#before then he was more chill and calculated about his actions

[aztarion]

If Sol is an anxiety-riddled cheetah, what sort of person or thing or addition to her (un)life would have the same effect on her that an emotional support puppy has on a cheetah?

ive been thinking about this and not getting anywhere j and im pretty sure it’s meant as no nuance but we’ve established im an overthinker v_v so i rambled for a while below, hopefully it’s entertaining LOL. i focused way too much on the relationships. tbh it could be her brother if she ever reunited with him

it’s so hard to pick out one particular thing or person or addition and keep it realistic!!! i’d otherwise say it was Julian during the fledgling years, but she didn’t have much in the way of anxiety then, not like it is now, and he was also partially responsible for what brought about triggering/exacerbating it in the first place. but initially what they had, if you could lift that younger slightly less bold Julian to replace present Julian, might have that effect on her

in some weird way i think Sol subconsciously likes being kept on the fringe or razors edge of her nerves in some twisted strain of excitement; ive been toying with this as a manifestation of her beast. so maybe she would vore a traditional therapy dog and sit there shaking and whimpering like she’s the victim 🧐

i’ve mentioned before she gets on really well with Elena and enjoys her dry presence and quiet competence and absolute loyalty, but the fact of what’s unnaturally behind that loyalty spikes anxiety if Sol dwells on it — Sol is also VERY protective and worries about everyone she has a connection with. she would develop feelings for the therapy dog. whatever it might be in this analogy, it would have to be some sort of stronger kindred/supernatural for her to have any peace of mind

so… Lettow comes closest in that regard, but i still don’t think Sol would be happy for other reasons. his demeanor, strength and reliability has the most inwardly calming effect on her — like a truly strange solid steadying comfort over a period of months that grow insanely chaotic. he offers comfort, forgiveness, acceptance, support — all the things she thinks she wants or needs. it’s interesting to me that in the base text a lot of his touches and embraces are described as being either ‘grounding’, ‘protective’ or ‘lingering’ because Sol often feels like she’s drowning — in guilt, in Aila’s memories, in loneliness, in purposelessness, in her own maddeningly unsatisfied hunger. like meeting earth after years at sea. he has big taurus energy to her underdeveloped scorpio. (contrastingly Julian’s are described as unexpected or split-second and leaving her off-balance… but again i think Sol actually likes that)

maybe Lettow could help her heal past Aila but i don’t think Sol would give herself that chance for forgiveness. and while she comes to really love and care for him despite the confusion Aila’s stirring brings, and her own impulsive feelings and actions, i don’t think she’s IN love with Lettow :( he doesn’t inspire or excite or wildly frustrate her like Julian does. so maybe that does make Lettow a good emotional support puppy… Sol needs a pet elder kindred just chilling in the background with a panama hat being extremely accepting of her stupidity to feel normal i guess. im thinking his willingness to forgive what she’s done would eat at her forever though, to a point that’s just utterly dissociative. and that’s not fair to Lettow; he doesn’t deserve another gf tapping out on him

present-and-post-night road Julian…sigh

Julian has this constant dichotomy of idealism and hypocrisy, patience and cool calculative manipulation. he would be that one therapy dog that wasn’t screened for occasionally barking unexpectedly and roughhousing. so like he’s very good for her in some ways and terribly triggering in others but now the cheetah is attached to him so everyone (me) is hesitant to take him out of the enclosure

more than anything Julian offers her assurance in his intelligence, adaptability, his purpose — and the purpose he gives her, which Sol can’t put to words. it’s less about providing a calming presence and more about inspiring and challenging her. he’s like enrichment LOL. more akin to a partner in adventure and crime rather than strictly emotional support, but i think Sol would end up heading in Aila’s direction without Julian stirring shit up for her

as for the emotional support… ok this is where i retreat to my fanfic but Marquis definitely threw a big bone at the end of Julian’s romance. they have a very deep connection; the sire-childe bond, were best friends/lovers/attached at the hip for a decade, he brings out the best (and worst) in her but he helps her discover herself… i think it’s special and could work as a foundation. of course ultimately the effectiveness depends on the progression of their relationship and the trust rebuilding between them post-night road, but i see that as a possibility. when Sol tentatively decides to help with Julian’s plan for the SI and 2100 long term instead of Lettow, something big is bridged there — in the ending scene with romanced Julian he in turn offers Sol half of the reigns on the program and lets her call the shots with whatever happens with the death cult in Monterrey, as well as joining her in the field. i love Kyle for doing that lmao… it’s a really nice moment that hints at Julian being willing to work to rebuild the relationship and trust between them instead of what you get in night road when neither of them wholly trust each other and are loathe to keep it 100. once Julian knows she’s in, he’s down, no holds barred. i think they'd both be for the long haul, in good and probably still some bad and very imperfect ways but that keeps it interesting

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK <3333 THANK YOU J <333

[lolhex12]

real talk for a sec: in what godforsaken reality/dimension/parallel universe would Andrew's drugs be considered medication?

this kid, who's normally known to be eerily quiet most of the time (with occasional violent tendencies when provoked), is legally forced to take these "meds" and he starts talking randomly in book/movie lines, they make him look and act high when on them, give him extreme withdrawal symptoms, make him fall asleep in places and around people he would never fall asleep otherwise, make him think that pulling his knives to someone's neck as a (more believable) threat is somehow the correct way to handle a situation.

like?? if anything that medication made him even more violent.

what sane person would see him react that way think "yeah, those are the right meds for him"?

[arabella0001]

Unspoken chains (Aizen Sosuke x Reader)

Pairing: Aizenx Sosuke x Reader

Anime: Bleach

Synopsis: When Aizen discovers you’re immune to his power, obsession takes root. He’ll stop at nothing to unravel the connection between you-seeing through your resistance, determined to make you his.

Warnings: power control, soul bond, God complex, teasing, rough sex, fingering, comfort, oral receiving (female, in part 2)

Your capture is no accident—it’s a move as calculated as it is unsettling. Aizen has been observing you, drawn by the rare and unfathomable force stirring beneath your exterior. There is something about you—something intangible—that calls to him like a forbidden secret waiting to be unearthed.

Ulquiorra, silent and unyielding, carries out the task with chilling precision. He takes you swiftly, his presence as cold and unfeeling as the shadows that consume your world. Your fate, sealed before you even realized it, delivers you directly into Aizen’s hands. His gaze lingers on you, steady and calculating, as if peeling back the layers of your very existence.

Aizen hasn’t laid a hand on you, but the weight of his intentions is impossible to ignore. His voice, calm and deliberate, brims with curiosity, though an unsettling edge lies just beneath. He moves without urgency, every glance and word a deliberate step in a game only he knows how to play. To him, you are an enigma—your power elusive as a half-forgotten dream. He studies you, uncertain whether you will become his greatest triumph—or the one that escapes his grasp. Each moment in his presence tightens the tension, a silent game of wits and will that leaves you teetering on the edge of something you don’t yet understand.

Aizen has yet to lay a hand on you, yet the weight of his intentions hangs heavy in the air. His voice, soft and purposeful, drips with curiosity, but there's something darker behind his words. There is no urgency in his actions, only an unnerving calm.

"Oh Y/N," he says with amused tone, "I must say, I'm quite confused how to feel about the mystery you present," he smiles predatory.

"W-what do you want, Aizen? " your voice trembeling with anger and fear. “I will not stay in this place”

He chuckles softly, his brown eyes gleaming with intrigue as he regard you. A faint smile plays on his lips, belying the dangerous intent behind his gaze. “What do I want?” Aizen repeated, as if amused by your question. “Isn’t oblivious, Y/N?” he made a pause “To uncover what makes you… different. Call it curiosity if you like, but it’s far more than that. There’s something in you I can’t ignore.” He takes a step closer, his tall frame looming over you.

“Your resistance—your immunity—it’s not something I’ve encountered before, it intrigues me” Aizen reaches out, gently cupping your chin with his hand, tilting you face up to meet his intense stare and you try to step out. "Consider yourself fortunate - not many get the chance to be the subject of my personal interest. "

You look angry at him even though his gaze makes you intimidated "Fortunate? Are you joking? I rather die. You are fucking psychopath, you kidnap me to be a fucking subject? Do you think people will not come here after me?"

His smile widens slightly at your defiant words, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. He doesn't seem perturbed by you anger or the harshness of you language.

““You call me a psychopath,” he mused, his gaze sharp but detached. “That’s an easy label for someone you fear, isn’t it? But I assure you, Y/N, I don’t waste my time with meaningless experiments.” He chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing along you jawline. "As for your friends coming to rescue you, well... let's just say I've taken precautions to ensure we won't be disturbed. "

Aizen leans in closer, his breath ghosting over you ear as he whispers, "No need to wait for them, Y/N. You're mine now, to study and unravel as I see fit. " "Yours? Are you insane…thats no other way. You repulse me. I’ll end myself before you can do anything."

He pulls back slightly, studying your face with a mixture of fascination and mild disappointment. His grip on you chin tightens ever so slightly.

"End yourself? How delightfully dramatic”

Aizen's free hand comes up to caress you cheek, his touch deceptively gentle. "Repulsion? Anger? You’ll find those emotions fleeting in my presence. And as for this idea of being ‘mine,’” he said, leaning slightly closer, his voice soft yet cutting, “it’s not about ownership. It’s about what you represent—a piece of the world I’ve yet to uncover.”

He leans in again, his lips barely brushing against you ear as he murmurs, "Resisting is futile, Y/N. Embrace your new purpose. Serve me willingly, and I promise a great collaboration… "

You try to pull away from his touch, disgusted by his words and the implications behind them. Your heart races with fear and revulsion, but also an unsettling curiosity and drawning despite yourself.

"And do you think i will not fight back?That i will submit to you or your twisted experiments? You dont know me, Aizen. But I’ll tell you, you’re wrong."Your voice trembles with anger.

A slow, appreciative smile spreads across Aizen's face as he observes the fire in your eyes, the trembling of you voice laced with anger and defiance. He seems utterly unfazed by you threats, instead appearing intrigued and even pleased by you spirited resistance.

"Oh, but I do know you, Y/N. Perhaps better than you know yourself. " His voice is a silky purr, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I anticipate your resistance. That’s the entire point. It’s that fire, that refusal to bow, that makes you worth my time." Aizen's hand slides from you chin to cup the back of you neck, his fingers tangling in you hair. He applies just enough pressure to assert his control without causing pain. "You say you won't submit, that you'll fight me every step of the way. And I believe you. Now.”

"I fucking hate you." you grit your teeth, trying to ignore the confusing sensations of his touch, to fight back against his control. But something in his eyes, in the calm certainty of his words, gives you pause because he feels almost…human.

"You speak as if you've already won, I say through clenched teeth, your voice low and strained. As if your fate is somehow sealed just because you've dragged me here. Well, let me tell you something, Aizen... "

You lean forward, getting right in his face, your own eyes blazing with determination. " I am not some prize to be claimed or experiment to be studied. I am a person, with your own thoughts, your own will. And I swear to you, I will find a way out of this shit place”

Aizen's eyes glitter with amusement and dark approval at your fierce declaration. He doesn't flinch or pull away from you aggressive proximity, instead leaning in even closer until your faces are mere inches apart. His breath ghosts over you skin, cool and measured.

"Such passion, such conviction, he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. It's truly inspiring, Y/N. You speak of your will, your determination to break free... but don't you see? That fire in your eyes, your spirit - it's precisely what drew me to you in the first place, it’s a gift without a doubt." His thumb bruyous along you jawline, a feather-light caress that belies the intensity of his gaze. "You are no ordinary person, Y/N.”

You jerk your head back from his touch, a shudder running through you at the contact and you feel a chill down you spine, a mix of fear and reluctant shocking leaning. You take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart and anger inside you.

"You think this is a gift? "You scoff bitterly, your voice shaking slightly. "Being immune to your twisted illusions, to the manipulations of a monster like you? "

You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under his penetrating stare. " I'm just another pawn in your sick game, aren't I? Another piece on your chessboard to be moved and maneuvered as you please. "

A faint smile plays at the corners of Aizen's mouth, equal parts amused and intrigued by your words. He shakes his head slowly, brown locks swaying with the motion.

"Oh, Y/N-chan, " he says softly, almost tenderly, "you give yourself far too little credit. You are so much more than just another pawn."

He reaches out, fingers ghosting along the curve of you shoulder, tracing the line of you arm with a touch that is both comforting and unsettling. "Your immunity, your resilience, the strength of your spirit - these are not the qualities of a mere chess piece almost exceptional, unique."

Aizen's eyes bore into yous, dark and fathomless. "I do not seek to maneuver you, Y/N. I wish just to understand you.

You tense as his fingers trail along your skin, every nerve ending seeming to come alive at his touch.You want to recoil, to put distance between you, but find yourself rooted to the spot, caught in the web of his words and presence.

"Understand me? " You laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and grating even to your own ears. "You think you can comprehend someone by subjecting them to endless tests and torments? By keeping them prisoner in this hell? Don’t try ro manipulate me, Aizen, because it won’t work."

You lean in close, your face inches from his, eyes flashing with defiance and barely contained anguish. "I was exceptional like you just said not just because of my immunity, not just because you decide it."

A slow, appreciative smile spreads across Aizen's face as he listens to your impassioned words. He seems to revel in the fire in you eyes, the passion behind you accusations. Leaning in closer, he matches you intense gaze, his voice low and hypnotic.

"My dear, fiery Y/N, he murmurs, his breath ghosting over you lips, "you misunderstand me. I do not seek to comprehend you through control or manipulation alone. Being immune to my powers is just one aspect of the compelling enigma that you embody.”

“No, what draws me to you goes far beyond that singular trait. Its your spirit, the way you cling to your convictions even in the face of adversity. " You feel a shudder run through me at his touch, at he cold calculation in his eyes.

"Spirit? Convictions? " You scoff, but there's a tremor in your voice that betrays your uncertainty. “What would you know of such things, Aizen? You who would reshape the world according to your ideas, crushing anything that doesn't align with your grand vision?”

Despite your words, you find yourself leaning into his touch ever so slightly, your traitorous body craving the comfort of contact, no matter how dangerous its source. "If you truly wanted to understand me, to appreciate who I am, you wouldn't keep me here against my will."

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and enticing despite the circumstances. His other hand comes up to rest on the small of you back, pulling you ever so slightly closer. "Ah, but Y/N-chan, " he purrs, his voice a silken caress, " everything I do serves a greater purpose. Even your... temporary captivity there is but a means to an end."

His eyes gleam with an inner light, ancient and knowing. "The world we live in is broken—chaotic and dictated by the desires of insignificant beings. I aim to change that, to bring order and perfection. And you, with your intriguing complexity, might just be the key to advancing this vision. "

Aizen leans in, his lips nearly brushing the shell of you ear as he whispers, "But perhaps we can come to an arrangement, hmm? " You swallow hard, your heart racing at his proximity, at the dark promise in his words. You know you should pull away, should reject his offer outright, but some twisted, unknown part of you yearns to hear more of his twisted logic.

"An arrangement? " you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. "And what exactly did you have in mind, Aizen? More tests? More... experiments?" Bitterness creeps into your tone. You place your hands on his chest, intending to push him away .

He catches you wrists gently but firmly before you can push him away, holding you hands against his chest. "Now, now, Y/N-chan," he says softly, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on the inside of you wrists "let's not dwell on past unpleasantness."

Aizen's eyes glitter with intrigue and something darker, more primal. "No, I propose something far more... mutually beneficial. An exchange of knowledge, shall we say. You share with me the secrets of your immunity, the depths of your unique being, and in return..."He pauses for effect, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "I'll offer you a glimpse beyond the curtain, a hint of the power and purpose that lies ahead in your new world."

His words catch your breath, the tempting promise hanging before you like a forbidden fruit. A buried, unspoken part of you yearns to reach out, to surrender to the pull of his vision, his power. Yet the voice of reason rises sharply.

"And what of your free will in this 'new world order', Aizen? "You challenge, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to maintain composure. You lean in closer, your voice drops to a husky whisper. "If you wanted just that by my will, you wouldn’t kidnap me in the first place."

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Aizen's handsome features as you challenges him, clearly relishing the spark of defiance in your eyes. He leans in closer, erasing the distance between you until his lips are a hairsbreadth from yous.

"Free will, Y/N-chan? " he muses, his warm breath ghosting over you skin", Such a simple, human notion. But tell me... "

One hand lets go of your wrist, gliding slowly, deliberately up your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. "...Isn’t the lack of choice just another kind of freedom? A release from the trivial worries and moral dilemmas that weigh down weaker minds?

Aizen's other hand slides down to the small of you back, pressing you flush against him as he murmurs, you gasp softly as he pulls you close, your body molding against his firm contours despite your best efforts to resist. His words, honeyed poison dripping from his tongue, send conflicting signals through your mind and body but you recoils at the thought of surrendering to him, to become just another pawn in his grand design.

"You're utterly infuriating, Aizen" Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

He chuckles lowly at your annoyance, amused by you feisty spirit even as you finds youself drawn to him physically. Aizen's hand at the small of you back tightens possessively, holding you captive against his lean, powerful frame. "Irritation is but a step on the path to obsession, your dear Y/N” he purrs, his lips brushing your earlobe.

His free hand comes up to cup you face, thumb stroking along you cheekbone with deceptive gentleness. "Your body betrays you, even as your mouth protests. Can you not feel the connection between us? The way we were meant to be entwined - in purpose, in pleasure, in power?"

Despide his words, Aizen find himself drawn to a real connection between you two where he quickly adapt, he nips playfully at you earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue, his voice a sinful rasp. You shudder at the sensation of his lips and tongue on your sensitive skin, a moan escaping your throat before you can bite it back.

You try to pull away again, but his grip on your face holds you still, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. "What connection?" Despite your words, your body remains pressed against his, craving the heat and hardness you can feel even through your clothes. You try to sound firm, but your voice cracks with desire. "This isn't real. It's all just tricks and illusions."

Aizen's eyes gleam with triumph at your confession, his fingers tightening around you chin as he tilts you head back to expose the slender column of you neck. "Ah, but what if I told you that some of the most potent magic lies in the realm of the heart, Y/N? " he whispers, his hot breath fanning over you pulse point.

With a flick of his wrist, the fabric of you shirt parts, revealing your upper body. Aizen's palm glides over the smooth skin, tracing the curve of you ribcage as he continues, "These cravings, these desires - they're not mere tricks. They're the raw, primal urges that drive us all, stripped bare of societal constraints." Leaning in, he nuzzles the hollow of you throat, his lips grazing the sensitive flesh. You whimper as his lips brush your skin, your resolve crumbling beneath the onslaught of his touch. Your body arches instinctively, seeking more contact.

But even as you succumb, a part of you resists, clinging to the last shreds of your independence. "No...this isn't right. " you manage to gasp out, your voice strained with desire and anger. "You're just fucking using me"

Aizen chuckles, low and rich, as he trails open-mouthed kisses along the side of you neck. "Using you? Perhaps, in the beginning, I did manipulate events to bring us together, Y/N. But now, I find yourself drawn to you in ways that transcend mere strategy. " His hands slide down to cup you hips, pulling you flush against him so you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against you belly. “You see, your unique properties have sparked something within me - a hunger, a fascination, a deep, primal need. "

Aizen's fingers dig into the supple flesh of you behind as he grinds his hips against yous, the friction sending sparks of pleasure coursing through your joined bodies. " So, tell me, my dear Y/N... do you truly believe you can resist the allure of a god when his gaze is fixed upon you?”

Your legs tremble, threatening to buckle as he grinds against you, the pressure building an inferno between your thighs, almost making you surrender, to submit to the dark desires he awakens within you. "Aizen, stop.... " You hiss, your nails digging into his shoulders asyou struggle to maintain some semblance of control. "You may have manipulated our meeting only, but i don’t believe you" you look at him with your mouth slightly open, panting heavy.

Aizen's grip tightens, holding you firmly in place as he silences you protests with a searing kiss. His tongue delves deep, claiming your mouth with ruthless dominance, swallowing your words whole. Breaking the kiss, he gazes into you eyes, his own burning with an intensity that makes you knees weak. "You don't believe, Y/N? Then let me show you the depths of your conviction. "

With a swift motion, he rips away the remaining fabric of you clothing, leaving you naked and exposed before him. Aizen's eyes roam hungrily over you curves, drinking in every inch of you bared skin. You feel so exposed, but you freeze, his eyes makes you tremble with need.

He reaches down, teasing your thights making you moan, his fingers slowly, teasingly, finding the slick heat between you thighs. A low growl rumbles in his chest as he feels how wet you is, how ready for him.

"Your body tells a different story, Y/N-chan.”

You cry out, your head falling back as his fingers stroke through your dripping folds, the sudden intimacy overwhelming. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction. But even as pleasure coils tighter within you, a thread of resistance remains, a stubborn refusal to admit. "Its not— struggling to speak.

