#but kept silver hair for ambiguity :)

[arofili]

@aspecardaweek day seven | freeform | aroace gil-galad

Gil-galad was an Elven-king Of him the harpers sadly sing The last whose realm was fair and free Between the Mountains and the Sea.

—The Fall of Gil-galad, tr. Bilbo Baggins

picrew | for @jaz-the-bard

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞'𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦

↳ summary: the x-men can't seem to leave you alone, even if you've made it clear that you want nothing to do with them. as a last-ditch effort, they send logan, who's a little different than the rest

↳ notes: man writing this fucked me up. i kept editing it because i didn't like how it sounded, so some feedback would be much appreciated

↳ warnings: mentions of blowing things up in a past instance, but no one died. reader is a mutant and their powers are kept ambiguous, but it is implied they can somehow cause explosions

↳ song: promiscuous—nelly furtado

masterlist | commissions | carrd

The first time they sent someone, you had been excepting it

You weren't dumb. You knew the difference between an innocent bystander and a hired gun; or at least something along those lines. The way people walked talked and carried themselves was always a dead giveaway, and recently you had been surrounded by a few too many intense stares and stiff shoulders for your liking. A lot more than you were used to, in fact. Maybe that's what prompted you to start taking a new way home from work instead of the usual combination of cross walks and dirty bus seats.

The quick guy with silver hair was their first attempt at contact. You had found him waiting outside your apartment for you to get home all but a week after noticing the new attention on you, and you would have ignored him too if it wasn't for the fact that he was sitting on the outside your balcony, kicking his feet merrily off the side about ten stories above the pavement below without a care in the world. And with what looked like a twinkie in his hand, too.

You'd closed the blinds without a second thought, tossing him a fake grin and a little wave when he eventually turned around as you slammed them shut. You were fairly certain he could have stopped you in no time flat, if the way you would watch him zip away in the blink of an eye later said anything, but you took a heat-of-the-moment gamble and were satisfied when all your efforts got was a whine from the other side of your window pane. His mouth was too full of pre-packaged pastry to say anything in the moment, you realized

"Not interested." You called over your back as you began to retreat into your kitchen without another moments notice.

"You haven't even heard what I want!" He said thickly, clearly trying to swallow as he spoke. You must have startled him a little then. Good.

"And I don't need to."

He left a few minutes later when his one sided conversationalist skills got him no where, and you responded by throwing a frozen pizza in the lower half of your oven.

You had been craving pepperoni all day anyway.

The second person try was a bit more aggressive.

They didn't have the decency to wait for you to come home this time. Instead, you found yourself looking up from your laptop as a chair was pulled out across from you at the quaint table you sat at. It made a scraping noise, and you tensed the muscles in your hands for a moment at the sound.

"Can I help you." Your eyebrow quirked up as you looked at the woman across from you. She had blonde hair, and what you thought were the brownest eyes you had even seen. You had trouble looking anywhere but into them for a second. When they hit the light, you swore they turned yellow just for a moment, and she looked about as annoyed as you were that she was sitting by you. You didn't have to wait long to find out why.

"We've been trying to reach you." The surrounding noise of the café hardly disturbed the hard tone in her voice. "You're avoiding us."

At least this time these people had the common sense to approach you in public. If you were any form of confrontational, which you very much weren't, you could have started a fight the last time. Who knows if you would have won against super speed and whatever else the first guy had— you weren't exactly sure about the extent of his powers, and at this point didn't care —but the point remains that some damage could have been done. Now, in the middle of a coffee shop on a busy afternoon, it would be a bit harder to start a fight. Not that you were seriously concidering it. If anything, you wanted to duck into a large crowd just to loose this new recruiter, or whatever they were called. You didn't exactly know if they had a name for this type of situation.

"I have no idea who you are." Your tone matched her own, dealing out the half lie nonchalantly. You weren't technically wrong, really. You didn't know her, nor did you know that other man that had shown up before. But you knew what they wanted, and you'd be damned if they didn't pin you down without a bit of a struggle.

Moving with a speed quick enough to get your message across, but not fast enough as to alert any of the surrounding coustomers that something was up, you closed your laptop, abandoned your now lukewarm drink, and started for the door. You only paused in your movements after a weight settled over the back of your shoulder, and you carefully turned your neck to look down at the hand resting firmly on you.

"I don't recommend doing that." You said with a bit of a warning tone in your voice, looking her right in the eyes as you did so. They had since shifted from dark brown to an almost hazel shade, and you filed that information away for later use.

Her grip remained where it was for a moment. Then a thought seemed to cross her mind, and she let go of her hold on your shirt; even if a bit reluctantly.

You didn't stick around to see if anything else would happen. You just made your way out of the shop and into the bustling street, not caring if she followed. They already knew where you lived anyway.

"Taxi!!"

The final person they sent for you, you hadn't seen coming.

Every other time— from the teleporting blue kid, to the woman with white hair and fair skin, and even the tall guy in glasses that had turned a little blue when you pushed your way past him —you had been able to prepare beforehand. At the very least you were able to lock your doors before going out and about your day. You knew that wouldn't stop them in the slightest, but it was a silent message to stay out of your business.

But this guy? This guy just didn't care at all.

"You know, you're really nailing this first impression thing."

A gruff voice sprang to life at the same moment that your hallway lights did, doing a fine job at catching you off guard. You managed to not jump, but with the way the intruders lips tilted up, you figured he knew he had surprised you.

"Oh, fuck my life."

You were really not feeling like another impromptu visit tonight. You had gotten home from a rough day of work a couple of hours ago, only to realize that you had finally blown through all your food, and was once more sent back out into the city to look for a grocery store. You had been looking forward to finally resting your feet, and maybe your eyes a few hours earlier than planned, and you most certainly weren't in the right state of mind to entertain this hulking figure of a man and the proposition that came with him.

You looked at him harshly. He had muscles for days, and a brown leather jacket to accentuate just how large he was. You knew for a fact that he was a few weight classes up from the last guy that had been sent to your house, and you wondered if this was their way of trying to intimidate you into forcefully accepting their offer.

Tiny scars dotted his face and the skin on his neck. You wondered why there were so few, considering that you already knew what he did for a living, but also knew better than to question someone like him. Especially since he was already standing in the doorway to your home, looking like he owned the place.

"Go away." You didn't grant him any sort of emotion in your voice as you walked in the direction of your fridge. The plastic bags full of your food for the week swung in your arms, and for a moment you thought this new guy was going to block your way into the rest of the house before he backed off with a roll of his shoulders.

You clocked his broad chest and bruised knuckles out of the corner of your eyes as you opened the ice box and slowly placed some frozen veggies in side by side. He had either gotten here straight from a fight, or was itching for one. You figured it was probably the former considering he hadn't jumped you the second you walked through the door. Or you know, maybe he just had fucked up hands. You could never tell with people at this point.

"You're pleasant." The mans wry smile was nothing but headache educing as you finished putting the cold groceries up. You snorted with hollow amusement.

"Try being stalked for a month and a half. It really makes you feel like being hospitable."

"Try being the guy that gets sent to get in contact with you. It ain't exactly the way I wanted to be spending my Friday night either." He parroted back your words while running a hand down his face and across what you had since recognized as mutton chops in the process.

"When are you going to tell that professor of yours that I'm not interested in his little passion project." You think that might have been the first time you ever directly acknowledged what exactly was going on. Every other time you had just told the other person to get lost or slammed a door in their face to really get the point across, but the way this guy was looking at you gave you the feeling that he wouldn't be as easy to shoo away as the others, and you weren't really feeling up for a giant display of effort right about now.

"You could always tell him yourself, bub." His eyes followed your face as you crossed the room to stop in front of him, hand outstretched with something that ignited a small smirk on his face.

"Trying to bribe me?" He asked, going to take the fresh beer you offered him all the same. You shook your head.

"No. My master plan actually consists of getting you shit-faced drunk so you guys will finally leave me alone." You watched as his hand hesitated in mid-air slightly, and you misinterpreted his silent amusement at your jab for skepticism. "I've just got too much beer and a stranger in my apartment that's not going to leave me alone anytime soon, that’s all." You relented with a shrug.

"Fair enough." He took the brown bottle by the neck and popped open the top without so much as looking around for a bottle opener. When the cap went rushing to the floor less than a second later, you squinted.

"What are you then? Super strong? Or is your power alcoholism." That got a rough chuckle out of him. He swallowed about half of the bottle in one go before answering, and you sucked at your teeth as he did so.

"Something like that."

"Wow. Really feeling the comradery here." You didn't miss the way he deadpanned at that, and you figured he was thinking about all of the times you had kicked every other pursuer to the curb without even letting them get a word in edge wise. Still, you pushed on. "Remind me how its fair that you and your friends know all about me, but I have a new hero-of-the-week showing up on my doorstep every other day without so much as a clue as to what they could do to me?"

"About as fair as your little accident in Colorado." He responded without a seconds hesitation. You felt a little perspiration form on the back of your neck, and chalked it up to the lack of a.c in the room. Even if it was anything but.

"If you're here to try and convince me to join your little superhero team, I hate to tell you, but it isn't going to work. Just like it didn't work the past ten times." You ignored his last comment and made yourself comfortable on your living room couch. "Do you have a name? I've never really stuck around to talk to one of you this long before, and it's annoying to keep rendering to you as 'some guy' in my head."

He paused abruptly while drinking the beer, and you barely held back from rolling your eyes at his change in mood.

"It's Logan." He finally bit out reluctantly. You got the feeling that the only reason he told you was because he was here by request. If it has been any other circumstances, you had no doubts that he would have told you to fuck off. He gave off that energy.

