!!✧\(>o<)ﾉ✧

Anyway hiii! Can I have an enemy to lovers with cale henituse and fem.reader idk something cliche like a dance scene or one gets protective of the other or maybe a cute "oh shit I'm actually in love moment"

Sorry I'm bursting with ideas rn.~

Love's Dance

Part 1 (You are here) | Part 2 | Part 3

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2,729

Authors note: You ask, and I shall deliver. PS. why did you give me such a good idea? like, I'm at 5k word for the overall thing, and I am not even done yet... (send help)

The streets of Roan Kingdom's Capital were bustling like usual. The vendors selling their goods, children running around carelessly, mothers screaming at them to not get dirty, and the usual underground activity Arm did. 

I strolled through these streets, thinking of nothing and relaxing ‘til I get another mission. 

“That reminds me…Arm has been quiet as of late. Sigh…they are up to no good…” I spoke to no one in particular, walking back to the Quiet Isle lodge. 

Quiet Isle is an inn in an area a little off the center of the Capital. I stayed there for the past three weeks after finishing my last mission. The price to stay is cheap, while still being comfortable. It has comfortable rooms, a clear view, free breakfast, and most importantly, it wasn’t noisy at all! Bonus points for the innkeepers, as they have been nothing but sweethearts.  

All-in-all, a good Inn if you’re looking to get your coins worth. 

I went through the inn’s doors, a sweet aroma of lavender hitting my nostrils as I neared the front desk.  

The Innkeepers were an old couple, and the misses genuinely enjoyed the smell of lavender. That is why, as you walk through the inn, you’ll be met with an influx of light purples from the flowers. 

Reaching the desk, I was greeted by a senior woman whose smile could cure all kinds of child injuries. 

“Oh! Why if it is the youth I’m all too familiar with!” The old granny said, delighted to see me. 

 “Greetings, Granny Fes,” I vowed curtly with a small smile. “Have there been any new guests at the inn?” I asked as she extended her hand to give me a piece of candy. 

Receiving the small candy, I offered a small ‘thank you.’ She said a quick ‘You’re welcome!’ before responding to my question. “Yes, yes! I welcomed a few new guests shortly after you left this morning for a stroll!” she excitedly told me. 

“Two of the five I welcomed are a couple expecting a child! Isn't that exciting? Ouu, to be young again…” 

“Oh, please. I say you are still quite young!” I say to get her head out of that cloud. 

“Fufufu, you are too kind [Name].” Granny Fes pinched my cheek as she got a bit flustered. “I believe one day you’ll meet a handsome young man that is suited just for you.” She added. 

I blushed a little, “Oh no, I don’t think that will happen…” I pause for a second. “Do you really think I’ll get lucky enough to have that...?” I asked, not believing I would get someone special to spend my days with. 

“Don’t give me that!” Granny Fes yelled, as if scolding one of her own. “You are beautiful! Which man wouldn't dream of having a wife such as yourself!?” 

All I could do was smile in response. This is how I want things to always go. Living in a peaceful area, sharing memories with people I meet along the way, even starting a family. Arm is nowhere near that picture. And it will never be. 

But alas. Good things always end. 

“Ah! That reminds me. [Name],” she called my name and handed me an envelope, “You received mail from a young lad. He said it was urgent.”  

Looking at the envelope as Granny Fes left to continue her job, I had an ominous feeling, yet I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.  

I turned it around only to see Arm’s seal stamped on it. Arm only sends letters if it is an important mission, and based on the color of the seal, it is of utmost importance.  

I am already not liking this I thought, refusing to open the letter. Maybe if I were to pretend its existence was nothing but a useless paper, it would disappear. But alas, I needed to open the envelope. With worry present in my face I opened it with the seal. Inside was a letter addressing Agent White Gold.  

That code name. It is the thing I despised most in this world. 

To Agent White Gold, 

Play time is up, White Gold. You have been assigned a mission in the Henituse Territory. We have discovered the traces of the leader of the organization known as ‘True Arm.’ Your mission is to go there and find out who the leader of the organization is, dead or alive. It is your choice which one you pick.  

A carriage will come to pick you up at sunrise, so don’t miss it.  

Once you arrive at your destination one of our men will greet you and guide you to your resting location and hand you an envelope. Inside, you will find descriptions of the one we are looking for, alongside a list of individuals that we found to match the description of our target. 

Remember, Agent, we are counting on your success. 

Don’t disappoint us, 

Arm 

Dammit… The moment I receive some peace after working for them like a slave…! I angrily store the letter to shreds, as if it were them instead of the letter. All I wanted was to disappear from the eyes of those bastards. They took me from my home, changed me to fit in an identity they made…they just can’t leave me alone, can they? 

 

I wanted to say no. To be able to run away to a far corner of the world so they would never be able to find me. But it is impossible. No one leaves. Rather, they die. Dying was the only way out. 

Yet, I want to live. 

I looked at Granny Fes as she talked with a few guests that were checking out. At that moment I knew that if I tried to escape, they would get everyone I was surrounded by. She doesn't deserve that. Neither does her husband, or her children and grandchildren. 

It is best I comply. 

“Sigh…Once you're in, there is no escaping their grasp…”  

The sky was tainted in hues of blues, purples, and oranges. The sun was rising from the nap it took, and fully ready to greet us. 

A carriage arrived early at the Quiet Isle Inn. Inside stood Granny Fes and Gramps Liy right next to me. Their eyes expressed sadness when looking at me. 

“Why so sad?” I asked the couple. 

“Oh, it’s just…it’s just that we’re both sad you’re leaving so soon.” Granny Fes confessed. Her husband, a bit more stubborn, only scuffed. Granny Fes elbowed him hard with a smile still shooting at me, gaining a small scowl from Gramps Liy. 

“AGHEM,” he raised one hand to fake a cough, “I guess you will be missed.” 

I laugh at his antics. Deep down he cares, he just has an unconventional way of expressing his feelings. 

“I’ll miss the two of you.” I looked at them with a small hinge of sadness but kept a smile to reassure them. I looked outside to see the coachman wave his hand signaling that he was ready for departure. “It seems I must go,” I turned to them, “see you later?” 

“Yes, yes. Goodbye little lady.” Gramps Liy ‘shud’ me to the carriage as he and his wife stared at me opening the door of the carriage. 

“Farewell, sweetheart. Make sure to take good care of yourself. And remember to look out for good lads while you’re traveling!” Granny Fes nagged me like I was about to never come back. Although, she was right about that. I don’t think I will be able to come back if I want to protect them. 

I laughed and said a small ‘I will!’ as I climbed into the carriage. Closing the door the carriage started moving. I waved to the couple one last time before I could not see them anymore. 

Sighting, I took out the map I packed. Looking at my destination, it was a few days from the capital. “This is going to be a loong trip…” I commented, making myself comfortable for the journey ahead. 

I hope I get this mission done quickly, so I can get another vacation from Arm. I looked up at the ceiling. I mean…how hard could it be to find this ‘leader’ anyways? 

… 

An old butler walks dutifully around the state halls. In hand, he holds a tray with a fancy tea set with a steel dome keeping the food inside warm; its aroma could be smelled by the passing housekeepers with wet laundry. 

The butler knocked at a door, he did not have to wait long, as he got an immediate response from the person inside. Opening the door he says his greetings. 

“Good morning, young master. I brought breakfast along with your favorite drink.” He says as he places down the tray on the table close to the window. 

“Ah, thank you, Ron.” A male voice thanked the butler. 

“It is my pleasure, young master Cale.” The butler, Ron, bowed. 

The man, who is now identified as Cale, sat down on the table to enjoy his breakfast. 

“Young master, if I may…” Ron waited for permission to continue speaking. 

