#bursts into little tiny tears and weeps

[urethrachr0nicles]

I miss him

[thedivinetexts]

justice for fellow short bitches.. gn reader, afab biology. könig has a size kink :) penetration and crying involved

-🐰🐰🐰🐰-

it's difficult to be könig's size and not have a size kink. everyone's small compared to him — he just doesn't think he's ever met someone as small as you. after so long around other soldiers he almost forgot it's possible for someone fully grown to be that short, honestly. he towers over you, casts shadows that swallow you whole and almost make you seem smaller than you already are.

it's intoxicating to him. from the moment he first sees you, lips pursed in an angry pout when he literally runs into you and almost knocks you off your feet, it's all he can think about. how small you are, how cute. how vulnerable.

he's ecstatic when he eventually learns how easy it is to wrap a hand around both of your wrists and pin them to the bed.

it pales to the pride he feels the first time you see him in full, eyes gone wide and slightly fearful at the sheer size of his cock. könig promises to be gentle and slow before you can protest, promises to make sure he fits without hurting you. it's a tough promise to make but he's sure the end result will be worth it.

he's got you in tears with just his fingers stretching you to your limit in preparation. your cunt is weeping for him too; the wet noises echoing throughout the room would embarrass you if you were in your right mind. of course, you're nowhere close to being in your right mind. it feels like könig has been bullying his thick fingers into you for hours and you can barely form a cohesive thought through the pleasure. nothing but more. it drives könig near insane the way you whine for it; begging for something you were so sure you couldn't take just a while before.

who is he to deny such a sweet little thing? his hard cock has been leaking on the sheets the whole time, you can't blame him for being impatient and giving in to your demands.

your whole face scrunches up in discomfort as he starts to push into you. könig really thought he couldn't be any more enamored with you, but that's before you blindly reach down and circle his thick cock with your petite hand to help guide it into yourself. you really want his dick so bad you're willing to help him get it in, even though it stings? you're just so cute.

he's a goner from there on out, losing himself in the feeling of your tight cunt taking him inch by inch while he fights to not thrust into your before you're ready. he's impressed that you get almost halfway down before you start whimpering that its too much, too big. könig somehow takes note of how deep he can go — he doesn't want to hurt you, little thing — and finally, finally, allows himself to move.

it's bliss, it's heaven, he thinks he'll never want to leave your warmth. you're so tight it squeezes almost all rational thought out of him. doesn't help that you're writhing and crying under him, begging him to make you feel better and better. he's got no qualms about giving you what you ask for; he coos at you when you cry and whimper and he growls about how bad he wants to bury himself inside you forever when you moan that it feels so good, könig, please! you know he can't deny you, not when you're crying so pretty from the stretch of his cock in you. he holds your face to kiss you as he thrusts in quick, short bursts until he feels you clench down on him. könig thought you were tight before; the feeling of your tiny pussy coming around him has him seeing stars. he follows almost immediately after, holding you close in his big arms as cum fills you and then begins to leak out of you onto the sheets.

you stay like that, bundled in könig's embrace with his his dick still buried halfway in you, riding out your highs. you whine when he finally convinces himself to pull out; könig has half a mind to shove himself back into you and make himself fit. but he promised gentleness, so instead he gets out of bed to go get you some water and a cloth to clean you up with.

there's always tomorrow, after all.

[teamatsumu]

: ̗̀➛ rough.

✎ pairing: murasakibara atsushi x reader

✎ word count: 1,141

✎ nsfw, smut, explicit content

Murasakibara doesn’t get intense in bed often. He doesnt have to. He is already so massive that minimal effort is enough to completely wear you out. The problems start when he does get intense in bed.

After the Seirin game, there was no stopping him. No talking him down or trying to calm him. He was frustrated and irritated and he needed to vent. And there you were, a convenient target.

The headboard creaked and groaned in protest as it banged against the wall. The bed was probably on its last legs. A little more and it would break down. The noise it was making was already alarming in itself. You however, could give less of a shit. Not when you could barely breathe.

“Atsushi!” You wailed, trying everything in your power to squirm away from the relentless pounding your pussy was taking at the hands of your 6’10” boyfriend. Your lungs rushed to catch up and your muscles seized, toes curling. The wet slapping of skin was a positively pornographic sound. In the dim light, your body shone with sweat, tears, drool and your own juices, unable to do anything except cry and take his huge cock. This was a hard enough feat on your good days, but today? Atsushi had thrown you onto the bed and ripped your clothes off, no prep and no warning, before bullying his cock into your tiny pussy and proceeding to fuck you into the mattress.

All he did was grunt in response, hair obscuring his face from you, one hand holding your wrists tight over your head, while the other groped roughly at your breast, pinching and pulling your nipple so hard it made you shriek. His massive frame pressed down on your torso, leaving you with little room to breathe and even less room to move. His fast and trembling breath hit your cheek, the only sign that he was affected by this like you were. Your legs shook, twitching in the air as you took everything you got, feet kicking.

“Atsushi, please, slow-” you weeped. “Slow down.”

A rough hand reached up, gathering your hair and tugging hard enough to make you arch up. His pace quickened even more and you screamed.

“Silly girl,” he groaned, mouthing and licking at your throat before biting down hard. Your eyes rolled up into your head. “No ‘going slow’ today. I’m going to crush you, little bug. And you’re going to take everything I give you. Okay~?”

His singsong drawling voice was throwing you off. No one would guess he was completely wrecking you by the way he spoke. The only sign was the slightly hoarse tone of his voice. And here you were, feeling like your very nerves were being ripped from your body. Your core was singing in bliss, nearly purring when he hit just the right spot, the head of his cock pressing so deliciously inside you with each thrust it made fresh tears leak from your lash line.

You didn’t even register when he pulled out and flipped you over, the room spinning in your vision as he manhandled your hands behind your back. One strong hand gripped your wrists tight while the other wound into your hair, pushing you down until your cheek was squished into the mattress. You gasped when he entered you again and resumed his brutal pace. The new angles had you moaning all over again, your spine tingling. Your pussy burned and your thighs ached. Tears trickled down the bridge of your nose and dripped onto the sheets, mixing with the drool that ran down the corner of your mouth. The filthy squelch of his cock entering you made your face heat up, fueling every dirty desire you had ever dreamed of.

Minutes later you felt the wonderful ball in your stomach tighten, threatening to burst. Eyes squirming shut at the overwhelming feeling. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth.

“Atsu….. I’m gonna,,, I’m-” You babbled nonsensically, but your boyfriend seemed to understand, picking up his pace until you were screaming and clenching around him, stars bursting under your eyelids as your ears rang.

The last thing you heard was the low groan behind you as Atsushi’s hips stuttered, and the last thing you felt was warmth fill your core as he painted your insides white.

…………………

When you came to, you registered how cozy you felt, warm and relaxed, your back pressed into something firm while the sloshing sounds of water filled your ears. All was still and steady around you, eerily so. Your eyes blinked open slowly, as if the tiniest action was enough to fatigue you, and you smiled when you saw the pristine white tiles of your bathroom wall in front of you. You turned your head so your nose pressed into the side of Atsushi’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled through a full mouth, making you pull back to look up at him. His cheeks bulged out, jaw moving as he munched on whatever he was eating. You followed the movement of his hand as he reached out to the small table beside the bathtub, dipping into a transparent bowl that you could see was filled with mini Snickers bars. You sighed and relaxed into him again, feeling him slide his other arm around your waist to steady you. His legs stretched out on either side of you and toes comically peeked out of the water on the other side.

The water around you was letting out gentle wafts of fragrant steam, and you observed that Atsushi had really gone all out this time. Bath salts tickled your skin and a scented candle gently flickered on the shelf above the tub. You felt something poke at your lips and you opened your mouth, allowing your boyfriend to feed you whatever snacks he had laid out on the table. You let the sweet chocolate melt into your mouth.

“How long have we been here?” You asked, eyes already drooping. You felt his muscles shift behind you, indicating that he was shrugging.

“Maybe ten minutes.” He hummed, looping both arms around you and pulling his legs up so he could squeeze you between his hold. You smiled and let him. The press felt nice against your exhausted limbs. You shivered when Atsushi pressed a wet kiss into your bare shoulder, nibbling lightly at the skin.

“You did good today. Sorry I went too far.”

You giggled and turned your head to look into his eyes, wet hand reaching up to thumb affectionately at the little crinkles around them. “Are you kidding? I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

He pressed his face into the side of your head, hair tickling your nose as you laughed, unable to muster the energy to push him away.

[etchina-danjon]

Sakura. Gotta give her daughter a sibling!

“Hugh…”

This wasn’t what Sakura had planned for new years. Sarada was off with friends, so Sakura wanted to enjoy a bit of alone time to watch the festival fireworks. She picked a nice private spot, on a hill under a cherry blossom tree. Even went out of her way to dress up in a cute yukata.

But now, the yukata was spread open, her panties tossed to the side. Sakura’s laboring, heavily pregnant body on full display. She was so thankful no one was around to witness her in this state. Especially not her daughter. The baby wasn’t supposed to be due until next week! But instead, it decided new years would be the perfect time for it to emerge.

Admittable, Sakura had been dealing with painful cramps all day but she didn’t think she was actually in labor. The cramping reached a painful peak as she sat on the blanket she laid out for her to sit on. She was taken completely off guard when she felt the pop inside her. Fluid gushed out of her, soaking her panties, yukata, and blanket below her. The baby was coming. The baby was coming right here and now. There was no way Sakura could make it back down the hill to flag down help. She had no choice but to deliver her baby right where she was.

Sakura was squating on the blanket she laid out. Both of her hands were squeezing tightly a low hanging branch on the cherry blossom tree. She was sweating, raked with pain. Her stomach was so tight. The baby was hanging low, forcing her hip bones apart. 

The pressure inside her built up and Sakura had no choice but to listen to her body. As the contraction rippled through her body, she pushed down on the baby with all of her strength. Letting out a cry that was covered up by the firework show that just started. She felt the head spread her cervix apart. Slowly lowering into her birth canal. The squatting position helps the baby lower down quicker. She was so grateful to have the branch to grip on to. Sakura was trembling so bad, she doubted she’d be able to remain squating on her own.

Flashes of color light up the sky as people get ready to start counting down the new year. Everyone but Sakura who was focused on safely delivering her new year gift. 

“AGH!”

Sakura hunched over, letting out another cry as she pushed. Pain rippled through her body as the baby stretched out her insides as it lowered. She had forgotten how badly giving birth hurt. Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. Despite how much she was in pain, she was eager to meet her new baby. A bit happy this was happening on such a special moment. 

Her little new year's baby.

The thought brought a small smile onto her lips as her body trembled. She took even, heavy breathes, remembering what to do from when she gave birth to Sarada. Sakura knew she just had to let her body take control. Things would come naturally. 

Her teeth clenched together as she pushed again, her slit starting to bulge outward from the weight of the head. A tiny peak of pink hair could be seen as her lips started to spread. With the next push, the pink lips of her slit spread open more and more, revealing the top of the baby’s head. Sakura could tell midnight was quickly approaching. And she desired for her baby to come out of her just as the clock hit twelve. 

Her brows pressed together as she focused hard on getting the baby out. Rocking her hips back and forth a bit to relieve some of the pain but nothing really worked. Especially when the head came to a wide crown. Splitting her completely open. The burn spread through her body making her weep. The next two pushes, the head barely moved, pushing forward, then sinking back in,

“C-come on… C-come on… M-mommy wants to see you. L-let’s face the new year together.”

Sakura pleaded with the baby. As if hearing her plea, with the next hard push, Sakura’s slit bulged more and more until the head finally burst free from her. The head came out with a rush of fluid. She let out a sharp gasp, shaking. Reaching down with both of her hands, she cupped and supported the head. Hearing the people below start the count down.