"You already know mine, so I'm not gonna bother." You kicked your feet up and let your head hit the back of the couch with a sigh. "Just let me know when you finally get bored and head out. I want to make sure my landlord knows to blacklist you from the building after you're gone."

"Is this how you got everyone else to leave? By annoying them to death?" Logan sounded more entertained then you would have liked, and you blamed it on the beer.

"Depends. Is it working?"

"I've been sleeping at a school filled with screaming kids for the past few weeks. You're going to have to try harder than that to get me out of here." He took another swig.

"What will it take to get you to leave me alone. All of you." Your voice dipped out of it's usually casual tone for a more annoyed one. You were used to playing the long game when it came to getting people to leave you alone, but at this point it was getting ridiculous with the amount of people that they were throwing at you, and it was starting to wear you out. You weren't sure if Logan could tell your patience was being tested, and you weren't sure if you wanted him to.

Logan raised one eyebrow in your direction as an answer to your question, and you sighed.

"I'm not taking a stupid fucking spot on the X-Men if that's what you're implying. What do I have to do to convince you guys that I'm not up for it; blow up a building on accident or something?" The word 'again' went unsaid, but the implication was there.

You watched as Logan seemed to throw something around in his mind for a moment.

"Do you want to know why I joined the X-Men?" He eventually asked.

"Because you had nothing else to do with yourself other than styling your hair real stupid? Seriously what's with this horn thing you've got going in."

"I joined because they helped pull me off a dark path, kid." He barreled past your sarcasm, shutting you down quicker than you would like to admit. His tone was laced with something you recognized all as hatred, and you knew it wasn't directed at you, but rather himself. You knew the feeling all too well.

"I was running from something that I didn't even know I was trying to avoid." He continued. "And if it wasn't for the Professor and his 'stupid fucking team', I wouldn't have ever stopped."

For the first time in the past few minutes, you allowed one of your walls to come down as he spoke. You stared at him with a tired look lingering behind your gaze, choosing this time to listen rather than to ignore.

"I'm not running from anything." Even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. Logan didn't even have to look at you for you to sigh and lean forward again.

"I can see why the Professor wants you on the team." You felt the cushions on the opposite end of your couch dip slowly as he sat down. The now empty beer bottle was still in his hand, but as you looked over at Logan, you found his eyes filled to the brim with nothing but the honest truth.

It was a strange, tense moment. Both you and Logan could admit that. You were clearly filled with regret for your past actions, no matter how accidental they might have been, and conflicted with yourself because of it. Logan could do nothing more but watch as you battled with yourself over his words. His original plan had been to come here, show off a claw or two if needed, and bring you back to the school with a characteristic scowl on his face. But all that was thrown out the window when you offered him a beer, and when he was finally able to get a good look at you.

You looked exactly how he used to before one of his old cage matches. Detached and losing yourself. He could see it in your eyes.

The room delved into silence. You wrung your hands together and planted your feet. Logan watched as you seemed to have a silent conversation with yourself, and he began to regret not pacing himself with the beer. He wasn't anywhere near affected by the alcohol, that's to say. He just wished he had something to do other than sit in your home with squared shoulders and a furrowed brow.

"If I took one trip over to the place, would you guys let up on whatever this is?" You finally asked. Logan pushed down a faint smirk as you turned your neck to look at him.

"Sure."

You didn't say anything else, and you didn't have to. You got up without another word and grabbed a bag from a nearby closet. Logan found himself leaning on your doorframe as you stuffed a few essentials down into your travel bag in the room over, and he remained there until you finished.

"Still curious about my powers?" Logan decided to bait you just a little further as you shut the door to your apartment with a click of your keys, and he had trouble keeping a straight face when you looked back at him with curiosity dancing across your features.

Without saying anything, he held one of his hands up, and let you watch as his trademark claws popped up slowly. Like seasonal weeds in a garden full of flowers. The appendages let out a slight sliding noise as they did so, and you blinked once. Twice. Three times.

"And I thought my powers were bad." You finally said after a moment, and Logan scoffed at you.

"Kid, everyone thinks their powers are bad at first."

You seemed to take that as a challenge, and Logan watched as a bit of that fire that he'd heard about from Storm and the others flared up in you.

"Yeah? You ever accidently blow up a boiler room and take out half your high school's classes, big guy?" Your grin was all teeth as the two of you made your way down the complex hallway. Logan slowed his pace so you could keep up, and turned around so he could fully look at you as he walked backwards.

"Big guy?" He questioned you with a tilted of his head, looking about as unimpressed as he could.

"I mean yeah." You snickered. "Just look at your, well, everything." You took to gesturing at his entire being, something that got you a huff from the other man.

"Maybe you're just small." He shot back. You laughed and shook your head, looking down at yourself. Yeah right.

"And maybe I'm right, and you're just freakishly big."

Your banter continued all the way down to the elevator, where you had a hard time holding in your laughter as Logan accidentally almost stabbed the down button with his claws, apparently having forgotten that they were even out.

You couldn't help but wonder if he was always like this; if everyone at the school was like this.

Maybe going for a visit wasn't as much as a bad idea as you'd thought.

[venusbyline]

Bleeding ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 20, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Alicent Hightower x lady in waiting!reader

— type: smut, angst, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: period sex + blood kink

— summary: Alicent did not want to be Queen Consort. She did not want to be King Viserys's second wife. She did not want to be Aegon II's mother. Alicent Hightower just wanted to love girls.

— word count: 2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 20th day, female!reader, young!Alicent, period sex, blood kink, light dubcon, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, rough sex, tribadism/scissoring, argument, nipple play, underage sex, light unconscious sex, mild hurt/comfort, mild angst, lactation kink, breastfeeding, light dumbification, overstimulation, degradation, choking, family issues, crying, dacryphilia, sexism, curse words, implied/referenced cheating, breast worship, religious guilt, sexuality crisis, aftercare, love triangle (Alicent Hightower x reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen), motherhood themes, mommy kink, Aegon Targaryen II mentioned, minor Alicent Hightower x Viserys Targaryen, minor Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, minor Gwayne Hightower x reader, ambiguous/open ending, lesbian!Alicent, bisexual!reader, sub!Alicent, dom!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

Ever since Alicent had given birth to Aegon, she had grown distant from her best friend, Rhaenyra, and had become more lonely. Rhaenyra did not like Aegon because he reminded her of the male children her father had lost, he reminded her of her mother's brutal death during childbirth.

Sometimes, not even Alicent herself liked her son. Every time she looked at those violet eyes, the rosy cheeks and the silver hair, she was reminded of King Viserys. How he had fucked her tight cunt without even worrying about her pleasure. How she had kept her eyes open throughout the entire act, hoping it would end soon so she could distance herself from the older man's sweaty body and return to her own chambers.

Looking at the little boy made Alicent think about how their fates were set forever. She would just be a brood mare until Viserys no longer had the strength to keep fucking her. And Aegon would be just a lamb in the midst of all that chaos from Targaryen family. An heir, or not. A king, or not. Perhaps just a stupid adult with stupid kids in the future. Just as she probably would be too.

She was so afraid that Aegon would stop being a cute baby and become an evil man. This happened to most men. Their mothers gave birth to them with so much love and they were destined to die little by little watching their boys' development, each maternal disappointment being like daggers inside their hearts and inside their wombs, who had bled so much to bring their children into the world.

Alicent could even picture Aegon in his future, visiting brothels, masturbating like a dog in heat, making bastards in the streets, being a shame not only for the Targaryen family, but mainly for Alicent, his own mother. She wanted to put him back in her womb and stop him from anything evil he could do or be.

"Your Grace, did you call me?" Your voice discreetly entering the Queen's private chambers, avoiding looking at her figure under the sheets. It was nothing you had not seen. You had helped her during Aegon's birth, but you also knew her body for other reasons. You were her lady-in-waiting since her childhood, always close to her despite being a few years older. Otto Hightower had entrusted his daughter's good reputation to you since the three of you moved to King's Landing before her and the King's marriage. You did your tasks splendidly, too perfectly.

Especially into her bed.

"I thought you would not come, love..." Alicent murmured with a more fragile way than she intended and you tried hard not to show any pitying face. You were still angry about your last argument.

"You call me, I come. It is always like that, is not it?" Your passive-aggressive accusation made her swallow hard with shame and self-loathing. She was not the best person to deal with feelings. Ever since her marriage to Viserys, Alicent had been confused. About her faith. About her sins. About her extramarital desires. About Rhaenyra. About you. Especially about you two.

Gods, she wanted both of you so much that sometimes it hurts. Alicent wanted not to be married to the King, she wanted not to have a child, she wanted to be free. She wanted to be a man.

The young redhead fiddled with her fingers for a few moments, sitting on the bed and still covered by the silk sheet. She wanted to apologize for the argument, to say that she would try to talk less about her chaotic friendship or situationship with Rhaenyra. However, she knew that none of this would help. You were angry by her past confession about sleep with Rhaenyra a few times before her marriage to the King. You thought you were special to her. You really thought you were the only one, since Viserys Targaryen was just a puppet in Otto's hands. The affair with her was special. Or at least it should be.

You sighed after her long silence, seeing how Alicent looked away, choosing to look at any part of the chambers that was already so well known to her. "Why did not you call your friend Rhaenyra?" Your mockery tone did not go unnoticed and she flinched.

"I am... Bleeding. Rhaenyra does not like licking my vaginal blood." She said embarrassed. You knew what that meant. Alicent always hated admitting how turned on she was when those days came. The days she was sure she was not pregnant again. It was a mix of relief and arousal. She was so sensitive, so fucking needy...

But this time, you did not lower yourself between her thighs. This time, you looked at her with a cold gaze. So cold that she did not think even the strongest Dracarys from any Targaryen could melt.