“*Sight* Just spit it out.” Cale said in an uninterested voice. This is another one of his tangents. Drinking the lemonade that Ron made as he thinks of Ron’s earlier endeavors. 

Ron smiled, “I have detected Arm activity within the city.” 

“PFF–” spilling all the lemonade on the cup, he looked at Ron with widened eyes.

What is Arm doing here?! They have more pressing issues to deal with! Like, figuring out who Real Arm is! Cale’s thought went haywire.

 

Ron took his handkerchief out and gave it to Cale to use. 

“What do you mean there is Arm activity in the city? Is it more bombs?” He asked while using the cloth given to him to clean the mess he made. 

He shook his head, “no, at least not yet. I have seen them snoop around the city for information. It would seem we left them a small lead.” 

“Not good…” 

“If you’d prefer, young master, I could go rabbit hunting.” 

Looking at Ron with a drop of sweat evident in his forehead, he reluctantly answered. “...do whatever you want.”  

“Hehe. Then I will take my leave.” He bowed before leaving the room without making a sound. 

Scary old man. He looked outside pouring more lemonade in his cup. It’s not a good sign if Arm is here. I need to prepare in case they strike. 

… 

“Hey, wake up! We’re almost there!” 

“WHAT? HUH–huh?” I got up from my seat at lightning speed, looking around in a daze. As I scoot closer to the window, I see the giant walls looming overhead. On top of one of the towers built in the wall was a flag. It was the Henituse’s family crest imprinted on it.  

I’m already in the Henituse territory! 

Getting closer at the entrance door of the city, the carriage stopped, as they had to do a check before letting anyone in. 

“Execute me, m’lady. May I have your identification paper?” A soldier asked me. 

Security check? When I traveled to other places, they didn’t ask for my identification but the coachman’s. 

I handed him the paper without complaint, receiving it right after he checked that everything was good. The other soldiers gave him a thumbs up after checking the carriage and the coachman. Without further interruption they let us through, wishing us a happy stay. 

“That was…something.” 

The coach man dropped me off at a tavern near the city square. Going upstairs to the second floor of the establishment, I sat down at a table near the edge of the balcony. Waiting for the man that was supposed to give me the information mentioned in the letter I looked out into the streets, I could see the liveliness of the people.  

They were too lively in my opinion. 

Hearing footsteps approaching my table I diverted my attention to them. I was greeted with a man wearing a hat with fancy clothing. 

“Hello, m’lady,” the man greeted by taking his hat off and vowing curtly. 

Didn’t know Arm also had rich allies. I thought, seeing the man's mannerisms. 

“Good evening,” I vowed slightly, “are you the one mentioned in the letter?” 

“Eager now, are we?” He sat down in front of me with a smug smile. He placed his hat down before taking out an envelope. He slid it across the table. As I grabbed it, I took out its content.  

It was a list of suspects. They all had red hair and were male. And that was it. No underground activities, no records, nothing. 

“That’s…it?”  

This is the only information they managed to find…seriously? I thought. Was someone able to sneak past Arm’s noses? How is that even possible? 

“Unfortunately, it is.” 

“Ha...!” I laughed at the absurdity of the situation. I looked up at the man after reviewing the list of suspects.  

“This is the only description we managed to find,” the smile on his face dropped into a frown, “only at the low cost of our scouts: a single spy was able to escape long enough to hide a piece of paper in a tree trunk…” he said. 

“....” I looked down at the list.  

To be able to kill all of our scouts…this is no meek foe. Just thinking of how strong they are sends shivers down my spine…  

“I have arranged a small room at an Inn close by here. I have left some equipment at your disposal. The location is on one of the papers in the envelope.” The man stood up and put his hat on, adjusting his suit a little before looking at me.  

“If you need anything else, I left a card at your place with instructions as to how you can contact me. Remember I’m at your service m’lady, Tata! ~” 

“I will keep that in mind.” 

Watching as he disappeared behind the doors of the second floor, I decided to order something to eat before heading to my fixed place. 

…

 

“…a festival?” Cale looked at the flier given to him. 

“That’s right,” Count Deruth, Cale’s father, said nonchalantly, “the festival will brighten the people's moods, as well as show that we are financially good.” 

Politics…. 

! 

“Wait, here it says the ‘Henituse’s’ are attending…I don’t have to attend…right?” 

Deruth raised an eyebrow in question. “You don’t have to go.” 

“...” 

I must go. *Sight* My well-deserved rest has been postponed once again… can’t I catch a break for once? 

“On that note, I have reserved a spot on the city square where we will be presiding during the time,” he said as Cale gave him back the paper.  

“You don’t have to talk–or better said–you don’t have to even move. Just sitting there is enough.” 

Cale smiled at this I don’t have to move? Seems perfect to me! 

“I’ll be attending in that case.” 

“The festival will start in a few days. Be ready.” 

Cale exited his father’s study, walking back to his room. 

I need to tell Ron about this. It’ll be no surprise if Arm takes advantage of the festival. There stands a man with black hair waiting outside Cale’s room for him to come. 

“!” 

“Young master Cale!” The man runs towards him with puppy-like energy. 

“Choi Han, is there something you need?” Cale asked. 

“I heard from Ron that there have been suspicious activities happening in the city. So, I came to ask for permission to investigate.” Hans explained. 

Cale hummed. Strange. Usually, you would do these types of things without letting me know. Perhaps he thinks this is a bit dangerous and if he doesn't return, we know where to look? 

“You can do as you please, no need to ask for my permission.” 

“I see…thank you young master,” Han vowed, “I will report back immediately once I find anything!” As he said that, he began to leave. 

“Oh, and, Choi Han?” Cale spoke before he could fully leave. 

“Yes, Cale?” 

“If you find anything, make sure to report first. Don’t go around making havoc, got it?” Cale instructed. 

“...yes” he responded with a bit of thinking, knowing it was the best decision. 

Let’s see what they have in store for us. Cale entered his room, he’ll laze around until the festival actually begins. What a bother… 

… 

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Master-List

[bokutosbabe]

in regards to spotify wrapped, my top artist this year is hoyo-mix 😭😭😭 red velvet is a close second 👀.

may i inquire thy wisdom on which of the lads from blue lock shall you pair me with, and the scenario that shall accompany us, my good sovereign?

ask and ye shall receive!!!

if your top artist was hoyo-mix i'd pair you with...

rin itoshi

જ⁀♡⊹｡° rage beneath the mountains

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event♡ - this one was hard! i don't really listen to this stuff much, but i hope it's good!

♡ content — rin itoshi x gn! reader, childhood friends, insecure rin, i think that's all!

♡ synopsis — you'd watched rin itoshi grow up in the shadow of his brother

the screen flickers as you watch the game unfold before you. the stadium roars, the ball moves faster than your eyes can follow, but none of that really matters right now. it’s rin you’re watching, his figure standing out on the field like it always has, even when you and sae were kids.

you didn’t always know rin like this. you weren’t always watching him dominate on the world stage.

you knew him as the quiet younger brother, the one who watched from the sidelines while sae took center stage. rin always seemed happy to stay in the background, his frustrations and insecurities buried beneath layers of silent rage.

you, on the other hand, had always seen the cracks in rather perfect mask.

you’d been a friend of sae’s long before rin started to draw attention.

as time passed, things changed. you and rin grew closer after sae left, and the more you got to know him, the more you saw him change from a kind and happy child to a man with a cold exterior.

one night, long before blue lock, rin had let his guard down for a moment. the two of you sat on the roof of his house, the silence comfortable, as if you both belonged there.

it was then, in a rare moment of honesty, you told him something you knew he needed to hear.