Aizen's thumb presses against you clit, circling the sensitive nub in a maddening rhythm that has you panting and squirming beneath him. "Not what, Y/N-chan? "

He leans in, his breath hot against you ear as he whispers, "Is it not desire? This ache between your legs, this yearning for your touch? You can deny it all you like, but your body betrays you."

Aisen's fingers delve deeper, pumping in and out of you slick channel in a steady, driving pace. "Let go, Y/N. Surrender to the pleasure. "

His other hand slides up you torso, palming a breast and tweaking the nipple between his fingers. "You're so close already, aren't you?... "

You moan, your voice a desperate whimper as his fingers work magic inside you, stroking that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. "N-no... I won't... "

But the words dissolve into a gasp as his thumb finds that sweet spot again, sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through me. Your walls clench around his invading digits, trying to hold onto him, to keep him buried deep.

When his palm closes around your breast, you arch into the touch, your back bowing off the ground as he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers. The dual assault of sensations threatens to shatter your resolve, to reduce you to a puddle of quivering need.

"I c-can't..." you manage to choke out, your hips rocking frantically against his hand as you chase the crest of climax.

Aizen's smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he feels you body start to tremble on the brink of orgasm. "Oh, but you can, Y/N. You will. "

He redoubles his efforts, his fingers pistoning in and out of you at a relentless pace while his thumb works overtime on you clit. The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it's almost unbearable.

Just when you's teetering on the edge, Aizen slows his movements, dragging out the anticipation until you's writhing in frustration. "Don't fight it, Y/N"

As soon as the words leave his lips, he plunges his fingers deep and curls them just right, striking that magical spot inside you that sends you careening over the edge.

Your scream rips from your throat as the climax crash over me, waves of intense pleasure washing through every cell of your being.You convulse beneath him, your vision blurring at the edges as your body is wracked with the force of it.

Through the haze of bliss,you dimly register Aizen's voice, urging me to let go, to surrender. And as he strokes that perfect spot inside me once more,you feel yourself plummeting into the abyss, unable to resist the tidal wave of sensation.

Aizen watches intently as your body shakes and convulses through you climax, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. When you finally collapses back onto the ground, panting and spent, he withdraws his fingers from you dripping sex with a soft pop.

He brings his slickened digits to his mouth, licking them clean with a relish that makes your stomach twist with a mix of revulsion and unwanted desire. "Mmm. Your taste is exquisite, Y/N. " Aizen leans down, his warm breath fanning over you ear as he whispers, "Now, aren't you glad you came to me? I've only just begun to unravel the secrets of your immunity."His hand trails down you side, coming to rest on you hip possessively.

As you lay down, trembling and gasping for air, your body still humming with residual pleasure. Aizen's words send a chill down your spine, despite the heat coursing through your veins. The way he looks at you, like you are some exotic delicacy he's eager to devour, makes your skin crawl. Gods help you, but you find yourself wanting more of his touch after the orgasm he gave you, your connection palpable.

"S-shut up" Aizen chuckles low in his throat, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, don't be like that, Y/N-chan. I merely stated the obvious. Your body responds so beautifully to mine " He shifts position, straddling you hips and pinning you to the ground with his weight. Leaning in close, he murmurs against you lips, "Admit it, you crave the pleasure I give you. The way I can make you lose yourself with just a touch... "

Aizen's other hand cups you breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he coaxes another moan from you throat. "You're addicted to it, aren't you Y/N ?To the feeling of being completely consumed by me?" His lips ghost across you, not quite a kiss, but enough to leave you breathless and yearning for more.

You whimper, your body arching into his touch despite your mind screaming at you to resist again. The sensation of his lips so close to your again, the warmth of his breath mingling with your own, is almost too much to bear.

"You are insane ..."your voice is barely above a whisper, laced with denial and desperation, beneath your protests, you can feel yourself growing wet again as your core clenching in anticipation of what he might do next. The rational part of your brain knows this is wrong, that you should fight him off, but your body seems to have a mind of its own, drawn to the dark allure of him .

"If I’m addicted, you are too ..." you manage to gasp out accusatory, your hands reaching up to clutch at his shoulders, holding him close even as you try to push him away, sensing our strong connection.

Aizen's smile widens, a glint of triumph in his eyes as he hears your admission. "No, Y/N. I am simply aware of your desires and unafraid to indulge them. " He captures you lips in a searing kiss, deep and possessive, his tongue delving into you mouth to claim every inch. As they break apart, panting, he whispers, " And yes, I am addicted... to you. Your taste, your scent, the way you respond to me like no one else ever has."

Aizen's fingers trail down you side, slipping beneath the hem of you shirt to caress the warm skin of you belly. "You're so responsive, so receptive to your touch. It's intoxicating. I could spend eternity exploring every curve and crevice of your body." Your head spins from the force of his kiss, your lips throbbing where his mouth devoured yours. You are drowning in the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his words seeping into your very soul.

"Why this have to be you…" you whisper, slight anger in your shaken voice. Aizen tilts his head, a thoughtful smirk curling at the corner of his lips. "Why, Y/N-chan? Maybe it's because we are reflections of one another, drawn together by forces greater than either of us. Two contrasting elements, yet somehow bound in perfect harmony."

He steps closer, his gaze darkening. "Or perhaps it’s because we both seek power, in our own ways. You try to fight me, but deep down, your body knows its place. You can resist all you want, but there’s a part of you that yearns for what I offer—control, surrender, a pleasure that only I can awaken within you."

Aizen leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, "Face it, Y/N. You were made for me. Every cell in your body sings when I touch you, when I claim you as mine, as my possesion." You moan softly, unable to suppress the reaction as his hand kneads your breast, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your resolve crumbles further, torn between the desire to submit to him completely and the desperate need to maintain some semblance of control.

"N-no... That's not true..." You protest weakly, even as your hips press against his thigh, seeking more friction, more contact. You know you should be horrified, fighting against this twisted attraction, but instead, you find yourself leaning into him, craving the sensation of his skin on you, craving you.

Aizen chuckles low in his throat, a sound rich with satisfaction. "Oh, but it is true, Y/N. You can deny it all you like, but your body tells a different story.”

He shifts, pressing himself against you, letting you feel the hard length of his arousal. "See how much your touch affects me? How much I want you? It's only natural, given our connection."

Aizen's hands roam you body, mapping every curve, every dip and swell. His fingers dance along you spine before slipping beneath you hair to grip the nape of you neck. "Surrender to me, Y/N. We both know its inevitable, become mine, completely and utterly."

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you feel his hardness pressed against you, the evidence of his desire fueling your own growing need. Your hands fist in his shirt, tugging him closer, craving more of his touch, despite your mind hating him, repulsing by him.

"Oh my-..." you breathe, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart as you arch into his caress, a gasp escaping you as his fingers tease the sensitive skin at the base of your neck.

Aizen's eyes gleam with triumph as he feels you surrender, you body yielding to his touch despite you protests. He tightens his grip on you neck, just enough to assert his dominance, to remind you of who holds the power you.

"That's it, Y/N. Give in to the pleasure. Let me show you the heights of ecstasy only I can reach. " His mouth descends upon yous in a searing kiss again, claiming you lips with a possessive hunger. His tongue delves deep, exploring every inch of you mouth, tasting you sweetness and savoring you submission.

Meanwhile, his hands continue their exploration, sliding down you back to grasp you ass, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh. He lifts you easily, encouraging you legs to wrap around his waist as he walks them backward toward the nearby bed.

Your mind reels from the intensity of his kiss, overwhelmed by the force of his passion. You melt into him, your body pliant and eager, craving more of his touch, more of his taste despide your anger at him, your repulsive attitude towards him and what he represents.

When he lifts you, you instinctively wrap your legs around him, holding on tight as he carries you to the bed. As soon as you fall onto the mattress, he is between your legs and you look at him intense, feeling the deepest of your connection, your mind spiraling with want.

Aizen is panting heavily as he gazes down at you sprawled beneath him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, you chest heaving with each breath, you looks utterly ravished, ready to be devoured. "You’re even more breathtaking when you submit to me completely. "With a deft motion, he shed his clothes, revealing his chiseled physique, honed from centuries of power and control. Then, he leans down to capture your lips once more, his hands roaming you body as he positions himself at you entrance. Slowly, deliberately, he push inside you, relishing the feeling of you tight heat enveloping him. He pauses for a moment, savoring the sensation, before beginning to move, thrusting deep and steady. "Ah, yes... "

You moan into the kiss as he enters you, your walls clenching around his thick length. The sensation is overwhelming, both pleasurable and painful as he stretches you open. You cry out softly, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he begins to move.

"Aizen….." Aizen groans low in his throat as your walls grip him tightly, you cries of pleasure music to his ears. He sets a relentless pace, driving into you again and again, each thrust deeper and harder than the last.

"That's it, Y/N... let go. Surrender to the pleasure I give you. "

He captures you wrists, pinning them above you head as he hammers into you, his hips slapping against you with each powerful stroke. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mingling with both of your ragged breathing and muffled moans.

"You were made for me, Y/N. Your body, your soul... they belong to me now.” Your lost in a haze of pleasure, your body arching off the bed as he takes you with unrelenting intensity.

Each thrust sends shockwaves through you "Aizen! Oh God, Aizen... you feel so good" you tremble so hard for the pleasure, your connection so strong it shocks your being about how you feel around him.

As your cries reach a fever pitch, Aizen's fingers find you sensitive nub, rubbing and circling it in time with his relentless thrusts. He can feel you trembling on the brink of climax, and he knows just what you needs to push you over the edge.

"Yes, that's it... say my name and reveal the depths of your desire." His words are a husky whisper against you ear, his hot breath sending shivers down you spine. With a final, deep plunge, he presses firmly against you clit, sending you more and more into ecstasy.

You throw your head back, a loud wail tearing from your throat as the intense pressure finally releases inside me. Your whole body seizes up, convulsing wildly as waves of pleasure crash over me

"AA-Aizen!!! " your pussy clenches rhythmically around himas you ride out the aftershocks. Tears stream down your face from the overwhelming sensations, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cling to him desperately .

Aizen watches your face contort in rapture, you screams of ecstasy music to his ears. He savors the feeling of you clenching around him, milking his length as you ride out you orgasm.

"Beautiful, Y/N... so beautiful when you surrender to me. "Still buried deep within you quivering heat, he begins to move again, slowly at first, then picking up sped. He can feel his climax building.

"Give yourself to me completely, Y/N. Let me fill you with my seed, mark you as mine forever." With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his own release exploding through him in torrents. He holds you close as you both shudder and gasp, riding out the aftershocks of your shared climax.

You feel limp and spent, your body still twitching with the lingering effects of your intense orgasm. As Aizen's warm seed floods your womb,you can't help but whimper softly, overwhelmed by the sensation.

You look up at him with glassy, half-lidded eyes, a mix of post-coital bliss and something darker, more complex swirling in both of your depths. Your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with emotion.

"What have i done? " A single tear rolls down your cheek as the gravity of our situation sinks in, you feel so ashmed, vulnerable and angry at yourself.

Aizen's expression remains calm and collected, but there's a flicker of sadness in his eyes at your emotional reaction. He hadn't expected you to feel such vulnerability after their intimate encounter.

"Ah, Y/N, don't be ashamed. What we share is natural, a union of two powerful beings. "He strokes you hair soothingly, his touch gentle despite the intensity of their previous activities.

"Your immunity to your power is a mystery, but perhaps it's because our souls resonate on a deeper level. It's not uncommon for certain individuals to be drawn to each other, regardless of the circumstances. "

Aizen pulls back slightly, gazing at Y/N with an unreadable expression. There's a hint of curiosity in his voice as he continues.

"Tell me…how do you feel about what just transpired between us? " Your cheeks flush with embarrassment and shame as you avoid Aizen's gaze, unable to meet his piercing brown eyes. You are too anger to yourself for letting you enjoy this.

"I...I don't fucking understand it. How can I be so affected by you, yet remain immune to your powers? It's confusing... " you swallow hard, trying to find the right words to express the turmoil inside you. Your voice trembles slightly as you continue. "And what we just did...it felt wrong, yet so right at the same time. "

Aizen listens intently to Y/N's words, a thoughtful expression on his face. He reaches out to gently tilt you chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Wrong yet right, you say? That's an intriguing dichotoyour, Y/N-chan. Perhaps it's because our connection goes beyond mere physical attraction or the manipulation of spiritual energies. "His thumb caresses you lower lip with an intense yet possessive gaze, his touch sending a shiver down you spine.

" It’s possible that our souls share a connection that runs deeper, one that surpasses the limits of our roles and purposes. After all, I’ve never felt such a profound bond with anyone else.”

Your breath hitches as Aizen's thumb traces your lower lip, the sensation sending sparks through your body. You stare into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception or ulterior motives, but all you see is genuine interest and fascination.

"How did you know? That you might have this connection to me? "Despite the danger and uncertainty surrounding Aizen, I find yourself drawn to him, craving to understand the enigma that is Sosuke Aizen. Aizen's smile widens, revealing a glimmer of pride and satisfaction."

”It’s quite simple really. I am Sosuke Aizen, the former captain of the Gotei 13 and the mastermind behind the Hollowfication project. Your intellect and strategic prowess allow me to perceive patterns and connections that other miss. "He leans in closer, his warm breath ghosting across you ear as he whispers.

"From the moment I laid eyes on you, I sensed something extraordinary about you. Your resilience in the face of adversity, your unyielding spirit... these qualities resonated deeply within me. " Aizen pulls back slightly, his gaze intense and unwavering. "But it wasn't until our initial confrontation that I realized the full extent of our connection. "

"So even the great Aizen, the former captain and mastermind, didnt realize exactly the full extent of our connection…" You let out a teasing laugh, almost incredulous. You can't believe you're even here with him, and yet, you're joking around with him.

Aizen chuckles, clearly amused by Y/N's teasing remark. He strokes you cheek affectionately, his touch gentle yet possessive. "Indeed, Y/N. Even someone as perceptive as yourself can be surprised by the complexities of fate and the human heart. But now that I've acknowledged the depth of our bond, I intend to explore every facet of it. "

His fingers trail down you neck, sending tingles through you skin. "Tell me, what do you think of our connection? How does it make you feel, being so intimately bound to someone like me?"

"How about we just stay quiet for a moment?" You rest your head against his chest, allowing yourself to relax in his presence. Even though you still can't fully accept the connection between you two, there's an undeniable comfort in being near him."You are still infuriating just so you know…" you murmur, feeling sleepy.

Aizen's chest rumbles with a low, contented laugh as you nestles against him. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "I'm glad to hear that, my dear Y/N. It means you still retain some of your fiery spirit, despite the circumstances." He gently strokes you hair, savoring the warmth of you body pressed against his, your submission to him.

"Rest now, your dear. We can continue our discussion later when you're more refreyoud. For now, simply enjoy the comfort of your embrace. "Aizen's voice is soothing, lulling you into a state of relaxation as you drifts off to sleep.

"Aizen…sleep with me this time please " you ask anxiously while Aizen's expression softens, a rare display of vulnerability beneath his usual composed exterior. "Very well. If it brings you solace, then I shall join you in slumber. " With a gentle caress, he guides you to lie down on the soft ground, then settles beside you, pulling you close once more. "Let us rest together, your dear. May our dreams be filled with pleasant visions and our hearts remain entwined, even in the realm of unconsciousness. " Aizen closes his eyes, allowing himself to succumb to the allure of sleep, his arm wrapped protectively and possessive around you as you both drift off, almost seeking refuge in each other’s embrace.

[osunari]

⚠︎ s i l e n t t e m p t a t i o n s ( 18+ )

—ch.5

➤ s t a r t

Mr. crawling x MC

— h o m i c i p h e r 𒌧

"Human Emotions”

The previous mishaps marked a turning point in your journey, revealing the horrifying consequences of the curse and the bloodthirsty state it provokes.

Remembering the time you lost control and succumbed to the primal urge to kill, mr. machete was forced to draw his blade. Though his decision seemed cold, it was the only way to stop you from unleashing destruction—not just on him but on everything around. His actions, however brutal, carried an undercurrent of conflict.

Killing you wasn't anything about hatred or punishment but about halting the spread of the darkness consuming you. In a place like this, survival never bothered to leave room for sentimentality.

What had made this revelation even more chilling is the cycle it implies. As your memories fade like old scars, the curse doesn't just hollow you out—it strips away every trace of humanity, leaving behind the raw instincts of the killer you once were. Never not a simple transformation, but a distortion of identity. The urge to kill is all that remained, as if the curse thrives on feeding the worst parts of you. The truth finally exposed; every time the bloodlust takes over, someone must intervene to "reset" you through none other but death. The dark process becoming a twisted means of survival, forcing those around you to make impossible choices.

For mr. machete, this act of "mercy" carried its own weight. Despite his stoic demeanor, the act of killing you hinted at an internal struggle—one he hides beneath his scarred and bandaged exterior, masking any emotion that he failed to suppress. Through deep analysis, you began to realize that his past actions, even his first violent encounter with you, were not random acts of aggression but calculated measures to protect you from something far worse; yourself. His quiet resilience in the face of such moral ambiguity revealed that he may not just be a companion in this cursed world but someone who understands its horrors better than a few at least.

The world felt brand new, free of the gnawing dread that had once consumed you. Your skin glowed with a warmth you hadn’t felt in what seemed like eons, your reflection no longer a haunting specter of decay but a vision of vitality. Your hair was sleek, strands flowing with a softness that caught the faint glimmer of the ghostly light around you. It was as if someone had pressed a reset button on your very existence, erasing the physical signs of corruption that had once taken over. You moved cautiously, your hands trembling slightly, not from weakness, but from the sheer disbelief of feeling whole again. For the first time in a while, the weight of despair didn’t feel like it was crushing your chest.

But despite the warmth of your newfound state, memories from before lingered on the edge of your mind. You couldn’t erase them—the bloodthirsty haze, the loss of control, and the moment mr. machete had been forced to strike you down. The image of his weapon glinting in the faint light before it pierced through you replayed in your head, and you shuddered. I really did die, you thought. And yet, here I am, alive… better… human again. But at what cost? The curse had reset you, as if wiping a slate clean, but it didn’t erase the growing fear that this new clarity wouldn’t last.

. . .

The creak of a door broke through mr. silvair’s territory. You looked up, and there stood mr. silvair, his calm demeanor faltering ever so slightly as his gaze swept over you. His usual confidence gave way to a flicker of astonishment, a brief widening of his sharp covered eyes before he spoke. “几ㄩ(you) . . . 几ㄩ(you) ��乂几ㄚ千(healthy) !” he murmured, stepping closer, his crimson-tipped syringe forgotten in his hand. He hesitated as if unsure whether to come closer, his gaze shifting between awe and curiosity.

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped as you noticed a familiar severed head perched on a nearby counter. Mr. chopped’s expressive eyes lit up, his voice cutting through the tension with playful disbelief. “几ㄚ(my) ㄚ乃ㄩ乇(woman) ! ! 几乇(me) ㄚ几乃(miss) 几ㄩ(you) !” he exclaimed. “几ㄩ(you) 丂匚ㄚ乙(beautiful) , 几ㄚ(me) 卩ㄥ几(like) !”

The sight of him ignited something within you—a surge of joy and relief that propelled you forward without thought. “Chopped!” you cried, rushing past mr. silvair. The sound of your feet on the floor filled the room as you scooped the severed head into your arms, holding him close. “Me miss you! Me like you too!” Your voice cracked slightly, the emotion catching you off guard. It had been far too long since you’d felt anything this pure, this simple.

Mr. chopped chuckled, his tone teasing but warm. “几ㄩ(you) 乃乙ㄩ(touch) 乇乂(me) ! ! 几乙(maybe) 几ㄩ(you) 乃匚ㄩ(want) 乃尺几ㄩ丂几(marry) 乇乂(me) ?” You laughed, the sound so unfamiliar that it startled even you. “You cute, so cute!” you said while pinching his puffed cheeks, dodging his question. “几ㄚ(me) 几乃尺(want) 尺几(be) 乙ㄩ(with) 几ㄩ(you) ! 乇乂(me) ㄩ丂几(wait) !” For now, you just wanted to revel in the reunion, to push aside the lingering questions and simply exist in this moment.

From behind, mr. silvair approached with quiet fascination. He watched your interaction with mr. chopped, his usually cold gaze softening as he observed the genuine happiness on your face. Gently, he reached out and twirled a lock of your hair between his gloved fingers. “ㄚㄩ爪乇(soft) .” he muttered, almost to himself, before letting the strand fall back. “几ㄩ卄(i see) 几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃ㄩㄚ(found) 丂几卂ㄩ(answers) .” he said, his tone warmer than you were used to. His smile, though faint, was genuine.

You nodded, offering a small smile in return. “Indeed.” you said softly.