"Then you want me to lick all your pretty little cunt to ease your pain and arousal, just because the princess is disgusted by that?" You questioned without a hint of affection that was always there, tearing your light blue dress with gold details with an almost animalistic speed. Now there was only resentment that she was reaping due to her own actions.

Alicent's already big eyes widened, pink lips parted with complete shock, as if you had said the most perverse thing that could come out of a girl's lips. "A-are you insane? Mind your tongue and do not dare to use that kind of language with me!" She tried to growl, to look intimidating. Tried to look like a Targaryen. Tried to sound like Rhaenyra.

But she was not a Targaryen. She was Alicent. Alicent Hightower. The ambitious teenager who spent hours inside the Septs, kneeling in front of some statue. She was also Alicent Hightower, the teenager who begged the Gods for forgiveness and mercy every time she pictured her best friend and current stepdaughter rubbing the wet core with some silver hairs on her lips, while you, her lady-in-waiting, would eat her out until she squirt all over your face.

This thought had appeared in Alicent's mind so many times that she had already surrendered, fucking her fingers inside herself under the sheets several nights. Like a true pathetic whore.

"You have no right to treat me as if you were just my Queen." It was your turn to growl, lower but much more intimidating, checking if the door was really locked before walking towards Alicent's bed with long strides, not caring about her wide eyes as you pulled the sheets away from her body, revealing the semi-transparent nightgown that highlighted the curves acquired since Aegon's pregnancy.

"BUT I AM YOUR QUEEN!" Alicent yelled, trying to deprive your of her dignity, but it was too late. You had seen the dry crimson stain on her fingers, causing you to laugh instantly.

"You are nothing but a spoiled greedy whore. That is what you are." The whisper filled with sarcasm made Alicent curl up even more into the pillow. "How long have you been trying to fuck your disgusting needy hole without even being able to cum?"

Your question went unanswered and you finally snapped, losing your patience and grabbing her neck, pushing her further onto the bed as you climbed onto the bed while you climbing on top of her vulnerable body. "Answer me, Your Grace!"

However, now your plea sounded more desperate and hurt than angry. She could see how your eyes were full of tears and how you were trying your best to fight them off. You hated feeling so hungry for Alicent. She should be your responsibility, nothing more than that. You should not care if she was thinking about Rhaenyra or not, as long as she did not tarnish the reputation of House Hightower or Viserys' reign. "SEVEN HELLS, ALICENT! ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!"

"Over an hour ago, love. I was thinking about you two, you and Nyra..." Alicent sobbed after your shout, tears streaming down her soft cheeks as well, slightly losing consciousness for a few seconds from crying so much. She did not realize what you were doing with her body until you arched your head back, a strangled moan escaping your lips with pleasure and agony. It was then that she felt a different wetness rubbing against hers. It was not just your juices. It was... It was blood. Just like hers. It was the blood from your cunt mixing with her blood.

"O-oh, Gods. You are bleeding too..." Alicent whimpered, trying to move so she could keep up with the rhythm and give you even more pleasure, but your hands that kept her legs open stopped her. She moaned, looking at you with big sad eyes, which you ignored without any mercy, your gaze focused on the way your blood-stained cunts met each other, swollen clits pulsing against each other.

If it had been before, Alicent would have found it disgusting. She would find it disgusting how you started squeezing her breast when you increased the speed of your hips. Her breasts was still so large and heavy with Aegon's milk, she had created more curves and unfortunately some stretch marks, and you loved every part of all of this, playing with her nipple and smirking between moans when some milk flowed out.

She should find repulsive the way her own milk ran down her belly, some spots reaching the place where the two of you fit. You raised an eyebrow despite the haze of pleasure, as if you were asking permission for something. Instead of answering, Alicent also pressed her own breast, her hand now wet with breast milk, before she reached for both cunts, rubbing yours and then hers, getting them more overstimulated so you could move with more easily.

It was a disgusting mess. The gooey sounds, the blood and milk mixed on your buds, the way her nipple was still dripping. You were the first to cum, biting your lip until blood came out, avoiding moaning the Queen's name too loudly. Your cunt spasmed until your legs shook, your body falling on top of Alicent and the sight of your intense climax made her reach the release too. Even knowing the possible consequences, Alicent did not hold back. She moaned your name like a whore. Like the cheapest prostitute in the brothels on Street of Silk. Like the women that all the Targaryens fucked hidden from their wives. Like the women her firstborn and perhaps her next sons would fuck in the future. Like her future daughter would moan around some man's cock, if one day she had the divine blessing of giving birth to a little girl to try to protect her from all the evil in Westeros.

Alicent caressed your cheeks, grateful that you did not mind the mixture of blood, juices and breast milk that stained your face as she gave you affection, pulling your soft mouth close to her left nipple so that you could be breastfed like a baby. Her baby. You did not know what to say, you were too overwhelmed by the situation. Every argument with Alicent Hightower ended like this, feeding you as if you were a little orphan child and she a childless mother or a widowed wife. A widowed Queen.

"I wish we could be happy, love..." Alicent whispered with some melancholy, placing a kiss on your forehead and letting a tear escape. "B-but... But I hope my brother Gwayne will be a good husband to you. The husband you deserve. The husband I cannot be to you or to Nyra." You did not answer, nodding weakly and looking at your betrothal ring with the perfect green jewel on top. You did not want Gwayne Hightower. You did not want Alicent Hightower to be a man. You just wanted Alicent the way she was. A girl. Your girl. You wanted Alicent Hightower to be your wife. And she wanted that too.

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Helloo!

Idk if you take requests , but could you maybe write a fic with Human!Alastor and male!reader where reader exaggerates his whole personality to comply with everyone else and is easily exhausted from it and Alastor "relaxses" reader in that way ?

Thank you in advance and have a good day !

Alastor - [ MASQUERADE ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

A/N: This request really made me brainstorm but I've decided to break it into 2 parts. I hope you'll enjoy it! As always kindly lmk the artist of the fanart so I can tag them and give proper credit! ❤️

WARNINGS: [ SLIGHT NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SUGGESTIVE THEMES ] + [ MALE READER ] + [ FLUFF…if you squint ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

“You're on air in ten minutes, Y/n. Pick it up before the host gets restless!”

Your so-called manager barked from the dressing room doorway, giving one last glare your way before strutting off, grumbling a string of curses you'd learned to ignore.

“Asshole…” you scoffed, turning back to the striped mirror of your vanity; the large bulbs that lit it gave enough light in the old stuffy backstage space, illuminating every detail of your appearance.

Not one thing could be out of place.

You wouldn't allow it, committed to your role as a rising preformer in the golden age of the stage, and conditioned to perfectionist standards from years of tribulations

Suffering behind a practiced smile won you your stardom. The ambiguous beauty you possessed helped immensely in your success on the silver screen, but the truest contributor to your fame was appeal.

Humourous, intellectual, but most crucial, sex appeal.

That's what kept your admires enthralled, permanently put you in the limelight from the start, and inevitably earned you considerable amounts of money.

You weren't opposed to being called a child of Dionysus himself, envied by those who wanted you. Still, the burden of putting on a show for everyone every day without giving them a glimpse of your faults was excruciating.

Yet, you chose the burden over sulking in the darkness, remaining among the ordinary when you so clearly had the makings of a star, and your status of high popularity among the masses was proof of it.

So be it if your cheeks ached from smiling at frivolous fans that your laugh sounded less like your own the more you forced it, that flirtations of others felt like empty praises, or that every project you agreed to felt less and less stimulating.

So fucking be it.

Fame is fickle; you knew this all too well, but your existence felt meaningless without it.

Empty.

All the world's riches, the undivided favor you garnered from the public, and the sparkling awards cluttered your penthouse display shelves…

Even with all that at your fingertips, you had yet to feel seen…

Seen and truly adored.

“Two fucking minutes! Get your ass in position. This interview is being broadcast live, remember?” your manager harped at you from the hall, causing you to grunt in frustration before yelling back, “Would you shut your trap?! Fucking hell…I'm coming!”

You set aside the whiskey glass in your left hand, ran your right through your recently styled hair, and checked your reflection one last time.

“It's only a radio show. One little interview and you can go home and get black-out drunk…” the idea of spending some much-deserved time alone after running around doing a press tour brought a sad smile to your face as you stood and exited the dim room.

This would be your last stop, an interview with Louisiana’s prided radio host, and the last person you'd need to put a show on for before returning home.

“Finally…” your manager grumbled as you stepped into the hall, giving you a once over as the two of you strolled down the hall towards the host recording area, “Don't fuck this up. People say this ones a real talker and can make or break ya..” he mumbled begrudgingly.

You paid his incessant pestering no mind, flashing him a suave smile as you both stopped before a heavy door, “Don't tell me you're starting to care about my reputation now? Thought you only saw me as a nice money grab…”

Your smile grew as laughter bubled in your chest, seeing the other slowly become agitated at your backhanded comments.

“Why, you little-”

“Oh, don't be rude, sir. You'll spoil my good mood, and god knows sour spirits bring bad luck,” you smirked, enjoying the scrunch of his nose as his expression reflected his true nature, but before he could snap, you pushed the door open and slipped into the soundproofed station room.

What a fucking pain he is…

You cursed the raging man outside, sighing softly as the sound of jazz lingered through the air and the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a distinct cologne engulfed you.

The space felt and looked inviting, relaxing even, but what caught your attention was the man who occupied it.

He sat in a desk chair across the small room, facing a table full of controls and a mic to match. His face was lowered from the device, glasses resting comfortably on the bridge of his nose as he stared at what you assumed was a script for your conversation with him, but the simmering amazement overtook your curiosity about the paper he held you felt hearing him hum along to the song he was airing.