“your brother will never be you, rin,” you’d said softly, your voice almost a whisper.

sae itoshi was your friend, yes, but with rin, everything felt simpler and easier. sae was amazing, but in your eyes he'd never have the sincerity that rin harbored.

at the time, you didn’t think much of it. it was a truth you could see clearly, even if no one else around him ever said it. rin had always lived in sae’s shadow.

his entire existence seemed like it was about proving that he was more than just the younger itoshi.

but rin, being rin, never responded.

he didn’t need to. you could see it in his eyes—the quiet relief, like he had never heard that before. like he needed to hear that more than anything.

now, as you watch him on the screen, scoring goal after perfect goal, that old feeling stirs in your chest.

you’ve spent years pretending to forget, pretending you’ve moved on from everything—everything—but watching rin play, watching him stand apart the way only he can, makes that old ache resurface.

there’s a part of you that wonders if he remembers those words. wonders if they still linger in his mind, especially now.

but as you watch him from afar, part of you wonders if he has truly moved on. the man on the field now is not the boy you knew. the boy who once confided in you, the boy who was still figuring himself out, who had doubts and dreams that didn’t involve his brother’s shadow.

that boy is buried beneath this polished, calculated version that has perfected the art of winning. but you still see it...the rage under the surface that only shows itself when he’s cornered.

the camera zooms in on his face after another flawless goal, his expression blank, calm and collected. but you see the flicker.

the tiny crack in his mask.

the man who no longer lets anyone close enough to see it.

you never wanted to be like the rest. you never wanted to stand on the sidelines, applauding the man he’s become when the boy you knew still aches inside him.

as you sit there, watching him achieve everything he set out to do, you realize something.

rin doesn’t need your encouragement anymore. he’s become something entirely different—something unstoppable.

and as the game rages on, so does the storm beneath the public facade. you wish you could tell him that you still see him.

but he’s long past needing you for that now.

to the world, he may have been the younger itoshi, but to you...he was just rin.

i wrote this at like midnight last night after a full day of school, so i hope it's okayish.

i hope you like it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[swallowtail-lotus]

Sakura Mochi {Hades x Mitsuri!Reader}

Repost

I'm in love with Hades as always 😂

Nothing too bad

____

"Is there any reason why you're so excited?" The lovely voice of the Goddess of Beauty, Aphrodite broke you out of your dream-like stance. You turned to face the beautiful goddess with the smile most of the deities grew to love.

"I'm eager to see Lord Hades! I haven't seen him for thousands of years!" You exclaimed, cupping your own face with your dainty hands.

"I take it you heard word of his arrival?" The goddess giggled. You nodded your head fast, the excitement growing more and more. Aphrodite always found it amusing to see you fawn over certain deities.

"I wonder what he looks like now? Will he be the same or will he look different?" You asked, mostly to yourself. Aphrodite opened her mouth but stopped when the smell of sweets caught her attention.

"You've been eating those sweets again, haven't you?" Aphrodite teased, her blue eyes filled with mischief. You lowered your head down in embarrassment.

"I can't help it! They're so delicious!" You said, folding your arms and huffed like a child.

"Anyways, I shall leave you be! Tell me everything when you're finished!" The Goddess was carried away by her golem like male servants. You stood in place, trying to process her words.

"Eh?! Aphrodite!!"

___

You smiled like a child that just received their favourite candy as you practically chomped down on your favourite sweets. After finishing a huge bowl full of them, you began walking around. You realised that you had to look for the god you've been waiting on all day, so you picked up the pace.

Meanwhile, a god with formal wear was on his way back to Helheim when his nose picked up a sweet smelling scent. It was something unfamiliar to him, but he remembered something his younger brother told him.

"If you suddenly smell something sweet, to be more specific, the scent of cake, a little goddess may be nearby!"

Hades was well aware of his younger brother's... problem when it came to females, but never really got involved in any way. He assumed this little goddess was his next target, but at the same time, he wanted to see why most of the gods spoke so fondly of her. Now that he thought about it, Zeus had never spoke of her in such a way that implied wanting to sleep with her. He spoke about her as if she was a daughter to him.

The scent got stronger, but he never moved an inch. He felt something run into his side and turned a little to face whoever it was. To his surprise, it was a smaller female with (f/c) and (s/fc) hair.

You managed to catch yourself before you could injure yourself. Your two toned hair was a little messy from the running, but it was still in good condition. When you looked up, you couldn't believe who you ran into.

"Ah! I'm so sorry, Lord Hades! I was in a rush and-"

"It's fine, (Y/n). But please be careful next time."

You shut your mouth, nervously playing with your hair. His voice was so calming it made you explode with embarrassment.

"Okay!" Your answer came out shaky.

"Lord Hades is so handsome! He looks so dominating!" Gushing about the stoic god in your mind, your gaze landed on the floor, avoiding the slight mischief in the god's eye.

"Lord Zeus must've told Lord Hades my name. Hearing him say it makes my heart flutter!"

You mustered enough courage to face the god again, looking him straight in his eye. His fingers made their way under your chin and tilted it up and leaned closer to your ear.

"Your scent is intoxicating. Hopefully you taste the same." His breath tickled your ear and sent chills down your spine. He pulled away and left you, his lips forming a smirk. You stared blankly at the ceiling, not blinking even once. After a minute, you fell to your knees. You clutched your chest with your hands, trying to calm down your heart.

From afar, a certain blonde goddess had watched it all and giggled to herself.

"This is really interesting. I wonder what will happen next~"

[peppymintdreams]

pickle gets hit on by a client and isaac gets jealous..

Hmm this was something interesting

Lines Crossed

Isaac Rhoades x Pickle

A client who crosses personal boundaries with Isaac’s assistant and partner test the limits and finds out

The mid-morning light filtered into Isaac's home office, casting a pale glow over the stacks of documents scattered across his desk. Isaac sat rigid in his chair, face impassive, as Mr. Devereux, a slick businessman rattled on about his case. Isaac’s eyes flicked over the details, his focus sharp, betraying no hint of the inner calculations he made as Devereux spoke.

Pickle stood quietly by Isaac’s side, a constant, grounding presence, though they could feel the tension subtly rising. Isaac’s hand occasionally brushed theirs, a rare, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment. His seriousness never wavered, however; his stoic nature often made moments like this feel like they were witnessing a storm brewing beneath calm waters.

“I’m telling you, Rhoades, I’ve been framed. The evidence is circumstantial,” Devereux insisted, leaning forward with too much confidence for someone in his position.

Isaac gave a slow, measured nod. “That’s what I’m here to determine, Mr. Devereux. But I need full transparency from you. No omissions. Every detail counts.”

Devereux smiled, his gaze sliding toward Pickle, lingering a little too long. “Of course. Full cooperation.” His eyes traced over Pickle with something far from professional, but Isaac said nothing, though his fingers tapped once against the desk, a tiny, controlled gesture only Pickle would catch.

Standing from his chair, Isaac grabbed a folder from his desk. “I need to retrieve additional files from the lobby. It will only take a moment.” His voice remained calm, but his gaze, as he looked at Pickle, softened slightly a fleeting moment of quiet reassurance only they would recognize.

Pickle gave him a small nod, their own silent way of saying they were fine. Isaac's hand squeezed their shoulder before he turned, stepping from the office with that same collected air that made him both intimidating and compelling.

Once the door closed, the air seemed to change. Devereux’s relaxed posture shifted into something more predatory. He leaned back in his chair, a smirk pulling at his lips as he turned his attention fully on Pickle.

“You’ve got a good thing going here,” he said, his tone casual, but there was an undertone that made Pickle stiffen. “I imagine it’s not just work that keeps you close to Isaac.”

Pickle raised their eyebrows but kept their expression professional. “We work well together,” they replied simply, turning their focus back to the tablet. They wanted to avoid where this conversation was heading.

Devereux, though, wasn’t finished. He leaned forward, his voice dropping into something more suggestive. “You’re sharp. Attentive. I could use someone like you. I’d be willing to make it worth your while, in more ways than one.”