10… 9… 8…

So close!

“Hgnn….”

Sakura focused on hard pushes to get the baby out. The right shoulder popped free slowly, then the left one. Her heart was pounding with impatiens.

7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2…

Right before the countdown reached one, Sakura let out a loud cry as she gave a final push. The baby sliding free from her tight insides and into her hands.

1… Happy New Year!!

Sakura pulled the crying baby to her chest, falling back on her rear with heavy pants. They were both still connected by the cord. A smile spread across Sakura’s face as she looked down on the cute, pink face of her newborn. It was another little girl. She leaned down and pressed a loving kiss on the baby’s head,

“Welcome to the new year, little one.~”

[frudoo]

Husband Kyle has my heart

Warnings: Baby is sick (teething). Heavy topics: postpartum depression, allusions to self-harm/suicidal ideation (but none actually). Smut at the end—cunnilingus. Tagging as DDDNE although it’s not a dark!fic. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

Baby boy has not stopped screaming since he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning. The fever and runny nose are making him miserable, and you’re positive he’s trying to cut a tooth with how much he’s been gnawing on your fingers. Kyle, bless him, has been called away to the base since early yesterday, leaving you to care for the unwell infant in your arms all alone. It’s uncertain when he’ll return home. Usually, the work of being a stay-at-home-mom doesn’t bother you, but today just feels overwhelming.

Postpartum hasn’t been the best experience for you and without the usual support from your husband, it feels like your world is caving in and you and the baby you’re supposed to feel an abundance of empathy for are buried beneath the rubble. It makes you feel terrible, because you do love your baby, but every piercing little screech that leaves his tiny throat makes you want to rip your ears out. Setting him down only makes him fussier but your arms are exhausted and your head is pounding.

Defeatedly and with much guilt, you carefully set the fragile boy into his bassinet and shut the door to your bedroom. You turn on the baby monitor but lower the volume so you can make sure he’s alright without having to hear the shrieks. As you sit on the couch, the weight of your stress finally gets to you in the form of an ache in your chest and an abundance of tears bursting from your waterline. Burying your head in your hands, you can’t stop the sobs that escape you. In your grief you don’t hear the front door open or Kyle step inside.

“Fuck, dove, wha’ ‘appened?” Your husband is frantic, tossing aside his duffel bag and rushing to kneel where you sit on the couch.

The sound of his voice startles you, making you jump. Kyle steadies you with two strong hands on your waist, keeping you sat and encouraging you to explain the situation.

“I-I didn’t know what else to do,” you weep, and he cups your face with shaking palms.

“Baby, baby, talk t’me. Wha’s goin’ on?” You know your husband, and you know he’s thinking the absolute worst—it’s evident by the tremble in his voice and the way he yanks up your sleeves to check for injury.

“Did y’take summat? Dove, y’gotta tell me if y’did, now.”

You shake your head vigorously, trying to calm his nerves. It does little to help.

“N-no! The baby, Ky, he hates me!” You wail, grabbing the monitor and shoving it into Kyle’s hand. “I’ve tried- tried everything! Teething gel, Tylenol, d-decongestant salve… he just won’t calm down and I-I know it’s because I-I’m a- I’m a bad mom.”

Kyle’s heart aches at your words, and he makes sure to keep one of your hands in his as he looks down at the screen. The three-month-old is sleeping peacefully, sucking on his thumb without a care in the world. Your husband smiles a little, turning the monitor over to allow you to see the once screeching babe now at peace in his crib. Your eyebrows furrow and you take the device from his hand, raising the volume. Sure enough, tiny snores sound through the speaker and it makes you gasp slightly.

“H-he’s been…” you trail off, not wanting to seem crazy to the man you love. “I swear, he’s been inconsolable-”

“I believe ya, dove. Little guy was jus’ sleepy, yeah?” Kyle softly interrupts, stroking his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. “He doesn’t hate ya, swee’heart, and you’re sure as hell no’ a bad mum.”

Your husband stands from the floor, carefully helping you off the couch so you stand as well. He nuzzles his nose against yours sweetly but lets you make the first move, chapped lips meeting full, pillowy ones. He allows you to take the lead, never going too far or holding back too much—just giving you the exact amount of comfort you need from him for as long as you desire. He massages your shoulders when you pull away from the kiss with a wet click, rich molasses eyes boring into yours.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, but Kyle shakes his head, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb.

“None o’tha’. Bein’ a mum is ‘ard work and you’re doin’ a bloody brilliant job. M’jus’ sorry I can’t be ‘ere with ya f’all of it.” Kyle whispers, wiping away the fresh tears that spill down your cheeks. “I love y’so much. I don’t tell ya tha’ enough.”

“You do,” you assure him, leaning in for another tender kiss. “I love you, too, Ky.”

“I’m so proud o’ya, dove.”

A kiss…

“My strong, beautiful wife.”

And another.

“Fuckin’ hell of a woman.”

Kyle’s fingertips dance along the sides of your neck, dimpling the flesh just enough to make you gasp.

“Gonna le’ me show ya ‘ow much I appreciate ya?”

Wandering hands move down to grope your full breasts over the milk-stained jumper you wear. You can feel their warmth even through the fabric layer separating skin from skin, and it makes you shudder. His eyes scan your face for any signs of discomfort and you realize you never answered him. Nodding, your fingers tangle into the hem of his shirt, still smelling like heavy machinery and day-old sweat—to you, it smells like heaven. Kyle chuckles, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles over your pebbled nipples.

“Back on the couch, dove,” he instructs with a grunt, walking you backwards until the insides of your knees hit the cushion.

Instantly he’s on his knees once more, taking his time to push up your sweatshirt and tug off your panties, biting his lip at the sight of your cunt already glistening. Your husband leans in to take a whiff before pressing a long kiss to your labia. His stubble is dewy with your arousal when he pulls back to look up at you.

“Poor thing, so stressed. M’gonna help y’relax, swee’heart.”

Dexterous thumbs spread you open for his enjoyment. At the first lick from your entrance to your throbbing clit the two of you moan in sync. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp as Kyle wraps his lips around your sensitive nub, suckling softly, but the feeling sends electric sparks shooting throughout your body. His hands travel to your thighs and hoist them over his shoulders so that he’s entirely surrounded by you.

“S’fuckin’ sweet,” his voice rumbles against your pussy, the vibrations damn near making you wail.

His hot tongue dips into your clenching hole, gathering your slick to swallow down like honey. You’re already right on the precipice, grinding your hips against his pretty face, and it only encourages him to quicken his ministrations. Kyle drags his slippery tongue back up to your clit, giving it tight circles as he sucks it into his mouth once again. Chocolate eyes stare up at you in a silent plea to give him his fill, let him take you over the edge.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, violently, when you cum, heady rasps of pleasure leaving you as you squeeze your eyes shut. He works you through your high, licking and humming and savoring every little tremor that rocks through you. He only stops once your body goes limp, pressing a plethora of kisses along your spent seam as he gently removes your thighs from his shoulders. Kyle stands and carefully guides you to lay on the couch, your head resting on a pillow as he covers you with the blanket that was draped along the back of the furniture.

As if right on cue, the colicky infant starts to cry as soon as you get comfortable. Your heart races as you move to stand, but your husband stops you with a palm on your chest.

“No, dove, y’need ta get some sleep. Stay righ’ ‘ere, and I’ll take care o’the little guy,” Kyle leaves no room for argument, leaning down to press a prolonged kiss to your forehead. “I love ya.”

“I love you, Kyle.”

Sleep comes easy.

[houserautha]

Oh god.. can we get a Feyd lactation kink blurb..? I’m so sorry

No need to apologize bestie, I LOVE this ask. The heart wants what the heart wants

And it wants Feyd with a lactation kink

I don’t think Feyd is ever embarrassed about his sexual interests, but this one definitely gives him pause. He self-reflects for about half a second before he sits down on the edge of the bed beside you, where you’re nursing your infant. His eyes are not on the pink, wrinkled baby, however.

Once the babe is satisfied and sufficiently milk drunk, you lay him down in his bedside cot and fix Feyd with a knowing look. “What do you want?”

You start to tuck your breasts back into your shirt, but Feyd stops you.

“Does it hurt?” He asks.

“Sometimes,” you tell him, lifting a shoulder. You reach up to massage your right breast, wincing as you do. “He never wants to nurse on this side. It gets…uncomfortable.”

“What do you do then?”

You roll your tongue in your cheek. It does not escape your notice, your husband’s sudden interest in lactation. “I have to express the milk myself, like this.”

You demonstrate for him, maintaining eye contact all the while, fingers firm but gentle on your breast. He watches you intently, gaze darkening as milk forms. You reach for an empty bottle, kept on hand especially for this reason, but once again Feyd stops you.

“Can I try?”

An unexpected heat pools between your legs. Since the birth, you’ve been sorely missing your husband. You nod. Feyd all but climbs into your lap, almost comically eager, and replaces the hand on your breast. His hand is much larger than yours, a detail that doesn’t escape you. He’s uncertain at first, pressing gently. You instruct him in a low tone.

“Here,” you say. His touch is infuriating and, coupled with the full soreness in your breast, you desperately want him to relieve you. Guiding him, you loosen a soft sigh when he finally manages to coax the milk from your ducts, pearly white and nearly translucent as it beads on your nipple.

The sigh turns guttural, though, when he dips his head down and captures your nipple with his mouth. His tongue swipes over the sensitive bud.

“Oh,” you breathe out.

Feyd continues his gentle assuage, mouth working in tandem with his fingers. Your body bows in response to him. Emboldened, he moves closer, lapping more hungrily as he learns how to properly coax the milk in steady spurts. It dribbles from the corner of his mouth, down his chin.

It’s worth it, losing the few ounces in order to see him unraveled like this.

It’s not long before the pain in your breast subsides, as well as your milk, and Feyd is leaning back to admire his work. His tongue darts out to capture any residual milk.

You open your mouth to say something — to thank him maybe — but he kisses you before you can utter it. His touch coasts over your exposed breasts, your shoulders. You melt into him. Feyd tears the sheets from your legs to better position himself between them but a commotion beside the bed stills you both.

Your son stirs in his cot, rosebud mouth parting in a tiny mumble. He turns to the side.

“Shh,” you warn your husband.

Feyd smirks at you. His words escape him in bursts as he applies searing kisses to your bare skin. “I-am-going-to-keep-you-like-this-forever.” He tucks you under him, splits your thighs apart to find your cunt weeping with want. “Breasts full with milk and belly full with my children.”

It goes without saying that you do not adhere to the physician’s order to refrain from sex, and no one is the least bit surprised when you find yourself pregnant again so quickly. Feyd is smug with himself, with his good luck, and with his beautiful (full) wife.

A/N: I have not been able to write a lick and then suddenly I get this ask and it awakens something inside of me😂 god bless. This turned more into a little fic then a blurb (also I bottle fed so my apologies if there’s any inaccuracies🍒)

[mothiir]

Cato in the cuck chair once again. This time he sheds tears.

cw: cato gets cucked, anal sex, gangbang, general debauchery.

—

—

“One moment, my dear son — the angle is a little awkward. Here.”

And before Cato knows quite what is happening he has a warm human dropped in his lap. He barely has a moment to register how he feels about this (bitter, resentful, ecstatic) before you’re crammed forwards against his chest with the force of his gene-father’s thrusts. The chair is built to take the weight of an Astartes, which is the only reason it does not collapse under the sudden influx of weight. Guilliman has one foot propped on the arm — Cato only avoided getting his fingers crushed by whisking them out of danger — and one hand cupping your midsection, pulling you up. His cock sinks further into your arse as you mewl and weep incoherently, totally cock-drunk and making even less sense than usual.