You didn't dare move an inch closer, satisfied with watching and listening to him from afar, oddly entrapped by the silent allure he cast.

It was no mystery that people loved the sound of his voice. You'd be fooling yourself if you said you hadn't found his commentary enchanting, but looking at him in the flesh, you were sure he'd flourish on the silver screen like no other.

He could indeed win the eyes of many…

Yours especially, and to some degree, he had already, but you hesitated to admit it even as he turned to face you.

Oh…. he is a beauty, that's for sure…

That was the singular thought in your mind as he smiled, standing from his seat before approaching you with all the confidence you'd merely portrayed.

“Hello there. You must be Y/n L/n. I'm Alastor Hartifelt. It's a pleasure to meet you, my friend!”

His voice was as smooth, melting into the background melodies inexplicably, and your heart lightened immensely as he held out a hand for you to shake.

“The..the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hartifelt..” you inwardly scolded your delayed greeting, losing track of your practiced charm relatively quickly in his grasp. Still, in seconds, you recovered from the blunder while returning his smile.

Alastor took you in with a glance up and down your figure, cataloging every detail of your appearance out of habit, but when his gaze met yours, one thought crossed his perceptive mind.

Longing?

How curious…

You hid the familiar emotion well; seeing past the veil of contentment wasn't tricky, and though he was tempted to bring it forth.

You two shook hands briefly but firmly. Alastor stepped back, gliding his hand out to mention towards the recording station. “Come, have a seat, and please call me Alastor. We will be on air after all; formalities aren't necessary for an engaging broadcast.” His smile grew, emitting an unearthly kindness as you nodded in understanding before sitting in the chair opposite his.

“You make an excellent point, Alastor. I hope we enjoy each other's company.” You chuckle softly, feeling a tad nervous for a reason unknown but genuinely harboring a rise in excitement, hearing him respond promptly.

“I have no doubt we will…” Alastor muses more to himself, a delicate edge to his voice as he trailed behind you, and a certain twinge of intrigue rattled your spine at the implication.

For the first time in a long time, you weren't dreading the inclinations of your fame, gradually succumbing to the sparks of joy Alastor evoked with the most straightforward words and becoming surer of the fact as he took his seat next to you.

“Shall we begin?” he implies cheekily, and you reply in a quick, witty fashion, “We shall.”

————-

“Care for a drink, my friend? I believe we’ve earned ourselves a cold glass of whiskey… that is, If your evening is unreserved.” Alastor made the offer moments after switching your respective microphones off, quickly arranging the recording panel to a specific setting as he listened for your response.

Your mouth moved quicker than your mind; a distinct rush overtook at the thought of spending more time with the charismatic radio host, “I'd be delighted to join you. I must agree that our interview went quite well. It's rare to have an easy conversation with a stranger these days..”

Alastor raised a brow, sparing you a glance as he finished sliding keys and flicking switches into place to keep a calming stream of music lingering in his broadcast, “So, I'm still a stranger to you?… My, and I thought we were getting on so well…“

He spurs you casually, an air of hurt in his expression, and it stuns you, causing a red hue to rise on your cheeks, “Th-that's not at all what I meant, Alastor…” Your lower head twinges of embarrassment staining your consciousness, and for the third time that evening, Alastor had chipped away at your charm.

He enjoyed it….

Seeing you falter and conform to his standards, though you didn't need to, at any time, you could've remained indifferent to him and taken your leave the moment he shut your mic off, but you remained.

Solely because you'd grown attached to him or the defect he had on you.

Humbling, genuine understanding, but above all else, validation.

“My dear, I am only poking fun. I take no offense to your words, and I hope you'll grant me the same courtesy!” Alastor reached for you, thumb and forefinger slipping under your chin to lift it, and you obeyed his gesture with a soft smile. “Oh…I…”

You paused, swallowing thickly as he raised himself from the chair, head lowered toward yours as he stood above you.

Had he always been so tall?

So brooding?

You weren't entirely sure, but your heart raced, every nerve in your body tingled with anticipation as if you were a deer caught in his headlights, but you couldn't retreat or evade him.

“You what?..” Alastor cooed quietly, chocolate eyes on fire with an emotion you'd long forgotten but returned subconsciously.

Control.

You needed to be back in control, or the next breath between you two might lead to something…

Your mind played scenario after scenario, beginning to short circuit as he peered down at you, lips only inches from yours, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek. His touch is searing, warmer than those you'd felt before, intentional, and your entire being buzzed in his grasp as if in a drunken stupor.

He was dangerous… able to tear through your facade easily, which was terrifying.

Polarizing.

Don't let him get any closer…

Keep him at a distance…

You've only just met him...

Warnings rang in your head, but your eyes lowered to his lips, and your voice remained quiet as you responded to his question.

“I" 'd like to have that drink before the night ends. Wouldn't you?"With a gentle nudge of your head and a soft laugh, you draw away from Alastor's touch. The space between you increases, and the ability to breathe becomes less strenuous as you stand to your feet, collecting your overcoat before slipping it on, "I'm not familiar with the city yet, so I'll leave it to you to show me around." The chipper in your tone amuses Alastor; you'd perfected the art of illusion so well that in the clutches of what some might consider an intimate moment, you balked and reclaimed sensibility like it never occurred, though you wished for it to carry on further.

He'd met and spoken to his fair share of actors, learned their ticks and telling habits, and used it against them when he saw benefit in toying with them.

However, being able to see right through you evoked another motive for the host, and he dared to think it was mutual.

"Well, I'd be honored to show you the ins and outs of this lively town I call home so long as you promise to keep up," Alastor retrieves his coat, a heavy jet black trench withered accents paired with matching hat, stylish in all the right ways -presumably warm to be in. Still, you were sure if he ventured into the night dressed like that, any stranger would fear him.

They had good reason to, but you didn't need to know why.

Not yet…

With a coy smile, you followed Alastor out of the station, matching his strides as he paved the way to a nearby speakeasy, "You'll find it quite entertaining, my friend. Few visit at this hour, but my dear Mimzy puts on a vine show regardless!" Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Alastor being infatuated with another, for what reason you weren't sure, but your disappointment flashed clear in your eyes that he took it upon himself to clarify his remark.

"She is an old and loyal acquaintance. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You perked up at the explanation, face burning with a blush as you raised both hands to dissuade his interpretation of your expression, "I understand. You needn't explain anything to me-"

Alastor halted in his tracks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he peered at you curiously, "Hm, so you did assume we were something to begin with?..."

Shit, was I that obvious?...

"Not at all..." you lie, as calm as ever but internally conflicted.

How could he go about messing with you so boldly?..

And why did it excite you?..

"Your eyes say otherwise, my friend..." he counters your nervous reply with a smug smirk, beginning to walk off as if he wasn't toying with your head, "My eyes?..." you whisper in response.

"They are the doorway to the soul...I've learned to walk through said doors, and you, my dear, hide a lot of fears behind them." Alastor chuckles, ears tingling as you reclaim your spot at his upon reaching your destination. Still, you're less concerned with the dark alley lit with a singular neon sign situated above a heavy lead door and more worried about what he is implying regarding your emotions.

Who was he to know anything?

Sure, he was pleasant to be around, an avid intellectual with a knack for continuing conversation with you, and you had no reason to believe he'd been faking his friendliness to you from the start...

That still gave him no right analyzing you, prod at your exterior with more confidence than necessary, and you intended to let him know it.

A glare beset your expression, mouth open to speak, but you weren't allowed to do so as the lead door swung open.

Alastor guided you close to his side as a gaggle of patrons spilled from the doorway, ranting and raving about the time they had inside. Their rowdy behavior irked him, but you did not comment on the matter as he placed a hand on your back to lead you inside after their dysfunctional departure.

“Drunken idiots,” he mumbled begrudgingly, and for the first time you'd seen the radio host truly bothered. He'd been so composed during your interview, inviting and flirtatious on and off the air, so getting a glimpse of his annoyed state felt like a treat.

At least you knew he had flaws, insignificant but telling ones.

“Um. Alastor, you can..” you paused, unsure if you wanted to let him know he was still holding onto your waist as he led you inside the dim speakeasy. Alastor hummed, irritation gone, and his coy smile widening as you shuffled alongside him. “Y-you can let me go now.”

“Oh, nonsense, my dear! I wouldn't want you to run into unsavory characters like the ones that just passed..”

He quickly navigated the lingering crowd, clearly familiar with the club's layout, and you marbled at its unique atmosphere as he led you through it. “I can handle myself, Alastor,” you tried again to reason, but Alastor was quick to give a response as he ushered you to sit at an unoccupied lounge chair complete with a table and lamp.

“I'm sure you can but I'm rather fond of keeping you close.” He sat next to you after setting his coat and hat aside.

What did he mean by that?..

“How selfish of you,” you feigned disappointment as he shifted to face you with a soft chuckle leaving his lips, “Would you be so kind as to forgive my greed for your attention?” Alastor stares you down, noting how you bite your lip, another nervous tick you'd yet to disregard in his presence. “I'll consider it if you buy me a drink or two..”

The suggestion was meant to sound confident, unmothered by the mounting pressure in your chest, but it came out breathless. You were sure that you'd mastered the art of indiffenece, permanently established a mask of charm, but as much as you wished to maintain the certainty…

Alastair disproved it with little more than a gesture or equally compelling word.

It was unsettling, intoxicating too, but undeniably riveting.

“A small price to pay,” he mumbled, eyes lowering to your lips as you laughed softly and leaned back to admire the other patrons roaming or dancing around. “I never said I was cheap..” you taste him, gaze drifting to him as he shifted closer. You wanted to jump out of your skin as his arm came to rest behind you, head lulling to ward your cheek as he breathed into your ear. The resulting warmth made you shiver, quickening your breaths, and your body tingled with intrigue.