Pickle’s grip tightened on the tablet, their posture stiffening. “I’m not interested,” they said evenly, but there was a firmness beneath the words.

Devereux chuckled, leaning back with that same smug smile. “You’re loyal. I admire that. But come on, no need to be so formal. Rhoades doesn’t have to know everything, does he?”

Before Pickle could respond, the door creaked open, and Isaac stepped back into the room. His eyes scanned the scene quickly, his calm demeanor dropping into something colder. The files in his hand were forgotten as his gaze zeroed in on Devereux.

Isaac's jaw tightened. He didn’t speak right away, but the air around him seemed to thicken with tension. When he did, his voice was measured but held a chilling edge. “Mr. Devereux, I trust the conversation remained professional in my absence.”

Devereux leaned back, unfazed. “Of course. Just a bit of friendly conversation. No harm done.”

Isaac’s eyes darkened, and his presence seemed to fill the room as he stepped around his desk, subtly placing himself between Pickle and Devereux. His tone dropped, each word deliberate. “Pickle isn’t interested in any offers from you, personal or professional.”

The tension in Isaac’s posture was palpable now, though his face remained a controlled mask. His hands, however, were balled into fists, resting calmly but ominously at his sides.

Devereux raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Relax, Rhoades. Just talking. No lines crossed.”

Isaac’s gaze was hard, unwavering. “If you want to keep working with me, you’ll make sure that remains the case.” His voice was quiet but loaded with unspoken warning. “This conversation ends here. Now.”

Pickle placed a calming hand on Isaac’s arm, grounding him before the situation could escalate further. “It’s fine,” they said, their voice gentle but firm as they looked directly at Devereux. “This won’t happen again.”

Devereux’s smirk faltered, his bravado slipping at the realization that Pickle wasn’t playing along. He stood, shrugging nonchalantly. “Fair enough. I’ll be in touch, Rhoades.” He sauntered out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The tension finally broke, but Isaac’s rigid posture remained, his eyes fixed on where Devereux had just stood. He turned to Pickle, his voice dropping into something softer but still carrying the weight of his protectiveness. “Are you alright?”

Pickle smiled gently, stepping closer. “I’m fine. You handled it.”

Isaac sighed, some of the tension easing from his frame as he wrapped his arms around them. His tone softened even more, a rare moment of vulnerability showing beneath his usual stoicism. “No one crosses that line with you again. Not while I’m here.”

Pickle rested their head against his chest, letting the warmth of his embrace melt the last of the tension away. “I know. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[thecosmicangel]

Everything that you believe in only works because you believe in it, you have given it the power to become real.

Religion , crystals , tarot, divination, affirmation, placebo effect or any tool, practice, method & set of beliefs only work & are true because you have given it the power to be so. Prayers are answered because you stood strong in your faith (believe/assumption)that it will be answered (you persisted in your faith). The power that they all have in common is the power you have given it. The power doesn’t come from the outside it comes from within. The power is in our subconscious mind.

YOU & ONLY YOU create your reality & destiny , you have the power to change your destiny at any moment because infinite realities/ parallel realities exist in the quantum field. The biggest illusion has been that power/god is outside of us when it has always been within each one of us. So please don’t ever stop believing in your power, and the capacity you have to have whatever you desire.

The same divine intelligence/ power that created you and me plus everything else also resides WITHIN YOU & by default you hold the same power. By believing in your godly power you believe in God, the all, divine intelligence whatever name you want to call it.

All religious texts, spiritual teachings, philosophers, esoteric & occult teachings are all saying/implying the same thing over and over again in different ways, we are reminded we hold the power, create our realities and are the gods of our reality. The message is there but only “the ones who have eyes to see and ears to hear” will receive the message. It is everywhere in movies, tv shows, religious scripture, spiritual teachings, and books.

Now I’ll give you a few examples of how it is written & spoken of everywhere. Followed by my interpretation of it.

Side note : The Bible is not meant to be taken literally, but to be understood at a metaphysical level.

Genesis means "origin, creation, generation". The book of Genesis is about creation and the birth of all things in existence.

"And God said, let their be light, and there was light" Genesis 1:3

God affirmed and it was so.

"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him” -Genesis 1:27

We are God, we are a reflection of god , we hold the same power as God, God/Divine intelligence is In us all. We are all God experiencing itself through different ways.

Jesus says "The kingdom of God is within you" Luke 17:21

God can be found within you as it has always been within you. If we are made in the image of God then we don't need any other validation but our own self. Everything you want comes from you not outside of you.

Jesus says " Varily I say unto you, except ye be converted and become as little children ye shall not enter the kingdom of heaven" Matthew 18:3

In other words dare to dream & have a big imagination just as children have. Create & imagine whatever you desire, no dream is too big or impossible if you dare to dream it in imagination. Use your creative child like imagination to create your heaven on earth. Your imagination is the kingdom of heaven. Don’t ever lose your imagination. Don’t rely on logic or the 3D to create, if you can see it in your minds eye then it is very real & possible.

“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

“For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.”

Matthew 7-8

If you want it, decide & assume you have it and you will receive it. It is as simple as that.

“so is my word that goes out from my mouth:It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.” - Isaiah 55:11

Everything that you assume will become manifest, you must not have any doubts that it will not be so, because it is already done. Know that everything you want is already yours, simply affirm it to be yours

“Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven.” -Matthew 6:10

Similar to the saying “As within, so without, as above, so below.” Everything & everyone is a mirror/ reflection of your mind & what you assume to be true. The world is a mirror of your assumptions.

"Power resides where men believe it resides. It's a trick. A shadow on the wall. And a very small man can cast a very large shadow. " - Varys from Game of Thrones

There is 7 Hermitic Principles. The first principle is the principle of mentalism.

" The all is mind; the universe is mental"

In other words everything in existence, our outer world is all a mental construct. It is a hologram projected out based on subconscious programming. Everything we see is first created in our mind by programming of our subconscious & imagination. The world is a mirror of our assumptions. What we believe to be true is projected out into the outer world. If you want to see change in the 3D then you must first make the change within.

Now do you see how everything points back to YOU? How things are made possible by you & you only?! Do you understand the power of your mind?? Do you get that the 3D is a reflection of your inner mind (3D reflects the 4D). Do you understand that you are the only validation you need? Do you understand that imagination is real and not the 3D?? Do you understand that everything that exists and can possible exists is true and real? It all exists in some reality, there is infinite realities. Do you see how things have the power to be when you give it your awareness? Do you see how you are a reflection of God working & experiencing itself & creation through you= you are the operant power & god of your reality?!!!

xoxo, the cosmic angel ⭐️🪽

[aria-greenhoodie]

You asked and ye shall receive. Aria,why do you use birds to symbolize Abigale's inner turmoil?. Besides the obvious surname thing. Also you apparently have more thoughts on the Muse art? 👀,explain?.

So obviously yeah, “Blackwing” is such a bird surname. BUT THATS ONLY THE SURFACE!

Birds are so often used as symbols of freedom, creatures untethered by laws of the land due to their ability to fly. In the same way, I imagine Abigale as being similar; free, not having to abide by the laws of her land as much as others did. In order to explain I think I have to dive into my version of Abigale’s backstory a bit…

(Warning: I’m going off what I know about 1800-1900s American Society. I’m no historian, but I’ve tried to keep things as believable as possible. I will say I’m pretty confident in that believability thanks to my feminist history class I been taking this semester.)

Born in the early 1880s, the Blackwing family was wealthy, yet fairly unknown. Calling it a “family” before Abigale’s birth would be a stretch in many’s opinion, being made up of just Mr. Atticus Blackwing and Mrs. Chastity Blackwing. Chastity tragically passed in childbirth, leaving Atticus to raise Abigale all on his own. He became fiercely protective and supportive of the young Abigale, a tiny spitting image of his late wife.