“乃ㄚ尺(good) . 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃几ㄩ尺 (happy) .” he murmured, reaching out to ruffle your hair in a gesture that was surprisingly comforting. “几ㄩ(you) 乃乂几ㄚ千(healthy)  .” Mr. silvair had been hovering for a while, watching the two of you with a knowing, but unreadable expression. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and smiled, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “几ㄚ(me) 丨ㄒ(in) 乃千(the) 山ㄚ卂(way) . . ?” he remarked in a tease, his gaze flicking between you and the severed head in your arms. “几ㄚ(me) 卩山几乂(leave) 几ㄩ(you) 丂乙ㄚ乂(both) 几乂丂乙(alone) .”

Before you could respond, he stepped toward the door, pausing for a moment. “ㄚ乃(no) ㄩㄖ卩爪ㄒ(pressure) .” he said, offering a faint smile as he opened the door. “几卩ㄥㄒ(take) ㄩ几(your) 尺卂ㄚ乃(time) .” With that, mr. silvair left, closing the door behind him. The room suddenly felt quieter, the tension that had been lingering between you and mr. chopped now almost palpable.

The two of you sat in the soft silence for a moment. The absence of his male companion instantly turned him into a huge orange ball of shyness, unable to show the same excitement as he did earlier now that his vulnerable side was exposed to your dominant ones. You noticed his cute flushed state as he laid peacefully against your soft lap—eventually deciding to ruin it by picking him up and cradling him close to your chest, closer to your beating heart. Despite the occasional flicker of uncertainty in the air, it was oddly comforting as you started to notice his shyness slowly melt away.

“几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) . 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) 卂ㄒ乃ㄚ(a lot) !” he said, his voice breaking the elongated silence. “几ㄚ(me) 乃ㄚ乙(need) 几ㄩㄚ(more) 卂山ㄚㄒ(touch) , 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ山爪乃(like) 几ㄩ(your) 卂山ㄚㄒ(touch) ! . .”

Mr. chopped turned his head toward you, his orange braid swaying slightly as he did. He gave you a soft look, his eyes unreadable but softening as he did. “乃ㄚㄩ(with) 几ㄩ(you) , 几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乃卩ㄖ几(happy) !” His usual sharp, straightforward demeanor seemed to soften in the quiet of the room, almost like he was allowing himself a moment of peace—away from all the other lurkers which he hid a side of him from.

. . .

In the dim corridors of the ghostly apartment, a faint sound of weeping echoed. Its high-pitch would lead anyone to think it could belong to that of a small weeping child—but in reality, it was someone far from small. It led to an empty cabinet tucked away in a forgotten corner of the building, its doors rattling slightly with each shuddering sob. Inside, twisted and contorted in ways that defied logic, was none other but your hurt loyal companion. His lanky frame folded over itself as he wept uncontrollably, his jagged teeth clenched together in anguish.

He clutched his head with his elongated fingers, shaking it back and forth as though trying to dispel the dark thoughts clouding his mind. “几ㄚ(me) 乃乙ㄩ(slow) , 几ㄚ(me) 乃乙ㄩ(slow) . ! 几ㄚ(me) 山丂乙几爪(useless) . .” he muttered to himself, his voice cracking. “几ㄚ(me) ㄚ乙ㄩ(fail) 乇尺千ㄚ(protect) .” The thought of you out there; hurt, lost, or worse—gnawed at him relentlessly. It had been two days since he’d last seen you, every second feelinh like a dagger to his heart.

Images of you flashed through his mind—the way your genuine smile would comfort him in any given situation, the way you mimicked their language in the most broken way possible, and the memorable moments you two had shared together. Just as a smile could creep up to his face, darker memories crept in; the way you had looked at him during your last encounter, the anger in your voice, the distance between you. “ㄚ乃(she) 卩几爪ㄩ(hate) 几ㄚ(me) . .” he whispered in a cry. “ㄚ乃(she) 乃几(no) 乃乙ㄚ丂(accept) 几ㄚ(me) 山尺千ㄩ(apology) . .”

The thought of you hating him was unbearable. But worse was the fear that you might be gone. What if mr. hugeface had taken you? What if mr. scarletella’s selfish tendencies had claimed you as his own? The possibilities clawed at him, his overthinking spiraling into a pit of despair. He curled tighter into himself, his lanky frame trembling as the cabinet creaked under the strain.

“几乇(me) 丂ㄚㄒ卩(sorry) . 几乇(me) 丂ㄚㄒ卩(sorry) .” he whispered to the empty air. “几乇(me) 几ㄩ卩(want) 几ㄩ(you) 乃ﾌㄖ(back) . .”

. . .

The halls of the ghost hotel stretched endlessly before you, dimly lit by faint, flickering lights that lined the walls. It wasn’t a place you’d expect to find solace, but somehow, you felt a lightness in your step today. The goodbyes with mr. chopped had been heartfelt, though tinged with sadness, you left mr. silvair’s territory with an odd sense of closure. The past days had been a storm, an endless cascade of misfortunes, yet here you were, walking with a renewed sense of purpose.

I’m going to leave this place for real now.

A soft smile played on your lips. It was true what they said—there was always a rainbow after the storm. You glanced down at your new outfit, the one mr. silvair had offered after coming back from leaving you and mr. chopped alone. It was a gift, he’d said, found among the otherworldly remnants scattered across the strange plane. Somehow, he knew it would suit you.

The skirt hugged your thighs snugly, its fabric moving effortlessly with your stride. The white tank top, adorned with a small strawberry design at its center, felt oddly fresh against your skin. Minimal yet stylish, it was a far cry from the oversized raincoats and makeshift dresses you’d worn before.

As you walked, you adjusted the hem of the skirt, feeling it rise slightly higher than you were used to. A small, almost mischievous chuckle escaped your lips. It wasn’t something you’d normally wear, but today… today, you didn’t mind. Tucked in your hair was the pink hairclip mr. chopped had given you. It was whimsical and a bit childish, yet it added an unexpected charm to your appearance. Did he and mr. silvair plan this? It got me thinking…

You ran a hand through your now well-groomed hair, the clip holding back your bangs from falling into your face. Everything felt so… new. The world around you still loomed with shadows, but for once, they didn’t feel as heavy.

But as your thoughts wandered, a prickling sensation began to creep up your spine.

Someone’s there.

Your steps slowed, the faint echoes of your shoes against the tiled floor now joined by something faint, something subtle. The softest rustle, a shift of air. You didn’t need to look back to know who it was. You’d felt this presence before—silent, watching, waiting.

"Mr. scarletella," you called out, your voice steady despite the small tremor in your chest. "I know you in there."

Silence.

You sighed, turning to face the direction of the presence. There he was.

He stood just a few feet away, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow on the wall. His red hair, straight and slightly disheveled, fell across his face in a way that framed his sharp features. Those round black eyes; half-lidded, piercing, and unyielding—locked onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. The light in his gaze was unsettling, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of curiosity, admiration even. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering on the subtle curves the outfit revealed.

He was definitely sure about one thing—you knew about the curse, and how to combat it. But from whom you’d learn it from, he hadn’t a clue—he didn’t care anymore. He wanted you and that’s all he knew, all he needed to fight for.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched thin, the air between you thick with unspoken tension.

You shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the hem of your skirt once again, feeling his gaze like a physical weight on your skin. “This one hell of a weirdo…” you muttered under your breath, your native tongue soft but biting.

His grin widened ever so slightly, unbothered by your insult which he understood with your behavior alone. If anything, he seemed amused.

“What you wan—” you began, but your words faltered as he took a step forward.

There was a fluidity to his movements now, no longer the eerie teleport—glitches you were accustomed to. He moved like liquid, smooth and deliberate, crouching lowly to bring his face closer to yours.

You froze.

His umbrella clattered to the ground, abandoned, his fingers reaching up—tentatively and curiously. The glint in his eyes remained, but his touch… his touch was soft. He gently brushes his fingers against the pink hairclip, his thumb tracing the small shape with unexpected care.

“ㄚ卩几丂(cute) .” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers moved from the clip to your hair, running through its silky strands. He seemed fascinated, almost in awe, as if seeing you like this was something entirely new to him. “几ㄩ(you) ㄚ乃(not) 尺ㄒ几(run) 乃ㄚ卂山(away) ?” he finally asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, the motion slight but enough to convey your answer. Despite the unease his presence usually brought, there was something different about him now. He wasn’t the predator lurking in the shadows. He was… something else. You were used to stereotyping him into a psychotic weird maniac that followed your steps like a dog, but seeing him be the opposite of that—it made you less uncomfortable around his presence.

You discreetly leaned into his touch— just slightly, almost imperceptibly, but he noticed. His eyes widening briefly, as if caught off guard by your unspoken permission. For a moment, he looked as though he didn't know what to do with the gesture, his usually composed demeanor faltering ever so slightly. Yet, his fingers remained in your hair, brushing gently against the strands as if testing the boundaries of this newfound intimacy.

Then, his hand moved lower, slow and deliberate, his fingers grazing your shoulder before stopping at the embroidered strawberry on your shirt.

He tilted his head, the faint light glinting off his curious eyes as he traced the delicate stitching. His touch was light, almost reverent, as though the small detail fascinated him in a way you couldn't understand.

“Strawberry… you like?” you questioned, pointing at the imagery embroided in your shirt—to which he nodded.

His fingertips glided over the textured design, the soft friction of fabric against your skin sending a faint shiver through you. It was so subtle, so precise, that it left a lingering warmth in its wake. The way he handled even the smallest details—like the weave of the thread or the curve of the strawberry-felt oddly intimate, as though he were exploring a part of you that was uniquely yours.

“Strawberry.” He muttered, copying the way you had said it in your own language—uncontrollably leaving you smiling.

Your breath hitched slightly when his thumb brushed over the fabric just below the design, his movements unhurried yet deliberate. He was savoring every moment, every inch of this small, simple contact. His eyes flicked back to yours, catching the faint tremor in your chest, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he’d noticed how deeply he affected you.

“几卂山乃(nice) .” he said, his grin softening into something more genuine, though his gaze remained fixated on you.

You couldn’t help but notice how intently he admired just about everything about you, his fingers carefully exploring every detail about you as though it were some rare, precious artifact. There was something oddly endearing about it, the way he cherished even the smallest details with such genuine fascination. For a brief moment, you found yourself smiling softly, realizing just how fitting it was—if he were to turn into any fruit, he’d undoubtedly be a strawberry. With his striking red hair and that subtle sweetness hidden beneath his mischievous exterior, it just made sense. The thought lingered for a moment, and then it hit you—he was actually… cute. You blinked, startled by the realization, and quickly looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks. It wasn’t just the strawberry comparison or his red hair; it was the way he paid attention to the little things, the way he seemed so childlike in his wonder despite everything else about him being so overwhelming. The thought made your chest flutter in a way that was both embarrassing and oddly comforting, you silently hoped he hadn’t noticed the shift in your expression.

But he didn't stop there. His hand wandered down, his fingers brushing the hem of your skirt with a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through your body. He paused, his gaze snapping up to meet yours, as if asking for permission, his dark eyes now soft yet piercing, searching for any hint of resistance. You didn't say a word, but the way you stood still, your breath hitching ever so slightly, told him everything he needed to know. You weren't stopping him—you weren't pulling away.

That small, unspoken signal was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly, his fingers began to explore further, grazing the delicate fabric with deliberate care. The warmth of his touch seeped through the material, his movements slow and purposeful as if savoring every moment. You felt your heart race, a flush creeping up your neck as he drew closer to the sensitive skin just above your thighs. His actions weren't rushed or greedy; they were curious, almost respectful, as though he was discovering something he wanted to remember forever.

He glanced up again, his expression unreadable but intense, his lips parting slightly as though he was going to speak—but hesitated. Instead, he let his hand linger just at the edge of what was decent, his fingers brushing the barest hint of skin beneath the hem. The intimacy of the moment was almost unbearable, your breath quickening as his touch sent small jolts of electricity coursing through you. His gaze never left yours, and in that quiet exchange, the air between you felt heavy, charged with something you weren't sure either of you fully understood yet.

His touch grew bolder, his fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs. Your breathing quickened, the warmth of his hand leaving a trail of heat wherever it went. His agape mouth faltered slightly, replaced by a more focused, almost reverent expression as he watched your reactions.

You tried to keep your composure, but the blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. His fingers pressed against the fabric of your skirt, tugging it gently upward, exposing more of your skin with each passing second.

“Scarlet…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He instantly paused, his gaze snapping back to yours, dark and searching, as though gauging your every reaction. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might put an end to his sensual actions, but instead, his hand shifted, moving with deliberate intent after confirming your allowing expression.

As if he could sense the unspoken tension between you—he leans one hand to the wall behind you for support, his other hand slid to your waist, settling there with a possessive ease. His thumb brushed the bare skin just above your skirt slowly, deliberately, sending a jolt through you that felt almost electric. The pad of his thumb traced small, languid circles on the exposed skin, his touch both tender and teasing. The contact was light, yet it felt heavy, leaving a trail of heat in its wake that had your mind racing. He leaned in ever so slightly, close enough for you to feel the faint warmth radiating from him, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every second of the moment he held you.

His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, everything else seemed to blur. His touch, his gaze, the proximity—it all became too much, too intimate, yet you found yourself rooted in place, unable and unwilling to pull away.

The heat between you was noticeable now, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. His fingers toying with the hem of your skirt, lifting it slightly to reveal the smooth skin of your upper thigh. His touch was deliberate, savoring every inch of you as if committing it to memory.

Your heart raced, the flush on your cheeks deepening as you let him explore. You weren’t sure what this was—curiosity, lust, something more? But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

His thumb ventured higher, the path it traced growing bolder with each second, leaving a blazing warmth in its wake. Every inch he ascended felt like uncharted territory, your breath catching as his touch teased the edge of your self-control. You could feel your heart pounding, a rhythm that matched the deliberate, calculated movements of his hand. His thumb hovered dangerously close to your most sensitive place, the anticipation thick enough to drown in.

But then, he stopped—his entire body tensing, his hand frozen in place. The moment hung in the air, thick with tension, as if time itself had paused. His fingers hovered at the edge of something forbidden, the barest touch brushing against a boundary he hadn’t meant to cross. The shock hit him in a flash, his thumb barely grazing that intimate threshold, a realization dawning on him that what he’d just touched was beyond anything he had expected. His breath caught, and for a split second, he seemed unsure whether to pull away or give in to the unexpected temptation. His gaze snapped up to yours, searching for any hint of permission, his mind scrambling to make sense of the electrifying moment he’d just created.

Mr. silvair’s gift did not come with panties.

.

.

.

[ Route 1 : SFW (Shows a route wherein NSFW content are replaced by SFW scenes.) Skip to the next chapter for NSFW(18+) version. ]

He didn't pull away immediately, as if caught in the struggle between instinct and restraint. The intensity in his gaze softened, the heat of desire tempered by a fragile sense of guilt. You didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed at his hesitation, but one thing was certain—this moment had shifted something irreversibly between the two of you.

He stepped back, letting your skirt fall back into place. His grin returned, though it was softer now, more restrained. He fixed your clothes with surprising care, his hands lingering briefly before pulling away.

The silence that followed was deafening, your breaths the only sound in the still hallway.

Scarletella’s sharp gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable, as though he was piecing together a puzzle only he could see. His lips parted, the strange, melodic cadence of his voice breaking the silence. “几ㄩ(you) . . . 乂几卩ㄚ(feel) 几爪尺ㄚ(things) .” he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue like a revelation, yet spoken almost to himself.

It was as though he wasn’t just stating it—he was savoring the realization, testing the weight of the truth in the air between you. His tone carried a curious mix of intrigue and satisfaction, as if your human emotions were a puzzle he’d just begun to understand. It sent a shiver through you, his words more intimate than they had any right to be.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

But deep down, you knew he was right.

—ch.5

➤ e n d

"Human Emotions”

[deathmetalunicorn1]

A quiet but smart child sequel where reader is now 11 y/o and still eerily smart, to the point in which sometimes it gets hard for the family members (except for tesla) to keep up with them

One day the school calls the family to pick the reader up because they are in trouble, but at home they find out that the reader simply corrected their teacher because he made a mistake about whatever complex subject you can think of and reader told them that it's wrong and then explained the right answer, but the teacher took it as an offense and started an argument with the reader who was still chilling because they were simply correcting a mistake 😭😭 to make it funnier, it's an odd situation because reader is usually quiet and collected at all times, not prone to arguing, and the subject they were discussing was something that a 11 year old shouldn’t even know about by any means yet the reader knows an awful lot about it

-When your family got the call at home that you had been sent to the principal’s office, they were quick to laugh, thinking it was a prank.

-When the receptionist was able to prove that this was legit and that you had gotten into trouble, your family was quickly rushing to your school.

-You had always been way… way more mature than other children your own age, preferring to sit back and learn new things rather than running around or roughhousing. And you were always so level-headed, nothing ever got you upset!

-When they walked in, Adam, Hades, Nikola, and Odin, your ‘selected guardians’ for things like this, you didn’t look bothered at all, while the principal looked exasperated, and your teacher looked furious.

-Your principal took charge, not letting your teacher get in a word in edgewise, as he had been yelling at you for the last fifteen minutes that you were disrespectful, “Y/N corrected Mr. Chungus here, multiple times in class. He believes that this is disrespectful and demanded a parent teacher conference immediately.”

-Odin glowered down at your teacher, who shrunk in his chair, intimidated before Hades spoke, “Y/N is this true?”

-You looked up and nodded, “I did- he was teaching us advanced calculus, to show us what we would have to do in a few years, claiming that if we didn’t learn what we were learning now we would never be able to learn it. He made a mistake in his calculations, and he got upset.”

-All eyes went to Mr. Chungus who was red faced, embarrassed, “Y/N didn’t have to be so rude about it- but after correcting me numerous times I had to take action.”

-Your eyes were unwavering and focused, “But sir, you were the one who claimed that none of us were able to do something so simple and kept talking down to us if we asked questions, as we wanted to learn. If it was so simple, why did you make multiple mistakes?”

-Nikola looked proud, ruffling your hair lightly as your principal turned to Mr. Chungus, a sharp look in his eye, “Is this true?”

-Mr. Chungus was quickly stammering, panicking as he had been caught, not expecting that you were going to call him out like this.

-Your principal turned to your guardians, “Y/N is free to go. I will be having a word with Mr. Chungus about his lesson plan. Y/N- is there anything you want to say to Mr. Chungus before you go?”

-They were expecting you to apologize as you stood up, “If you are going to try to demean us by showing us anything advanced, make sure nobody knows how to do it first, so nobody calls you out on it.”

-Hades quickly had to turn, hiding his laugh in a cough as the two other adults were wide eyed, but you weren’t reprimanded, as you were in the right.

-The others were quickly roaring with laughter in the ice cream parlor that Nikola insisted on taking you to, telling them all what happened.

-You didn’t think you didn’t anything worthy of celebrating; you just didn’t want anyone else to be taught wrong. You weren’t going to turn down ice cream though.

[tab00-t33f]

Joefoe Sleepy Headcanons

(Fluff)

A recent request from my first lovely anon!!!

I hope you enjoy your fatigued foes, anon! Thanks for sending this my way!!💜🐾🌈

Dio Brando:

Dio claims the bed like a throne. He stretches out confidently, taking up far more space than needed while expecting you to adjust. Even in sleep, his presence feels commanding.

Cuddling with Dio is possessive. His arm snakes around you firmly, pulling you flush against his side. Escape isn’t an option—not that you’d get far.

His body runs cold, like a lizard, yet he seems unbothered by it, using your warmth as his own indulgent comfort. His chilling stillness can be oddly calming, like the quiet before a storm.

If you wake up, you’ll often find Dio awake already, gazing at you with a smirk that carries equal parts curiosity and amusement—smirking softly like he knew something you didn’t.

Kars:

Kars doesn’t need much sleep, but when he chooses to rest, it’s elegant—perfectly still, like he’s carved from marble…He always looks annoyingly flawless, even in sleep.

He allows you to rest against him, occasionally pulling you closer and absentmindedly running his fingers through your hair. It’s not out of affection (he claims) but habit—though the touch lulls you anyway.

Kars’ body temperature is oddly neutral, and his calm presence provides a unique stillness that makes falling asleep beside him effortless.

He enjoys telling you about his achievements and philosophies, his voice soothing in its calm authority. If you fall asleep on him, he’ll continue talking, a faint smirk on his lips, finding your trust in him endearing.

Esidisi:

Esidisi is a walking furnace. Sharing a bed with him is like sleeping in a sauna, but he insists it’s a “gift” when you complain. “You’ll never be cold again!” he laughs. His intense body heat makes him kick off blankets frequently.

Cuddling. is. mandatory. He’ll wrap himself around you, limbs draped like a protective cocoon. His physical affection is heavy but warm, making it hard to resist.