“No…” Alastor affirmed your jest, free hand raising your chin, tilting your head to face him as he continued, “…but you are desperate to be loved. One might say that's just as inappropriate, mon Cher..”

His tone dripped with condensation, a sensual purr loud enough to drown out the jazz and chatter surrounding you, and for a moment, he was all you could comprehend.

You should've felt angry, unsettled even, but his words struck a more profound emotion.

Comfort.

You weren't crazy, a constant wonder for the masses to marvel at and never care about.

Alastor could see you.

He wanted to…

“And so what if I am? Why would it concern you?..” there was no harsh undertone to your question, and it earned a sultry hum of amusement from him. “You've interested me, so I must not ignore your charade. I'm partial to the truth of a person, and you, my dear, abandon it in the hopes of success..”

Spot on.

It is shamelessly hurtful but direct nonetheless.

You clicked your tongue dismissively, attempting to turn your head away from his grasp, but Alastor held you tighter.

A glare crossed your face at the brushing grip he established, but a pool of excitement rushed to your crotch as well.

“I'm not one of your scripts to read, Alastor..” you scoff, rolling your eyes to make your point clear, but he isn't affected by the arrogant gesture.

“My apologies if it seems that way, but my intention to know you, inside and out, is purely innocent...”

“I find that hard to believe…” you retort, very aware of the minimal space between you two, and it became harder to focus on anything else but his soft lips that were stretched thin into a smile.

God, I was doomed from the beginning… you think to yourself as you laugh at your shameless line of sight. “Believe what you wish, my friend, but I enjoy being the object of affection..”

“That's inappropriate to suggest,” you mutter, face burning with blush and your hands raising to grip his wrist and collar. Alastor hummed, amused by your denial, “Mm, I suppose it is…would you like another apology?”

You shake your head, tugging him in by the collar of his shirt, eyes lifting to his, full of determination, “A kiss will do just fine…”

He holds your gaze, checking for mockery, but there is none. “That's the first honest thing you've said all night, mon cher,” Alastor points out in a hushed tone, lowering his head to place a slow kiss on your lips as they pull into a satisfied smile.

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

I rewatched Heartstopper for this. Was it helpful? Yes. Did it make me cry harder than the first time I watched it? Also, yes. Will I forever love that show?… (yes). Again, this is just part 1! The second half is being drafted. Please look forward to it. I'm not sure it'll include smut…but I'll debate on that later.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He's so cheekyyyy but I love him for it hehe like he’s just the right amount of ‘cocky asshole’ ya know? ❤️ credit to creator!

[admirxation]

彡 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝐭𝐡 - 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

♡ 𝐬𝐮𝐦. Floch is obsessed with his ex-girlfriend, the one that should have never got away. (wc: 4.3k)

𝐜𝐰 — afab!reader x yandere!ex-boyfriend!Floch Forster. Dead Dove Do Not Eat (very dark oneshot), 18+ smut mdni, mention of previously established relationship (reader and Floch are exes), kidnapping, non-con and kinda turns into dub-con, obsessive yandere, tying up, groping, nipple play, gunplay (he fucks reader with a gun) -> you've been warned; continue at your own discretion.

You awaken slowly, feeling a cool sweat drag along your brow bone as blurred vision becomes sharpened clarity; your heart drops into the pit of your stomach as you notice the cold surrounding you, that biting chill that seems to seep into your bone marrow as the world felt small, the darkness in the room feeling suffocating as if the walls were slowly tiptoeing into your personal space.

Your wrists ached, feeling a throbbing and tight pain with the coarse road tightly wrapped around you like an animal, cutting into your flesh with every slight movement, a wince echoing the cold walls as you twisted them in hopes you could untie them, but of course, you can’t, they’ve been tightened by someone who knows what they’re doing—like someone who has been practising and planning.

Trying to focus, you blinked, but the room just remained in a shrouded cloud of shadow, illuminated only by a weak, silver light of the moon filtering through a high barred window. You could feel how the dust in the room was almost in thick clouds creeping into your lungs, the scent of dampness on the walls as if the room itself had been left to decay for lifetimes, forgotten by time and the living. You tried to sweep every memory, looking at every detail of what you could see outside the bars, trying to think of where you could be. The only possible answer you could come up to was that you were in a cellar in some abandoned building; you didn’t hear anything outside, not even the sound of a rat or bird, so you had to be somewhere far away from your usual dwellings—whoever put you in here knew what they were doing.

Your heart continued to race with that beating rhythm meeting your eardrums, feeling a weight on your shoulders and chest as the reality of the situation was drawing in; this wasn’t just some nightmare, nightmares make your mind shiver, not your heart. Your eyes just kept their shaky gaze at the unfamiliar room, its decrepit and rotting nature with how the walls seemed so empty, but also seemed like they were growing taller and closer.

As your heart continued to pound at the chamber of your ribcage, a low creaking sound from the far end of the room could be heard, pulling your attention into a snapping neck movement; your pulse quickening as the shadowed figure was looming in over you, its figure detaching itself from ambiguity into familiar likeness was making your blood turn to ice. He steps forward, and your heart lurches in your chest with that sudden recognition of who has seized you.

Floch Forster. Your ex-boyfriend and now captor.

He emerges into the pale light the window only allows, his figure towering above you, with his broad shoulders casting a dark and heavy shadow to take away the only light you could bask in. You noted the mess of his auburn hair, once perhaps kept and handsome in the light of day when you saw him, but now in a messy state with how the moonlight catches the edges like a sharp blade. The look in his eyes was only making this grotesque and rotten room feel more decayed as that smirk that was appearing on his lips sucked all the remaining life out of the room and in your consciousness. They trap you along with the tight ropes bound to your flesh, his gaze is cold and calculating as a predator looks at his prey. Once you might have thought of them as perhaps warm and inviting, how his eyes used to remind you of caramel, not only sending a shiver down your spine and making goosebumps appear in fear's wake.

You swallowed the lump that was formed in your throat, the fast of fear sharp on your tongue the moment your mind helped you reach recognition, only managing to let out a soft and exhausted whisper: “I should have known it would be you…”

Of course, you should have known. Floch and you used to be close, lovers on the brink of a whole new journey as man and wife when you accepted his grand on-one-knee gesture, but the more you kept being with him, noticing how his loyalty—once a trait you admired—was something that was ruining him and you with how you became his possession to keep, not his lover to please. The man would just look at you and he always had to do something, if you were out late by a millisecond he was trying to get in your mind and see if you were plotting something behind him; it became exhausting to love him when he sucked all your character out and left you a walking bag of skin and bones.

He never took the break up well, who does? Whenever people say they broke up on good terms, that’s a load of delusional and mature bullshit people latch onto to believe that of course they were good enough, just not the right time, because no one can ever just admit that the relationship was nothing but utter failure, everyone needs to be the good guy in their own story. But Floch took it further than anyone else could, you name it he did it. Constantly sent letters, waiting at the doorstep with flowers, but one thing he never did was promise to change; in his mind why should he change? Every woman wants a man so loyal they go crazy and only think about them… right?

His lips curled at the edges, a smirk that carried no warmth, only the smug satisfaction of a man who had been planning this moment for far too long.

“Should have known,” he echoed as he mocked your fearful tone as he crossed his arms against his chest, his gaze piercing right through you, “any more theatricals you have planned, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but your voice cracked under the pressure of suppressed terror; your mind running a race with your beating heart wanting to explode out and give you a lucky escape from any torture or suffering he was going to inflict upon you, making every morbid imagination run rampant through your freezing bloodstream.

He had you where he wanted you, cowering for him. His presence oozed arrogance as he crouched down and brought your face level to his, his rough fingertips on your chin as he watched you, up so close like your intimate moments in history; only this time, there’s nothing intimate about this, only fearful as his eyes watched you.

“Should have known you say,” he says softly with a false warmth surrounding you with the voice that used to comfort you, “but you didn’t did you? If you’d known you would have changed the locks to your house now, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes widened as his words hung in the air like a decaying body on a rope, thick and cloying as the room seemed to grow colder and a phantom feeling tightening around your heart, squeezing and releasing it to make you pant under manipulation.

“What… What do you want?” the question weakly slips past your lips, so pitiful and pathetic; you’re supposed to be a soldier, and now you’re cowering to a man. Oh, how you have hit rock bottom.

“What do I want?” he repeats, having fun with how he had you on puppet strings, eyes raking over your form with possessive hunger that just made your skin crawl. “I want you, silly.” You felt an unbearable crushing of anxiety as he spoke to you like it was a normal day when you two used to sit on the sofa, whispering sweet wantings to one another, one this time, what was once sweet was turned bitter and tainted with the cold invasion against tenderness.

“I’ve always wanted you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as if he were claiming a priceless piece of art, marking it as his. “I always proved that to you, with how much I gave you and then… You throw it away just because of a little jealousy. I thought people were supposed to try in relationships… but no, you soon gave up.”

“A little jealousy?” you had an outburst of bewilderment, “you’re seriously downplaying—”

“Oh, how I loved not being able to finish a sentence,” he rolled his eyes in sarcasm and soon shut you up with a cold and metallic feeling in your mouth—a gun.

“Great… Now I can finish,” your eyes continued to widen and your body continued to shake as you felt the ending of life right in front of you, “I want you more than anything. We can work everything out… We were such a lovely couple weren’t we, I know you were scared and got cold feet, but I’ll forgive you, I’ll always forgive you, my sweetheart.” When he had finished whatever theatrical he had been cooking up for however long this plan was brewed up for, the gun soon came out of your mouth, your heart feeling like it had stopped and been restarted by a jolt as he pushed it back into his holder.