Abigale was always an insatiably curious child. At first, Atticus tried to teach her how to be a lady, to be domestic, to cook and clean and dote on her future husband, but quickly realized he was woefully unequipped for teaching a subject he knew nothing about. What’s more: Abigale HATED her womanly lessons. Instead, Atticus decided to let her learn something she actually was interested in; inventing.

Abigale loved to tinker, to create. The mechanical was a fascination of hers from the moment she saw it. Atticus as an architect had some mechanical knowledge, but not to the level Abigale’s insatiable desire to learn needed. But what engineering school would allow a woman in? At this point in the late 1800s, women were nearly always snubbed in inventing spaces, most universities not even offering engineering degrees for female students.

And so, Abigale’s “twin brother” Abraham Blackwing was created. A pseudonym for Abigale, under which she would don Atticus’s old clothes from his boyhood and attend a prestigious engineering school. Her father even falsified documents like Abraham’s birth certificate to make him appear like a legitimate person. It was risky, as crossdressing was a punishable offense by law back then, but Abigale was willing to take that risk if it meant she could learn.

Between her rich father supporting her every decision and passion, and her alter-ego, Abraham, to fall back on, Abigale had a lot of freedom growing up. When her father died of an illness just before she graduated, he left “Abraham” everything, which of course meant that Abigale could “live with her brother” and hold a bank account under his name. She was truly given every opportunity for freedom, more than any woman of her time.

And then, Bill Cipher enters her life.

She’s plagued by the triangular demon ip every night in her dreams, but she refuses to succumb to the shape’s demands. As tempting as building a machine like an inter-dimensional portal was, she knew better than to trust a man who wouldn’t explain his motives. When Abigale asked why Bill wanted this portal built, he couldn’t give her a straight answer, and that was enough proof to know he was no good.

After weeks of restless nights and aggravation, Abigale finds a peculiar ad in the paper, written by a certain Thurburt Mudget Waxstaff III…

On some level, she has to thank Bill for entering her life as much as she has to curse him for it. If he had never decided to torment her specifically, she never would have met the rest of the Anti-Cipher Society. Abigale THRIVED in the society, delighted in inventing new ways to ward off Cipher, collaborating with her dear Jessamine to create specialized weaponry, learning self defense from Horace, gossiping with O’Pimm, spending night after night explaining the mechanics of how her inventions worked to Thurburt so he could whip up a stellar sales pitch… she had never felt more alive! She was flying high, much like a bird on the wind.

And then the conference happened.

Thurburt was institutionalized, right then and there. Abigale watched the asylum workers from backstage with mounting horror. Worst case scenario for Thurburt, he’d be locked in a cell or sent out west at some work camp, but for Abigale? If the asylum workers got ahold of her, she knew they’d think her hysterical. Treatments for “insane” men were often much kinder than treatments for women in those times. Deeming Thurburt insane would send him to a locked cell, but he would at least be allowed to remain himself. Abigale had heard of women like her, eccentric unmarried women, “frivolous women” as they were often called, being scooped up by doctors and spat back onto the street with their entire personalities wiped. A hammer and a well placed nail up the inside of one’s nose could do heinous things. Abigale would sooner die then let them take what made her HER away.

So she ran. She tried to take Jessamine with her, but she refused to leave Thurburt. For six days Abigale hid in the society’s underground bunker, terrified of venturing outside, not knowing what happened to her companions besides Thurburt. She only ventured out on the seventh day because she had run out of food.

She couldn’t go back to her house, when she tried to scope it out, she saw the asylum workers already knocking at her door. She couldn’t stay in the bunker, it was only a matter of time before it was found. She was desperate for a way out, to keep herself free.

And here comes Mr. Northwest.

See, the thing about birds is that while they make excellent symbols of freedom, they also make excellent symbols of being trapped. Birds can be put into cages, forced to sing or speak for meager treats, and lets not forget that at that time most birdcages were anything but spacious and comfortable. Most captive birds of the time were expected to die quickly, only purchased in order to sing prettily for a short while before their tiny little hearts stopped beating. Birds are as much a symbol of freedom as they are of captivity, of being trapped, of the LOSS of freedom.

Abigale never wanted to be a wife, but what choice did she have? Mr. Northwest offered her a way out if she married him. Her choice was thus: escape the state with Mr. Northwest as her husband, or stay in town and eventually be found and promptly lobotomized, erased of any trace of her real personality.

She chose the former.

Better to live in a gilded cage, twittering for scraps, then to be gutted and stuffed on som taxidermist’s wall…

Right?

As for the muse stuff most of my trout process I already told you in the notes of the original piece lol

[princesssszzzz]

Silver Crimson

Word Count: 2.8k

Pairing: Rhaemond

Summary: Rhaena spends her days in King's Landing helping the smallfolk, catching the attention of Aemond after Daeron spends a day with her.

Read on A03

The streets buzzed with the mundane hum of daily life. From the crowded Flea Bottom markets to the narrow alleys where beggars clutched their rags, the King’s Landing pulse thrummed steadily. Among the smallfolk, the young Princess moved gracefully, smiling when one of the people called out to her ‘Darling of the City!’ Her presence was an anomaly for her first couple of visits, but now they saw it as a comfort.  

Rhaena Targaryen, with her slender figure draped in crimson and black walked with an ease that drew eyes and smiles wherever she went. Her long, silver locs cascaded loosely down her back, catching the late morning sunlight in a way that made them seem almost ethereal. 

 After her lessons she had spent much of her time at the orphanage today, kneeling beside the children. She listened intently as they told her of their dreams, dreams that soared high above the reality that Westeros gave them. Rhaena’s heart ached for them, but she did not pity them. Instead, she admired their resilience and in return they adored her. With every visit, she brought food, clothing, and books. 

Today was no different and as she handed a small girl a loaf of bread, a shadow fell across her. She looked up to see Daeron standing behind her, smiling down at her. His golden hair caught the light in the same manner as her locs, and his purple eyes still sparkled with the innocence of youth. He was a kind soul, gentle and courteous, and his presence always brought a sense of warmth in the chaos of King’s Landing. 

“Princess,” Daeron greeted her, bowing his head slightly. “I wondered where you had gone off to. The Keep felt rather empty without you.” 

Rhaena smiled, her cheeks flushing lightly. “I've been visiting here often. The children look forward to our visits.” 

“Our visits?” Daeron teased, his boyish grin widening. “Then I shall have to accompany you.” 

Rhaena gave him a slight smile. “I think they would like that, my Prince.” 

As they walked through the streets together, Rhaena was keenly aware of the looks they received. Daeron, despite his youth, was already gaining a reputation for his charm and easy smile. He had been mostly raised away from there, and though still a boy in many ways, he had the demeanor of the knights in the stories Rhaena often read. He was gallant and thoughtful, always eager to help, and he never missed an opportunity to make Rhaena laugh. 

Daeron asking about her day, her studies, and how she was settling into life at King’s Landing. She answered with sincerity, her words painting a picture of contentment, though he knew there was a hint of something else in her tone when she spoke of her father. Daemon, though powerful and respected as the Commander of the City Watch, had little interest in his daughter. His mind was often preoccupied with matters of the politics of the realm, leaving Rhaena to fend for herself when it came to familial affection now that she was away from her mother. 

“Have you spoken with your father today?” Daeron asked, his voice filled with concern. 

Rhaena shook her head, her smile dimming . “Not really. He’s often busy.” 

Daeron placed a hand on her arm, his touch light but reassuring. “He will come around, Rhaena. You are his daughter, after all. No father can remain distant forever. You're his only child here.” 

She appreciated his optimism, though she wasn’t as certain. She quickly turned away, focusing on the task at hand. There were still people to feed, and she could not afford to be distracted. 