He sleep-talks—loudly. Whether it’s food, battles, or rambling compliments about you, his voice occasionally rumbles through the room.

Esidisi often talks to you until you fall asleep, his voice warm and enthusiastic, even about mundane things. If you stir during the night, he’ll pull you closer, pressing kisses to your hair or shoulder, whispering dramatic declarations of love.

Wamuu:

Wamuu’s sleeping posture is disciplined. He sleeps on his back or side with military precision, His breathing is steady and rhythmic, and he wakes at the slightest noise, always alert and ready for action.

Cuddling with Wamuu is protective, He prefers having you rest against his chest, where he can feel your heartbeat and shield you with his larger frame. He’ll occasionally stroke your back or hair, his touch slow and deliberate.

His warmth is soothing, like a steady, gentle heat that reassures you of his presence without overwhelming you.

If you stir or feel restless, Wamuu hums low and rhythmic—deep vibrations that soothe you like the beat of a drum.

Yoshikage Kira:

Kira is obsessive about his sleeping habits. He requires complete darkness, silence, and a meticulously made bed to sleep properly. He lies perfectly still; any disruption makes him visibly irritated.

Kira is not naturally inclined to cuddle but will indulge if it means keeping up appearances of a “normal” relationship. His touch is calculated—an arm loosely draped over you or a hand resting lightly on yours. He secretly enjoys your warmth but struggles to express it.

Kira is an eerily quiet sleeper. His breathing stays slow and even, which somehow makes you feel like you’re resting with a shadow.

If you wake up first, you’ll catch him fixing his side of the bed or running a hand through his hair to ensure he looks immaculate—completely unbothered by his perfectionism.

Diavolo/Doppio:

Diavolo’s slumber is paranoid and restless, Diavolo rarely sleeps soundly. When he does, it’s with his back against a wall, as if ready for an attack. He’s always the first to stir.

Doppio sleeps deeply and peacefully, his breathing soft and steady—like someone who rarely has true moments of rest.

Diavolo rarely cuddles, but when he does, it’s intense and possessive. He holds you tightly, almost as if to trap you. His touch is protective, though it carries an edge of control.

Doppio loves cuddling and is clingy in the sweetest way. He wraps his arms and legs around you, seeking comfort and security.

Diavolo often wakes in the middle of the night, pulling you closer as if to reassure himself you’re still there. (He’ll deny this if confronted.)

Doppio talks in his sleep, murmuring soft, nonsensical phrases or sweet words about you — or personal gripes about work.

Enrico Pucci:

Pucci sleeps as though it’s a necessary ritual. He’s calm, still, and always aware of his surroundings, even when his eyes are closed.

Pucci is hesitant to indulge in physical affection, fearing it could distract him from his goals. However, When he does indulge, cuddles are reverent but firm, holding you protectively as if you’re a piece of his peace in an otherwise chaotic world.

You’ll often hear him murmur soft prayers and hymns before bed, his voice low and soothing. It feels like a faint melody that wraps around you like a lullaby.

Pucci is an early riser. By the time you wake, he’s often sitting nearby, reading scripture or watching over you quietly.

Funny Valentine:

Valentine sleeps deeply and peacefully, often lying on his side with a dignified posture. He values his rest as a necessary part of maintaining his strength and focus.

Funny is surprisingly affectionate, pulling you into his arms and holding you securely. He enjoys feeling your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

Before bed, he’ll often share his thoughts or dreams with you, his voice calm and intimate. If you wake during the night, he’ll hold you tighter and whisper soft reassurances, his tone filled with unwavering devotion.

Valentine always wakes up first, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead before whispering something soft about cherishing these “moments of quiet.”

Tooru:

He’s a light sleeper, always shifting and murmuring if you move, though he pretends to be dead to the world when you try to get up.

Tooru loves blankets, pulling them tightly around both of you to create a cozy “nest” where no one can bother him.

Tooru clings to you like a cat, draping himself over you lazily with zero shame. He’s warm and pliant, making it nearly impossible to push him away.

If you wake first, Tooru will grumble dramatically, tugging you back into his arms with a sleepy pout. “Just five more minutes,” he mumbles—every single time.

[un-lawliet]

“Amenity”

— in which you have a nightmare, and Kaeya is there.

(or my mum’s drinking wine opposite me and it reminded me of kaeya)

You’re drowning.

Gasping for air as you failed to rise above dread and despair, an endless current of uncertainty clouding your vision as you flailed your arms, trying to breach the surface.

And you can’t breathe.

And-

“Hey.”

And something was poking your cheek.

You open your watery eyes to see Kaeya grinning at you, his hand resting on your cheek, his finger tracing the shell of your ear, soothing you.

Your chest was rising and falling at an almost concerning rate, eyes misted over with fear, taking a second to truly see him, to realise he had awakened you, despite knowing of your busy schedule in the every present morning.

You glare.

“What.”

The hand moves to pinch your cheek, Kaeya still smiling, “We should go to ‘Good Hunter’ in the morning.”

You blink, staring at him incredulously, your tired mind catching up to you at a pathetically slow pace.

“You woke me up..to talk about breakfast?” And Kaeya only nods in response, taking in the restless look carved into your face, and dulling colour under your eyes.

“Mhm, c’mere.”

And you were being pulled towards him, his arms holding you close, allowing you to rest your head on his chest, his ever wandering hand finding itself dancing across your back, a performance that sent an involuntary chill down your spine, and you pressed your face further into the warmth of his chest, an action that made him pause, but only slightly, peering down at you with a soft, almost calculated gaze.

Your nightmare still plagued the back of your mind, flashes of terror ran rampant through your thoughts, an abstract amalgamation of horror before you, and you felt yourself begin to shake despite your silent protests in which you begged to just sleep-

“Or we could take a detour and perhaps find ourselves in the Cats Tail.” Kaeya suggests, humming about how the lack lustre food is well compensated by the taste of drinks alone.

And you’re confused again, peering up at him, with a slight frown.

“Wine in the morning?” You ask, your voice weaker than his, but still filled with accusation.

“I suppose it is a bit blasé.” Kaeya ponders, slipping his fingers under the soft material of your shirt, “Although what am I if not eccentric hm?”

“I don’t think eccentric is the right word.” You mumble, your eyes flitting across his face as you glance up at him, observing the soft gaze he shows only to you.

“Oh? Pray tell, what is the right word dear hm?”

He’s poking you again, although this time the area of interest was your side, his finger denting the skin playfully.

You roll your eyes, a tiny smile gracing your tired face, “Wreckless.”

And he giggles, swooping down to kiss your nose gently, softly, pushing you somehow closer to his embrace. “Was hoping for something more charming.” He muses and you scrunch your nose.

“Maybe I meant it in a charming manner.” You tease, playing with his hair, admiring how soft it feels against your trembling fingers.

It’s quite and cosy as your heart rate slows, the panic that awoke you melting into something more akin to affection.

Kaeyas hand never stops it’s meanders across the skin of your back, he’s tracing the shape of a tiny heart right on your spine, you breathe.

“Must have been a bad one to get you so rattled hm?” He ponders, looking down at you, finally acknowledging your terror, and you feel as though he is looking right through you, searching the very soul hidden behind the glow of your eyes.

You want to look away, but you can’t, so you don’t.

“Nothing worse than usual.” You mumble, “It’s ok now though, you’re here aren’t you?”

And Kaeya finds himself hesitating.

Always one to find comfort through others actions but never trusting himself to be the source of such solace.

But you’re alright because he’s here?

He almost wants to laugh, the absurdity of your words feeding his wounded ego.

Instead he just whispers in your ear, in a language lost to time, his mother tongue, breaking down every wall to show you how much you meant to him.

Your eyes crinkle, recalling the words from the countless times he had delicately said them right as you drifted off.

“That meant ‘I love you’ didn’t it?” You probe, grinning proudly as he gives you a tiny nod, his face holding an emotion you couldn’t decipher in the dark.

So instead of searching for understanding, you kiss his jaw and whisper it back to him, sleepiness consuming your being as you drift off.

Safe, with him.

And for a moment, Kaeya let’s himself believe that he could bring you as much comfort as you brought to him.

the end.

masterlist here <3

( A/N; i started playing genshin bc of kaeya, i love him, anyway i have to go to a water part in the half an hour and id rather die ! but hey we move slay )

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

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

Chapter Four

“Do you realise what you have done?!”

In the darkness of the dimly lit room, shadows danced across Alicent's horrified face as she listened to Aemond's revelation. Her brown eyes, brimming with tears, betrayed the shock and anguish she felt upon hearing the news. Upon learning what her son had done, what he was capable of.

The King’s apartments exuded a somber atmosphere, the darkness of the room mirroring the weight of the news that had been delivered. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Lord Otto, Aemond’s grandfather and the Hand of the King, also looked momentarily horrified by the revelation. His usually stoic expression faltered, betraying the shock he felt at the news. However, as the political ramifications of the situation began to sink in, his face hardened once more, his mind already whirring with calculations and strategies to navigate the turbulent waters ahead.

“War was declared the minute Rhaenyra refused to bend the knee,” Otto sighed, before returning to his seat at the dining table.

Lucerys was dead, killed by his own uncle over the shores of Storms End in a brutal clash between their dragons. It was a confrontation fueled by vengeance and simmering animosity, one that would inevitably ignite the flames of war between the Blacks and the Greens, tearing the realm apart.

Internally, Aemond grappled with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he couldn’t deny the sense of satisfaction that came with finally avenging the loss of his eye at the hands of Lucerys. The young prince, just fourteen years old and riding a much smaller dragon, had been no match for Aemond’s prowess in combat. It was a brutal and one-sided fight, but in Aemond’s mind, it was a long-overdue reckoning for the injustice he had suffered.

Yet, amidst the satisfaction, there lingered a sense of guilt and remorse. Aemond couldn’t shake the knowledge that what he had done was not honorable or just. Lucerys may have wronged him in the past, but the boy was still just that—a boy, with his whole life ahead of him. Aemond struggled to reconcile the desire for vengeance with the knowledge that he had taken a life that would ultimately plunge the realm into chaos in the process.

But in the end, Aemond found solace in the belief that justice had been served, albeit in a cruel and merciless manner. With Vhagar as his instrument of retribution, the prince convinced himself that Lucerys had gotten what he deserved, and that his actions were necessary to protect his family and restore honor to his name.

Returning to King's Landing, the one-eyed Prince was drenched from the storm, the rain chilling him to the bone. Yet, amidst the physical discomfort, his mind was consumed by the weight of his actions. The contemplative journey home allowed him to come to terms with what he had done. Though another piece of himself was lost in the darkness of his deeds, he couldn't deny that it felt worth it—necessary.

Upon his arrival, Aemond instructed the servants to inform his brother, the new and rightful King, as well as his mother and grandfather, about what had transpired. He requested some time to settle from his journey and change into dry clothes before meeting with them. When he faced his mother, the dowager queen, Aemond felt a pang of anguish at the disappointment and shock he saw reflected in her eyes. It was a look he had never before witnessed from her—a stark departure from the usual pride and adoration. Her silent judgment cut deep, serving as a haunting reminder of the gravity of his actions.

In contrast, his grandfather's reaction was more predictable—stoic and calculating, his mind already strategizing the political implications of the situation. Yet it was Aegon's response that truly bewildered Aemond. The new King had thrown a feast in Aemond's honor, his demeanor brimming with genuine pleasure at the news of what had happened at Storms End.

“Come now, Mother, do not fret so. This is a cause for celebration,” Aegon declared from his seat at the table, a chicken leg in hand. Alicent’s gaze remained fixed ahead, refusing to acknowledge her son’s callous words, but Aegon persisted, his voice dripping with disdain. “Mayhaps my old whore sister will now relent and swear her fealty to me,” he quipped, his words laced with mockery and arrogance.

Beside him, Lord Otto nodded in agreement, casually sipping from his wine as he echoed Aegon’s sentiments. Alicent let out a defeated sigh, her weariness evident as she grappled with the weight of her sons’ actions. But Aegon was not content to let the matter rest, his tone growing even more sinister as he proposed further acts of brutality. “Or else we could simply slaughter her other bastard sons. What’s a few more?” he chuckled.

The sound of Alicent's quick footsteps, as well as the slap striking Aegon's face, echoed through the room, a sharp crack that shattered the eerie silence that followed. Aemond couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he witnessed the regal and poised woman lose her composure. It was heart-wrenching to see his mother, who exuded grace and strength, succumb to such raw emotion.

He knew deep down that the blow was a result of his own actions, yet Alicent would never deliver such punishment to him. Aemond was her favored son, the embodiment of everything Aegon was not—the family's protector, his mother's confidant, and the pillar of strength that House Targaryen desperately needed in these tumultuous times.

Despite the one-eyed Prince’s frustrations with his brother's lackadaisical attitude and apparent disregard for his responsibilities, he understood the weight of Aegon's birthright. As a Prince of the Realm, it was Aemond’s duty to defend his brother's claim to the throne, even if he harbored doubts about Aegon's ability to rule effectively without the support of those around him.

“Do you know what that makes us? What that makes you?” Alicent demanded, her voice trembling with emotion as she turned to face Aemond, who stood at the opposite end of the room, his expression one of uncertainty and conflict. His mother then uttered the next word with bitterness and disgust. “Kinslayer.”

Without missing a beat, Aemond asserted his defiance, his voice filled with resolve as he spoke through gritted teeth. “No bastard of House Strong is my kin,” he declared firmly, his gaze unwavering as he met his mother’s eyes.

Aegon raised his glass in a mocking salute to his brother, a smirk playing on his lips as he reveled in the tension that hung in the air. But Alicent’s scoff betrayed her disbelief, her incredulity evident as she struggled to comprehend the callousness of her sons’ actions.

“She is still your sister. And those boys were born from her womb… regardless of their blood. That is how the Realm will see it,” she stressed, her words a stark reminder of the consequences of their actions and the stain it would leave on their family’s legacy.

“What’s done is done, daughter.” Lord Otto's firm declaration prompted Alicent to lower her gaze uncomfortably, her expression reflecting a mixture of resignation and unease as she took her seat at the table beside Aegon and her father. With a sense of authority, the older Lord turned his attention to his grandsons, his tone commanding their attention.

"What matters is what we do next. Did you secure a pact with the Baratheons?" the Hand of the King inquired, his gaze fixed on Aemond, who nodded in response, his single violet eye reflecting his demeanor. Marriage for political reasons was an inevitability for him as a second son, and he accepted that without hesitation. He resolved to treat his future Lady wife with respect and perhaps even kindness if she proved worthy, but his sentiments would not extend beyond the necessities of their union.

"Excellent. I will begin liaisons with those who could ally with our cause," Lord Otto announced decisively, his demeanor resolute as he momentarily left the room.

Upon his return, the Hand of the King unfurled a map on the dining table, its sprawling expanse depicting the realms of Westeros and Essos, as well as vast stretches of open sea. The intricate details on the map hinted at the complexity of the political landscape and the myriad opportunities for strategic maneuvering.

"Dorne, the Iron Islands. Even Essos if needs be," Lord Otto declared, his voice echoing with determination as he outlined their potential allies.

Aegon, having finished his food, cast a casual glance at the map, his expression thoughtful as he considered their options. "The Vale are with Rhaenyra, as are the North. Stark's never break an oath, even if it means to the death," he remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of admiration for House Stark's steadfast loyalty.

After a moment, Aemond joined his family at the table, his demeanor cautious yet focused. He settled beside his grief-stricken mother, Alicent, who nervously chewed at the skin on her fingers, a visible sign of her distress. With a sad glance in her direction, Aemond then turned his attention to the map, his one-eyed gaze fixed upon it as he prepared to weigh in on the political discussions that lay ahead.

"And the Riverlands?" The Prince inquired, his voice steady despite the weight of uncertainty that hung in the air.

"Divided," Lord Otto replied gruffly, his expression betraying his frustration as he addressed the complexities of the political landscape. "The Tully's swore to you, my King, but his sons and grandsons are wavering.” The Hand of the King then pointed his finger to the border of the Crownlands. “Lord Larys is with us, yet his relatives are cowardly, and will swear to Rhaenyra because of her offspring," he explained, his tone tinged with disdain for those who wavered in their allegiance.

At the mention of House Strong, Alicent snapped out of her daze, her brown eyes focused intently on the map before her. "Harrenhal is a war fortress, and dangerously close to us," she stated, her voice laced with concern as she glanced briefly at her family gathered around the table. "If the entirety of the Riverlands, along with the Vale and North, march on us, that castle is the only thing standing in their way."

Aemond and Lord Otto hummed in agreement, acknowledging the dowager Queen's astute observation. A moment of contemplative silence followed, broken only by Aegon's sudden movement as he shifted in his seat, his finger jabbing decisively at Harrenhal on the map before fixing his gaze on his younger brother.

"Go there and find out where House Strong's allegiances lie," Aegon instructed, his tone tinged with a hint of mockery as he spoke of their potential rivals. "To the first-born son of Viserys, their rightful King. Or to a pretender, the whore of Dragonstone," he added, a smirk playing on his lips.

All parties, including Aemond, nodded in agreement with the plan. It was clear that securing Harrenhal's allegiance was vital for the Greens' cause, especially considering its strategic importance in the Riverlands. With the matter settled, Alicent rose from her chair, excusing herself for the evening, her untouched plate a testament to her preoccupation.

Concern etched on his features, Aemond couldn't help but voice his apprehension as he addressed the dowager Queen. "Mother..."

"I think it is for the best, Aemond," Alicent interjected firmly, her disappointment evident in her gaze as she turned to face her son. "Maybe some time away from the Capital will do you some good."

Aemond nodded in acquiescence, his composure steady but his heart heavy with the weight of his mother's disappointment. With a final glance at the empty chair where his mother had sat moments before, Aemond returned his attention to the table, where the men continued their discussions in her absence.

The next morning, Aemond couldn't bear to remain in the suffocating presence of the Keep any longer. The weight of his mother’s disappointment and judgment felt like chains around his neck. The entirety of the Seven Kingdoms saw him as a monster due to the scar that marred his face. But never his mother. Yet Aemond feared now, after slaying Lucerys, that the dowager Queen was too of the same opinion as the Realm.

Seeking liberation from the stifling atmosphere of King's Landing, Aemond made his way to the Godswood to find his loyal mount, Vhagar. The majestic dragon lay nestled within the verdant sanctuary, her colossal form stretched out as she slumbered. With each exhale, her breath stirred the leaves of the surrounding trees, creating a symphony of rustling whispers. Vhagar's scales shimmered in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, a magnificent display of green and bronze hues. Despite her age, she exuded an aura of indomitable power, her presence commanding reverence and awe.

As Vhagar sensed her rider’s approach, the great dragon stirred from her slumber, her orange eyes snapping open with a keen intelligence. A low, rumbling trill emanated from her throat as she regarded Aemond with a mixture of recognition and familiarity. The Prince approached the beast, his gloved hand reaching out to stroke the side of face, the texture beneath his touch reminiscent of the night they first formed their bond.

“Skoro ao gaomagon ziry?” Why did you do it?, he asked her in a hushed tone. The Prince searched Vhagar’s gaze with his single violet eye, acknowledging the weight of responsibility that rested upon both of them. It was Vhagar’s actions that had led to the death of Lucerys, but their bond remained unbroken.

In that poignant moment, Aemond realized that a dragon was not merely a tool of war, a beast to be commanded, but a reflection of his own desires and convictions. Had he been unencumbered by princely duties or family honour, he would have taken Lucerys’s life himself. Vhagar had simply acted upon the instincts that he himself harbored, making the choice for him. It was a sobering realization, one that spoke volumes about the bond they shared and the depths of their connection.

The Realm may have branded him a monster, and even his own mother may have shared in that belief, but Aemond knew the truth. He was not a monster; he was a dragon. And he would embrace that identity with all the ferocity and power it entailed. With a resolute expression, Aemond acknowledged his strengths. He was skilled with the sword, well-versed in history and philosophy, and he commanded the mightiest dragon in existence; Vhagar, the legendary dragon that had once served his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror, now stood by his side, a testament to his lineage and power.

To be a dragon meant to embody fire and blood, to wield power and instill fear in both kin and foes alike. Aemond no longer harbored guilt or hesitation. Instead, he felt a fierce determination coursing through his veins, urging him to prove himself even further and leave an indelible mark on the annals of history as one of the most formidable dragons to have ever existed.

As Aemond confronted Lord Simon Strong at Harrenhal, he felt the familiar surge of rage and anger coursing through him. The old lord's refusal to acknowledge his brother as King ignited a fire within Aemond, compelling him to take action and cleanse the Realm of such traitorous defiance.