“Lord Primarch, I must protest —“ Cato says, but his objection is lost in the fray. Augustus arrives over his shoulder, kissing you sloppily — forcing you even further against him, so your breasts squash against Cato’s chest — before offering up his cock for you to slurp messily at, your jaw hanging awkwardly open, as though it has been fucked thoroughly enough to damage the joints.

“Hold her head still, please,” Augustus says, and before Cato can say that damn it, he will do no such thing, Guilliman catches his wrist and forces his hand into your hair.

“Like that, brother Cato — that’s a good lad. By the throne, girl, you were made for this, weren’t you?”

Cato cannot defy an order from his Primarch, even as said Primarch continue to bugger you further into insensibility, pausing his eager thrusts only occasionally — leaning down to kiss and nip at your shoulders. The movement causes the length of his cock to almost slide all the way out and you croon — either in distress or pleasure, your sloppy cunt leaving a mess all over Cato’s britches, smearing a vile mix of his brothers spend and your arousal over the fabric.

He’s going to have it burned. Damn it, he is going to have you burned —

The wet, thick sounds of Augustus fucking your throat echo in his ear, and the sub vocal thrum of Augustus’s sheer contentment drives him to even greater heights of violence. He will burn you all living. He will scalp you and feed Augustus the dripping mess of your hair. He will —

“Swallow, swallow it all,” Augustus pants, bucking his hips as he cums down your gullet — only you do not, you cannot, because you are useless and tiny and thus you manage a few mouthfuls at best before coughing the rest of it all over his bare chest.

(Bare chest? What happened to his shirt —)

And you sink down into his lap, eyes glazed with pleasure, lips puffy and pink, cum bubbling down your chin. Guilliman is still practically straddling Cato in his desire to fuck you, and the force knocks Cato back onto the bed —

(Wait — bed? There was not a bed —)

— and your cunt grinds up against his cock, sloppy and wet and just begging for him to slide inside, it would be so easy —

(No, no, no — none of this is right —)

— but before he can even try to angle himself in, to fill up the empty space inside you, to nuzzle his cock against the entrance to your womb, filling you to breaking point — before he can do that, he finds himself sitting once more in the chair, staring across a void of greyish fog as Hadrian slides into you from the front, Guilliman still working on repurposing your guts in the name of Ultramar. He hates you so much in that moment, hates you so much he can taste it, that it brings a tear to his eye, that —

When Cato wakes, it is to a cock fit to burst, and rage choking his lungs. He doesn’t bother to go to the refresher — only yanks his trousers down enough to get his hand around his cock, and once, twice, thrice — and then he’s emptying himself all over his own thighs, still blinking away the enraged tears the dream left him with.

He’s going to kill you. He does not think he has much other choice.

[rhinestonz]

☆ NEEDA HEAR YOU SAY IT ☆

It was times like this when you missed Toji. The clanks and clatter of silverware and China nulling in with the sounds of the TV. You had it on his favorite channel. Ready for him to come home. Everyday you missed him wishing he was there. Lately it had felt like Toji had forgotten all about you. Giving you a single small peck when he came home and going about his day. You were suddenly craving validation , like how you used to get. His long kisses and soft groups to your skin while telling you how good you are to him. Maybe this need for validation was the reason you went out of your way today. 

Toji fushiguro x housewife!reader. Praise kink. Squirting. Slight angst. Fucking on kitchen island.

You jumped to your feet as you heard the door knob twist. Practically running to Toji. He looked down at you with a small smile , kissing you on the forehead. “ how’ve you been, baby?” He inquired. His voice tired as he unbuttoned his coat. It was winter but he still opted for that compression shirt. “ Even if you're freezing you just gotta show off your muscles” you rolled your eyes. Taking his coat and hanging it. Toji stared at you incredulously as you knelt down and started untying his boots. “Uh … what the hell are you doing ?” He asked. His eyebrow raised “ what’s gotten into you ?” He laughed. You stood up , you weren’t sure. “ I um .. I don’t know “ you huffed out with a small laugh. Turning away from him into the living room. You waved your hands up “ look how good I cleaned” you cheered. Toji smiled , you looked so tiny in the living room. Then he took a moment to scan your figure. A white crop top with some blue jeans that hugs your lower half so nicely. “Why are you dressed?” He asked. You looked down at yourself “ I think this is causal” you said nonchalantly. Toji walked closer to you, pulling you into a hug. “ you’re acting so weird today baby,” he said laced with concern. You ignored his comment. “ Look how good I mopped,” you said, pointing towards the marble floors. Toji pulled you close by your waist , ignoring your finger. “ Don’t ignore me baby “ he warned, his voice a little deeper than before. You pouted , your fist against his chest. Tears began to well in your eyes . Toji's voice began to try and comfort you, like telling a 5 year old not to cry. You burst into tears anyway  “ why don’t you care about what I do anymore ?, do I not clean well enough? I did the laundry! I even polished the kitchen island !!” You weeped. Your face is buried into Toji’s chest. Your fist hit Toji as you heard him chuckle , “ This isn’t funny you big fucking jerk!“ you curse. You felt his large hands turn you around by your waist.  “Awww Sweet thing~” he cooed at you. “ I didn't think you’d need me to tell you that stuff” he sighed. You felt him lift you up a bit, moving you to the kitchen island. Toji placed small kisses on your neck from behind. “ Ofc my sweet thing does more than she even needs to for me, I’m so grateful for all the things you do” he said fondly. Something inside you was satisfied by that , however , feeling his crotch against the denim of your jeans left you needing more satisfaction. 

“F-fuck Toji~” you screamed out. Your toes barely touching the ground as you were bent over the kitchen island. “ Fuck sweet thing , your the best thing that’s ever happened to me “ Toji cursed out. His hip rutting into the plump of your ass over and over. You swear your brain was going numb. Barely able to keep your head up. Getting a good whiff of the cleaning product you used as your face squished against the marble. “ such a good girl , cleaning this counter so you can see your pretty lil fucked out face in it?” You had almost forgotten the feeling of Toji being rough on  you. Fuck you missed it. Your tears stained the counter you had cleaned “ “to think , my sweet thing had been crying just cuz she wanted sum praise” he teased. Gripping your hair tightly leaning down putting his whole weight on you. You were so sloppy. You could feel drops of you twos’ essence on the floor beneath you whenever your toes could graze the ground. Bent over the marble , feeling Toji’s cock in your stomach against the cool marble beneath it. Fuck he was so big. Your moans became strained. Though you missed this, with all that cleaning you just wanted to cum on his cock , be filled up , and then crash. “Want praise Sweet thing  ?” Toji fauxed confusion “ I can give you that “ he smirked. You felt him brushing your cervix, so big he could barely fit in you. “ Your such a good fucking girl , so good to me “ you almost felt those words in your core. “ hm ? My pretty woman just wants to hear me say I love her , that she’s doing a good job” . “ T-Toji m’ close” you whined. “ Well my Sweet thing deserves it , doesn’t she ?” He said, giving you a particularly harsh hit you your g-spot. You sprayed all over his torso and the floor. “Fuckk~” you whimpered. You almost went limp. Toji picked you up , carrying you to the bathroom.  “don’t worry , I can clean a mess , but probably not as good as you, “ he joked. Running you a bath and giving you a long kiss. 

[lamemaster]

Marred Music

Request: @liar-anubiass-blogGood day🫶🏻 I hope you are feeling well, congratulations on the upcoming holidays 🎊 Fingolfin/Maiyar reader Ulmo. Timeline before Nolofinae's courtship of Anaire, everyone was just waiting for it to happen, but there had been some kind of strange pause for a long time. And then at one of the dinners where Finwe's entire family was present, Fingolfin finally takes the floor and informs everyone that he is breaking the agreement and will not court Anaire. He says that his heart and mind belong to another. When Finwe wants to object, Fingolfin says that he has already explained to Anaire that he loves another. Everyone is shocked. And then in the silence, the intrigued Feanor (who is delighted with the prospect of conflict) laughs and asks for whom he is trying so hard. Plus or minus so. I hope you can extract something worthwhile from this😅maybe a little drama? Nolofinwe deserves to get a cool Maiar wife and wipe Feanor's nose with this)))

Genre: Drama & angst

Pairing: Fingolfin x Maia Reader

Summary: When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I love your ask! And Fingolfin over Feanor any day but this one turned out very different (I'm so sorry). But once I started writing there was no stopping so please expect some more chapter ig. First time writing Fingolfin yee-haw

Chapter 1| Chapter 2|

Reader POV

“It is not your fate to be with the second eldest of Finwe,” Namo declares, his voice cold yet resolute, echoing through the desolate halls of his domain. The restless winds swirl around him.

You lower your gaze to the ground. The rippling waves of the lake lap softly at your feet, their touch tender, almost reverent, as though the waters themselves grieve with you for what cannot be undone.

“I understand,” you whisper, though your voice trembles under the weight of the words. Fragile, hollow, they carry a sorrow that coils deep within you. A void left by something Namo has stripped from your soul.

An act you must obey from the words of your lord. An act that was done for the betterment of Arda. Yet, the pain grasps your heart and flows from your eyes. 

How wretched was such affection that had weakened you to a weeping mess. Why had tales of Melian and Elwe not warned you of such an end? Why had you not looked for the tale of Miriel instead? Then perhaps you would have held your heart closer. Away from this misery. 

In the vast, cold expanse of the valley, the only warmth comes from Namo’s hand as it rests lightly on the top of your head. The touch is solemn, neither cruel nor kind, offering comfort even as it deepens the ache in your chest.

You feel your composure unravel, the fragile mask you wore dissolving into a raw sob. A sound that echoes through the stillness, as acute as any note in Ilúvatar’s song.

You sink to your knees, the waters rising to embrace you. Their cool caress mingles with your tears, which fall freely, carried away into the depths.

“What am I to do? What music is this?” The cry bursts forth, anguished and pleading, your voice breaking against the unyielding silence.

Fingolfin POV

He had been but thirty loar of age when he first met you—an ellon barely beyond the years of growth, still enchanted by the orchards of Ingwe, his maternal uncle who ruled the Vanyar.

It had been during one such visit, a special occasion meant to introduce the newborn Findis to the court of the Vanyar. It was a tradition Indis upheld diligently, just as she had for Nolofinwe, and Lalwen before.

Escaping his sister’s relentless questions, Nolofinwe had wandered off, eventually finding himself climbing a peach tree to marvel at a tiny nest perched on the topmost branch.

The cool winds of Taniquetil whispered through the air, mingling with the waning light of Laurelin. Enthralled, he studied the intricate weave of the sparrows’ nest, snugly cradling two eggs amidst scraps of fabric.

When he looked up, however, another pair of golden eyes met his own, your eyes. Bright, sharp, and unblinking, they regarded him with an intensity that made him freeze. Startled, he let out a squeal unbecoming of his dignity and very ungracefully tumbled from the tree.

The fall might have been disastrous. One that would have left his brother Curufinwe in fits of laughter for weeks, had it not been for you. Swiftly, with a fluidity that reminded him of a hawk diving for prey, you caught him mid-fall, your movements swift and precise.

“Stealing younglings is hardly moral,” you chirped. Your head tilted sharply as you studied him, your movements sudden yet graceful, and your golden eyes narrowing in brief suspicion before softening with curiosity.

Nolofinwe barely registered your words. Now that his feet were on the ground, he could only stare at you in wonder.