 Daeron joined her in handing out bread and cheese, his hands moving with a practiced ease that made the smallfolk whisper among themselves. Here was a prince who did not shy away from them, who did not look down on them from the lofty heights of the Red Keep. Rhaena couldn’t stop thinking about how much different he was from her father, and how much she’d liked that about him. 

The day drew to a close, the sun began its descent, and Rhaena knew it was time to return. She thanked Daeron for his company and with a lingering smile, he returned to the Keep leaving her to walk the familiar path back to her chambers. 

She had not expected to see her father when she entered the hall but there he was, his presence commanding as always. Daemon Targaryen, with his chiseled features and a face hardened by years of battle and bitterness, stood speaking with a gold cloak. His face looked cold and calculating as he discussed some matter of security with his underling. 

Rhaena hesitated at the threshold, not wanting to interrupt but Daemon’s gaze flicked towards her annd caught her in its intensity. 

“Rhaena,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You’ve been out all day.” 

“Yes, father,” she replied, stepping forward, her hands clasped before her. “I was at the orphanage. The children there.” 

Daemon’s expression did not soften, but neither did it harden further. He was the one who mentioned to her and Baela the importance of the smallfolk trusting them. “I can’t keep up with you if your always outside of the Red Keep.” 

Rhaena swallowed, resisting the urge to point out that he'd hardly noticed her absence anyway. She knew the gold cloak had been the one reporting on her. “I like helping them father.” 

Daemon dismissed the man with a curt nod, then turned his full attention to his daughter. “Your to learn the ways of the court, not to cavort with peasants.” 

His words stung, but Rhaena held her ground. “Mother sent me here to be with you, father. But you are often busy, and I—” 

“And you what?” Daemon interrupted, his tone sharp. 

“I wish to make myself useful,” she finished quietly. “If not here, then with those who need me.” 

For a moment, silence hung between them, heavy and fraught with years of her unspoken tensiogreivances. Daemon’s gaze bore into her, as if he were searching for something in her face, some sign of weakness or rebellion. But Rhaena did'nt waver, meeting his stare with quiet determination. 

Finally, Daemon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Your sister must be rubbing off on you.” 

Rhaena wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a criticism, but she chose to take it as the former. “I'm sure her and mother misses you,” she said softly. 

Daemon’s expression shifted slightly, regret passing through his eyes before it was gone.  “The world is not as kind as you are, Rhaena. Remember that.” 

“I will,” she promised with a nod. 

Daemon nodded, dismissing her with a wave of his hand as he turned away, his thoughts already elsewhere. Rhaena watched him go, feeling  sadness and resignation settling in her chest. It was clear that her father cared for her, in his own odd way. It was also clear that his heart was not in King’s Landing. His heart was on the battlefield. 

The next day dawned with a crispness in the air that heralded the coming of autumn. Rhaena found herself wandering around, suddenly drawn by the sounds of clashing steel and the shouts of men honing their skills. She had always been fascinated by the art of combat, though she never participated. Watching was another matter entirely. 

As she approached the noise, she saw him.  Aemond was a figure of stark contrasts. His silver hair was swinging around, emphasizing the hard lines of his face and the proud set of his mouth. His singular eye was focused intently on Ser Cole, while the black leather patch served as a constant reminder of the price he had paid for his ambitions and fight with his nephews. 

Aemond moved with a grace that belied his size, his sword an extension of his arm as he parried and struck with precision. There was an elegance to his movements, a fluidity that Rhaena could'nt help but admire. She watched him in silence with her presence unnoticed until the bout ended, and Aemond’s gaze swept the area until it landed on her. 

His expression softened slightly and he strode towards her, sheathing his sword as he did. “Rhaena,” he greeted, his voice low. “What brings you here?” 

Rhaena tried to give a disarming smile, though there was a hint of wariness in her demeanor. “I enjoyed watching the training. It looks like dancing, the way you move.” 

Aemond raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Dancing? I’ve never heard swordplay described in such a way.” 

Rhaena’s cheeks colored slightly. “Perhaps not dancing, then. But impressive, certainly.” 

Aemond inclined his head, acknowledging her words. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though. You spend much of your time inside and with the smallfolk now, do you not?” 

Rhaena nodded. “I do. They are kind people, and they need all the help they can get.” 

Aemond’s expression grew pensive, his eye narrowing slightly. “I saw you with my brother. He often accompanies you, does he not?” 

There was annoydance in his tone that made Rhaena pause, though she couldn’t quite place it. “He did once. Daeron is kind. He cares about the smallfolk as much as I do.” 

Aemond’s lips twisted into a slight smirk, though it did not reach his eye. “Yes, Daeron is kind. Almost to a fault.” 

Rhaena frowned, “What do you mean?” 

Aemond shook his head, the smirk fading into something more contemplative. “Only that my brother is young and lacks experience in the real world. He's a child.” 

“He’s a good man,” Rhaena said, her tone carrying a note of defense. 

Aemond’s expression was unreadable. “Hmmm...perhaps.” 

Rhaena wanted to roll her eyes at him but decided not to, instead opting to smile gently, trying to ease the tension she felt building between them. “The world is as simple or as complicated as we make it. It’s better not to carry resentment Aemond.” 

He let his stare linger on her, his eye searching her face for something she wasn’t sure he would find. Finally he nodded, though his expression remained serious. “We’ll see if the world proves you right, Rhaena.” 

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her to ponder his words as the cool breeze tugged at her locs. She watched him go, her mind a swirl of thoughts and questions. She’d been here for months, but Aemond was still a mystery to her. One she wasn’t sure she would ever fully unravel.  

The day passed quickly, and by the time the sun was dipping low in the sky, Rhaena found herself once more among the smallfolk. The streets were quieter now, the bustling energy of the day giving way to the calm of evening. She handed out the last of the bread she had brought, her thoughts still lingering on Aemond and the strange conversation they had shared. 

It wasn’t until she was preparing to leave that she saw him again. He appeared suddenly, as if out of the shadows. Rhaena looked up, startled to see him there and his expression as unreadable as ever. 

“Aemond,” she greeted him, her voice tinged with surprise. “What are you doing down here?” 

He shrugged, his gaze flicking over the small crowd that had gathered around her. “I thought I would find you here.” 

Rhaena smiled, though there was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. “I didn’t think you were one for visiting the smallfolk.” 

Aemond’s mouth twitched into a slight smirk. “I’m not, usually. But you seem to think there is merit in it, so I thought I would see for myself.” 

Rhaena wasn’t sure what to make of that. There was something in his tone, something almost kind, that she had not expected. But before she could respond, she noticed the way the smallfolk were eyeing him, their expressions wary and uncertain. 

Aemond seemed to notice it too, and his smirk faded into a look of mild irritation. “They’re afraid of me,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. 

“They’re not used to seeing you here,” Rhaena explained gently. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate your presence.” 

Aemond scoffed lightly, though there was no real malice in the sound. “I’m not here for their appreciation.” 

Rhaena eyed him. “Then why are you here?” 

Aemond met her gaze, his expression inscrutable. “Perhaps I’m here for you.” 

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning that neither of them fully grasped. Rhaena felt her heart skip a beat, her mind scrambling to process what he had just said. Before she could respond, Aemond turned to the guards who had accompanied her, his voice curt as he dismissed them. 

“Leave us,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. 

The guards hesitated, their eyes darting between Aemond and Rhaena. “But, my Prince—” 

“Go,” Aemond repeated, his patience clearly wearing thin. 

Reluctantly, the guards obeyed, leaving Rhaena and Aemond standing alone in the fading light. Rhaena watched them go, her heart beating a little faster. It was getting late, and the streets of King’s Landing were not safe at night. Her father had warned her of that many times, and she knew he would be out tonight, hunting down criminals and ensuring the city’s “safety”. 