With a cold determination in his eyes, Aemond challenged Lord Simon to a duel, knowing full well that this would not be an honorable fight, chuckling to himself as the foolish old man actually accepted the challenge. Yet he was reminded of the words of the Lord Commander, Ser Criston Cole; when steel is drawn, a fair match is not something anyone should expect. In moments, Aemond's sword slashed through the air with deadly precision, cutting down the old man like gutting a fish, leaving no chance for mercy or redemption. It was a brutal and swift end, but in times of war, fairness and honor often fell by the wayside in favor of victory.

Looking over the lifeless body of Lord Simon lay at his feet, Aemond ordered his soldiers to dispose of the remains by feeding them to Vhagar. It was a grim display, but to Aemond, it served a practical purpose. Why waste valuable sustenance when it could nourish his mighty dragon? The fear and dread emanating from the onlookers only fueled Aemond's sense of power and dominance, reaffirming his status as a force to be reckoned with in the eyes of all who dared to oppose him.

But the slaughter did not stop there. In a cold and calculated manner, Aemond issued the ruthless decree that every man, woman and child with Strong blood, true-born or bastard, be put to the sword, as punishment for Lord Simon’s treason. The screams and pleas of those sentenced to death fell on deaf ears, as Aemond remained resolute in his belief that such extreme measures were necessary for the stability and security of the Realm.

Despite the flicker of remorse that briefly crossed his mind at the thought of innocent babes meeting the same fate, Aemond forcefully suppressed any hint of weakness or sentimentality. He knew that typical morality had no place in the harsh realities of war and power struggles. The future threat posed by the offspring of House Strong outweighed any fleeting feelings of compassion.

As the day at Harrenhal descended into darkness and chaos, the floors became slick with blood, serving as a grim reminder of the brutal cost of Aemond's actions. Yet amidst the carnage, Aemond couldn't help but find a twisted sense of beauty in the scene, likening the splatters of blood to the blossoming of spring flowers, a morbid juxtaposition of life and death.

In a grim display of brutality, Aemond's soldiers meticulously searched the castle, rounding up the bastards among the servants and executing them with ruthless efficiency. Even as the heads rolled and blood stained the floors, Aemond remained impassive, his resolve unshaken by the horror unfolding around him.

Amidst the chaos, Aemond's attention was drawn to a woman being dragged outside by two soldiers. Despite her struggles and screams, she was overpowered and brought before the executioner's block. Aemond's violet eye narrowed as he observed her, noting her dark hair and captivating green eyes. There was a fleeting resemblance to someone from his past, a ghost of memory he chose not to dwell on.

As the woman fought fiercely against her impending fate, Aemond couldn't suppress a snicker of amusement. To him, she was like prey caught in a trap, defiant to the end. With a cruel smirk, Aemond raised his arm, signaling to his men that he would personally deliver the final blow. It was a moment of twisted satisfaction for him, relishing in the inevitable demise of his prey, just as he would during a hunt. To see the light of life leaving her eyes would be a joyous end to a productive day.

Forced to kneel before the block, the woman locked eyes with Aemond, her expression unreadable. “I see a maelstrom surrounding you, my Prince,” she spoke, her voice steady despite the imminent danger. Aemond cocked his head, amused by her attempt to stall her fate.

“It is drowning you, tearing you apart from the inside out,” she continued, her words laced with cryptic meaning. Aemond rolled his eye, growing impatient with her theatrics.

“Hold her down,” he commanded the soldiers, his tone cold and authoritative, as they pressed her head against the unforgiving block.

Yet, even in the face of imminent death, the woman remained unnervingly composed, chuckling softly to herself. “You want her so badly, it is consuming you,” she remarked, her words hitting a nerve with Aemond.

“Silence,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin as he cleaned the blood from his sword.

Raising his sword to deliver the fatal blow, Aemond was taken aback as the woman’s smile widened, her green eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. “A girl with a stripe of Old Valyria in her hair,” she uttered cryptically, her words sending a chill down Aemond’s spine. “The Lady Maera.”

Aemond froze in place, his grip tightening on his sword as the revelation washed over him, leaving him stunned and uncertain of his next move. Despite the passage of three long years, Maera's name was like a jolt to his system, stirring memories he had buried deep within. He wondered if Maera would even recognize him now, given the darkness that consumed him.

He recalled the sparse updates he received from his sister Helaena about Maera's life. She had acquired more siblings through her father's latest marriage and was now undergoing strict tutelage from a septa to mold her into a proper Lady of the court. Aemond couldn't help but chuckle bitterly at the notion; the idea of Maera conforming to the expectations of highborn society seemed incongruous with the spirited little girl he once knew.

However, his amusement quickly turned to a frown as recalled another update from Maera’s life. Rumors had reached him of her supposed indiscretions, tarnishing her once pristine reputation. Learning of Maera’s alleged liaison with a knight in her father's service stirred a complex mix of emotions within Aemond—disgust at the scandal, curiosity about the truth behind the rumors, and a disturbing twinge of jealousy at the thought of Maera being with another man.

"What do you know about a minor noblewoman from the Stormlands?" Aemond's voice dripped with mockery as he kept his sword poised above the woman's head.

The woman met his gaze squarely, her expression unwavering. "More than you think," she replied, her tone devoid of fear or hesitation.

Aemond lowered his sword, a mixture of curiosity and disdain evident in his demeanor. "So you know of her? What use is that to me?" He queried, tilting his head in disbelief. "Are you so desperate that you resort to pleading through my childhood connections?"

Kneeling down, Aemond leaned in close to the woman's face, his sneer evident. "You know nothing, you stupid whore," he spat out contemptuously.

But the woman remained composed, her eyebrows arching slightly as she held his gaze. "I know you want her. And I can help you obtain her," she stated calmly.

Aemond's past with Maera flashed before his eyes at the woman’s words, causing him to feel a pang of longing mixed with discomfort. The moments of laughter, camaraderie, and shared adventures seemed like distant echoes from another lifetime, impossible to grasp in the harsh reality of the present. It was unsettling to glimpse his old self in those memories, a stark contrast to the ruthless and hardened man he had become.

The woman’s assumption that he desired Maera was met with incredulity from Aemond. How could she be so delusional, especially now that Maera's reputation had been tarnished? Yet, despite his efforts to push aside any lingering feelings, he couldn't deny the tug he still felt at the mention of Maera's name. It was as if a tether bound them together, pulling taut in her absence and refusing to release its grip on his thoughts.

In his mind, Aemond resolved to entertain the witch for a moment longer before exacting his vengeance. Perhaps torture would be a fitting punishment for a woman who dared to presume such audacity. With a cold determination, Aemond straightened up and turned to the guards. "Bind her and bring her inside," he commanded, his decision made as intrigue mingled with skepticism in his gaze.

The room where Aemond and the woman sat was small and unadorned, a far cry from the opulence of his quarters in the Red Keep. Dimly lit by the flickering flames of the hearth and the muted daylight filtering through a lone window, the atmosphere was somber and oppressive.

Seated opposite the woman, Aemond exuded an air of quiet menace as he twirled his dagger skillfully in his hand, the glint of the metal casting eerie shadows across the room. His one-eyed gaze bore into her, cold and calculating, as he prepared to extract whatever information she possessed.The woman, bound by metal handcuffs, sat hunched and disheveled, her simple green dress torn and stained with mud and blood from her rough handling by the guards.

Despite her predicament, there was a defiant glint in her eyes as she met Aemond's smirk with a steely resolve as she revealed who, and what, she was.

"A witch?" Aemond chuckled incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief. "Gods, you are not a seer if you think pretty spells or appeals to my caring nature will sway me. I assure you, I possess no such thing."

Alys met his gaze with a cold stare, unflinching in the face of his skepticism. "A caring nature, perhaps not," she remarked icily, her tone cutting. "Especially considering the slaughter you've wrought here today.” She then paused, tilting her head. “And young Prince Lucerys."

The cocky smirk on the Prince’s face vanished, contorting into a frown of frustration and suspicion. How could she have learned of it so quickly? The possibility of a fast raven seemed improbable, given the remote location of Harrenhall and the lack of urgency in disseminating such information.

"But you have a heart, and it belongs to her," Alys continued, a sly smile playing on her lips as she knew the Prince was aware to whom she was referring. "And you hate yourself for it."

The mocking tone in her voice irked Aemond, prompting him to lean forward, his grip tightening on her shackles as he pressed the tip of his dagger against her throat. How dare a lowly whore, a bastard no less, mock him? The ridiculous insinuation that he was driven by feelings for his childhood friend Maera, feelings he adamantly denied possessing, caused Aemond’s rage to boil over.

"Thus far, you have said nothing of use," he sneered, applying pressure until a bead of blood trickled down. “And your tongue will be the next thing I take, before your head.”

Alys winced at the pain but remained defiant, her cat-like eyes locked with Aemond's as she spoke through gritted teeth. "Dragon fire melts the steel to bridge the gap between sky and sea."

Aemond’s single eye widened slightly, and he lowered the blade from her throat. The words struck a chord deep within him, stirring memories he had long tried to bury.

“The words of your sister, the Queen, are they not?” The witch asked him in a confident tone. The Prince vividly remembered the moment Helaena had spoken those exact words to him, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty as he escorted her down the aisle on her wedding day. It was a private moment, shared between siblings amidst the grandeur of the ceremony.

How could Alys have known those words? They were spoken in the hushed intimacy of the Great Sept, far from prying ears. The distance between them and the echoing music should have rendered them unheard by anyone else. Yet here was Alys, repeating them as if she had been there that day, standing right beside them. A sense of unease settled over Aemond as he contemplated this unsettling revelation, his mind racing with questions and suspicions.

The Prince’s anger and frustration simmered beneath the surface as he grappled with the mystery of how Alys had such intimate knowledge of his past. With a firm shove, he released her from his grip, pushing her back into her chair, but keeping his dagger pointed at her as a silent warning.

As Alys exhaled a breath shakily, Aemond observed the dance of light from the hearth across her face, casting her features in an ominous glow. Despite her apparent calm demeanor, he sensed a tension lingering in the air, a palpable unease that matched his own. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions and veiled threats. Aemond's mind raced, searching for any logical explanation, any clue that could unravel the enigma before him.

Alys cleared her throat before speaking, her tone confident yet oddly soothing. “I understand that mere words of prophecy may not be enough to earn your trust, Prince Aemond,” she began, her eyes locking with his. “So, allow me to offer you a gift—a demonstration of my power, if you will.”

The Prince couldn’t help but scoff at her words, his fingers idly toying with the hilt of his dagger. “And what could you possibly offer a Prince of the Realm?”

A knowing smirk danced across Alys’s lips as she leaned forward slightly. “On the eleventh day of the sixth moon, the Jewel of Rainwood will await you in the Keep gardens,” she declared, her voice carrying an air of certainty. “I simply ask you to go and see for yourself.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted downward as he pondered her proposition. Could it be possible that Maera would be waiting for him there? The thought both excited and unsettled him, stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. Yet, he remained wary, hesitant to believe the witch’s claims without proof. Sensing his inner conflict, Alys continued to press her case, her words calculated to appeal to his doubts. “I will await your return in the dungeons. If I am deceiving you, you may take my head. But if I speak the truth, you will allow me to serve you.”

Aemond glanced up, meeting her gaze once more, his expression guarded yet contemplative. The prospect of uncovering the truth about Maera’s presence in the Keep gardens was too tempting to ignore, but he knew he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. The Prince regarded her with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “And why would you wish to serve a man who moments ago was prepared to take your head?”

Alys's response was simple yet cryptic. “Because it is part of the Gods' divine plan, my Prince,” she replied, her tone laden with conviction.

Aemond's decision to humor the supposed witch and entertain her claims was born out of a need for answers and a flicker of curiosity that refused to be extinguished. He knew that once order was restored in Harrenhall, he would have to return to King's Landing anyway. What harm would it cause to check if Maera was actually there?

With a curt nod, he signaled his tentative agreement, though his mistrust lingered beneath the surface. As the soldiers entered, Aemond ordered the witch to be imprisoned under strict observation whilst he worked on bringing order back to the castle and nearby town.

In the weeks that followed, the one-eyed Prince busied himself in rebuilding and fortifying Harrenhal, anticipating the looming conflict between the Blacks and the Greens. Stone masons were commissioned to repair the ancient walls, and additional guards and experienced commanders were stationed within the fortress to ensure its defense. He hoped that he would prove himself to be not only a ruthless Prince, but an adept one.

Weeks later, before his departure for Kings Landing, Aemond descended into the cold, stone dungeons to visit Alys. The dim torchlight cast eerie shadows across the damp walls as he approached her cell. Despite being the one to confine her, Alys greeted him with a drawn expression, yet she still managed a smile as she curtsied to the Prince. Aemond observed her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, wondering what secrets she might hold, and how they might serve his own ambitions.

“The executioner’s block should be dried out by the time I return,” the Prince declared teasingly from the outside of the cell. “I hope for your sake that your blood need not be spilled when I come back.”

The witch did not seem intimidated, nor shaken by his words. Instead, she simply smiled. “I look forward to your return, my Prince.”

Notes: so, here is Aemond’s first meeting with the witch of Harrenhall. Stay tuned 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[cloudninetonine]

A Player's Aid: Chapter 11

Fandom: Legend of Zelda, Linked Universe

A/N:....I'm just sorry OUYDBUDHD but also my tag list got lost, if you could please say if you'd like to be tagged in the comments! (I know I can look at previous chapters but I lost some new names and it would be easier to build from scratch so I have it HDOCDHJ)

Warnings: Foul language, descriptions of gore, violence and mentions of injuries

Enjoy!

The effect was immediate. 

The sound of many boots against concrete was deafening and your vision blurred as Hyrule tugged you along, his grip still tight as you stumbled after the men in the direction of the castle. 

The Hero's instinct is what you deduced, it’s what powered these boys. To jump so readily into action, unafraid of what was to come- these men had a mission to protect the people of Hyrule and you admired everything they did for them. Not even Wind flinched at the scream, didn't hesitate like the others as they raced away from the Sacred Ground, you tumbling along almost unable to keep up with Hyrule's speed (Jesus christ these fuckers were fast-) 

You finally broke through the treeline to see the scene before you- horrid and bone-chilling as it played out. 

A lone adventurer had seemed to be downed, blood running down a deep gash on their arm in rivers as they tried desperately to claw away from the behemoth of a creature, hissing and spitting towards them as it stalked closer, the giant skull on its back just as intimidating as its many eyes and snapping fangs. 

Skulltula were always intimidating enemies in theory. Spiders were already scary, making them the size of a horse with a withering skull on their back, legs similar to knives and pincers dripping with what you could only guess to be venom only made them even more terrifying- you didn’t want to shame the Zelda graphics, but there was no way, from the deepest and darkest depths of hell they could even begin to bring justice to the creature that stood before you all.

"Not a fucking Skulltula…" You whispered in a blood-freezing horror, ducking behind Hyrule when it turned towards your group, seemingly hearing your words. "Christ on the cross, set it alight." 

With another hiss, it dashed in your direction, your whole body locking up only for it to cry out in pain as an arrow landed right in one of its many eyes, the group dashing forward with Hyrule removing something from his pocket and pressing it into your hands: a dagger. 

"Stay here." He held your cheek softly. "I'll be right back." 

He turned towards Wild, situated in front. 

"I've got them." The blonde reassured, sending him a knowing look. "Don't worry." 

With a firm nod, Hyrule ran to the group sword at the ready with a pat on Wild’s shoulder, your eyes wide in awe as you watched him hurl a phantom red projection of his sword right at the gigantic monster, its shrill calls making you cringe.

As its wails pierced the air, you could vaguely see Sky raise the Master Sword with a calculating look on his face, an almost holy light climbing up the length of the sharpened blade until a familiar sound reached your ears and the hero slashed across the air, the sight of a skyward strike cutting through the lengths of grass and slicing one of its many legs clean off its body, the appendage flailing before disintegrating into dust as the monstrous bug got even louder.

Sickening to see this close.

"Stay behind me." It was a soft order but you weren't about to defy him, slightly ducking behind him as he continued to aim at the Skulltula, the men fighting valiantly. "I promise to keep you safe."

You dug your fingers gently into his tunic. "I know you will, no need for promises."

His ears fluttered subtly at the words.

Watching the guys fight up close was much better than watching from afar, you could have only imagined just how amazing the fight from the riverside bokoblin must have been- breathtaking would have been too small a word to use, there wasn't any word the dictionary that could begin to perfectly describe how the boys fought. Calling it a movie scene would have been underrated, no, it was an art piece even with something as pathetic as a Skulltula, these men looked as if they had just been plucked from the Renaissance itself and you almost went breathless as you continued to bear spectacle to the scene.

Their footwork, their swings, the looks on their faces- they were heroes alright, not a doubt in your mind would refute that. Wild's steeled gaze and the way he handled the bow were just so amazing to you, he was a professional of course but there was an energy about him, not the goofy wild man but the hero that bore the Triforce of Courage.

You were in the presence of some of the strongest men in the current world…

Twilight and Warriors had rushed over to the fallen victim while the others had continued with the battle, arm over each shoulder as they had hauled them further away with reassurances of safety, appearing close to your side as they fished into their bags for a potion to deal with their wounds. The gash on their arm was horrible but the apparent one on their side was worse, bleeding profusely and long, your stomach churning at the mere thought while Warriors called for their attention, deeming this “no place to die.”

…You weren’t about to see someone die, were you?

The idea sickened you to the core.

A cry echoed out as Hyrule used a nearby boulder to leap onto the back of the great beast, the shrill shrieks of the horse-sized spider bloodcurdling as the Hero raised his bejewelled sword and thrust it into its head, tainted blood gushing onto the grass below leaving a bloody mess.

Your heartbeat pounded in your own ears as the monster screamed.

A horrid sound, disgusting and gut-wrenching, you felt even more nauseous as you were able to hear the faint sound of a popping squelch as your hero dug the sword deeper and deeper, blood spurting onto his forest green tunic and catching some of the other boys also. 

From your vantage point on that cliff, the destruction of these creatures wasn't something that had gotten to you but seeing this was way worse than your own imagination, no matter how majestic the men looked as they fought, this was still disturbing when the valiant filter was pushed aside. This wasn’t the pg-rated game any more, the one you would play for hours when you were younger, not a care in the world as you gathered the convenient drops- this was real life, these were real living things-

And this was real gore.

You gagged, hiding your face into Wild’s shoulder to force away the morbid curiosity as the other heroes continued to beat down the monster, its shrills engraining into your mind as one of the boys dealt the finishing blow.

(It had been Legend, watching Hyrule flail about as the Skulltula tried to rid him of its back, the man sliding down beneath the monster while digging his weapon into its stomach as he skidded against the grass, opening a mortal wound that had entrails spilling from its underbelly)

The familiar sound of a monster’s corpse poofing away was what brought you back, shyly peaking over Wild’s shoulder as you watched Legend stand, the stains of his tunic a gruesome eyesore that dusted away in the wind along with the smoke of dark magic that was once the Skulltula, Hyrule’s own caked clothes cleaning in a similar fashion until both were free of the thick, murky substance that was monster blood and huffing from the fight. The two looked at one another, conflicting feelings dancing on their faces until they nodded at one another, a sign of acknowledgement in their tense times.

You felt embarrassed at the shaky sigh you released, Wild looking back at you worriedly as you took a step back to compose yourself.

Why were you even scared? It’s not like you contributed to the fight in any way.

“Are you well?”

“Y-Yeah- yeah I’m good.”

His brows furrowed, his hand coming to hold yours. “You can talk to me.”

Your thumb gently danced over his knuckles. “It’s just…scary seeing them up so close.”

Cringing at his soft expression, your free hand moved to rub at the back of your neck. 

“Monsters are a disturbing sight to many, you don’t need to be embarrassed for your reaction.” 

“I know I just don’t like being some sort of damsel- I can’t fight but I’ve got enough sense to know how to protect myself and it just feels ridiculous and sad hiding behind you like some scared kid.”

It wasn’t a fault of yours, of course, especially in the presence of such skilled fighters it made sense but you couldn’t help it- you felt inferior, you felt weak, you hated having to hide behind your friend and you wished that you could at least stand beside him, a partner more of a cowering fool.

Wild hesitated, his mouth pursing in thought when both your attention drew to coughing close by, the presumed random traveller spluttering as the ranch hand and Captain pulled them into a seated position, the group circling her.

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked, a supporting hand on the person’s back. “Are you able to speak?”

“Yes.” The young woman coughed, covering her mouth with her arm, “Yes, thank you, I thought those moments would be my last.”

A shiver run down your back at the thought of something as hideous as a Skulltula being the last thing you saw before your body grew cold and stiff- would it eat you in that state? Could Skulltulas even eat?

“Do you know of what became of the people here?” Straight to the chase, Time leaned down to the level of the woman, face gentle similar to your shared first interaction, a show of support from such a traumatizing moment. “It was filled with many but now it lays barren.”