You stood tall, radiating the ethereal presence of the Ainur. The golden light of Laurelin seemed drawn to you, pooling around your form. To his awestruck eyes, you were wondrously fair, your back graced by wings of a great eagle, folded neatly yet trembling slightly, as though ready to spread and take flight at any moment.

Your sharp nose and piercing gaze of your features- similar to that of the maiar of Manwe. The curious tilt of your head became more pronounced as you stepped closer, your gaze darting over him with a quick, assessing flicker.

“Second-born of Finwe,” you trilled, as though testing the sound. Then, almost imperceptibly, you ruffled your wings, an instinctive motion that made Nolofinwe flinch as though he were being considered for retribution for disturbing the nest.

A newfound interest lit your eyes, the same fascination with which one might observe a fledgling testing its wings. And then without a word you were gone. As if done assessing that Nolofinwe, indeed did not hold any intention to harm the eggs.

From that day forth, eagles became his most cherished beings. A sudden, fervent love for birds blossomed within him. A devotion his maternal uncle wholeheartedly approved, though he never fully grasped its origin.

Beside his bed, a small basket of peaches always rested, their soft fragrance weaving through his room like a whisper of memory. Each breath carried him back to the moments he could not forget the gentle music of your voice, the warmth of your touch, and the majesty of your wings.

To Indis’s great curiosity, peaches became her son’s most beloved fruit. What had once been a passing taste grew into a quiet obsession.

Even the peach orchards of Valinor, which he had rarely noticed before, became his frequent sanctuary, a place where the scent of the trees and the murmur of the breeze spoke to a longing he could never quite explain.

Reader POV

“How is it that Melian came to love Elwe?” you ask Eonwe, who stands vigilant beside you. Your brother, ever steadfast, serves your Vala, the King of Arda, Manwe Sulimo, as you do.

A gentle breeze stirs the air in the halls, coaxing the wayward vines to release their blooms, which fall like whispers to the ground. You watch their descent, lost in thought, as the question lingers between you.

Eonwe turns his gaze toward you, a hint of puzzlement crossing his features. His attention shifts, now entirely on you. He has little fondness for the songs and tales of the Children of Iluvatar, yet even he cannot deny that this particular tale weighs heavy on the memory of most Maiar.

Melian, the first among your kind to forsake the blessed lands of Aman. Hers was a path followed by many, though few remained in Middle-earth as she did.

“Iluvatar revealed a purpose for Melian,” Eonwe replies at last, his voice steady, though touched with reverence. “Their love is woven into the fate of Arda itself. A union that will bring forth the rest of Iluvatar’s music in the days to come.”

“Does Melian love the Firstborn King as we love our lord?” you ask softly, turning to meet his gaze. “Or is hers a love like that of our Lord and Lady? An eternal love.”

Resting his spear against a column of intricately carved marble, Eonwe exhales, his eyes distant as they wander eastward. “Much sorrow will this love cost her,” he murmurs, his tone heavy with foreknowledge. “Yet joy, too, she will find—this, our lord believes. Love in Arda Marred comes with a price.”

Your thoughts drift unbidden, carried away like the falling petals. You think of the elf from weeks past. The elfling from ages ago who had once climbed a tree to peer into Yellen’s nest. A chance meeting so simple, yet one that lingered through the passing years.

Through letters, through feasts, through fleeting encounters too brief to satisfy, and through the careful delivery of trinkets now hidden away in your room, far from prying eyes.

Nolofinwe. His name sings to you in every moment of Laurelin’s light and Telperion’s shadow.

It is a love distinct from your devotion to your lord. A tenderness set apart from the bond you share with your brother.

You have hidden it well, shielding it from the omnipresent song of Arda, whose marred melody seems to reach for all things pure, twisting them into its discordant strains.

But had you forgotten? Forgotten that he, your beloved, is a part of that same melody? That no matter how you might try, you cannot shield him from the song of which he is an inseparable note?

The mercy Iluvatar bestowed upon Melian to love Elwe was hers alone. It was never yours to claim.

Fingolfin POV

“My mother named me Aracáno,” Nolofinwe explains, his tone thoughtful. “It means ‘the high chieftain.’” He blushes faintly, the memory of childhood teasing surfacing unbidden. “Though as a child, I didn’t think much of it. My brother Feanaro often mocked me, calling me the chieftain of snotty elflings.”

He chuckles softly at the recollection, his hand holding yours in a snug grasp. Hidden away from the rowdy feast of rains, Nolofinwe has finally stolen a moment with you, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

It had been no small feat to slip away, especially with your brother. Eonwe, the mighty Chieftain of the Maiar, ever watchful. For days, Nolofinwe had been haunted by uneasy dreams of spears and falcons, as if even the thought of drawing close to you invited his disapproval. Yet here you were, close enough to touch, and for this moment, all those fears seemed inconsequential.

Clad in the luminous bloom of Telperion’s light, you were a vision he could not bear to miss. And as always, in your presence, the words spilled freely from him, unguarded and sincere, a rarity even among those he trusted.

“And then I let Arafinwe cho—” He falters mid-sentence, his words dissolving into silence as your wing extends, wrapping gently around him. The soft, downy warmth envelops him, and for a moment, Nolofinwe can only look up at you, pleasantly dumbfounded.

You tilt your head slightly, your golden eyes studying him. “Is it too warm?” you ask, already beginning to fold your wing back.

But Nolofinwe shifts closer, leaning into the embrace with a soft sigh. “It is pleasant,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. His hand lifts instinctively to comb through your feathers, his touch reverent and light.

The story he’d been telling fades entirely from his thoughts. All that remains is this quiet moment, the warmth of your wing around him, and the quiet peace he finds in your presence.

Feanor POV

A Maia?

Curufinwe nearly laughs aloud at the sheer absurdity of it. Surely this is some elaborate jest, another one of Nolofinwe’s ill-advised attempts to outshine him.

Beside him, Nerdanel discreetly stomps on his foot, a warning meant to temper his reaction. But it does little to dissuade him. The sight before him is far too amusing to ignore.

Seated beside a straight-backed Maia, with magnificent wings slightly fluffed in what Curufinwe assumes is either nervousness or pride, sits his brother, Nolofinwe.

Feanaro had every intention of interrogating you later about the beads woven into your feathers. How they managed not to hinder your flight was a mystery worth solving but for now, his attention is wholly consumed by the scene before him. A pair indeed. A couple of trolls.

“So… this is your suitor?” he asks, his voice laced with poorly masked amusement. The effort to suppress his laughter is futile; from the glowering look on Nolofinwe’s face, it’s clear he’s failed spectacularly.

You, however, remain utterly unbothered, your posture as straight and vigilant as a guard on duty.

“Yes, I reckon I am indeed the one your brother courts, Crown Prince Curufinwe,” you reply, your tone cool and precise, as though delivering a patrol report.

For a fleeting moment, Curufinwe is struck by the urge to test you—to see if the obedience typical of Manwe’s Maia extends to you. Would you follow his orders with the same unflinching diligence?

The thought alone is nearly enough to make him laugh again, but Nerdanel’s second, more forceful stomp ensures he stays (relatively) composed.

From the prideful look in Nolofinwe’s eyes, Curufinwe can practically see him preening, as if to say, Look at this marvel I’ve claimed.

The Maia beside him, however, seems to be fighting a very different battle. Your gaze flickers just barely toward the chandelier above the table, a glittering temptation. You try valiantly not to let your eyes linger, but the effort is almost painful to watch.

A preening peacock and a gullible eagle. What a pair indeed, Curufinwe muses with a ghastly bout of fondness he absolutely refuses to acknowledge.

[whore-era]

college!Ellie comforting anxious fem GF with lots of kisses and back rubs?

a/n: i feel like this headcanon was so bad but i did my best <3 hope u enjoy <3333

college!ellie headcanon: comforting anxious gf

you were swamped. final exams were approaching, a 10 page research essay was due in 3 days, internships to apply to in time for the summer, laundry barely started — everything was piling up.

you felt as if the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and you had to keep yourself afloat. but you could feel it, you were about to crash.

the tab was still open, your research paper halfway done, and you were overwhelmed with anxiety. failing to hold back the immense emotion, you burst into tears, sobbing into the sleeves of your hoodie.

you just weren't sure if you had the power to keep pushing through these last couple weeks, you were drained out dry. weeping into your hoodie, you hear your phone ring.

sliding the button to answer, you press your phone to your ear. "h-hello?" you attempt to dry your face, concealing any evidence that you were just crying minutes before. "babe, i'm on my way over. just wanted to see if you wanted me to pick something up for you," ellie's voice come through the speaker, still unaware of your current state.

"uhhhh, i'm fine, els," you croak, "you don't h-have to come over right now. you must be busy and stuff and i don't wanna get in the way." there's a shakiness in your voice, and you hope to god ellie doesn't notice. she goes quiet for a second, "hmm. okay. fine." you let out a breath of relief, "call you later then, sweet girl," she coos, "i love you." "i love you, ellie." click

putting your phone down and burying your face in your hands, you let out a breath, allowing a few tears to fall down your face. it made you feel bad burdening ellie with your issues — she had her own stuff going on. the last thing she needed to worry about was you.

it wasn't long before you heard a couple knocks on your door. you furrowed your brows, knowing you weren't expecting anyone. still, you walked over and opened the door of your dorm, face-to-face with a big, brown teddy bear. ellie's face poked out from the corner of the bear's head. "we could tell you were bear-y sad, so we wanted to check in on you." you threw your arms around her, squishing the bear in the process. she let out a chuckle, pulling away to see your face, surprised to see your eyes filling with tears.

"hey, hey, hey," she whispers, "c'mon, let's get inside first." gently guiding you inside your dorm, she closes the door behind her. "what's been goin' on, sweet girl? talk to me."

"jus-just been feelin' so— overwhelmed," you breathe out, "f-finals, my p-paper, freaking i-internships—" tears begin to spill, "i don't k-know i-if i can h-han-handle it." you weep into her jacket, and she soothingly rubbed your back, letting you cry.

once you calm down a bit, ellie pulls away a little and cups your face in her hands. "what do you need from me, baby?" she asks, "anything at all, you name it. i'll get it."

"i just— i just want you to hold me."

you both climb into your tiny, twin bed. with her arm wrapped around you, you nestled into her side, inhaling her scent — cedar and mahogany teakwood. she rubbed slow and small circles on your back, calming your nerves.

"i don't know if i'm stuck out for this," you murmur, "college is jus' a lot. don't know if this is what i'm meant to do." you look up at her with big and glossy eyes. "hey," she whispers, "you are one of the smartest people i know, and you are so fucking hard working, always putting in 100 into everything you do."

a tear trails down your face and ellie continues. "you can do anything you out your pretty mind to do, anything, baby," she coos, "you're meant to do this." ellie leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, "and if you're still unsure about school and all, then that's okay too. you can choose something else you wanna do, and i'll be here, rooting for you every step of the way."

you heart warms up in your chest, feeling fuzzy. "thank you," you dote, "i'm so lucky to have you, els." ellie smiles down at you, leaning in to kiss you tenderly.

"always, sweet girl," ellie wraps her arm tighter around you, "now, come here. relax a lil' more, yeah?" you nod and cuddle back into her warmth, and she presses another reassuring kiss on top of your head.

[quitealotofsodapop]

thinking about the posts about Guanyin being able to summon the spirit's of Wukong's mother for him/the stone monkeys being ghosts on ffm and I went looking and couldn't find anything already talking about this, so...

wouldn't it be awesome if something similar could be done with the Slow boiled! Pilgrims?

like, the noodle gang find a way to project their og incarnations so that Wukong can introduce the family who helped him so much to his newborn Yuebei, the infant they fought to protect as an egg. I feel like Wukong always wishes that Yuebei could have met the pilgrims, I'm sure he'd get emotional at seeing them again and getting to introducing them.

imagine at first it was just a nice thing for Wukong, but as everyone's hugging and wiping tears any emotional talk gets cut off by a baby starting to cry in another room.Wukong rushes out to find the source of the crying, and the pilgrims put the pieces together pretty quickly.