“Aemond,” she began, her voice tinged with concern. “It’s the hour of the bat. My father will be out, and if he sees us…” Rhaena let her words carry off. 

Aemond’s expression shifted into one of amusement, a glint of mischief in his eye. “Let him see us. I’ve nothing to hide.” 

Rhaena frowned slightly, her unease growing at the disappearing household guards that came with them from Dragonstone. “We should go back. He doesn't exactly appreciate me being down here. And he doesn’t trust your family.” 

Aemond’s smirk returned, sharper this time. “He doesn’t trust anyone, Rhaena. Least of all me. But that’s his problem, not yours.” 

There was a confidence in his tone that both reassured and unnerved her. Rhaena bit her lip, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to cause trouble, but at the same time, there was something thrilling about the way Aemond looked at her. 

He offered her his arm, his expression softening slightly. “Come. You don’t need guards. Let me walk you.”  

Rhaena hesitated, her mind warring with itself. But in the end, she placed her hand on his arm, allowing him to lead her through the cobblestone streets. As they walked, the city around them seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the two of them, bound together by the strange, unspoken connection that had suddenly formed between them. 

Aemond did not speak much as they made their way toward the Keep, but Rhaena could feel the weight of his presence beside her, a comforting and yet unsettling sensation all at once. 

When they finally reached the gates of the Keep, Aemond paused, turning to face her. His expression was serious, his eye searching hers as if he were looking for something only she could give him. 

"Princess," he said quietly, he kept his voice low. Aemond took a step closer, the distance between them shrinking until she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. His gaze flickered down to her lips, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender and commanding kiss. 

Rhaena’s eyes fluttered shut as she melted into him, her hands instinctively reaching up to grasp his shoulders. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of heat and electricity that left her breathless. Aemond’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin as he deepened the kiss, drawing her closer as if he feared she might slip away. 

For a few precious moments, there was nothing but the two of them, lost in the intensity of the kiss.  

When Aemond finally pulled back, his breath mingled with hers and Rhaena’s heart was pounding in her chest. He looked down at her, his eye dark with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, and for once the smugness that so often marked his features was absent, replaced by something far more genuine. 

"Goodnight, Rhaena," he whispered, his voice rougher than before, as if the kiss had shaken him as much as it had her. 

Rhaena found herself unable to speak with her lips still tingling from the kiss. She managed a nod, her thoughts jumbled. Without another word, Aemond released her and turned away, disappearing into the shadows of the Keep. 

As Rhaena made her inside her chambers, her steps were light and unsteady. She couldn’t help but replay the kiss in her mind, over and over. She had no idea what it meant or where it would lead, but she knew one thing for certain. Nothing would be the same after tonight.  

[tuliptic]

Messages From The Divine

This Pick a Card/Pile is for you and me to hear the messages from the divine. Who wants to talk to you? What are the messages they bring?

Close your eyes, meditate on this topic and ask yourself the question. Breathe in and out, make sure your mind and heart is calm. Then, open your eyes to see which pile talks to you the most/draws you in the most. Once you’ve found your pile, scroll down to the respective parts to see what are the messages for you.

Piles go from left to right.

Disclaimer: This is solely for my entertainment purposes. Take only whatever you feel like it. If it doesn’t resonate, it means I’m not the reader for you and it’s okay to just drop it. Besides, I do not consent to my work or images being used by third partis on this platform or other websites as well.

Decks used: Luna Cat Tarot Deck (Major Arcana), Linestrider Tarot Deck, Sweet Dreams Oracle Deck, Starcodes Astro Oracle Deck

Pile 1

Message from the goddess Selene

My dear… -sighs- You’re strong, you’ve fought so hard for everything to be in place, you’ve fought for the world to be in your hands. What does that feel like? You realized that achievement isn’t everything, correct? You realized that you needed more strength to face more things that you used to love, right? I’m not saying you're wrong, I’m just… I just want you to be happier, to be more at peace with yourself.

You are starting a lot of new projects and you’re slowly draining yourself out. I’m worried about you. Starting one or two is still alright, but the more you start, the more you have to see through it until the end, and that’s slowly eating you up. What started as fun is starting to become a burden, a responsibility you’ll need to bear. Success will be coming your way, but please do not let it lose your sense of fun, please do not let it lose your sense of self.

-Sighs again- I see that you’ll be very busy from now on, with how many projects you’re having with you, and that things are going to be moving at a very fast pace, probably faster than you can catch up. When this happens, know that I’m here for you along with your higher self, and we’ll be communicating with you in your dreams to help you with whatever life has for you. You are divinely protected, especially by me. And as much as changes come, you just… Embrace them, no matter how fast they are, and you adapt.

As much as I worry for you, you seem pretty excited with all these movements. I believe they come as a pivotal change for you to transition into a new phase, into a new you. I am happy for you but I can’t stop worrying about how much you’re starting to put on you. Please remember to take care of yourself, alright? I’ll be here for you all the time, even when you can’t see me. Just look up in the night sky and tell me your happiness, your fears, your success, your worries. I’m listening. I’m here for you as your greatest supporter.

Pile 2

Message from the goddess Athena

How does it feel like? To finally regain the balance that you’ve always wanted? To finally accept the changes that came your way and make peace with it? You had so much fear, but you still managed to do it. Spectacularly, I’d say. You did a great job and I’m so, so proud of you for getting through those hard times.

Betrayals are such painful things to deal with, especially when it’s people you trust the most being sneaky and backstabbing you. However, fear not, my child. There’s always an end to a tunnel. Trust the process and keep running. Don’t let past disappointments stop you from having hope in this world. Continue giving, and you shall receive. Balance is what keeps the world moving, what keeps the world in a harmonious state. You give, and you shall receive. Even if it’s not now, it will, eventually. Believe that good karma will come back to you when you’re generous with what you have, including time and love.

You should also take some time for yourself, my child. Spend some time with me, meditate and think about where you want to go, what you want to achieve, what you want to let go, who you want to spend your energy on. It is a new phase, a new chance for your own growth, for you to challenge yourself to step outside of your comfort zone as you head towards illumination. You are a warrior, my child. You know that you’re the co-creator of your life and destiny, and you’re ready to take matters into your hands.

Whenever you feel tired or you need help, come to me. If you’re willing to receive help from me and the Universe, help shall fall upon you. Believe. Trust. Love. Live life to the fullest. I am with you.

Pile 3

Message from the goddess Demeter

My dear child, I’d love to give you a huge hug. Whatever time of perils shall be over soon. Fate is now smiling at you, and the Sun is coming out to give you a warm hug. Do not fear the Sun, for it gives out light and heat to the world, for it gives warmth to the soul. The Sun is always there for you, let its rays kiss your forehead and remind you that you are very much loved.

Whatever painful times, whatever heart-stabbing moments are coming to an end. The swords are falling out and you can finally let yourself be healed. Stop treating your pain like it’s something you imagined. If you see the wound is real, then you can heal it. Be kind to your wounds, spend time and tend to them gently. My dear, I know you tend to have an overly rational approach to your day to day problems, and over-rationalize a lot of things. But my lovely child, reason itself isn’t the answer to everything. Let yourself and your emotions run. Accept that it’s alright to be unreasonable, that it’s already a time for you to let yourself loose. 

It may be very difficult right now, but trust that whatever that’s happening to you right now is intending to build you up to face the future stronger. You’ve been creating strong emotional connections with the important people in your life, haven’t you? Those people, they are here for you. They are always with you, physically or emotionally, and they are determined to bring you to wonderful places that are filled with wonder, delight and joy. 

My beloved child, your family may have disappointed you at times, but you have to remember you’re never a disappointment in my eyes, in the eyes of the people who love you unconditionally. I’m here to nurture you, to bring you to a place where warmth and light resides, to let you be able to release that warmth and light to the people you care for as well. I’m here for you, always, and forever.