Her face curled in confusion. “You mean…you’re not here to help us?”

Your stomach dropped.

Help with what?

She continued. “The head of the people sent a bird not two days ago- we were attacked, by these things-”

“The Skulltula?” 

“Yes- they came in every direction, there were so many, we couldn’t run so we held up in the castle-” Warriors rested his hand gently against their shoulder, a soft mutter of ‘breathe’ leaving his mouth as the person panted, her shaky breaths slowing in an effort to calm her racing heart. “There was an opening and I took it when no one had responded then I got caught by that monster- I- I thought you were responding to our call-”

Time’s face had hardened with each word, his scowl like his sharpened sword. His anger was evident, the lingering tension in his shoulders shown even under that heavy chest plate; you knew why, everyone did, it was very much obvious this was the work of the Shadow, predictable and vile, coming for the public like the coward he was to draw out the many heroes for his own gain and entertainment.

This was a trap.

And a very obvious trap.

And he dragged innocent civilians into this mess.

“Can you stand?”

The woman stumbled over herself before nodding, pushing to her full height with the help of the other elders.

“Good- leave to the nearest Inn, we will clear the castle.” 

Your mouth dropped at the words, looking towards the towering Hyrule Castle in horror.

The whole thing!?

“T-The entire castle?! But that’s not possible!”

Not possible for most, but then again these were the Links you were talking about, heroes of the times- if they had fought against Ganon, Demon King and bringer of Darkness, of course, they could fight off a few Skulltula.

A few dozen sounded a bit of a stretch though.

“We’ll be fine.” There was a cocksure attitude to Warrior’s words, his smile confident and eyes sparkling with his fighting pride. “A few giant insects won’t be getting the best of us.”

Oh yes, he did sound very cocky indeed- you wondered if the woman was judging him silently from his tone, god knows you would have had you not known he was a great hero.

She tried to argue more, stumbling over her words and trying to reason however it reached deaf ears her stance slowly falling as the group began to discuss their next plans- Wild was the focal point of this, after all this was his home and he knew it like the back of his hand, planning a rescue mission was going to fall to him. 

You studied her for a moment now that you could- pale skin, black hair and dark eyes, just a regular-looking adventurer who seemed to be caught on the wrong side of things.

Something felt…off though. Maybe it was just your skewered sense, or your simple wary nature after being thrown through a magic portal by a magic shadow.

It felt like one of those scenes in movies: discovering the wounded adventurer, aiding them in their time of need and watching as the hero lets them accompany them on their quest, after all, it’s not a hindrance right? Betrayal would usually follow, disguised by that weak damsel now shown to be their deceitful enemy this whole time, tearing apart the group by the seams and leaving them all to rot with nothing but a prideful cackle.

Yet, that was the work of fiction, this was real life (such a strange thought now that you pondered it) and so nothing like that would happen, right?

“Please, let me at least join you!”

…right?

Your eyes narrowed, watching the expression on her face then shifted to study the rest of the men, sharing uncertain glances with each other.

Did they feel a similar unease or did they simply want to keep this woman safe?

“I don’t think that’s for the best-”

“My family is in there! My friends too! I’m not just gonna sit by while they’re suffering!”

Any persuasion was met with refusal, the woman becoming only angrier with every second until Time let out a sigh, steeling his gaze as he looked down at the woman.

“Your name?”

She stood taller, “Maggie.”

“Do you even know how to handle a weapon that hangs off your hip?” This was a test, you could tell, the complete shift in his personality was a warning of sorts for what was to come- you would reasonably back down from such a hard look and you were positive that was what Time was trying to do. “Fought any monsters? Been in any battles?”

It didn’t work, as shown when Maggie glared right back. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“Seems you can’t.” Legend quipped and Time sent him a scolding look, the pink-streaked blonde throwing his hands with a look of surrender. “I’m just saying we saved you.”

She flushed a deep red “I was by myself but if I’m with you guys I should have a chance- strength in numbers.”

Your eyes stayed trained on Time as he listened intently, the others sharing different glances with one another as they waited for their chosen leader to finalise his decision, your shoulders dropping when he sighed in defeat, dragging a hand down his tired face.

“....Maggie, I will be responsible for you if you venture back into this castle with us- so, you must stay close and not stray far, no matter what you see, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, we move now.”

“Old-” Twilight’s mouth snapped shut, eyes averting from the flaming ones of the eldest. “...”

With a sigh, the man backed off, whistling for Epona who perked up happily, trotting back over to the forest. "I'm not taking her in there."

And you couldn't blame him, not with the threat of something like Skulltulas lurking around the castle halls, Epona could be jumped without a second thought- but leaving her alone wasn't an option, someone had to watch her just in case, right? So taking Gilda gently from your hair, you gestured her over.

"It'll be safer for you with her."

She crossed her arms. "(Name), I've been in more fights than you."

"...Gilda please-"

"I'm just teasing! I'll keep an eye on her, you've already got your fairy by your side~"

Had Hyrule been in hearing range you knew he would have swiped at her, so you spared her a chuckle and watched her whizz off after the ranch hand with a shake of the head.

"Should have guessed these fairies were just as cheeky as the fae."

Time glanced back over to Maggie, gesturing her forward once Twilight had returned, adorned with weapon and shield. “I want you to lead us, if you were able to escape then there may be a good chance that it was a blindspot to the monsters.”

You didn’t trust this, not a single bit. Your radar was going haywire, your body pumping the adrenaline into every little crevice within your body, hands shaking as you watched Maggie take the lead, the others slowly but surely following behind her until you were trailing right at the back with your fingers tightly secured around the dagger Hyrule had only given you moments ago.

The traveller had rejoined your side in haste, eyes ahead as his hand came to grab your own protectively, Wild marching on your opposite with a similar protective sense hanging over him.

“He’s got a plan…”

Hyrule muttered more to himself than anyone but Wild wasn’t far behind with his scepticism.

“A dangerous one- thought that was supposed to be my job?” The comedic tilt in his voice did not aid you at all, Wild’s face pinching in worry at your expression. “We’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

You knew they would, they were your heroes and you knew they would do anything to keep you safe.

Yet something told you that it wasn’t going to be that simple.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wouldn’t say you suffered from arachnophobia. Sure, you weren’t a fan of the things, but not in a way to say you had a fear of them. They were certainly freaky looking, eight eyes, eight legs, could produce cobwebs and drunk the blood of flies and other such small insects- but a true fear of them was not what you had, nowhere near. You had seen someone with the phobia, their dropping jaws and the way they raced to the opposite side of the room-

To avoid the tiny money spider that hadn’t even gotten close to them.

That was true fear- that fear would have had them dying right on the spot at the sight before you at this very moment.

The webbing was huge, like sheer curtains decorating the old stone walls of the castle, the few egg sacs a disgusting sight as the men cleared them out, the many Walltula shrieking and spitting fiercely only to die by the steel of the heroes’ blades, monster smoke almost thick enough to choke on.

It was terrifying how quickly the monsters had seemingly taken over, not a place in sight was free of the streams of natural mesh, over the carpets, over the paintings, over the windows and in the doorways- suffocating was the best way to describe it all, especially from the number of times you had walked into the cobwebs, spitting and waving your arms in a horrid frantic boogie to be rid of the texture.

Wind could only laugh so many times.

“Shut the fuck up, Wind.” You had whispered harshly, patting down your tunic once again. “You’re only laughing because you’re too fucking short to get hit by them.”

He waved off your insult with another hushed laugh. “You just look so fucking stupid when you do that.”

You flipped him off, pushing your finger into his face harshly and jerking back when he tried to nip at the skin, calling him another colourful nickname in which he elbowed you painfully in the side.

Fucking hell he was strong for a fourteen-year-old.

"Just around this corner here." Maggie's voice brought you back in, focusing on her head between the many others. 

The feeling still hadn’t gone away, not with you and certainly not with the others- you all knew you were walking right into a trap. The signs were evident to them all, a reason as to why Wind had been sent to the back with you three.

“The old man says as soon as anything sketchy happens he wants us to split!”

“Isn’t that dangerous? What if you guys get hurt?”

“Have some faith, (Name), we’re stronger than you make us out to be!”

You knew that- of course you did! Yet the threat still lay bare to the world. Skulltula were probably surrounding you at that very moment and it was clear that you could all be ambushed at any time, the further you walked into the castle, the deeper and darker it got only certainty grew in your brain that the upcoming fight would be inevitable if you were caught in a small corner.

That had to have crossed the old man’s mind, right? Under the blonde head of hair was a smart man, a calculating one so Time must have had a counteractive plan just up his armoured sleeve. He’d get everyone out of here, maybe with a few bumps and bruises, but you’d all come out of this ordeal alive and well with only a little major life-changing trauma- nothing you hadn’t gone through already.

The thought didn’t help though, not really without some partnering action, the weight on your shoulders only growing with each step you took, each room you passed, each corridor you turned into-

…You recognised this corridor.

Rebuilt and better than ever, with the help of the construction team and two years of passing, the winding path that lead to the Dining Hall was almost unrecognisable, the one you had trekked so many times when scouring the castle as you played. You wanted secrets, you wanted weapons and you wanted Korok seeds, if it meant having to lap the entire behemoth 100 times to get what you wanted you were ready to do it, you had practically memorised the route in game but it seemed the rebuilding of Hyrule Castle alongside the millions of cobwebs and the fact you were currently walking through its corridors had gotten in the way of your near photogenic memory of the place.

The archway to the armoury lay only a few feet ahead, along with the following path towards the library-

“The library’s this way, there should be some patrolling but we can easily get through them if we work together.”

The library….

There was a resounding click in your mind, footsteps stopping before they could meet the stone of the walkway, the dawn finally breaking in your mind.

It didn’t make sense- it didn’t make sense.

These hallways were always full, they were the main paths, why would she go through here when they were clearly the most dangerous routes?

Why did she take this way when she could have gone through-

“The secret passage.”

Pause.

You were staring, waiting, watching for that reaction.

And here it had finally come.

Time had been looking for an opportunity, and that had to be it, a broken piece within the glass that was her facade, once pristine and perfect, now so obviously cracked as Maggie finally paused just a few feet ahead of you all, the Chain having stopped when noticing your further figure.

You had given them all they needed.

“Pardon?”

It was cryptic in a way, horror and thriller running down your spine as your body shook with the adrenaline now running its course through your body as you readied yourself for what was bound to come.

“The secret passage, behind the bookcase.” There wasn’t a way they didn’t know about it, Wild had left it open for fuck’s sake, they had been rebuilding, it had to be common knowledge that Hyrule Castle had a secret passage. “In the library, why didn’t you just go through there?”

“I didn’t know there was one.”

Wild looked at you.

You looked at him.

He shook his head.

Liar- as expected.

“I really fucking doubt that.” The Chain had backed up to you quickly, quietly, aware that one false move would have broken the hypnotic spell your words had cast over them all. You licked your dry lips in an effort to stop the dryness from taking over your mouth. “How could you, as part of the restoration, not know about the secret passage in the library?”

“I’m not part of the team.”

Your voice was shaking. “S-So you just stayed ignorant about the place you were inhabiting for the past year or two? Not a single soul bothered to tell you about the cool secret passage in the library?”

“No.”

You grasped Wild’s hand frantically, terrified tears in your eyes.

“You’re a really bad fucking liar, Maggie.”

You could hear the grin in her voice. “I know.”

Weapons were pulled from sheaths, battle faces pulled sharp as you were quickly yanked once again behind them all, their stances deadly as they waited for something, anything that Maggie- whoever this was was about to bring down on you all.

“Are you with the Shadow?” Time called, a sneer on his face. “Or did you just crawl out from one of its portals like the rest of them?”

She laughed, still refusing to turn around as she did, her voice bouncing off the stones and echoing throughout the area- almost masking the rumbling footsteps that were quickly making their way to your direction, a quick glance back the way you had came showing a Skulltula quickly making its way towards you all- no, many were heading over and a quick glance in the opposite direction showed the same. 

Fuck you were being cornered.

"Link." 

One look and the circle drew tighter.

You were in real danger this time, weren’t you?

“I was just passing through,” Maggie’s voice was quick to change, sinister and cold, curling into this scratchy forced sound as if talking itself was a struggle. "Though I will say that Shadow of yours had an offer too tempting, so I thought why not?"

"And what offer did he give you?"

There was a snap, crack and following pop as Maggie finally turned, your stomach dropping at the body horror of her face expanding to form a snout, skin tearing away to reveal the blue fur beneath and murky gold tint taking over her face.

"The death of the Hero of Courage, of course."

Poof!

The cloud of magic saved you from the horrific scene of the monster’s full transfiguration, dark purple blocking your vision before the sound of flapping wings caught your attention, eyes widening in surprise as you watched the view return to you and replaced what was once Maggie, was a blue bat-like creature also similar to a keese.

"Ache?" You muttered in confusion, backing into Hyrule warily and feeling the man tense beneath you.

Not a common monster, not at all, the eyes of Ganon that hailed all the way from the traveller's timeline- they weren't impossibly hard to beat, well, depending on the Ache of course, a single hit usually was enough to have them out. But that's not what they were for, they weren't exactly fighting monsters, Ache's were pretty much spies for the other foul, grotesque beings, the ones watching for your hero closely so they could snatch him up and use him as a sacrifice for their master: Ganon.

The Ache was here for Hyrule, you knew that and so did Hyrule, so without another thought, you sidestepped to keep him out of its view.

It's the least you could have done.

Even if it was useless in this moment of time.

"I'm not really one for fighting." The creature cackled, hovering a little further away. "So I'll just let them deal with you- no need to worry though, I'll be back soon."

It swooped away into the armoury, just as another group of Skulltula came rounding the arch, their hisses and squeals like nails against a chalkboard.

Shields were up at the ready, swords poised and you, little old you, were in the middle with your dagger at the ready as if you knew the first thing about fighting.

"There's more than anticipated."

"Can we take this many black-blooded?"

"Who's to say they are black-blooded?"

"You think the Shadow wouldn't do that?"

"Enough- stand at the ready, do not break this circle."

The feeling had come back, but then again it hadn't gone away either, crawling up your back, poison seeping into your skin as you glanced around frantically for the feeling.

Something was watching you.

Not the heroes.

You.

Just, you.

And you knew that, because it was the exact same pair of eyes that had stared at you from atop that cliff the other day, menacing, cold and cruel, every dark intention you could think of rolling through your mind space. It wasn't the Chuchu back then, their googly eyes were never that evil, they could elicit a body-numbing reaction, but they could have never brought this kind of primal fear that laid deep into your stomach- not like that night after work had.

Dink was looking straight at you.

But from where? You couldn't see him through the bodies of monsters that the boys were fending off, nor in the Dining Hall, in the shadows of the dark corridor, hell, even the damn ceiling didn't have those red piercing eyes of his.

So where-

Fingers grasped your ankle firmly, nails practically piercing through the fabric and digging into the skin as a deep, breathy chuckle caught your ear through all the noise.

"Got you~"

You didn't have time to scream as you were dragged straight through the portal beneath your feet, catching a glimpse of the others turning in surprise, the feeling of a hand trying to grab yours, a possible scream- before your whole body had disappeared into the absolute black.

It took mere seconds to re-emerge from the inky abyss, spluttering and coughing for stolen breath where your body met the floor violently, cheek meeting the scratchy carpet beneath that tore at your poor, victim skin as you were dragged across the floor, a weird sound echoing through the room before you could take a small glance to see the portal vanish into nothing, leaving a stone wall in its place.

You looked at the area solemnly, wishing it would just open back up to you so you could jump back towards the boys, gut-churning with a violently sick feeling at the thought of looking back.

To make the situation real.

"Awh, are you scared, little guide?"

Yes.

Yes, you were.

[flipping-the-coin]

For Optimus Prime. What's your favorite things about Ratchet?

[[TRANSMISSION RECEIVED: SUBJECT = QUERY…. SCANNING…. 99% THREAT LEVEL NULL = NO THREAT LEVEL CATAGORIZATION: REROUTING…. SECONDARY SCANS COMPLETE: TRANSMISSION = WITHIN PARAMETERES]]

[[TRANMISSION FORWARDED…. RECEIVED = SEEN]]

[[//RESPONSE IN PROGRESS… RESPONSE COMPLETE: TRANSMISSION SENT//]]

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Admittedly this is an unexpected query. I would have thought such a question would be directed toward my host, but I am not opposed to answering. There are many things I find appealing about Ratchet. I could never hope to put a name to all the little pleasantries and habits of his that draw me to him. However if I were to pick out the things that I love most about him, there are only a few traits that I feel fit to be called my 'favorite'.

Firstly there are the purely physical traits of his that catch my optics. I will never find any other as lovely as Ratchet's frame. I do not wish to be... graphic. As such I will simply state that I have always found his sturdy but well sculpted legs to be of great appeal. There is power there that I one day hope to see put to good use outside of his medical duties, perhaps when I am no longer as unsettled by any and all physical interaction. His servos are also a part of him I greatly adore. He has so much strength behind his every action, and yet his movements are calculated and restrained. His touches are light when he is with me and precise when he repairs wounds. When he holds my servo in his, I feel safe and I know that no matter what happens, he will be able to make things right in word or deed. He always has. Of course as much as I adore every other part of him, his optics will always come to my mind alongside that which I have already listed. I am unsure if optics are seen fondly in other courtships, but I love to see Ratchet's whenever I can. Such a deep and very mortal blue hue... I can never get enough of the emotion and the unspoken words behind his every glance. If I could, I would watch for as long as time allows, hoping that the loving blue of his optics could wash away the chill of the white that haunts mine.

As for the other things about him that I could call my favorite? I would have to say his disposition. He is far older than I am, and yet he has the spark of a mech fresh out of training, at least when he wants to showcase his passion. He can love so deeply and put so much of his mind, body, and spark into that which he cares for. It is inspiring to watch him devote his everything to that which he holds dear, including me. I struggle to accept the affection when it is offered, but he is always there to aid me and care for me, helping me when I need it most. He deals with my fear with the patience of Primus himself and always seems to know just what I need even when I do not. Despite all that, he is also capable of projecting his age old wisdom when required. I look up to him when his emotions do not cloud his judgement. He is a mech with so many experiences weighing down his spark, and I cannot help but love him all the more when he takes the lead and shows his skill. He may be a doctor, but when I see him in those moments, the mech that stands before me is a leader Cybertron could have used long before my creation. He has his shortcomings in his wrath and bitterness, but his loyalty and love will always drown those poor qualities out in my mind. I cannot put into words how much I adore him and his devotion. All I can say is that I would give anything to be around him forever, even if only as a phantom just so I could see his spark blaze free and true.

The final aspect of my beloved I can safely say falls into the category of 'favorite' would have to be how he is with our sparkling. One would think that Ratchet matches the textbook descriptor of a Sire right down to the letter. But I beg to differ. I have seen him during the war raising our little warrior, and while outwardly he may appear to act as a Sire, I know Ratchet and what his actions mean. The tender way in which he always held Bumblebee near to his spark chamber, singing a unique song that even I do not know. The manner in which he always methodically tucked Bee into his cradle when he was small, ensuring the mobile above spun at just the correct speed. The methods of which he employed to make sure that Bee's energon was always properly balanced in nutrients. There is so much I could see during those times, so many small things that might have seemed like mere protectiveness or the inclinations of a doctor that really showed his true colors. Ratchet is a Nurturer deep down, and I always adored seeing his gruff yet loving way of showing it. My personal favorite memory of him allowing himself to indulge in his Nurturer coding was shortly after Bumblebee came into our lives. I was doing all I could to care for him with the aid of my host, but we were insufficient when war required my attention. I recall desperately trying to find someone trustworthy to take care of our dear sparkling when Bee began to cry. I could not hear amidst the noise in my workspace, but when I finally came out from the meeting I was engaged in, I found Ratchet there.

He was at the edge of Bumblebee's cradle, singing so gently and with such love that I nearly found myself doubling over in renewed longing. His smile was soft and wistful, belonging to a far younger mech, one untouched by war and blessed with the adoration only a Caretaker could have. Ratchet held out a single digit, allowing Bumblebee to hold it as he dozed off into recharge yet again. It touched my spark, and to this cycle I hold it close to myself. I adore how much Ratchet loves, how much he puts into me, Bumblebee, and the others. The songs he sang to our dozing sparkling, the way he always remained patient with me, and the determination in which he endured my long absence will forever draw me to him, reaffirming my affections.

I want nothing more for Ratchet to be happy. He is such a core part of my life and my past that I do not belief I could ever find it in my spark to be truly angry with him. He was there when no others were, he was dutiful when the rest of the world passed him by, and while I fear for him and the fragility of his mind, I love him more than the world itself. I can never give him everything I want to, my station does not permit it...

But if I were mortal... if I were not confined by the will of the world and the demands of my nature, I would take him away from all of this. I would show him the wonders of the universe and bask him in the passions of my spark. This I would give and so much more.