*Wukong coming back into the room with a softly cooing bundle of blankets in his arms* Ao Lie: *happy gasp* AAAAA! YOU HAD YOUR BABY!! Tripataka, like a proud dad watching their kid go through a milestone: oh my! congratulations Wukong. Sha Wujing: *sobbing at how cute baby is* Zhu Bajie: *trying to seem stoic, is also crying over the cuteness*

Wukong's crying all over again at the opportunity to show off his baby to his old friends.

I actually do have a post like this! Here!

The Noodle Gang would surprise Wukong with a visit from his old squad by using meditation skills they learned from Guanyin herself (or if not her previous disciple Red Son). Very little build up and Boom! The spirits of the OG Pilgrims are in the room. Wukong would sob with joy at seeing them again.

I love your dialogue too! The Pilgrims would be so delighted to finally meet the baby they protected for so long. Especially Ao Lie - who'd immediately start crying at the tiny black fluffball in his bro's arms.

Yuebei is *pretty confused* while all these people are here, but perks up when she recognises their voices from her time as an Egg. First person she reaches out to is the (trying to be stoic) Zhu Bajie- remembering his brash tone the most other than her own parent. This makes the big pig man start weeping like a baby.

The baby is also trying her best to grab the spirits, fascinated by their glowing, translucent forms. She makes a frustrated chirp when her tiny hand passes through Tripitaka's robes. This gets a round of laughter from the Pilgrims, as the monk uses his divine power to finally place a kiss on the baby's forehead.

A certain elephant in the room is brought up;

Sha Wujing: "Brother - did she really try eating the Samadhi Fire all the way back then?" Wukong: "Yep! Felt like she was trying to burst out of me." Zhu Bajie: "Ouch. No wonder you slipped." Ao Lie, cooing at Yuebei: "Aww! Was she craving something spicy?" Wukong: "Sort of. See, the egg naturally craved a large amount of Dao so it could develop further - and she mistook the Samadhi Fire as a type of energy she could absorb." Tripitaka: "It's lucky that she didn't. Lest you would have had another Red Child on our hands." Wukong: "Ha! Yeah... 'course she ended up eating the Bone Demon instead." The Pilgrims, a mix of shock and amazement: "What?!" "Goodness!" Ao Lie, still cooing at the baby: "Oh ho ho! After something as spicy as the Samadhi Fire, you wanted to pay safe huh? Bet that mean Bone Demon tasted like a big bland popsicle!" Yuebei: (*burp!*) Zhu Bajie, laughing uncontrollably: "Thats your answer!" The Whole Room: (*joyful laughter!*)

The Noodle Gang have to train themselves to summon the Pilgrims, and even so have to train to keep them around for more than a complete minutes at a time. Its like having a Magic meter. But they try their best to make sure Wukong has as much time with his Pilgrim brothers as possible!

[themurik13]

"You were just a kid" Stan twins one-shot

Stan twins but mostly Stan-centric shorty. Next WILL be longer pinky promise.

TW: Child abuse (emotional and physical)

---

"Quicker Sixer!"

Tiny voice was heard on the New Jersey beach. Two boys running around barefoot on gold sand. Stan, the one who shouted, was at front rapidly speeding into the sea. His feet covered by teal tides reflecting the summer sun. It was a hot afternoon, perfect one for treasure hunting. Every day they got a chance, twins would go out of house and explore every nook and creek of rocky beach by their family home.

"I'm coming!"

Ford, the one who was trying to keep up speed with his only fifteen minutes younger brother but was failing miserably. As Ford gained more and more speed he couldn't slow down and bumped into Stan causing him to fell into the sea and soak his clothes. Stan laughed and playfully splashed Ford with cold water as a revenge. They both laughed. They were kids. Kids being kids. Now both were building a sandcastle together on the sea shore. What an adorable sight. You'd have to be there. When the sun was going down and twins were nearly finishing building their medieval world, that even Tolkien himself would be proud of, Stan saw something in the water. Something shiny reflecting the reddish sky and orange sun. Stan's irises grew bigger as he started walking towards the shine.

"What is this, Stan?"

Stan didn't answer. He got closer to the water, the shiny object was in a weird shape and tides breaking the light didn't help to figure out what it was. Ford came behind Stan watching over his shoulder. Stan was just about to grab the thing when-

 "Stop!"

Ford quickly shoved Stan on the wet sand and he himself lost balance and fell into the water. Stan could hear a scream and crying from Ford who was laying wet sand right next to the thing. Ford's arm was swollen and red, Ford himself couldn't stop crying.

"Oh no, no. What do I do, what do I do?"

Stan got up and tried helping Ford do the same avoiding to touch a wound. They both quickly ran home. Stan shoved the door nearly breaking it and ran up to mom who was in a kitchen making dinner. When Caryn first heard, then saw Stan with crying Ford's arm over his shoulder she was mortified.

"Stanley! What happened!"

Stan didn't know and couldn't say anything through his own tears of fear and confusion. His nose running, gritted teeth in his mouth. Ford was the one who spoke, or more tried to.

"Jell-lyfish!"

That's all information their mother needed. She quickly sat down Ford, got some tweezers and hot towel from bathroom and got to work. Stan meanwhile was sitting on the couch quietly weeping. That was his fault, he was the one who wanted to touch the thing. Stupid, stupid Stan. As Caryn put hot towel over red swell, Ford calmed down a little bit but it still stung. She then turned to Stan and gently wiped his tears off his cheeks cupping his face in her hands.

 "Shhh. Everything's okay. Don't worry. I just need you to tell me what happened."

Caryn said with soothing voice making circles on Stan's cheek with her thumb. That actually helped. Stan wiped his nose and started muttering.

"Well, I-I saw this shiny thing in a water a-and wanted to touch it... b-but Ford shoved me and he touched it by accident instead."

Stan nearly burst into tears as he tried to tell a comprehend story without stuttering. But then the worst happened. Dad came home.

"You did what, you moron?!"

Filbrick Pines went into room, noticeably fuming even if you couldn't see his eyes through dark glasses. His angry, heavy footsteps closing towards the couch where sat little Stanley.

"Leave him alone, he did nothing wrong!"

Caryn wanted to defend Stan but got slapped in the face with such force that she fell on the floor with tear rolling down her red, painful cheek. Filbrick grabbed then Stanley by collar decreasing the space between their faces. Stan had to step on his toes to keep himself on the ground. The man made sure that Stan was looking him in the eyes. Stan again tried not to cry because he knew it would make situation worse but he couldn't. Salt water rolling down his cheeks from reddish eyes. Fear in his gaze as he was about to fall from the cliff to his death but he couldn't show it, otherwise he would get beaten again.

"You fucking idiot, how could one be that stupid. You perfectly know there are jellyfish in the sea. You did that on purpose didn't you?"

Filbrick shouted into kids face. Stan only could nod in approval. He was too scared to resist before his father, he valued life. Filbrick shoved Stan on the floor face-first next to his crying mom, making him bleed from his nose.

"Maybe one day you will stop being a fucking ignorant and do something with yourself. Maybe one day you won't be the stupid, useless, not important twin, huh? You're brother is better, deal with it."

Filbrick said, without a flick of emotion in his voice. He left the house with slam on the door leaving Stan and Caryn on the floor and Ford still on the chair who was to embarrassed to even look at his family. Caryn quickly crawled to Stan and hugged him tight.

"Everything will be alright, I promise."

And they both laid there, harmonizing their crying. They both knew everything won't be alright.

---

Thank you SO MUCH for reading! I also posted this on my ao3 and kudos there will be really appreciated! (link in bio)

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘨 ❞

pre-release wriothesley x afab! reader

-> can be read a gn save the like, last line oop

genre: hurt w mild comfort tbh

been eating up that rough boxer wrio tbh <3,

It was uncharacteristically quiet as you stood there in the kitchen, your hands balled into fists. The only sound was the shrill hum of the box fan in the window desperately trying to circulate the hot air that seemed to pervade the shitty little apartment you called home. You were so angry you were practically shaking, a tremble not unlike that of his bandaged hands as he raised the cigarette back to his lips.

He looked like hell. The gentle slopes of his tanned face were blotched with ugly blooms of black and blue. Butterfly stitches held his skin together in places that were sure to scar, weeping with antiseptic ointment and drying blood. There was a new crook to his nose, a new cut opened on his lower lip, a new wince to hide with every movement of his arms that you knew looked no better under the loose sweatshirt he wore. 

He may be the one beat all to hell but you felt it too.

“Wrio.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the peeling linoleum floor.

“Wrio, look at me.” You hissed, your voice cracking.

It was a hesitant action, the turn of his head. Maybe it was for the best, his blue eyes ringed with a spider web of burst blood vessels. 

“Don’t go back there, not tonight.” Your tone was blunt and angry, as if hoping to convince him that he had toed the line and pushed things too far with your words alone. There was no such thing as safety when it came to ring fighting for money, yet the sheer brutality you now saw inflicted upon a seasoned fighter was enough to make your gut twist sickly.

He stared up at you blankly, a hand rising to rub his stubble lined lower face as he sighed. “You know I can’t do that.” Came his quiet response as he took another drag off the cigarette between his fingers, his eyes breaking contact at the hurt look that burned onto your face. You were never angry, let alone with him. It was a foreign and hollow feeling that stabbed into his chest at the sight.

Your mouth opened to retort only to shut and open once more as you floundered with the anger that burned in your veins and the distress that tingled up your spine and drew tears to your eyes. 

“Fuck!” You yelled, turning away quickly as you felt tears breach your lash line and creep down your cheeks despite your efforts. “You stupid fucking boy, why can’t you just listen for once?” You mourned aloud, storming out of the kitchen and down the hallway. 

You could hear the scrape of chair legs against the floor, his heavy footfalls trailing you down the hall as you quickly turned into the bathroom to make a futile escape. You couldn’t even close the door before he had shouldered it open, cornering you in the tiny space.

“Get out.” You hissed, your hands flat against his chest as you tried to force him back. It was like pushing against a brick wall and hoping it would move, another act of your frustration manifested.

“No, I’m not letting you run away from me. Not now.” 

His voice was so gentle it hurt. It was a gentleness that seemed out of place for a man who seemed destined for the ring, for fighting, but it was achingly familiar to your ears as the tone that seemed reserved only for you. 

He took a step further in, and you stepped back, your calves meeting the cold porcelain of the toilet. There wasn’t much more distance to be made, yet you tried your best even as he reached out and caught you in his arms despite your thrashing refusal.

You hated the feelings that seemed to overflow, the tightness in your chest, the stinging in your eyes. You hated the weakness that seemed to burn you to the core, and you hated the pitiful look in his tired eyes as he caged you in his arms against the wall. 

Your fingers sank into the rough wallpaper as you turned your face away, wishing he would just leave you to be ugly in peace but knowing he wouldn’t. 

“(y/n), baby, talk to me. Please.” You could faintly smell your cheap detergent mingling with the scent of smoke on his clothes as he wiped your tears with his sleeve, prodding for you to acknowledge him as if he wasn’t surrounding you with himself already. 

You mustered up the courage to look back at him, your cheek pinched firmly between your teeth as you tried to collect yourself. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.” You blurted out, your brow furrowing. “They won’t  fight fair and they are gonna kill you and I am gonna have to live with that for the rest of my life.” 

“I won’t let that happen.”