Thank you for reading until the end! Feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[valiantstarlights]

[Bluebeard Dream AU] Three Types of Flowers

Chapter 1

For Dreamling Week 2024 Day 2: Pirates / Hourglass / Flowers / Exhibitionism

In which letters are exchanged between siblings, a bouquet is sent, and something is published in the scandal sheet, The Starlight Observer, that would seriously impact Hob's reputation.

Not me continuing to further my 'Hob and Johanna are siblings' agenda in the year of our Lord 2024. 💃

CW: This fic is starting to look like it's going to be entirely in epistolary form, so heads up if that's not your cup of tea.

--

Hobsie,

?????

And also, welcome back to London. It would have been nice to receive a letter saying that you'd be arriving. And without El, too.

Your favorite sister,

Johanna II Constantine

--

My ONLY sister,

I apologize if I came back so abruptly without sending any notice. I simply couldn't be in India any longer. I shall tell you everything when we meet in person.

I assume your question marks refer to me being mentioned in the latest The Starlight Observer? If so, then I can only tell you that that anonymous gossip writer doesn't know what they're writing about. Lord Dream has been nothing but courteous to me at the ball hosted by the Riveras, and the debutantes were simply being welcoming. No one was being predatory at all. In fact, I must have been the least charming one there, as out of practice as I am in dealing with nobles in general.

I shall ride for home as soon as my return documents are in order. See you soon.

Your brother,

R.G.

--

Hobsie,

You're a fucking idiot.

But I will reserve the rest of my insults for when you arrive home, so that the message would really sink in.

The smarter sibling between the two of us,

Johanna II Constantine

--

Brother,

If you're getting married again within the next few months, I'm not attending.

Desire

--

Noted.

- 3

--

Rude. You could have at least asked if it's because Unity is close to giving birth and I want to be present when we welcome our first child into the world. And yes, that is the case, actually, so thanks for asking.

Despair says she has a good feeling about this Gadling fellow of yours. I think she's being sarcastic.

Desire

--

That was what I surmised. Please tell Unity that I am looking forward to meeting my niece and/or nephew. I hope they inherit most of their personality from her.

Lord Robert is not mine yet. But I welcome our sister's kind words, sarcastically meant or not.

- 3

--

The Starlight Observer

June 14, [year redacted]

...There is also much talk about two certain gentlemen whom we shall hide under the names Lord Dream Endless and Lord Robert Gadling, who were seen together in Madame Lucienne's bookshop, conversing for hours.

We cannot be certain if talking is all they did, or if they had engaged in a different kind of conversation behind the bookshelves altogether, as Madame Lucienne had closed the doors of her shop to other customers earlier than usual that day. To prevent others from witnessing something scandalous? Or perhaps to join the gentlemen in their 'conversations'?...

--

Hobsie,

!!!!!

Your scandalized and thoroughly revolted sister,

Johanna II Constantine

--

Jo,

For fuck's sake. Do people here do nothing else but read The Starlight Observer?

Lord Dream and I were only talking. And Madame Lucienne closed the bookshop early because she wasn't feeling well. The poor woman; she had been feeling nauseous all day. But perhaps that is good news, as Lord Dream told me that she and her wife Madame Gault have been trying for a child these past couple of years.

Now stop reading that scandal sheet and do something meaningful with your life.

R.G.

--

Can you blame me? There is nothing else as regularly entertaining as reading gossip in The Starlight Observer.

I bet Madame Lucienne was just nauseous because you and Lord Dream were being disgusting.

Shan't.

J2C

--

A note attached to a bouquet:

I have been called a fool many times in my life, and I will undoubtedly continue to be labeled as such for the rest of it. But I would be the biggest fool of all if I remain silent about the feelings that have bloomed within me during the afternoon we spent together at Madame Lucienne's bookshop.

You would be well within your rights to reject me. And I fully expect for you to do so. It is far too soon far too fast, and you are too discerning and sensible to bother with the likes of me.

Nevertheless, this bouquet spells out the words I didn't have the courage to say to you last Thursday, in between our discussion of Chaucer, Indian folk tales, and songs sung by the krakens of the deep to their slumbering gods.

Yours,

Hob

--

Sister,

I write to you at a time of great need. I have received a bouquet, and would like your help in deciphering its meaning. I have my own interpretation of it, of course, but I would be most grateful if you were to tell me your own interpretation.

Biting red tulips, white starburst carnations, and black witch's whip, held together by black oil paper of the highest quality and a red silk ribbon.

Please respond as soon as you can.

Dream

--

Dream,

You are my favorite brother and I love you, but I do not appreciate Matthew alarming my staff and having them wake me up at two in the morning because you're 'in desperate need of my help.'

You made me think you had been cursed and were dying painfully, Dream!

No, do not scold Matthew. I know he is anxious by nature and that he is only following your orders to get a reply from me as soon as inhumanly possible.

As for the bouquet you received, it means exactly what you think it means.

Biting red tulips for barely restrained passion (and perhaps a nod to your ruby), white starburst carnations for new beginnings and purity of intent (as well as to mirror your eyes), and black witch's whip to convey that you have wholly captivated the sender and that they do not wish to be free of you.

The sender has also taken great care to incorporate your three favorite colors, and gone out of their way to find high-quality black oil paper, which is rare to find in Europe this time of year. And yes, perhaps they also mean to allude to the red string of fate by using a red silk ribbon.

Now tell me: is the sender of the bouquet Lord Robert Gadling? You know I personally don't read The Starlight Observer, but Jessamy is always up to date, and she has shown me all the relevant sections mentioning you and Lord Robert while Matthew paced outside the door of my study, tearing at his hair.

Do let me know if there are any updates. I prefer to hear news about you directly from you.

Your most patient (and now sleep-deprived) sister,

Death

--

The Starlight Observer

June 21, [year redacted]

"What soberness conceals, drunkenness reveals." This has been proven time and again every time Countess Marguerite Ichihara holds her annual wine-tasting event at her family's country seat.

And as per usual, this author has had a grand time fishing for truths as they surface from the depths of a wineglass.

To start with, let us talk about the hostess herself and her new matchmaking project this season...

...Of the Endless family, only Lady Death, Lord Destruction, and Lady Delirium are in attendance...

...with Lady Johanna Constantine claiming that her brother, Lord Robert Gadling, is indisposed, as he is still re-acclimating to the weather in London...

...And speaking of the forbidden, it is common knowledge among the immortal nobility that while we may tumble in bed with a mortal or two, marrying them as they are is considered beyond the pale.

This author can certainly remember the outrage sparked by the last issue of Argus, The Starlight Observer's predecessor, when it published a blind item that talked about a member of the immortal nobility marrying a human woman.

Well, dearest readers, it is now my solemn duty to inform you, that half a century after that article was published, the entire ton has once again been set abuzz when Mister William Shaxberd, twelfth son of Baron Shaxberd and a clergyman who used to be stationed a stone throw's away from Gretna Green, loudly proclaimed that he had witnessed such a couple be united under the light of the gods.

And if that claim isn't preposterous enough, he also insists that the nobleperson in question is Lord Robert Gadling, though he was married under the name Sir Robert Gadlen.

Is this only a severe misremembering on the part of a heavily intoxicated Mister Shaxberd, who at that point in time was barely able to stand up straight, let alone walk, or does his story ring of truth?

Have no fear, dearest readers. As always, this author shall investigate further.

--

Notes:

I made up all three flowers mentioned in this chapter because I didn't have time to read through the lists of RL!flowers and their meanings. 🥲

The Starlight Observer doesn't know that the real reason Dream and Hob didn't attend the wine-tasting event is because they have their own...tasting event 😏

My brain: Shaxberd is the twelfth son because he wrote Twelfth Night. 😂👍