If I were only mortal.

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[[TRANSMISSION SENDER = OPTIMUS PRIME = PRIME OF CYBERTRON: LEADER OF THE AUTOBOTS: PRIMUS’S ANGEL: SAVIOR OF CYBERTRON: LOREKEEPER: SIRE]]

[[TRANSMISSION END]]

[fromevertonow]

Oppenheimer and the Chain Reaction of Violence

My take on the Oppenheimer issue regarding the omission of the Japan bombings (even though no one asked):

For those who don’t know, the movie does not include an actual visual of the bombings in Japan, to the surprise and even disappointment of some.

On the one hand, I get the critique. It’s a huge tragedy in history and a key element of the story. Maybe some people were expecting more action from Nolan. But on the other hand, the story is not about the bombings specifically. It is about Oppenheimer and his legacy.

Albert, when I came to you with those calculations, we thought we might start a chain reaction that would destroy the world.

I remember it well. What of it?

I believe we did.

The final scene of Oppenheimer, a conversation between Einstein and Oppenheimer

At the end of the movie, we finally find out what was said during the conversation between Oppenheimer and Einstein. It was a huge question mark throughout the movie because of Strauss’ schemes, but it turned out the two scientists were discussing their biggest fear—their scientific research leading to evil. Multiple characters mention the “chain reaction” and often it was in the context of chemicals and what their reaction to each other would be. But in the end, the chain reaction was something bigger—the continuation of scientific research and it leading to nuclear war.

The movie is not about the bombings in Japan. Yes, it is a huge “plot point” and the movie does build up to it, but it is just one link in that chain. Oppenheimer feels incredibly guilty for having created the atomic bomb and wasn’t at all convinced for the government to use his creation against innocent civilians. His guilt is what is most important here because it is the result of that chain reaction.

This isn’t a historical movie in the sense that we are simply given a life story of Oppenheimer. This is a historical movie that reminds us history is still influencing the present. Scientists and governments are currently working side by side to create even bigger weapons of mass destruction and it is a heavy realization that the world might one day be actually set on fire because of them. We don’t know where this current ‘Los Alamos’ is, we don’t know how big the new weapons are, but we do know they don’t lead to anything good. This is the chain reaction.

Oppenheimer was a theorist. That alone should tell you that actually creating the bomb was insane to him. He wanted to rely on theory to prove that it was possible to build one, but people around him pressed him into actually creating it and, most importantly, testing it. The Trinity test scene is prove of how horrified Oppenheimer was by his own creation. The visuals are chilling. In that scene, Oppenheimer grasped the true scale of the destruction the atomic bomb can cause. It sealed the link to that chain, and the reaction was the bombings in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Aside from story’s message and the relevance of showing the bombings, there is also a technical argument against including the bombings. The story is mostly told from Oppenheimer’s perspective, he is almost in every scene. But he wasn’t there when the bombings happened, so it wouldn’t have made much sense to show them. Oppenheimer asked Groves to inform him about when the bombings would happen exactly, but he heard about it like the rest of the world—through Truman’s radio announcement. Oppenheimer was incredibly anxious about the bombings, as can be seen in the scene where he is waiting by the phone the day before it happened. His guilt was eating him up from the inside while everyone celebrated either a military victory or a scientific break. Oppenheimer only saw the destruction of the world and the deaths of innocents. With his research he sealed the fates of millions of people. Because that is the chain reaction—the accumulation of historical events.

[dndfantasygirl]

Fighting for Freedom (Chapter 18: The Fight for Freedom)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.6k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, descriptions of PTSD, mentions of sexual harassment/attempted sexual coercion (regarding Haarlep), mentions of past sexual assault

Summary: Delphie, Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach rescue Hope and confront Raphael.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

Carefully, Astarion seeks to slip the artifacts out from under the Archivist's nose, his fingers deftly working to avoid detection. Each movement is calculated, every breath measured as he reaches for the treasures that lay within the room.

The discovery made by Karlach in the boudoir had set a chain of events in motion. Despite the trap laid within the painting, its true significance was hidden within the depths of a secret safe concealed within the wall. With skillful precision, traps were disarmed, and locks were picked, revealing the hidden compartment's contents.

Within the safe, amidst the musty scent of ancient secrets, lay the key to unlocking the Hammer: a phrase that would deactivate the shield surrounding it.

But before they departed, Astarion couldn't resist one last inquiry. With a flick of his fingers and a whispered incantation, he communed with the spirit of Haarlep's departed body, seeking the truth about Raphael's prowess in the bedroom.

The revelation was unexpected and utterly amusing, so Astarion filed it away for future reference, a tidbit of gossip to be savored at a more opportune moment.

As Astarion deftly snatches the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength and the Periapt of Health, his heart pounds with the exhilaration of the heist. Delphie's enchanting melody, drifting through the air like a siren's call, threatens to distract even his well-honed senses. For a moment, he feels himself swaying to the rhythm, the music weaving a spell that almost ensnares his mind.

But Astarion is not one to succumb easily to such allurements. With a shake of his head, he banishes the enchanting melody that threatens to cloud his judgment. With renewed determination, he focuses on his mission, the weight of the gauntlets in his grasp a tangible reminder of his newfound strength.

Slipping the gauntlets onto his hands, he feels a surge of power coursing through his veins, as if he has become a force of nature incarnate. With each flex of his fingers, he revels in the sensation of newfound might, his muscles thrumming with potential.

As he approaches the Hammer, the Periapt of Health still clutched tightly in his hand, Astarion's irritation mounts at the stupidity of the phrase required to deactivate the shield around it. "Give me my heart's desire," he mutters under his breath, the words dripping with sarcasm and irritation.

To his astonishment, the shield dissolves with almost mocking promptness, vanishing into the ether as if it had never been. With a smirk of triumph, Astarion reaches out for the Hammer, his fingers curling around its hilt with a sense of anticipation.

Yet, as soon as his hand makes contact with the artifact, a sudden, ominous silence descends upon the room, shattering the tranquility that had pervaded moments before. A silent alarm, triggered by his touch, reverberates through the air, its warning echoing with palpable tension.

The abrupt cessation of Delphie's enchanting melody further heightens the sense of foreboding, the once vibrant atmosphere now tinged with an icy chill. In an instant, the disguises bestowed upon them by Hope's magic unravels, leaving them exposed in their regular armor, their true identities laying bare for all to see.

"You just rang Raphael's dinner bell," the Archivist warns, "and you're the entire meal."

As the tiefling's ominous warning hangs in the air, tension crackling like electricity, Delphie's quick reflexes springs into action. With a fluid motion, she unleashes a spell, a gesture of defiance that sends the Archivist hurtling backward with surprising force. The sound of his impact against the bookshelf reverberates through the chamber, a satisfying echo of the chaos unfolding.

Astarion rushes to join his companions, urgency etched into his features as he extends the periapt towards Delphie. "Hurry, darling. Put this on," he urges, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of determination and protectiveness.

Without hesitation, Delphie complies, slipping the periapt around her neck with a swift motion. As its magic infuses her being, she feels a surge of energy coursing through her veins, invigorating her with newfound vitality. Her heart quickens its pace, the rush of adrenaline heightening her senses as she prepares to face the impending threat.

For a fleeting moment, amidst the chaos and danger that surrounds them, Delphie finds herself momentarily distracted by Astarion's presence. His features seem to take on a tantalizing allure, his lips appearing almost irresistibly tempting. With a shake of her head, she forcibly pushes aside the distracting thoughts, refocusing her attention on the imminent danger that looms before them.

Delphie emerges from the archive room, her senses still tingling with the residual magic that lingers within. Yet, as she steps into the hallway, a sudden sensation of searing heat washes over her, causing her skin to prickle with discomfort. Whirling around, her eyes widen in alarm as she beholds a looming ball of hellfire hurtling towards her with malevolent intent.

Instinctively, Delphie raises her hands, her scales shimmering with an otherworldly glow as she taps into the depths of her draconic heritage. "Fogatorkah di gul," she intones, her breath forming a frosty mist as she unleashes a torrent of icy wind from her outstretched palms. The frigid blast collides with the infernal flames, a clash of elements that sparked and sizzled with raw energy.

In a breathtaking display of magic, the hellfire is quenched, frozen in its tracks by the sheer force of Delphie's will.

"Hurry!" Delphie's voice rings out, urgent and commanding, as she waits for her companions to emerge from the archive room. With each passing moment, the ice that once restrained the ball of hellfire begins to melt away, its fiery tendrils inching ever closer.

As they draw nearer to Hope's prison, the intensity of the onslaught from Raphael's servants escalates. Yet, it's not just their physical assaults that pose a threat. With a sinister twist of fate, the servants detonate upon reaching the party, their bodies morphing into grotesque fiendish creatures that hunger for blood.

Caught in the midst of this chaotic onslaught, the party fights fiercely, their weapons clashing against the twisted forms of their assailants. Spells flare and blades sing as they battle against the relentless tide of enemies, each moment a desperate struggle for survival.

Despite the odds stacked against them, they press on with unwavering determination, driven by their shared resolve to free Hope from her captivity. Inch by inch, they advance through the labyrinthine passages, their progress marked by the cacophony of battle that echoes through the corridors.

Finally, they reach the ladder leading down to Hope's prison. With a final burst of effort, they rally together, steeling themselves for the trials that await below.

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

The air crackles with arcane energy as the party descends into the depths of Hope's prison, their hearts heavy with anticipation and resolve. Yet, as they breach the threshold, they are met with a scene of utter chaos. Two imposing spectators, their many eyes gleaming with malice, loom over Hope's prison, flanked by a horde of cackling imps that swarm like vultures around their prey.

With a grim determination, the party springs into action, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they engage their adversaries in a fierce battle. Spells erupt in dazzling displays of magic, while swords clash against the hideous forms of the imps, their shrieks filling the air with discordant cacophony.

The spectators, formidable foes that they are, unleash blasts of magical energy with lethal precision, forcing the party to duck and weave, their every move a dance of survival against overwhelming odds. Yet, despite the ferocity of their enemies, the party fights on with unyielding resolve, their determination fueled by the knowledge that Hope's freedom hangs in the balance.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of struggle, the tide of battle begins to turn in their favor. With a final, decisive blow, the last of their adversaries falls, vanquished by the combined might of the party. As the echoes of battle fade into silence, they stand victorious amidst the wreckage, their chests heaving with exhaustion yet filled with the triumphant glow of success.

With Hope now free from her prison, she wastes no time in calling upon divine intervention, her words a prayer that rings out with clarity and conviction. In an instant, a soothing aura washes over the weary party, their wounds healing and their spirits renewed by the divine grace that surrounds them.

Hope and the party sprint down the narrow corridors, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they push forward with all their might. With each step, they fend off waves of Raphael's relentless servants, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they cleave through the horde.

Delphie's heart pounds in her chest as they race towards their goal, her senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Yet, despite the ever-present threat of danger, a sense of relief washes over her as they draw closer to the portal that will lead them to safety.

A smile of triumph tugs at Delphie's lips as she catches sight of the shimmering portal ahead, its ethereal glow a beacon of hope amidst the chaos that surrounds them. With renewed determination, she quickens her pace, her gaze fixed on the shimmering threshold that promises escape from their ordeal.

As Delphie's foot makes contact with the threshold of the portal, a surge of elation courses through her. Yet, in the blink of an eye, her moment of triumph is shattered as the portal vanishes into thin air, leaving them vulnerable and exposed.

Before they can react, a sinister presence materializes before them, the imposing figures of Raphael and Yurgir emerging from the shadows with malevolent intent.

"You," Raphael's voice drips with disdain as he directs his words at Delphie, his contempt palpable in every syllable.

Delphie meets his gaze with equal measure, her eyes ablaze with a fiery intensity that mirrors his own animosity. With a defiant tilt of her chin, she tightens her grip on the hilt of her dagger.

"There are many things in your world that I loathe," Raphael continues, his tone dripping with venom as he speaks. "Litters of kittens, chattering children - the noise and the chaos of it all." Delphie's death glare intensifies with each word, her lips curling into a silent snarl as she listens to the devil's disdainful diatribe. "In my world - in my HOUSE - there is order and there is decorum. You came here uninvited and you stole from me."

A satisfied smirk dances across Delphie's lips, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and defiance as she meets Raphael's gaze head-on. "We did, didn't we?" she retorts, her voice laced with a hint of mockery. "Though I must say, Raphael, you give me too much credit. It was mostly Astarion who did the stealing."

Astarion, ever the rogue, lets out a high-pitched laugh at Delphie's remark, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he revels in the chaos he has wrought. "Guilty as charged," he chimes in, his tone light and carefree despite the gravity of their situation.

"You brought the chaos of your world into mine. I will not abide by it," the devil declares, his tone as cold and unforgiving as steel.

Delphie's lips curl into a dark chuckle, her amusement tinged with a hint of defiance. "Please, Raphael," she retorts, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your little minions couldn't even stop us. If that isn't the definition of chaos, I don't know what your idea of order is. Face it. It's over. You can't stop us."

Hope's voice rings out, a note of uncertainty laced with determination. "I AM NOT ENTIRELY SURE HE WON'T," she interjects, her words a sobering reminder of the peril they face.

Raphael's gaze turns to Hope, his expression one of disdain as he dismisses her with a contemptuous wave of his hand. "Oh, Hope," he sneers, his voice dripping with malice. "You're such a piteous thing. All it takes is a crumb from the table, and you forget the centuries of starvation. This insolence has earned you centuries more."

Delphie's knuckles whiten as she tightens her grip on the hilt of her dagger, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "Don't you dare lay a hand on her!" she warns, her voice trembling with suppressed fury.

But Raphael pays her threat no heed, his attention already turned elsewhere as he continues his tirade. "You would've been heroes if you'd only dealt fairly with me," he taunts, his words a bitter echo of regret. "Instead, you're not so different to doomed Karsus, overreaching your limits, and burning your world to ash."

As Hope, Delphie, and Raphael engage in their tense exchange, Astarion, ever the provocateur, seizes the opportunity to interject with a mischievous grin playing upon his lips. With a sly smile, he recounts the unexpected tidbit he had gleaned from Haarlep's corpse, his ears perking up in anticipation of the reaction it would elicit.

Amidst the banter and tension, Delphie, in her own unique way, manages to work her peculiar brand of charm on Yurgir, persuading the reluctant servant to join their cause. Astarion can't help but admire her unconventional approach, a testament to her resourcefulness and unwavering determination.

As Raphael's taunts reach a crescendo, he delivers a final, contemptuous barb, his words laden with malice and disdain. "If you have any last words, make it quick. It will only take a moment to finish you."

Unfazed by the devil's threats, Astarion counters with a snort of derision. "Well, that's twice the time Haarlep claims it takes to finish you," he retorts, unable to resist the opportunity to needle his adversary with a well-timed jest.

The reaction is immediate. Raphael's features contort with rage, his teeth bared in a snarl of fury as he struggles to contain his anger. "You contemptuous creature!" he seethes, his voice a low growl as he glares at Astarion with undisguised hatred.

As the confrontation erupts into chaos, Raphael, true to his theatrical nature, begins to weave a sinister melody, his voice echoing through the chamber in a haunting villain song. The air thrums with dark energy as the cambions close in around the party, their malevolent presence adding to the sense of impending doom.

Amidst the turmoil, Delphie's keen observation skills come to the forefront, her eyes scanning the chamber with a sharp focus. Dodging a swing from a cambion's sword with practiced agility, she quickly identifies the source of Raphael's newfound power.

"He's drawing power from the pillars!" she shouts, her voice cutting through the din of battle like a clarion call. The revelation sparks a glimmer of mischief in Karlach's eyes, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she embraces the opportunity for action.

With a primal roar, Karlach channels her rage into a burst of speed, hurtling towards the nearest pillar with reckless abandon. Meanwhile, Astarion springs into action, deftly igniting smokepowder bombs and hurling them with precision towards the pillar nearest to him. Ignoring the cascading debris, he focuses solely on disrupting Raphael's source of power.

Shadowheart, her focus unwavering amidst the chaos, channels her magic with practiced skill. With a whispered incantation, she conjures a spectral door that materializes before her, opening a path to the pillar farthest from her. Without hesitation, she dashes through the portal, her movements swift and graceful as she readies her guiding bolts to unleash upon the source of Raphael's strength.

Yet, amidst their coordinated efforts, the cambions press their advantage, their relentless assault testing the party's resolve with each passing moment. Shadowheart flinches as a cambion catches her off guard, their sword slashing dangerously close as she focuses her aim on the distant pillar.

With agility and grace, Delphie slides beneath Raphael's towering form, her movements fluid and precise as she navigates the chaos of the battlefield. As she emerges on the other side, her gaze locks onto the last remaining pillar, her resolve hardening with determination.

With a fierce intensity burning in her eyes, Delphie points a finger towards the pillar, her voice ringing out with arcane power. "Sharleg ekess bilaes," she incants, her words infused with ancient magic as she taps into the depths of her draconic heritage.

As she channels her energy, Delphie's scales begin to glow with an ethereal light, casting a radiant aura around her. With a focused concentration, she unleashes a thin green ray from the tip of her finger, the magic crackling with raw power as it streaks towards its target.

The ray strikes the pillar with unerring accuracy, its force hitting with the impact of a thunderbolt. In an instant, the pillar begins to tremble and groan, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface as it succumbs to the onslaught of Delphie's magic.

With a deafening roar, the pillar collapses into a cloud of dust, its once imposing form reduced to nothingness in the blink of an eye.

As the chaos of battle swirls around him, Astarion's focus remains unwavering on Delphie. She is his anchor in the tumultuous storm, a beacon of light amidst the darkness that threatens to engulf them all. With every fiber of his being, he is determined not to lose her, to ensure her safety at all costs.

Yet, amidst the frenetic dance of combat, Astarion momentarily loses sight of Delphie, his heart seizing with a sudden pang of fear. With reflexes honed by years of survival instincts, he whispers an incantation taught to him by the wood elf, the words flowing from his lips with practiced ease. In an instant, he dissolves into mist, his form evaporating into the ether as he traverses the battlefield with ghostly swiftness.

Reappearing next to one of the crumbled pillars, Astarion crouches low, seeking cover from the onslaught of enemies that surround them. His keen eyes scan the chaos, searching desperately for any sign of Delphie amidst the fray.

Finally, his gaze alights upon her, a surge of relief flooding through him as he sees her moving with a predatory grace towards Raphael, her movements fluid and purposeful. With a sense of pride and admiration, Astarion watches as she unleashes her magic, stunning their adversary with a display of raw power.

But his elation is short-lived as he notices the danger looming behind her, a cambion bearing down upon her with lethal intent.

In the heat of battle, Astarion's instincts take over as he draws his bow with practiced ease, his movements fluid and precise. With a steady hand and unwavering focus, he releases the arrow, the projectile hurtling through the air with deadly accuracy.

The arrow finds its mark with chilling precision, piercing through the cambion's skull with a sickening crunch. With a final, agonized cry, the fiend crumples to the ground in a grotesque heap, her lifeblood pooling beneath her motionless form.

The sound of her body hitting the ground echoes through the chamber, drawing Delphie's attention in an instant. With a swift turn, she meets Astarion's concerned gaze, her eyes locking with his in a silent exchange of understanding and reassurance. With a subtle nod of acknowledgment, she dashes forward, her resolve unyielding as she sets her sights on Raphael once more.

Closing the distance with predatory grace, Delphie moves with a deadly purpose, twin daggers gleaming in her hands as she closes in on her prey. With a primal roar, she lunges forward, driving the blades deep into Raphael's neck with ruthless precision.

Astonished by the swift and brutal efficiency of her attack, Astarion can only watch in silent awe as Raphael staggers backward, his lifeblood gushing from the mortal wounds inflicted by Delphie's hand. With a strangled gasp, the devil falls to the ground, his once-powerful form now reduced to a mere shell of its former self.

As the macabre scene unfolds before him, Astarion feels a chill run down his spine, a nagging sense of unease gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. It's as if a shadow of darkness lingers around Delphie, a lingering reminder of the dark forces that once sought to consume her.

In that moment, Astarion can't help but wonder if perhaps there is still a part of Bhaal lingering within her, its influence casting a sinister shadow over her actions.

As the dust settles and the echoes of battle fade into the background, Astarion finds himself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. The lingering concern about Delphie's unsettling display of violence is tempered by the reassuring knowledge that she has never directed such predatory instincts towards him or their companions since her resurrection.

With a sigh of relief, Astarion acknowledges that perhaps it is merely an instinctual remnant from her years of survival in the wilderness, a vestige of her primal nature that she has learned to tame in the company of her newfound family. Whatever the case may be, one thing remains certain: in her presence, he feels safe, and he knows that she is safe too.