“It’s not about you letting it happen. It doesn't have to happen at all. The money isn’t worth it, please Wrio, just stay.” 

He was quiet for a long moment, leaning forward to press his forehead flush to your own. His hands cupped your cheeks, rough thumbs brushing over your cheek bones. Your sweet boy, so tender and kind yet so bruised and beaten from circumstances he should have never had to deal with. It broke your heart nearly as much as his reply.

“I wish it was that easy.”

Your knees buckled as you slid to the floor, an overwhelming sense of dread washing over you. Money and debts be damned, they could all burn in hell for all you cared, yet your tears had dried and were replaced with a bitter emptiness that glossed over you eyes and filled you with an indescribable numbness.

He was silent as he joined you, his legs crammed up nearly to his chest in the floor of the small bathroom as he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Even without looking he could easily find your hand, small and delicate intertwined easily with his own, a thumb running over your knuckles in a circular pattern. 

“Are we okay?”

His question was simple, yet it hung in the air like a lead weight. You squeezed his hand.

“No, I don’t think so.” You murmured, turning to look at him only to be met by his own intense gaze. You scooted closer to his side, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “I haven’t been okay in a long time, Wrio.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I knew what I signed up for.” You stated plainly, fingers splaying under his palm for a moment. 

“Promise you won’t get yourself killed?” You offered into the air, turning to bury your face into his side. He smelled like home. 

“Promise,” He replied softly as a smile teased the corners of his lips, “Who would take care of my girl if I wasn’t around?”

Rey, 2023

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter one: aesira and aether, aether and aesira (wc: 5.2k) | masterlist

ACT ONE: nigredo

— primordial matter births the beginning of a magnum opus. the threads of the greatest misery is woven into a beautiful existence rising in a sky of a thousand bursting nebulae. the darkening of her soul will never put a stopper on the divinity flowing in her veins, dim the glow of her cheeks kissed by the gods, nor snuff out the constellation illuminating with each step she makes. for this is how a relic reaches its zenith; there would be no story unless the heroine crawls on bloodied elbows and weeps out tears enough to nourish the realm.

112 AC

Aegon didn’t know he had cousins from Father’s side of the family until the funeral of the Siren of the Vale.

Strangers are everywhere and all he could do was hold onto Mother’s skirt with one of his hands while his younger siblings cling with both of their arms as if Mother is going to disappear with the mummified body in front of the people. Helaena is crying, squeezing her eyes shut and her mouth murmuring nonsensical things that Aegon doesn't pay any attention to on a given day. They’re probably weird statements about the spine-crawling insects she’s starting to show interest in — Aegon doesn’t need to hear that, thank you very much. Aemond, his youngest sibling, turns away from the sad sight and presses his face on the crook of Mother’s neck. Aegon can see that the action causes her discomfort, with her belly round with another sibling, yet she runs a gentle hand over the back of Aemond’s blond head in an attempt to prevent his cries from surfacing through the silence of the burning ceremony. The oldest of the family looks away and instead focuses on the Septon conducting the final farewells to the once enchanting Aellara Targaryen.

He’s never met her but just like Father’s first wife, she surrenders to the flames as is any member of the Targaryen bloodline.

Once the Septon finishes his preachings, a cry rings out in the crisp salty air of Dragonstone, the final place to witness the glory of the honoured deceased. Heads turn and almost immediately, a look of sympathy and pity washes over their faces.

At the centre of the babe’s wails isn’t Aegon’s younger brother. The little boy is too old to cry without any reason. The source of the cries comes from a newborn babe protected in a black swaddle lined with embroideries of little birds clutched against a girl’s chest, a girl only at the same age as Aegon. Beside her is another boy of their age weeping with shaking shoulders, tiny fists furiously rubbing his eyes and leaving behind messy tear tracks and red-rimmed skin.

Mother gasps a hitched breath. “Oh, gods.”

Aegon looks back and forth between Mother and the children, two of which have tears streaming down their faces in a never-ending spectacle while the girl only stares at the mummified body with burning eyes that are likely to shed tears at any moment. She keeps bouncing the babe in her arms but it wasn’t enough to quell his shrieks. Despite that, Aegon finds her pretty, which isn’t the most appropriate thought for the severity of the ceremony. So, he looks away from blatantly admiring the girl’s aesthetics. The babe is crying for his mother. The boy of five name days is also crying for his mother. Aegon is left wondering why the girl isn’t doing the same. He glances at her again from behind Mother’s skirts, trying to imagine the smiles that could light up her face. He thinks they would be no doubt the most radiant thing he’ll ever see. Aegon was told snippets of the children’s mother, how she is—was—the most beautiful woman in the realm, and thousands of ballads dedicated even at her passing. Surely the woman’s beauty will live on in her daughter.

Teary lilac irises framed with curling, pale eyelashes arrest his cornflower ones, fully making him look away with burning cheeks.

“Where is their father?”

“The Rogue Prince?”

Little Aegon’s ears perk at the title.

His uncle is built from the Smith’s mould of the Warrior. He’s only seen the man a couple of times growing up. With the way he walks, Aegon instantly wants to be like him. The confidence and smugness oozed in waves with every step — he dreams of stomping the bricks of the Red Keep with those. But Mother doesn’t have any good things to say about him. He always hears her grumbling to Father about his atrocities, and how it affects and dishonours his lady wife. Aegon’s little stomps stopped right after overhearing Mother’s words. Guilt seeps into his little body. He doesn’t want to become someone that ignited this much reaction from the members of his family, especially Mother.

“He’s not even with his children. Poor things. It’s like he holds no heart. Look at how they’re shedding their tears.”

True enough, Daemon Targaryen is standing at the back of the small gathering. Aegon inconspicuously tilts his head to look at his once idol. The man looks nothing like the dashing prince the men and women of the court are either fawning over or fearing. There are no tear tracks like his sons nor the devastated look possessed by his daughter. Aegon’s uncle stares at the body with eyes rivalling that of the souls crying for salvation. His eyes hold nothing of the fiery glint of mischief he always carries while sauntering in the Red Keep. The usual manic grin tugging at his lips is reduced to a flat line, almost a frown. As Aegon looks closer, he can discern a sheen of cloudy mist covering the limbal rings of his lilac eyes. What is his uncle seeing?

“It’s time for the cremation.”

The responsibility lies with the husband. The Blood Wyrm is trilling right at the top of the hill with two dragons the size of a house and a little one that looked like it just emerged from its egg, most probably those of the children. (Aegon feels the rising jealousy at how their dragon eggs hatched; his egg turned stone cold after his third name day.) Even with the snake-like dragon emitting noises for his bonded, Daemon makes no move to remove himself from his perch, his hands tightly grasping each other in front of him. The clicking in the blood-red dragon’s long neck increased in volume as the silence stretched. (Aegon heard stories of how dragons resonate with their riders’ pain after having bonded so deeply. Father told him that Daemon’s bond with Caraxes is one for the history tomes. Maybe Caraxes wants to end this suffering sooner than later.) With the husband indisposed despite his presence in the funeral ceremony, the Septon turns to the children with a troubled visage.

“Young Lord Aether, as the heir of Aellara Targaryen’s bloodline, it is with heartfelt humility that we request for you to initiate the cremation.”

Aether, the boy’s name, tenses at the statement.

Aegon feels Mother’s hand on his shoulder.

“Take your time to collect yourself, my Lord.”

The girl takes one hand from their swaddled younger sibling’s head and intertwines it with her twin brother’s. Aether blinks at the contact and meets the girl’s gaze. He crumbles, it appears that another sob is bubbling in his throat. Aegon presses himself deeper into Mother’s skirts. He can hear Helaena whimpering from Mother’s other side. The eldest son of The Peaceful King continues watching the lonely twins. He takes in every tremble in the boy’s shoulders and the wordless looks coming from the girl. It must be extraordinary to have someone share a soul with you in the womb; having to communicate with mere thoughts is a feat in itself. 

Finally, Aether separates himself from his sister. Little steps start the cremation. One of the smaller dragons at the hilltop stands straighter than before. The red of the scales only glints once the sunlight perfectly hits the beautiful creature at the right angle. Just like his bonded, the dragon stalks with small, pounding steps until it stands at the bottom of the hill. At the same age as the little boy, its wings cover the entirety of the people attending the ceremony, encompassing everyone under the shade of its protection. It waits for the command. Aether lets out another cry, his hiccups wrenching the hearts of many, even Aegon’s. The dragon leans forward at the sound of its bonded’s weeps.

“Dr—” Another sob. Fast-paced breathing.

“Aether,” the girl calls out in a wobbly voice, trying to calm down a restless babe in her arms. 

“I-I can’t do it, Aesira,” he replies while rubbing his eyes.

Aesira.

The Septon intervenes. “My Lord.”

“I-I don’t want to do it.”

“You have to, my Lord.”

Aether cries out. Now, both of his fists cover his eyes.

Aegon sees Father shedding a couple of tears.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Aether,” Aesira’s voice is tiny but it carries through.

At his sister’s words, he takes a deep breath. “Dra—” Aether makes eye contact with the gold-flecked emerald eyes of his dragon. Maybe Aegon is imagining it but the dragon tilts his head down as a form of encouragement for the young boy. “Achilles,” the creature of legend stretches its neck to the heavens, mirroring its bonded, who lifts his chin in the air, “Dracarys!”

And to fire Aellara Targaryen succumbs to.

From ashes we were moulded, to ashes we will return.

“The wild will find itself in the jaws of the beast it created. First delight against first delight. From within, the three-headed dragon sprouts from a bud.”

“Will you stop doing that?” Aegon snaps, nearly breaking the writing tool he has in his hand as he looks up from writing basic words to fix a horrified look on his sister.

The third child of the King blinks away the stupor that clouds her eyes. Her fingers are twitching on the tabletop, the army of ants bringing crumbs of honey cake going around her still appendages. Helaena is always doing that — being creepy and staring at something for too long. Aegon caught her looking through him but most likely never seeing him at the same time for she was too busy mumbling things under her breath like the witches he read from the fairy tale books in the royal library. It never fails to drop a chill down his spine. It doesn’t help that she appears to mirror the dolls she receives from the court ladies for her name days; with those wide, soulless eyes of glassy blue and clothes elaborate, pieces of thick material sewn together to accentuate the ruffles and gems. So, while Aegon wears disdain clear on his face, Helaena simply stares and stares, huffs for a moment, and goes back to guiding the ants to their destination and giving them more honey cake crumbs. 

What an oddball.

Days spent learning lessons with Helaena are always bathed in silence. Or heavy murmurs coming from his sister. Yet both of them have certain quirks that will make their Septa place a hand on her forehead. Aegon is too restless. Helaena is too out of it. Both of them never finish their work for the day, so it keeps piling up on the tabletop of the study. Today is the same as always. Except that there is the prospect of The Keep accepting three permanent residents at the end of the moon.

One moon after the funeral of The Rogue Prince’s lady wife, the question as to where the children should be warded is brought into the light. Apparently, Prince Daemon Targaryen disappeared without any note, only leaving on dragonback and leaving behind large prints on the ground. The children aren’t orphans but in all rights, with a dead mother and an absent father, they are considered as such.

Mother expresses her worry each time she visits the nursery, exchanging hushed whispers with her handmaidens. They were children, she says with brown eyes that carry too much emotion for a Queen. Father, on the other hand, asks Aegon and Helaena, Aemond being too young to understand, if they would ever like it if there are more children for them to play with. Aegon thought that there are more than enough children for him to share his dragon figures with; Mother is pregnant with his youngest sibling after all. Father dismisses that with a light laugh that Aegon has never seen. Your cousins need a home, he says with a reminiscent sheen covering his words, they’re children born from the sister of someone I will always hold dear. This dearest someone is the beautiful blonde woman enclosed in four gilded frames at the atelier of the castle. Her portrait is the most extravagant among the rest and it glows right when the streams of light hits it perfectly.