“You… You’re… You’re sick,” you managed to spurt out, your voice faint and trembling as if only the shell of your previous self was talking to whoever this man was. This wasn’t Floch, this wasn’t the man you had spent years with and built a love story with; you hated whatever time had done with the Floch you fell in love with, all his warmth and comfort now replaced with cold obsession.

He chuckles with a dangerous and arrogant tone lacing at the end of every inhale, filling the room like a rustle of dead leaves in the graveyard. “Sick?” he echoes in a continuation of his mockery and taunting. “If making you mine again is sick then—” he leans in closer with his lips brushing against your ear “—Then I am extremely sick… For you.” When he whispered that last part, you only felt dread trickle down your spinal cord, feeling like your blood had clotted into a icesickle; and god how you were wishing for that sweet escape than whatever mental torture this was.

His words kept twisting in your gut, so cold and venomous masked in your past lover's voice. Your body kept tensing with panic continuously flowing through you and your mind screaming for a way out, but there was no way out. The room was in the middle of nowhere, the ropes were tight enough to keep a beast chained to its master, and his looming presence was never going to leave you.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a threatening softening to his voice, “I’ll take care of you…soon you’ll see things, my way.”

He steps back, retreating into the shadows from which he came, his presence lingering in the air like the stench of decay. You were alone, bound, and utterly powerless, and terror gnawed at you. But even in the loneliness of the voic, you felt him like an omnipresent being. Floch is watching, no matter where he is, you feel his cold stare… He’s always watching.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You got no sleep when you watched as sunlight crept into the room, making all the dust and mildew stains of the wall visible; oh how you were missing the ambiguity faint moonlight gave, reality was much worse to a terrorised mind that had no room to be creative. You felt the ringing in your ears, and the heavy pain in your temples as you watched the door, knowing he would appear any moment.

You heard the plethora of footsteps upstairs and even near the door at times; it made your heart jump every time you heard the click of his boots on the floor approach nearer, making your body tense up to pray he wasn’t going to come again, and he didn’t for the whole night, but years with Floch you knew he likes to build adrenaline and anticipation within you, knowing he would save his second appearance for the morning—when you’re too exhausted fighting sleep to use any logic or remember anything.

For a moment, you just sat there still like a doll, it wasn’t like you had anything else to do but be one with the dull throb of pain anchoring you and trying to lull you into a sleep, not one of comfort, but one that would make your time here go by quicker; if your consciousness wasn’t around, you wouldn’t have to remember the nightmare, what was unknown to you was like a sinister and unknowing present. But that lull was soon brought to a halt when you heard the familiarity of his clicking boots against the hard floor.

It’s him again.

His footsteps were deliberate, the sound sending a spike of dread through your chest as you follow the vibration of sound from above you, then down the side, then in front of the door, hearing the metallic clanking of keys before that bone-chilling creaking was heard again. His tall frame was towing over yours, in his hands carrying a plate with chipped porcelain clinking faintly as he crossed the room toward you.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says in a voice was is too cheerful for comfort, too saccharine for this decrepit place with a smile that just sends a bone chilling effect through your body. He crouches in front of you, setting the plate carefully on the floor in front of you. Your favourite breakfast, but even if the smell of the food makes your stomach growl and beg, you still feel a mix of uneasy discomfort, not wanting to take it; if he could put you in here, god knows what was in the food.

You stared down at it, your stomach twisting in starvation; you wanted to devour every piece, lick the plate and beg for more, but the logical part that guaranteed your survival every time you ventured out the walls was shouting at you not to eat it.

Floch just watched you with that glint in his eye, expectant. “I brought you breakfast. You should eat. You need your strength.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was always something lingering underneath the surface when he spoke; something cold and something that made you shiver, turning your insides hard and freezing as ice.

You just looked up at him, hatred bubbling in your chest; you hated how fearful you were of him, but you needed to be afraid, you couldn’t play a hero who could get out of any situation, you needed to find more information. You could tell that—despite the insistent with the gun—he wasn’t going to kill you instantly. Sure, he was capable of hurting you, but he had been planning something, and killing you instantly would be a complete waste of time, but you never know, maybe Floch could have been a time waster.

“Look… I already have you down here, what benefit would it give me to drug your food… I’m just keeping my sweetheart alive.”

With a sudden, sharp, and fluid movement, you lashed your foot out, kicking the plate as hard as you could; watching how the plate skidded across the floor, the food splattering in an arc as the plate flipped and crashed into the far dark corner of the room. All that food was not smeared on the filth of the floor, leaving streaks on the floorboards and it just sat there, making Floch’s face darken in the heavy silence after the plate’s rotation.

His neck spikes toward you, a jagged shadow crossing his face as his jaw tightens, his gaze piercing right through you like a bullet, the creases on his face hardening in its sharp appearance as he looks down on you. But there wasn’t anger, he wasn’t going to lash out at you, no, he would punish you in ways that hurt more than an angry outburst.

“Oh, do you really think that was a smart idea, biting the hand that feeds you?” he asks with a low voice, fury and amusement intermixing with one another in a dance hanging on his elongated syllables. “Rookie mistake.”

You shrunk back instinctively, the rope biting into your wrists as you tried to pull away, but of course, there’s nowhere to go. His face comes closer to yours, and you can make out every detail of his skin, every crease, dark circle, blemish and the intricate clouding streak features on the brown circles of his gaze, feeling his warm breath almost suffocating you. You slightly jumped as you felt his hand caress your cheek, that warmth being familiar, but now it’s tainted; it’s no longer the touch you craved after a long day of training, it’s the touch that will forever live in your nightmares as you watch the intensity in his eyes that much makes your stomach congeal in churning.

“Hm, I guess you just need a push to remember how good we are together,” his voice is unnervingly calm, tension coiling and swirling beneath every single word he uttered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we all need reminders… You’re so forgetful sometimes anyway,” he let out a breath of amusement as his fingers trailed on your jawline, slowly trailing on your neck and collarbone.

Your whole body was screaming at you. Kick him and make a run for it, don’t let him touch you like this, he’s sick and he’ll pay for everything he’s done or whatever he was planning to keep doing, but you just remain there, stuck and still like a deer in headlights—the solider within you now vanished into a cowering girl.

His hands trail on your collarbone, feeling your soft skin underneath his fingertips again; you watch as his pupils swallow the brown colour of his eyes as he intensely stares at your body, letting his fingers take an invitation written by him and move further to the first button in the line of your shirt.

No, he’s not going to… Is he?

All your fears were coming true as you watched how he unbuttoned your shirt, popping each button with just one hand in skill of dexterity but also his craft of timing; he didn’t rip them off, he slowly calculated the pop through each hole in a way that made you pant every time each button came loose until your shirt was wide open, leaving your bra on show as your chest had a quick rise and fall, making his focal point go straight to your breasts.

“Floch… Please… Don’t do this.” You pathetically whimpered out, your gaze started to go misty-eyed.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” that sinister smile would just keep coming back and all you wanted to do was kick it off of him, but your limbs felt like sandbags that were permanently glued to the floor as if Floch commanded it. “You loved it when I used to touch you… Don’t you remember, sweetheart, you used to do crazy when I… did this.” That last word came out like a serpent’s hiss as his fingers plunged into the barrier of lace, feeling his cold digits rub and smooth over your nipple, feeling as your sensitive bud rose and pointed against his fingertips from that familiar touch your body had grown accustomed to over the years; it would always remember his touch, and it wasn’t listening to the rational inner monologue that was running rampant in your psyche, as you hated and wished every curse to fall upon him in karma’s name. But you just remained there, stiff and still.

“Mm.” You quietly reacted as you felt him tweak your perky nipple, making a coil spring into a knot inside your stomach, feeling a rush of heat upon your cheeks.

“Ah, I see… You do remember how much you loved this… You just want to keep acting like you hate it, okay sweetheart, I’ll let you keep up the act… like I’m the bad guy,” that uneasy chuckle escaped his lips as he watched your shaking and anticipating form.

He gave another pinch to your sensitive bud before moving the cups of your bra down and exposing your bare breasts into the cold bite of the room; a hitch in your breath and fogging out into the atmosphere as you felt his slender fingers around the swell of your breasts, making a mist gloss over your eyes as you felt his hands grab and paw at you in a grope. He didn’t look at you, he looked at your body, and you could see every thought and plan that was running and swirling within his inner monologue; watching as he continued to fondle your doughy breasts as the plush of your skin poked out between the gaps of his fingers.

“You’re still so beautiful.”

As he uttered his terrifying compliments you felt his fingers travel down the sides of your waist, and pull down on your pants, watching your legs twitch at the thought that you could maybe escape from him. All he did was look at how they remained glued to the floor.

“You’re not going to kick me… You’re going to lift up and help me take these off… Because you like it,” his fingers continued to pull down from your waistband, “don’t worry sweetheart, no one’s here to judge you… and I for one am certainly not judging… I want you.”

No words from you were needed as your lower half lifted as you scraped your back upwards on the cold wall, letting him drag your pants down from your thighs, past your knees, then flicked off from your ankles; his cock twitched in his pants as he watched your glistening cunt stare back at him once again, that familiar arousal coursing through his body and making that heart pounding sound ring in his ears as blood flowed to between his legs and hardened against his trousers. But he wasn’t going to give the satisfaction your wet and acing hole was anticipating as he watched your inner thighs shake, no, you still needed to be punished after that little ungrateful stunt you pulled. He smirked as he looked at you through his brow, that metallic sound coming back as you heard his gun being pulled out.

“No… Please, I’m sorry I—”

“Shh, shh, shh… I’m not going to hurt you… just trust me,” he elongated every syllable and kept you hanging on each word as you felt the cold metal run down the valley of your breasts, the muzzle at the end of the barrel grazing over your perky blushed nipple. Floch continued to bite his lip, taking in low breaths of amusement as he smirked at your body’s reaction to the cold metal as it started to run down the middle of your stomach, the phallic muzzle then prodding and pocking at your wet lips.