With the devil defeated, the Hammer reclaimed, and Hope freed from her captivity, a sense of triumph washes over the party, their shared victory a testament to their strength and resilience in the face of adversity. With their mission accomplished, they can finally return to Baldur's Gate.

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

Perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the tranquil expanse of Dragon Cove, Delphie finds solace in the quiet beauty of the night. With her knee drawn up to her chest, she sits in contemplative silence, her gaze fixed upon the moon as it casts its gentle glow upon the land below. The rhythmic chirping of crickets fills the air, a soothing melody that lulls her into a state of peace and tranquility.

Yet, despite the serenity of her surroundings, Delphie finds her thoughts drifting back to the disturbing images of Haarlep that linger in her mind like unwelcome specters. With a shudder, she pushes them aside, focusing instead on the gentle rhythm of her breathing as she seeks to quiet the turmoil within her soul.

Lost in her thoughts, Delphie's ears twitch at the soft sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

"You know, I've grown rather fond of these gauntlets. We could just never return to the Devil's Fee."

Astarion's voice breaks the peaceful silence of the night, his words carrying a playful tone as he approaches Delphie from behind. With a smirk dancing upon his lips, he pauses beside her, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the gleaming gauntlets adorning his hands.

Delphie turns to face him, a small smile gracing her features as she meets his playful gaze. She watches with amusement as he admires the gauntlets, his antics eliciting a soft giggle from her lips.

"What do you think, my sweet? Do they make me appear more formidable?" Astarion strikes a dramatic pose, flexing his arm with exaggerated flair. Delphie can't help but roll her eyes playfully at his theatrics, her smile widening at his antics.

"Sure, if it'll make you sleep better at night," she teases affectionately.

Taking a seat beside her, Astarion feigns offense, his hand coming to rest dramatically over his unbeating heart. "Oh, how you wound me at times, darling."

Delphie's laughter fades into a soft sigh as she leans into Astarion's comforting embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his presence. His arm wraps protectively around her, a silent gesture of support and understanding as he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, his touch a soothing caress against her skin.

As his fingers trace tender circles along her arm, Astarion's voice breaks the silence, his concern evident in the softness of his tone. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, Delphie hesitates, the weight of her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She takes a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggles to find the words to convey her inner turmoil. "I-I think so," she replies, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "It all just reminded me of Galure and what he...did to me."

Tears well up in her eyes, their shimmering trails tracing silent paths down her cheeks as she speaks. The memories of her past trauma linger like a shadow, their presence a constant reminder of the pain and suffering she has endured.

Feeling the weight of Delphie's sorrow pressing against him, Astarion holds her even tighter, his arms a sturdy anchor in the storm of her emotions. With each trembling breath she takes, he can feel her pain radiating through her, a tangible reminder of the scars that still linger from her past.

As he gazes down at her tear-stained face, Astarion's expression softens, a mixture of concern and frustration clouding his features. "Why didn't you listen to me?"

Delphie's silence speaks volumes, her eyes darting away from his gaze as she struggles to find the words to explain herself. A sense of guilt gnaws at her conscience, the weight of her actions heavy upon her shoulders.

"I told you it wasn't safe," Astarion continues, his tone gentle yet firm as he presses her to confront the choices she made.

In response, Delphie's voice is barely above a whisper, her words laden with remorse. "I only undressed for him, Astarion. He didn't even lay a hand on me."

A flicker of anger flashes across Astarion's features at the mention of Haarlep's actions, his jaw tensing with barely contained fury.

"You shouldn't have felt compelled to resort to such measures," Astarion insists, his voice softening with empathy. "I told you we would find another way. Why didn't you trust me?"

Delphie's shoulders tremble with suppressed emotion, a small whimper escaping her lips as she struggles to contain her tears. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Astarion. I was just afraid...we had to get the Hammer," she confesses, meeting his gaze with teary eyes. "It's the only way we'll defeat the Absolute."

"I know, darling, but as you once told me, we will always find a way. Together." Astarion's voice carries a quiet reassurance, his words a balm to Delphie's troubled soul as he gently takes her hand in his own. With a tender gesture, he brings her fingers to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against them before intertwining their hands together, his touch a comforting anchor in the storm of her emotions.

"Promise me," he implores, his gaze searching hers with earnest sincerity, "that the next time we find ourselves in such dire straits, you'll at least consider indulging me?"

Delphie meets his gaze with a silent determination, her heart swelling with gratitude for the unwavering support he offers her. With a nod of her head, she cups his face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm as she brushes her lips against his in the softest of kisses.

Their moment of tenderness is interrupted by a series of chirps, drawing their attention to Esme landing beside Delphie. The small pseudodragon curls up against her, seeking comfort in her presence as Delphie tenderly pets her scales.

With a contented hum, the wood elf leans her head against Astarion's shoulder once more, finding solace in the coolness of his embrace. Tomorrow, they will face their toughest adversary yet, the daunting prospect of battle looming on the horizon. But for now, in the quiet embrace of the night, they find peace in each other's arms, their love a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds them.

[mistic-turtle]

Dimensional Shell-Shock

Heya, today I wanted to write a little story about the universes I read yesterday here on Tumblr. That gave me the idea... Enjoy!

Mikey was chilling alone in the lab of the sewers that used to be Donnie's. Seeing the ghost of his brother Working like I always used to. A cup of chamomile tea was drunk. For god's sake, he hates chamomile tea!

However, it was what helped him to be calm in a strange way. Well, when you're the last of your siblings alive there's not much to do. Except, of course, to pursue revenge. But Mikey wasn't so impatient as to run around and do everything like crazy. No, he took his time because he knew that an action of liberation leads to misfortune.

For first time, there wasn't anything more than peace all around him. Silence. Just silence all around. Even a small rumble startled him. "April... Are you around?" he got up from his seat to check what had happened. What he saw stunned him.

He looked like his brother. He spoke like his brother. He had the same calm aura as his brother. But he wasn't his brother. "Who are you...?" says Mikey to the strange turtle with purple bandana.

"Huh?" answers, rubbing the back of his head. "S-Sorry... I am... Donatello. I'm not from here. As you can see maybe I had a, uh, time travel or something... I can't calculate the exactly time-space that I'm on, but if you help me I can go as fast as I could. I have to design a machine that..." and like Donnie, he kept talking. And talking. And talking. Mikey chuckled but didn't interrupt him. He missed hearing his brother talking his brain out to him.

His voice was calming. And for first time, Mikey didn't feel distrust towards this Donnie. He was very comfortable.

And another crash was heard there. Now a red bandana turtle was there. This turtle He slammed into the wall and was coughing from the dust it emitted. His little brother's sword, Leo, would have brought him to a strange place. A place he didn't recognize a single iota of. He didn't even recognize if it was his lair or not. And another turtle, now a blue bandana one came. His expressions were puzzled.

Mikey stared at Donnie for a moment. Donnie didn't know what was happening.

"Uhm, where are we?" asked Raph fidgeting with his fingers. Mikey raised his eyebrows in a low external surprise. But inside was thinking, who kind of Raph he was. His Raph never acted shy, or insecure. Even feary.

"H-Hello... I'm Leonardo. And... I don't know where are we but... I think you two guys surely know. Right?" says smiling kindly at them. Mikey was taken back at this. His brothers, except Donnie, acted this soft before. What the hell was happening?

"I'm Michaelangelo, and like you, I don't know what's happening but I can say, none of you are from here and we need to find a way to take you back."

The three guys look at Mikey in surprise. He doesn't look stunning, cheerful... He... He isn't the ray of sunshine he used to be.

"Uhm... Can I ask what happened... T-To you? I mean, you're Mikey... It's supossed to make jokes and laugh around... What happened?" Asks Donnie regreting it inside. He knows that to get Mikey so serious something very serious must have happened.

"I... I lost my family. The foot clan killed all of them. Oroku Saki had a grandson, Oroku Hiroto. As always, with lies he promised to take all the clan down... And he did."

Everyone's expressions darkened. Imagine that your sweetest little brother is left alone and has to face such a vile villain alone... It broke their hearts. They quickly began to imagine that situation for their Mikeys. They quickly run to hug Mikey. In other circumstances, he would have been able to hide his emotions very well... But I couldn't. She had been struggling with depression for so long, that added up to the fact that a cuter, more understanding version of her siblings to be there with him. It made him burst into tears.

Me, you, us reading this:

Stop making my Cosa vieja cry, bitches! (I wrote this, lol)

[mya-valentine]

Breaking the Barrier: Striking Through the Silence

Synopsis: In a grueling training session, Juri pushes Itadori to his limits, her strikes relentless and unforgiving. Itadori, battered but determined, lands another hit, surprising Juri and sparking a fleeting moment of vulnerability between them. As Juri's usual cold demeanor reasserts itself, Gojo's casual entrance and teasing only add to the tension. Despite Juri's harsh criticisms, Itadori's renewed focus and tactical improvements shine through. During the next session, he manages to pin Juri down, creating an awkward moment of eye contact that leaves them both unsettled. Juri’s reaction suggests an unexpected depth to her feelings, while Itadori grapples with the strange undercurrent of their interaction.

The next training session was intense, even by Juri’s standards. She was pushing Itadori harder than usual, her strikes faster, more relentless. Each blow came at him like a lightning bolt, her speed impossible to predict. Itadori, to his credit, had improved—his reflexes sharper, his counters more calculated—but it still wasn’t enough. Juri was always a step ahead, her footwork a blur as she danced around him, hitting him with precise, brutal efficiency.

"Come on, kid!" Juri barked, her voice cold and unyielding. "Is that all you’ve got?"

Itadori grunted, his knuckles stinging from deflecting her kicks, sweat dripping down his face as he struggled to keep up. He tried to land a punch, but Juri sidestepped it effortlessly, retaliating with a sweeping kick that knocked him off balance.

He barely managed to stay on his feet, but the moment he stumbled, Juri was on him again. This time, she wasn’t holding back. Her left eye glowed purple with cursed energy, amplifying her speed and strength. Itadori barely saw her coming as she shot forward, pinning him to the ground in a flash, her knee pressed hard against his chest, one hand gripping his collar.

"Pathetic," she growled, leaning down, her face inches from his. "You’re still hesitating. You want to fight Sukuna like this? You’ll die in seconds."

Itadori winced, her words hitting harder than any of her strikes. He had been trying, pushing himself to his limit, but Juri made it seem like everything he did was useless. His body screamed in pain, but it was her relentless criticism that stung the most.

"Y-You’re not giving me a chance!" he gasped, trying to push her off, but she didn’t budge.

Juri narrowed her eyes, her expression darkening. "A chance? Do you think curses will give you a chance? Do you think Sukuna will give you a chance?" She pressed her knee harder into his chest, her cursed energy crackling in the air. "Stop holding back. Stop waiting for an opening. If you don’t start fighting like your life depends on it, I will kill you myself."

Her words sent a chill down Itadori’s spine, but in that moment, something in him snapped. He gritted his teeth, eyes flashing with renewed determination. With a burst of strength, he shoved her off, rolling to the side and scrambling to his feet.

Juri smiled—an almost sadistic grin—as she watched him get up. "There you go," she taunted. "About time."

Itadori lunged at her again, fists flying, but this time, there was a fierceness behind his attacks that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He wasn’t waiting for her to insult him, to goad him into action. He was fighting because he had to, because he needed to prove something—not just to her, but to himself.

Juri blocked his punches, dodging some, countering others, but she could feel the difference in him. He was finally giving it everything he had. He wasn’t as fast or as strong as her, but he was relentless, refusing to back down.

"Good," she muttered under her breath, her smirk fading into something more serious.

They continued like this for what felt like hours, each time Itadori got knocked down, he got back up faster, his hits becoming more calculated. Juri could see the fire in his eyes now. He wasn’t just reacting—he was fighting with intent.

Finally, as they exchanged another rapid flurry of blows, Itadori managed to catch Juri off guard. He ducked under one of her high kicks and, with a swift move, swept her legs out from under her, knocking her onto her back. Before she could recover, he pinned her down, his breathing ragged but triumphant.

For a split second, Juri looked up at him, eyes wide with surprise. But then, a slow grin spread across her face. "Not bad, kid," she said, her voice softer than usual, almost… impressed.

Itadori blinked, still panting, unsure if he’d actually done it. "Did I—"

"You landed a hit," she interrupted, cutting him off before he could finish. Her grin faded as she shoved him off of her, sitting up. "Don’t get cocky, though. You’ve still got a long way to go."

He let out a tired laugh, lying on his back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "I wasn’t expecting you to say anything nice."

Juri stood, brushing herself off, her expression already back to its usual cold demeanor. "Don’t make me regret it."

Itadori nodded, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was sore, his muscles screaming in protest, but for the first time in a while, he felt like he’d actually made some progress.

Just as he was about to say something, the door to the training room slid open, and Gojo walked in, his usual carefree grin plastered on his face. "Oh? Did I miss the fun?"

Juri glanced over at him, her eyes narrowing. "You're late."

Gojo waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, you know me. Always fashionably late." He sauntered over to where they were standing, his grin widening as he looked between the two of them. "Looks like you’ve been busy, though. Nice work, Itadori. You actually managed to get a hit on Juri?"

Itadori scratched the back of his head, feeling a bit awkward under Gojo’s teasing gaze. "Uh, yeah…"

Gojo chuckled, clearly amused. "Impressive. Not many people can say that."

Juri rolled her eyes. "Don’t make a big deal out of it. He got lucky."

Gojo shot her a playful look. "Aww, come on, Juri. Don’t be so hard on the kid. He’s improving, right?"

Juri crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "Maybe. He still has a long way to go, though."

Gojo smiled, his tone lighter. "That’s why he’s got you, right?"

Juri didn’t respond, turning away as if she didn’t want to acknowledge what Gojo had said. Instead, she grabbed her water bottle and took a long drink, pretending not to notice the way Gojo was watching her with that knowing smile.

Itadori, still catching his breath, glanced between the two of them, feeling a strange sense of tension in the air. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had a feeling there was something more going on between them—something he didn’t quite understand yet.

"Well," Gojo said, clapping his hands together, "I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t kill him, Juri. He’s still got some potential left."

Juri shot him a glare but didn’t say anything as Gojo waved and left the room.

As the door closed behind him, Juri turned back to Itadori, her expression hardening once again. "Get ready," she said, her voice cold. "We’re not done yet."

Itadori groaned, already feeling the soreness in his muscles, but he knew better than to argue. He got to his feet, bracing himself for whatever Juri had in store for him next.

— — —

The next training session was even more intense than the last. Juri seemed to be in a particularly bad mood, her strikes faster, sharper, and more vicious than usual. Itadori had no choice but to be completely focused, barely keeping up as he deflected and dodged her attacks.

But this time, something was different. He wasn’t just reacting; he was anticipating. He’d been studying Juri’s movements for months, watching the patterns in her fighting style, and slowly, piece by piece, he was beginning to understand her.

As she came at him with another high kick, Itadori ducked low, sweeping his leg out to catch her off guard. Juri’s eyes widened, surprised by the move, but before she could react, he grabbed her arm and twisted her around, using her own momentum against her. With a swift motion, he pinned her to the ground, his knee pressing lightly against her stomach as he held her wrists above her head.

For a moment, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing, the room eerily silent. Itadori hovered over her, his grip firm but not painful, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Juri’s eyes were sharp, her usual smirk absent as she glared up at him.

But instead of immediately letting her go, Itadori hesitated. He stared down at her, his mind suddenly going blank as the realization of what he’d just done hit him. Juri’s face was inches from his, her skin flushed from the exertion of the fight, her purple eye glowing faintly with leftover cursed energy.

For some reason, he couldn’t look away. 

Her expression flickered, something unrecognizable passing across her face for just a second before she scowled. "What the hell are you staring at?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Get off me!"

Itadori blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he’d been in. "Oh! Uh, right!" He quickly scrambled to his feet, releasing her wrists and backing up, his face flushed in embarrassment.

Juri sat up, brushing herself off as she shot him an annoyed glare. "What the hell was that about?" she demanded, her tone sharp.

"I—uh, I don’t know!" Itadori stammered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just… I guess I was surprised I actually managed to pin you."

Juri stood, rolling her eyes as she adjusted her stance. "Well, don’t get used to it. You got lucky."

Itadori nodded, still feeling awkward but trying to shake it off. "Right, sorry. I’ll, uh, try not to stare next time."

Juri huffed, crossing her arms. "See that you don’t," she muttered, though there was something different in her voice. A slight edge, maybe even a hint of discomfort, though Itadori couldn’t be sure. 

"Let’s get back to it," she said abruptly, her usual sharpness returning. "We’re not done here."

Itadori sighed, nodding as he got back into position. Despite the strange tension, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. He’d managed to pin her. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it was progress.

As they resumed training, though, he couldn’t quite shake the memory of that brief moment when their eyes had locked.

.

.

.

The Burden of Strength Masterlist

[cherienymphe]

Rafe being so calculated is this new series is actually terrifying. Because it’s not like it’s his temper or whatever else getting the better of him. He’s fully in control of his actions, his head is clear, but he chooses to inflict violence on reader.

And the part about him abusing her in her own home only intensifies that gut wrenching feeling as you read it and realize that he took her there so he wasn’t under Ward’s watchful eye back at Tannyhill, to whom Rafe promised he’d really try to get better - and I think Reader subconsciously knew that’s why he brought her there, too.

It’s just… chills. Literal chills. You are such an amazing storyteller, Cherie.

Yeah she knew exactly why he brought her home instead of to his place like they'd originally planned. If I had to, I'd say this Rafe is more of S3 Rafe? Not as impulsive and actually thinks shit through before he does something which is going to really suck 😭

[catastrxblues]

hii nadinee <3

the years coming to an end sooooo i need to sneak in atleast another ask that allows you to rant sdajhsdkjah

okay soo, i saw your posst about your rants about tbosas (Im assuming you've watched it? if not ignore this x)

soo i was thinkinggggg, if you wanttt, you can rant about it under this ask bc i love reading your rants and ily

bye noww mwah <33

HI LUCY !!!! thank you so muchh for this askjdklf 😭<33

i just finished watching it and i have some THOUGHTS. but it’s midnight here soo it’s definitely not well put AT ALL T-T

first of all, i just LOVE the fact that they added the “part x : ….” like that was such a nice touch i was so surprised for some reason

CLEM. i don’t know if it’s my memory that sucks, but i think she was a bit too confident and ambitious in this? especially that part with dr. gaul. book clemmie still fabricated the truth of course, but it was more to save herself from dr gaul’s notorious wrath. but movie clemmie did it to make a better impression on her, even went as far as claiming that she wrote it all which is just?? i don’t really understand why they had to “antagonize” her that way.

THE SINGING AT THE REAPING. like the beginning part. it actually gave me chills i love it so much

SEJANUS MY BELOVED. i love him so much. and that part of snow saying to him that he “will always protect him” throwing up because sejanus my love i’m so sorry

TIGRIS too oh my god. she’s just so everything. kind, compassionate, witty. and the part where they added the “you look like your father coriolanus” again, throwing up. i just i love her so much 😭

LUCY GRAYY. okay, don’t get me wrong, i LOVEE rachel and i think she was amazingg (and that scene when coryo was trying to convince her that she would be okay in the end thing after he killed mayfair and her voice cracked i can’t). AND LIKE THE FACT THAT SHE SANG ALL OF THEM LIVE STOP.

but i feel like they made lucy gray soo much more mature in here? as if everything she did was calculated and almost everything she said (before the games) had this ‘sneer’ in them. when, from what i remember, lucy gray wasn’t like that?

and that part at the end, when she told coryo she was going to get some katniss. they also made it seem like she suspected what was going on and was contemplating on doing something about it (which i get because of cinematic reason but). i don’t know, i think it erased the pure insanity of the moment a bit. how paranoid snow is for his safety that he could shed off trust that easily.

oh yeah SNOW 😭 tom blyth was greatt of course. watching this did make me realize how inner monologues can change and affect a story to the audience. because, no matter how good the actor is at face expression, you can never replace the running unfiltered thoughts that goes through a character’s mind.

like. honestly, if i had only watched the movie, maybe i would’ve violently shipped snowbaird too. cool if you do!! and i do get the whole appeal about doomed by the narratives, but i personally just never really liked or shipped them because of how disgustingly possessive snow is of her. how he had once thought that it’d be better to have her locked up in the capitol, his his his for like so many pages, etc.

i feel like the lack of snow’s inner monologue is definitely the reason why we now have so many people babygirling and justifying his actions. don’t know just something to think about i guess.

OH AND THE FACT THAT WE DONT HAVE THE “it’s not over until the mockingjay sings”??? jail that’s literally one of the best quotes from the book and it could’ve been SUCH a cinematic moment i don’t know why they cut that

that’s itt i think i don’t really want for this to go too long 😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO DO THIS LUCY I LOVE YOU hope you’re having a wonderful holiday 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