To preserve the memory of King Viserys’s first wife, The Red Keep is open to welcoming her niece and nephews, never to be sent to the jaded regions of the Vale.

“Do you think they’re going to play with us?” Aegon asks with his eyes set on the letters of the common language he was assigned to follow. He hears Helaena whisper something in the wind. “What was that?”

Like somebody catches her sneaking her hand in a jar of newly baked treats, Helaena stops. She keeps his gaze on the table, following the scuttling of the ants. “I hope she likes ants”

Aegon knits his eyebrows. “The girl?”

Helaena nods.

He then laughs. “What girl would like insects?”

His younger sister purses her lips. “A friend.”

“Well, that’s boring. And gross. And weird.”

Helaena keeps quiet before continuing her little conversations with the ants.

The scribbling of a writing tool against the stiffness of the paper fills in the silence. Until his sister once again opens her mouth in a dreamy drone for a child of four name days, “Hearts are cradled within the palms of the abandoned.”

She’s holding the babe close to her chest again.

Aegon stands beside Mother’s seated form in the nursery, her hands once again seeking solace on the swell of her belly. He remains the only child that has to be present while the others toddle with the wetnurses. But that doesn’t stop him from being restless. Aegon keeps on fidgeting in his spot, only stopping when Mother slightly pinches the skin of his upper arm in an effort to make him as still as a five name day old boy can be. The jut in his lower lip is apparent as he looks at the children of the same age as him. The both of them are a little shorter than him but for some reason, little Aegon doesn’t have the heart to meet their eyes. This is not the time for you to be shy, Mother tried telling him moments before the handmaidens escorted the new residents to the nursery, where they will be settling in since they’re not at an age where an entire bedchamber is given to them. Aegon spots new mattresses on the floor and another crib for the babe.

“Hello, young ones,” Mother greets them with a good-natured smile.

“Your Grace.” The girl crosses her ankles and curtsies in a grace that puts dancers to shame. She notices her brother not paying any respect to the monarch sitting in front of them, so she nudges him at the side, eliciting a loud groan from him. The boy bows down with one arm on his heart and the other behind his back, but not before glaring at his sister at the corners of his eyes.

“Your Grace,” the boy mumbles, which earns him another dirty look from the girl carrying the babe.

Mother’s smile slightly grows at their manners. It pleases her. They straighten when she waves a hand. It’s an action that showcases Mother being a Queen in every way. Aegon doesn’t like it. It means she’s dismissing him away. “Aesira and Aether, am I correct?” The both of them nod. “I hope your visit to the King comes out fruitful.”

Aether nods while Aesira adjusts their little brother in her arms. She’s the one who answers Mother. “Uncle is a kind man. We deeply apologise for making you wait, Your Grace; he showed us a beautiful model of Valyria and we exchanged stories that took up most of the time.”

“How do you like the model?”

A spark lights up Aesira’s eyes. Her shoulders lift in purely concealed enthusiasm. Her brother snorts a little before painting a smile on his lips like he finds this sight a constant in his life yet it never fails to amuse him. “I find it intriguing, Your Grace. It’s a subject I will always find myself drawn to.” She looks down at the small tuft of hair peeking through her brother’s swaddle. She carefully tucks it in, making the babe squirm and nuzzle into the crook of her neck, his tiny hands gripping the material of her dress. “The model must have taken so long to assemble. I notice it’s not even finished yet.”

Mother nods. “When I first saw it myself, I thought it was a marvel that the King’s passion radiated from. You can ask one of the Maesters to lend you more books about it.” She then fixes her attention on the silent Aether beside Aesira. “What about you, little Lord? Has anything captured your interest? Is it not the model?”

“None yet,” he answers. Aesira once again nudges him. “Your Grace.”

“This is my eldest son, Aegon,” Mother says with something inside her throat, right at the word son. She gestures for him and he takes it as a cue to stand a little closer to her and the pair. Her hands are flat on his shoulders. Aegon prevents himself from squeaking at the weight of them. “He’s eager to have new playmates.” Mother then looks down at him, her brown eyes reflecting his wide-eyed stare. “Aegon, won’t you show him your toys? I’m sure he’s going to find joy in them the same way you do.”

Aegon wants to cry. In the years that he remembers, he has always shared things with others. No moment was purely dedicated to him that was tickling his brain. He counted himself as lucky when Helaena was born because that would mean his toy dragons and soldiers were still his. Those crumbled when Aemond followed two years after his sister. Now, he doesn’t have anything left because if you’re the eldest child, you don’t exactly have a constant thing in your possession. The attention that wasn’t already on him was taken away. Mother never looked at him twice again with two siblings in tow (with a third coming around any moon now), fighting for her appreciation and Father’s glances. With three new children running around the Keep, getting both of those is merely a far-fetched dream. How can he compete with more people who look like the pretty portrait in the atelier?

It takes him longer to answer, the hands on his shoulders weighed more than he can fathom. “Yes, Mother.”

The answer satisfies Mother for the smile on her face is something he sees for the first time. There’s pride mingled in the small pools of her irises, glinting ever so slightly that Aegon finds himself awe in. He wants to be at the other end of that look. It makes him feel like he has done something right at such a young age. 

“Now, I will leave you children be. I will retire in my chambers until we sup. Aegon,” she calls out. The little boy can’t hide his pout. “Be nice.”

There are no pats on the hand, no caresses of a mother’s touch in between his hair, and there is definitely no trace of that prideful look Aegon caught a glimpse of. With the flutter that of a butterfly, Mother exits the room, bringing along with her the train of her red day gown. Aegon remains staring at the door, not knowing what to do next but fiddle with his fingers, he’s taken out of his stupor by someone clearing their throat. It’s a high-pitched sound that has him nearly jumping out of his skin. He turns around and finds himself in the centre of an expectant gaze.

“Your mother told us to play,” Aether supplies, with eyes void of any emotion except expectancy. He’s staring at Aegon the way Helaena does it. It jolts him and he nearly shouts for the boy to stop doing that if not for Aesira interrupting.

“Aether, don’t be so disrespectful,” she lightly scolds. “This is not our home. We’re only guests.”

“This is our new home, Sira,” Aether rebuts. “And I want to see if his toys are better than my old ones back in Dragonstone.” Like it’s more of a priority than anything.

Aegon takes a step forward. “I have wooden dragons that we can play with.”

Aether’s eyes narrow. “What dragons?”

“Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes. Though Aemond took Vhagar and he’s never returned it since,” he scrunches his face as if the idea of his wooden dragons being stolen is a rancid thought. Aegon never forgets to throw a dirty look at the young babe sleeping in the older cribs of the nursery. In between Aemond’s pudgy hands is Aegon’s Vhagar. He’s long since given up on taking it from his little brother, seeing firsthand how strong a babe’s grip can be. Plus, his cries are not the sweetest to listen to either — they’re piercing and if possible, can shatter even the thickest of glass. After his attempt at taking it back, Aegon experiences Mother’s anger that nearly made him cry as well. So, now Vhagar is Aemond’s and the other two are left within Aegon’s toy chest, wherein the contents have significantly dwindled through the years. “Don’t bother taking it from him; he can be a bit of a banshee.”

They’re like gems — Aether’s eyes. Aegon has only ever seen such a colour on a lady’s neck, encrusted with the finest of glittering gold, and ears where they are dangling for their lives. They glow under the dim light of the nursery and Aegon doesn’t know what to feel about it. It is reminiscent of how his uncle Daemon stares at the things he finds interesting during his visits to the Keep (before he was exiled, again, as told by Mother when he asked about Daemon’s whereabouts). A little half-smile tugs on Aether’s lips, almost elfish in a way that it’s full of mischief.

“I want Balerion then.”

Aegon feels his world crumble.

“Aether,” a soft voice nags.

He finds himself staring at the pretty girl carrying the babe. Aesira has her eyebrows in a downturned arch, her lips mouthing that she’s sorry for her brother.

“What?” The younger blond boy swivels to his sister. “We’re guests, as you say, right? I think Mother told us back then that guests always have to be attended to by the hosts. Aegon,” he waves at him, “is clearly the host.”

“Mother also told us to be decent and mindful.” Aesira stops glaring at her brother and softens her entire face to make Aegon feel better. “Do you want him to take Balerion from you, my Prince?”

Aegon’s face burns at the undivided attention given to him by the girl. While the violet of Aether’s eyes is startling, all wildfire without calm, Aesira’s is a soft lilac, the serenity upon contact. His little heart pounds away in his chest. The squeezes are enough for him to twist his face in a grimace and one of his hands to cover the area above the racing organ. The sensation spreads from his heart to every part of his body until it reaches his eyes, altering his vision to see this girl in a different light. She’s all sunrays and stardust — so bright that little Aegon has no problem being blind.

“No,” Aegon answers her question after a few minutes of stalling (staring).

“Stop looking at me like that, Sira.”

Aesira giggles. It’s a sound akin to a choir of seraphs. “I think Balerion suits Prince Aegon quite well.”

Aether fixes him with a disbelieving expression. Aegon holds himself so that he won’t squirm because Aether shares the same judgmental mask on Mother when she’s not satisfied with his appearance; always fussing about how his vest doesn’t match with his eyes or how his hair seems unruly to be called neat. It’s akin to being cut open and being spectated. The younger boy shrugs, making a sound at the back of his throat that Aegon likens to a goat. Aether, the dragon’s diet, befits the image Aegon has in his mind regarding this weird boy. “He doesn’t seem ‘conqueror’-like to me. I still prefer to play with his Balerion toy dragon. I look more like a warrior than him.” He puffs out his chest as if his words require him to be prideful.

Aegon leans forward with his fists clenching at his sides. “I am named after The Conqueror. Of course, Balerion goes to me.”

“... I don’t see it.”

He wilts.

“But just this one time.”

The world is bright again.

Aegon runs to his toy chest and pulls out Balerion and Meraxes, carrying them like potato sacks under his arm. He chooses not to mind the grin of elfish mischief on his new friend’s face. He’s eager to have a new playmate that doesn’t mumble creepy things or cry when they get hit by a little bump. Aegon can tell — Aether is a fun person to be around with. And if Aether is present, Aesira is sure to follow, which means Aegon has something pretty to look at. Maybe he can convince her to play the princess kept in the tower, so he can act out one of his dreams as a worthy prince who rescues the fair maiden from her prison. That way, she can give him a kiss on the cheek as a reward and a handkerchief or piece of her dress as a favour for winning her hand. The thought of it sends Aegon in a rush of excitement.

“Play nice,” Aegon hears Aesira whisper to her brother. He tilts his head like a puppy.

Aether only snickers.

The younger boy, in fact, did not play nice.

What should be a nice game of conquering the territories of the Seven Kingdoms becomes a fight between the two dragons who are supposed to be allies.

It’s a miracle that Aemond doesn’t wake up from his deep nap at the noises Aether makes while trying to make Balerion surrender. But Helaena looks up from drawing random scribbles on her bound journal because of the sounds of wood scraping against wood. She looks down at her journal when she finds nothing interesting. At one point, Aegon’s hand gets included in the fray, biting his lip to not let someone hear his cry for pain. This is a game that his new friend is enjoying; he doesn’t want to spoil the fun. 