Floch wasn’t trigger happy, he wasn’t going to physically harm you, but what he loved to do was keep you on edge, having the constant question ‘What if he actually does it?’ keep repeating in that mind which he knew was running rampant with every scenario, self curse and insult against him; but your pretty body was still his to play with as he pushed the barrel of his gun inside of you, making your squirm as your tight walls spasmed against the stiff metal. Your lip trembled as your chest rose and fell in a broken shivering pattern in your pants.

“Oh, you’re so beautiful,” he says to your shuddering body and the way you were taking it so well, your body recoiling as you felt a clouded desire permeate throughout your body, pinching your eyes shut as you felt the cold metal be fucked inside of you.

Pure terror washed over you like a tidal wave, and it took all your strength not to sob, but as the gun kept being pushed in and out, in and out, you felt a tortuous desire bubble up inside of you, arousal ignited as you slick coated the gun as you panted for him. Floch—clearly liking the vulnerable position you were in—croached down further to twirl his tongue over your perked-out nipple, taking deep and warm sucks on your sensitive bud as the gun was still held inside you.

“Mmmph… ahh~” You were just a lazy puddle of sounds as you felt the thrusts of terror inside of you, as Floch drew out pain and pleasure as you arched your back further into his mouth, sucking in a sharp gasp as the entire barrel burries itself further inside of you.

“Can you cum for me, sweetheart?” he whispered before rolling his tongue over your chest again, “I wanna see that tight pussy cum for me… Like you used to.”

He gently nippled and sucked harder, hearing the suctioning noises as your pussy sucked in his gun further, feeling shame for getting wet and almost liking the terror that filled you up; he angled it to hit that post inside of you that he learnt very well, looking up and seeing your eyes roll to the back of your head and filling the echoing room with those moans that just made him cum in his pants, feeling his release as he bit down a bit harder of your chest before your clear released escaped out of you and socked his gun.

“Good girl,” he panted out as he moved away from you, slowly removing the gun and leaving your spent hole to want more, to want him. His fingers collected at the bottom of your chin and gently forced it up to who you know: “Now sweetheart, you will get to feel me again, when you have learned not to bite the hand that feeds you… Understood?”

“Understood.”

“There she is, that’s the girl I love.”

taglist: @wintrrxxo @sleazymac-n-cheesy @localkiss

a/n: FLOCH FORSTER CONTENT FINALLY OUT oh my god I've been lowkey obsessing over this man like ooo I love red heads. and before anyone wants to bitch he's a complex and well written character, I don't like everything he does I like his writing, blah blah blah... also if i here bitching f off you were literally warned before the reading content. I am defo gonna be writing more floch and this may or may not be turned into a full series on ao3 in january.

[rosehxnt]

the stars in your eyes

characters: deuce spade, leona kingscholar, jade leech, jamil viper, silver summary: noticing the small details that make your boyfriend him warnings: mention of leona's scar, swordfighting, otherwise just fluff

Deuce Spade  He'd been nervously shifting in his seat for the better part of ten minutes, every now and then glancing at you just to see you staring at him.  "Do I have something on my face?" He finally asked.  "Yeah, handsomeness."  His face became flushed. "Thank you...but it's like you're staring right into my soul," Deuce nervously giggled.  "It's like I'm staring into the endless ocean." You held your gaze. "But it's even better because it's you and you're right here with me."  He tried to stare back at you for a few seconds, but failed, quickly turning away and finding something to distract himself with. You let out a light laugh as the eye contact ended, enamored by his reaction.

Leona Kingscholar  His chest rose and fell as you observed him. He was once again fast asleep in the botanical gardens, sun cascading across his face.  Absentmindedly, you reached out to slowly trace the scar going over his left eye.  "Herbivore." You had woken him up and he was now staring up at you, his cat-like pupils thinning to slits to accommodate for the midday sun. "What do you think you're doing?"  "I think..." You gaze into Leona's eyes, fingertips sitting still on his cheekbone. "I think I want you to look at me like that forever."  You swore you saw his pupils grow in size, but he'd deny it if you said anything. A small smile appeared on your face.  "I think I want to nap," he replied and, much to your chagrin, closed his eyes to resume his slumber. In your mind, you replayed the image of him looking at you, those emeralds he held easily rivaling even the most expensive jewelry one could buy.

Jade Leech  It was always a joy to see Jade practice his passion. That passion being taking care of his endless mushroom collection. The happiness showing in his eyes was always worth it to you, and you made sure to take in every bit of it.  Except he always noticed your staring. Although, this time he decided to say something about it.  "Why do you look at me with such intensity, my dear?" His casually delivered question threw you off, causing you to find sudden interest in the floor.  "Oh, um, I like it when you're happy, it makes me happy."  "I'm glad you're happy, then," he commented and went back to work making sure each individual terrarium was in ideal condition.  "Your eyes are also super pretty," you found yourself saying. "I love how one is like the sun and the other is like the earth. It's almost like you're my entire world."  It was his turn to deliver a shocked expression, not expecting you to turn the situation into an opportunity to flirt with him.

Jamil Viper  You were content to sit on the sidelines while Jamil prepared that evening's meal. He insisted you not do any of the work, and you questioned if he was looking out for you or the state of the meal. His answer was ambiguous.  So here you were, watching as he moved about the kitchen. His long hair swept over one shoulder, his hands working to expertly chop up the various vegetables, and his eyes flitting to each ingredient as he threw them in the large pot that was to feed the entire Scarabia dorm.  Those eyes, the ones that reminded you of the charcoal used to light fires, similar to the fire you felt for Jamil himself. He'd lit one in your heart through the way he'd always help you when you were getting behind in class or were feeling under the weather. His observant eyes that kept watch for you and worked hard to keep you out of trouble were just one of his many charms.

Silver  You'd been invited to watch Silver and Sebek spar, which you'd looked forward to for days. Both them and Lilia had worked to make sure you'd be safe just in case any blades went flying. This ended up with you sitting on a wooden bench behind a metal fence. Lilia was in the corner watching the two boys the entire time just in case, since they tended to get competitive.  Though your sight was slightly limited, it didn't stop you from watching Silver's expression as he expertly defended Sebek's attacks and launched some of his own. He was focused on the battle and his eyes, which reminded you of the translucent lavender tinted marbles you'd play with as a kid, tracked every movement and flash of metal.  It was hard to remind yourself he was still just a human in that moment. A human who had trained among fae to become a fierce enough soldier to protect their crown prince. A human who would look at you so kindly after the sparring had ended, offering his hand to help you up from where you sat, awestruck.

a/n: i was just thinking about a specific someone's eyes and thought i'd do this m.list & rules

© rosehxnt

[cloudshuffle]

a new dawn. yan!childe

index / prev / next

You rise from a deep, dreamless slumber, tangled up in soft sheets and insistent hands. Ajax’s chest rises and falls gently, ginger lashes shut over his blue eyes, cradling you to him like his most precious treasure.

Asleep, he looks more like a boy in need of affection than a warrior.

The moon is still suspended in the sky, a silver balloon ready to burst. A glance at the clock tells you that you’ve only been asleep for about an hour. Enough time to sneak back into the cabin and pretend you've been there all night.

You begin to negotiate your way carefully out of his hold. With the alcohol no longer sparkling in your veins, you feel nothing but a vague sense of urgency to return to your cabin before anyone else sobers up and notices you’re gone.

It’s a declaration. It was exactly the sort of lovesick, foolish fairytale he’d fall for. And though you’d both enjoyed those once upon a time, one of you had to grow up. Had grown up.

A puff of air ruffles your hair, and you look up to meet his eyes, blinking slowly.

“Going somewhere?” he mutters sleepily, snuggling you closer.

You tense up so he doesn’t get too comfortable. “Yes, actually. I should be getting back before anyone notices I’m gone.”

His gaze roves around the room, as if he didn’t recognise where he was, followed by a lazy yawn. “I can sneak you off the ship. Stay here.”

You push against him and he releases you, more out of surprise than anything else. “Ajax. Be serious.”

“I am.” His puppy-dog eyes follow you as you get out of bed, collecting your discarded clothing and pulling it on. “Please?”

“No,” you reply, more sharply than you’d meant. Adjusting your outfit in the mirror, you just pray that no one can see the creases in the darkness. Or the torn stocking. Behind you, his expression is a little hurt, but it only fills you with a grim satisfaction. Good. Whatever it took to keep him at arm’s length. “Do you have a rag?”

He sighs, climbing out of bed to find one for you. You soak it with water, wiping down the parts he’d left more than just bruises on.

He accosts you on the way to the door, nuzzling a kiss right by your ear. “You’re so eager to get rid of me.” His sleep-warmed skin is littered with scars, you realise, slashes and stabs of all shapes and sizes, some pale with age and others fresher.

A pang of guilt. “Sorry,” you whisper, and then you’re gone.

────────────

Liyue Harbour dawns on the horizon, sprawling and golden in the morning sun. The roofs seem to glow, speaking of riches untold - but only if you knew where to look. Which was why the Tsaritsa was expanding her presence here, entrusting the task to her harbingers and soldiers.

High above, the Floating Palace looms like a sentry, guarding the city from celestial destruction. Your fellow soldiers gather at the side of the ship, watching in awe as Liyue draws closer in all its glory. Even your heart stirs at the sight.

Childe is nowhere to be seen, likely holed up in his cabin, doing last minute paperwork he hadn't had the chance to last night. 