Aegon matches Aether’s enthusiasm. For all the times his hand is hit and the bursts of giggles Aether did, Aegon manages to pin down his Meraxes toy dragon on the floor. He expects the younger boy to feel dejected but much to his surprise, the giggles only increase. For once, Aegon doesn’t hide that he’s enjoying this roguish scene of child’s play. He doesn’t bite his lip when his hand is pressed between the wooden material, Aether doesn’t either. Their laughter rings out through the nursery that they don’t notice a certain babe’s fussing.

“No!” Aesira exclaims.

Aegon immediately turns his head to look at her.

“Ha!” Aether cheers. “I win! How about it? My dragon can beat any beast as long as I’m the rider.”

He doesn’t pay attention to his new friend’s self-celebration. His hand is limp around the wooden Balerion dragon.

Across from him, Aesira is in tears, bouncing the wailing babe in her arms. “Don’t cry, Daemian!” The babe keeps crying. Aesira is frantic now that the sound increases its volume. Her eyes keep flickering between the babe in her arms and the fussing toddler in one of the cribs. “Shh, Daemian, please. You’re going to wake up Aemond.” Aesira tries everything she can think of — patting the babe on the back, humming a lullaby that doesn’t help, cooing at the babe’s screaming face, and firmly hugging him close to her. Before long, she’s crying with him yet she’s more silent than him. “I don’t know what to do.”

Like a saving grace, a wet nurse barges into the nursery, movements distressed and searching for any mishap surrounding the Queen’s youngest child who is sleeping soundly after finding the most comfortable position, pudgy fingers still around one of Vhagar’s feet. Relief washes her face for a moment until she realises that the cry comes from the newest wards of the royal family. The wet nurse presses a hand on her chest, face scrunching in phantom pain before walking toward the three children forming a triangle on the rug-covered floor. She kneels in front of the weeping little ones, slightly leaning forward to give the girl all her attention.

“My Lady, I believe the babe is hungry,” the wetnurse placates.

“He always cries back in Dragonstone,” Aesira sniffles, “but he stops when I’m the one hugging him. Why won’t he stop now? Does he hate me?”

The wet nurse ruefully smiles at her. “I’m sure that isn’t the case, my Lady. He’s simply looking for his mouth to latch on. See how he presses himself on your chest? That is what babes do when they get hungry. Now, he’ll be as quiet as a snoring sheep once he’s drunk his fill. That is if you’ll let me, my Lady?”

The hesitance is clear on her face. If possible, she pulls the babe closer to her.

Aegon interjects, “Aemond always stops crying after he’s been tended to by his wetnurse. I’m sure it will be fine, A-Aesira.” He bites the inside of his cheek for the first time his tongue ever dares form the syllables of her name.

“Yes, Sira!” Aether cheers with a spurt of energy. “Damy is safe and you can play with us! You’ll be the maiden we’ll rescue in the battle.”

“I-Uhm,” Aesira looks down. “I’ll be with Princess Helaena instead.”

Her brother nods. “Alright. Just promise that you’ll be playing with us next time.”

They join their pinkies together and Aether goes back to facing a bemused Aegon while Aesira shyly introduces herself to Helaena.

“Don’t look so glum, Prince Aegon, Aesira never breaks her promises,” Aether forces a grin. “She’ll eventually come around.”

Aegon begrudgingly looks away from the little girl clad in the simple red dress that seems to outshine Mother. The boys continue their games with lesser enthusiasm than moments prior. This time, it’s Aegon who initiates the rowdier plots by bumping Balerion’s head into Meraxes’s. It garners a smile from the younger boy but it’s subdued. 

That night, when Aegon tries finding a comfortable position for him to sleep on his mattress and is left staring at the drab ceiling of the nursery, he catches Aether silently getting up from his mattress to sleep beside Aesira, who insisted that Daemian, their baby brother sleep next to her. It’s only as Aether wraps his arms around the girl and the babe that he realises Aesira’s shoulders are shaking. From then on, the children who unfortunately found themselves in a completely different world, one that’s separate from their own, only have one another against all odds.

Aegon turns away from them, ignoring the abysmal hole swallowing him from the inside out, and gives them the luxury of having their moment as theirs alone.

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[lurkingshan]

10 Things I Love About Go Ahead

This is all @ginnymoonbeam’s fault. I was just minding my business, clowning around, and she whispers in my ear: There’s this great cdrama I got into. It’s about a found family formed from broken families. There are adorable motherless children. There are loving dads. They’re going deep on intergenerational trauma and they’re doing it right. I can’t stop watching it. I have a problem and it’s time for it to be your problem, too. (I’m pretty sure she said all that).

And because this kind of epic family drama is my emotional kryptonite, I absolutely could not resist. And thus, I spent the last two weeks weeping and wailing and rending my garments over one of the best family dramas I have ever seen. In my entire life. And I have watched a lot of them, folks, not even counting the western ones!

So I’m here to pay tribute to this absolutely beautiful show, and hopefully drag a few more folks into the absolute agony and ecstasy of this watch experience. Tagging @waitmyturtles and @neuroticbookworm in particular, who I’ve already bullied into watching this once their current drama projects end, @midnight-sun16 my fellow cdrama enjoyer, @troubled-mind my R88 bud, and @wen-kexing-apologist and @emotionallychargedtowel because I know they love a good intergenerational trauma yarn. So here we go: 10 (spoiler free!) things I love about Go Ahead.

These precious babies

Left to right, that’s He Ziqiu, Li Jianjian, and Ling Xiao. They met as tiny children and are siblings by choice, not blood. They are fiercely protective of one another and their chosen family unit. And they love each other so much it absolutely will cause you to burst into tears at random intervals.

My two dads

There are two biological fathers in the mix in our little family: Li Haichao and Ling Heping, aka Li Dad and Ling Dad. They’re not a couple, but rather two single dads who have decided to raise their kids together as one family unit. They love all their children equally regardless of blood ties, and while they show up for them in very different ways, they are both excellent fathers who never let them down when it counts.

A keen understanding of intergenerational family dynamics and how we pass our trauma on

This show is deeply interested in exploring the old maxim that hurt people hurt people, particularly in the context of intergenerational families and parent-child relationships. I don't want to say a lot more because you should get to see the various plotlines that dig into this theme unfold organically. But you can trust me that this show takes it seriously and knows exactly what it's doing with these stories.

The absolute respect for chosen family

I lost count of how many times this show explicitly affirmed the legitimacy of chosen families. The first (of many) times I burst into tears watching was in just such a scene. Our characters are often met with skepticism and confusion over their family unit, and they are not having it. It's really lovely how committed they are to loving and choosing each other despite societal norms and outside judgment.

Excellent side characters treated with dignity

This gif here is of my best girl Mingyue, who is one of many excellent side characters in this drama. In this show, everyone matters and everyone has a story, and the show treats even the antagonist characters with dignity and empathy. Often the sides get their own plots that are in fact quite important to the themes - no wasted time here (which is really saying something for a 40 ep cdrama).

Female friendship for the win!

Adult Jianjian lives with her longtime best friends Qi Mingyue and Tang Can, and the show delves into their friendship dynamics and the complicated twists and turns that spring up as they get older, begin careers, and start crushing on the same boys. I love the way they look out for one another, I love the way they fight, I love the way they give each other shit, I love the way they support each other. They feel very real as longtime besties who have become family.

Nuanced exploration of difficult mothers

I'm gonna let you find out who this is on your own, but I'll say this: the show has three distinct plot lines that explore mother-child relationships, and every single one is a banger. These mothers are difficult, their choices are suspect, their motives are complex, their behavior is frustrating as hell. Where you come down on how redeemable each of them is will really be up to you, but the show gives you plenty to chew on and invites you to look upon them if not with understanding, at least with as much empathy as you can muster. I'm gonna be thinking about these moms for weeks.

Sibling dynamics done right

The way these three interact, I tell you. They've grown up together, and so they have the bond of lifetime familiarity, but they also have no actual blood ties, so they must choose over and over again to be each others' family. And they always do, even when life makes it really hard for them to protect their closeness. Watching them find their way to each other and sink into their comfortable family dynamics is always a delight. There are also some key differences in the relationship dynamics between each pair of them, which the show explores extensively. Which brings me to...

A sweet and cozy romance

This is not a spoiler - the show tells you it's coming in the opening credits. And so instead of playing a Reply 1988 style game of who's it gonna be you know from the start who it's gonna be and the fun part is taking the journey to get there (though you can amuse yourself trying to figure out which of the child actors is going to grow into this tall drink of water). Let me be clear, though - this show is not a romance. The romance plot line is very well done, but it is mostly there as another means to explore the family dynamics and how they are affected by this major change in one of the core relationships.

Emotionally intelligent writing that never falters

If you've been following me for any length of time, you know how much I care about quality writing in my dramas. And this drama has some of the best writing I've seen in a family show, particularly in the emotional intelligence behind all the character interactions. The show will surprise you sometimes, but never because the characters act in ways you don't expect or that feel wrong. The writing is assured and the show never loses its grip on who each of these characters is at their core. You can sit back, trust that you are in good hands, and enjoy the emotional roller coaster all the way to the end.

[elsalouisa]

"To enter the School of the Imperial Ballet is to enter a convent whence frivolity is banned, and where merciless discipline reigns. Every morning at eight, the solemn tolling of a big bell would put an end to our sleep. We dressed under the stern eyes of a governess, whose duty it was to see that all hands were kept perfectly clean, all nails in good trim, and all teeth carefully washed. When we were ready, we went to prayers, which were sung by one of the older pupils in front of an ikon underneath which a tiny flickering lamp was burning like a little red star. At nine, breakfast—tea, bread and butter—was served, and immediately afterwards the dancing lesson began.

We were all gathered in a big room, very high and well lit. There was no furniture except a few benches, a piano, and enormous mirrors. The walls were decorated with portraits of Russia’s sovereigns. After the small novices’ lesson, the elder, more advanced pupils had their turn, and the beginners withdrew to another room, where they pursued their work. At twelve the bell rang for lunch, after which we were taken out for a walk. Then more exercises until four o’clock, and then dinner. After dinner we enjoyed a period of leisure. Then came fencing lessons, music lessons, and from time to time rehearsals of dances which were to be performed on the stage of the Maryinsky Theatre. When we children had to appear in a ballet, we were taken to the theatre in great, well-closed cars. Supper used to be at eight, and an hour later we were sent to bed. On feast days were were taken to one of the Imperial Theatres: at times to the Theatre Michel, to see French plays performed by the French artists belonging to the Imperial company.

The most exciting days in our well-ordered life were those when the Emperor paid a visit to the school. In those times the imperial family used to mark their interest in the school by frequent visits. And then, to please the Empress, the children would perform a ballet on the school’s little stage. I can remember that one day, when I was a little girl, the Emperor Alexander and the Empress Maria, with other members of the imperial family, came to see one of those performances. At the end of the ballet we were allowed to go into the auditorium. The Czar took my little comrade, Stanislava Belinskaya, in his arms. He was so kind-hearted and unaffected, in all respects a true Russian! At that very instant I burst into tears. Naturally I was asked why I wept. And between two sobs I replied, with tears trickling fast down my cheeks: “I want the Emperor to take me into his arms too!’ Grand Duke Vladimir, in order to comfort me, took me upon his knee. But I was not satisfied, and went on weeping and repeating, “I want the Emperor to kiss me!” The Grand Duke laughed heartily. After the performance, the imperial family would come to the dining-room and have tea with us. We were not in the least embarrassed by their presence. The Emperor and Empress were so kind, so very much like a kind father and mother, that we were quite at ease with them, and altogether content.

Every Sunday my mother came to see me; and I used to spend all my holidays with her. During the summer we always lived in the country. We grew so fond of our little holiday cottage, that even now we have not the heart to give it up in favour of some more comfortable abode".

Anna Pavlova "Pages of my life"