Probably for the better. After… that, now there's a strange, ambiguous feeling in your relationship, one that had been carefully kept nonexistent during your time back in Snezhnaya. 

And like a wounded fox offered easy prey, you're not sure how he might strike out next.

There's a scramble of activity again as goods are unloaded, sailors prepare for docking, and you're all ushered off the ship like a flock of sheep rather than esteemed Fatui operatives. But finally you're on solid ground again, having arrived safely at the port of Liyue Harbour.

Nadia’s eyes are so wide you think they might roll out from her skull. You wonder what you all look like to the locals - foreign operatives here to butt into their business, dressed in heavy coats absolutely not suitable for the weather, looking around in awe like a group of schoolchildren. No wonder the Northland Bank was running into so many problems here.

Only once you’re sequestered safely within the walls of the Northland Bank do you begin to relax. Despite its golden walls and Liyue-esque decor, you’re relieved to see a Fatui mask at the front desk. She gives you all a tired once-over, then returns to her ledger.

You’ve been assigned to fieldwork - meaning tax collecting, outwardly, but also venturing out past the walls of Liyue Harbour and doing whatever Childe required of you. Knowing the Fatui, there was no such thing as simple tax collecting.

As you linger at the back of the group, following the Fatui senior on a brief tour of the bank, you think of what you’d seen in Childe’s cabin. Papers. Maps. Diagrams. Theories about… dragons in the water and adeptal magic? You couldn’t be very sure about what you’d seen.

You’re dismissed to your little offices to get settled in and start on some paperwork.

You shut the door, exhaling a sigh of relief. It’s a blessing to be alone with nothing but your thoughts. 

You head over to your window first, peering carefully outside. Your view overlooks a regular street, lined with other businesses, their employees stationed outside to entice customers in. You watch as a gentleman, his long brown hair tied back, strides meaningfully past. He glances up.

You duck back, holding your breath until he passes.

Enough excitement for today. You shake yourself and take a seat at your desk, thumbing through the various files and folders for you to handle. Most of them are about clients of the bank you need to keep an eye on, but they’re all normal, low profile civilians. You don’t think you’ll have a problem dealing with them.

At the bottom of the stack, substantially thicker than the rest, a folder waits for you. It’s bound in red string, full to bursting. You untie it gingerly and flip it open.

Papers spill out across your desk. Adepti, rituals, ancient ink on gold paper.

Talismans.

You feel like you’re holding your breath as you sift through the information. It seems as if the Fatui in Liyue had been doing extensive research on talismans infused with adepti magic - Sigils of Permission, more commonly known. Created by Rex Lapis and infused with adeptal power, these sigils were once used by mortals to channel divine power.

On the last page is a breathtaking hydra, rising from the waters of Liyue Harbour - no, created from the waters of Liyue itself, jaws fixed in a ferocious roar.

Oh, Ajax. What are you up to now?

────────────

“What’s that?”

You wiggle aside to make room for Ajax. There’s not much room on the windowsill, but it’s just perfect for two little children about to waste the afternoon away reading fairy tales.

“Mama and Papa got me a book of Liyue legends.”

He hooks an arm through yours so neither of you slide off your seat as you flip through the stories, reading them out loud so he can keep up.

Something thuds against your window, startling both of you from a particularly riveting passage where Rex Lapis, unable to defeat his primal foe, pins Osial to the ocean floor. 

“Ghost!” someone yells from outside. “Dead girl!”

A jarring chorus of laughs as the boys ready another round of snowballs.

“Go away!” Ajax yells back, making a rude gesture, to which he receives one in turn.

“Nikolai!” One of their mothers hurries past, gathering the children up in her skirts. “Come now. It’s time for dinner…”

Her fearful, fleeting glance isn’t lost on you, as have the looks from so many other adults. They say you’d been in the water for so long that even a grown man couldn’t have withstood it. That the cold had infected you, kept you alive to spread its clutches into your village. Some of the elders even make the symbol of warding off evil whenever you come by. 

It doesn’t hurt quite as much as it should have.

— word count: 1368. thank you for reading!

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Stranger Danger! [Entry #1]

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Dark!Modern!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader [Modern AU]

WORDS: 3,049.

SUMMARY: Moving into a desolate, small-town suburb, you would think the risks of finding yourself in "peril" are close to none. And yet, how could you not have been more wrong...

WARNINGS: stalker!Aegon/stalking tendencies mentioned, posessive!Aegon, mentions of kidnapping, slight BDSM (spanking), Daddy kink, slight dub-con, swearing.

A/N - he literally took over my soul & there’s no going back now. when I tell you this took me forever, 4 fucking days... NO IDEA WHY I JUST KEPT GOING. ANYWAYS I had to split this HC up, because I wrote too much! So here is the first part, nearly completed the next :) hope ya'll enjoy xox

A small, simple town, nonetheless, it would suffice for you. It was inevitable that newcomers would mingle with most of the residents in a day or two, you had been advised upon your relocation.

Your case was no exception: withdrawn from your previous livelihood in the city, you wished to escape to the serenity a desolate, small-town could offer.

That was where you'd meet, Aegon... Just, Aegon [as he had ambiguously introduced himself].

Working in a minor, stuffy bookstore/cafe, many of the local townspeople often visited or dined, in which is where Aegon was introduced to you.

At first, he would dare not to approach you, though rather seek in the comfort of lurking in the noisy, bustling background as his younger brothers or sister would heroically order in his steed.

Like a dangerously ravenous predator prowling at its innocent, mindless prey, he watched you closely. Your precise movements, your ever so often-changing facial expressions, your disciplined mannerisms, your light-hearted voice. Every fine detail he saturated his senses completely, soaking himself in your vicinity, in your divine presence.

Surmising that you were a sweet, honest little thing: he fathomed and relished in the notion that you were incorrupt, all for his undoing. He'd never seen the likes of you before, and was frustrated with himself that he hadn't ever clocked you.

Aegon would often grow impatient with himself, as he observed other males conversing with you, knowing their true, carnal intentions... It made his blood boil, and yet you paid no mind, he was comforted by this, although knew his time was wearing thin.

He would eventually start to visit you every chance he could cease, even in the absence of his younger siblings. Finally building the courage to converse with you, even if it was short, simple-minded banter as you politely took his order, your voice, its tone sounded like decadent, pure honey to his ears.

He was madly obsessed with everything about you.

You could not deny on your part either: Aegon was quite handsome, with his doe, lilac eyes that enraptured you, his soft facial structure, yet also formidable. The contrast of his pale, silver hair against his fair skin, was unearthly. And Gods, did he love to listen to you. He made you feel utterly giddy, often blurting out random, cringe remarks, feeling your cheeks flash hot with blush.

Nonetheless, he continued to return to the store, coincidentally whenever you were scheduled for a shift.

Eventually, Aegon grew tempted to follow you after hours, desperate to seek you in your travels back to your humble abode. He often waited in the distance, as you closed and departed from work late in the evenings, all by your lonesome.

He'd convinced himself he was doing you a favour... Gods forbid, someone tried to attack you, he'd be your saviour, like some damsel in distress. He was being harmless otherwise.

As he fell more comfortable in this consuming routine, compulsively following you home, often making up incessant lies and pathetic excuses for his absence from home: found solace in watching you through your apartment window.

Whether it was watching you do your laundry, making a simple dinner, or prepping for bed as you'd read a book, he grew infatuated with your wholesomeness.

Although, earning even more luck, he'd caught a glimpse of another side of you, a much, much more titillating side. Attentively observing you, how eagerly your fingers ventured between your thighs, as your hips bucked forward, back arching and convulsing in swift motions. The circular shapes of your mouth, he could only imagine the lewd sounds echoing from your lips. He found himself moments later, stroking his own cock, desperately aching for pleasure and release, as he envisioned himself being the reason for your excitement.

All this entertainment however, came to an abrupt end, when Aegon found you bringing some random, strange man into the confinements of your home.

He was livid beyond words: fists clenching firmly on his steering wheel, his knuckles whitened even more against his pale skin, his jaw tense as he spied on the two of you, the way you'd laugh and grip at the man's arm. He could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

Much to his infuriated relief, nothing escalated beyond the red wine you'd generously shared. After being certain the man was completely gone, and you safe and sound in bed, he knew he had to make some sort of a move. He was adamant in avoiding this situation from repeating itself all over again, or worse...

The notion of another man taking you all for himself, was enough motive to set his plans to motion.

How it happened and how Aegon had panned it out, was all a blur initially.

You'd recognised him instantly as he slowly pulled up along the kerbside, pulling his frosted window down, as you were walking back from work. His familiar, tender smile was heart-warming in contrast to the dim, winter weather and cloudy, light sprinkle that had been hazing the day since the mane.

"You poor thing, you'll catch a cold if you wander about in this weather. I can drop you off, if you would like?"

At first you remained reluctant, out of consideration: not wanting to intervene in Aegon's plans for the day. Your meek attempts at refusing his offer however, failed, for he remained persistent.

"I don't mind at all. I have no plans or commitments, I swear it...Please, it-it's the least I can do after all."

Defeatedly you succumb to his offer, although a partial side of you is grateful that you have a reason to be out of the cold weather. Aegon leans over towards the front passenger seat, opening the door for you, like a true gentleman. You were convinced he was the only gentlemen in the town, with how chivalrous he was towards you.

As the journey began, you'd disclosed your address to Aegon, who immediately knew the directions [since having grown up here]. Although, taking a wrong turn, you initially acknowledged it at first, laughing it off. Yet, another wrong turn...

"A-Aeg, you took the wrong turn-" Glancing over towards him, that familiar, heart-felt smile began to fade as his face turned rigid to stone. Stern and stoic in his expression, he turns to look over at you with a threatening, dark tinge, before uttering the chilling, final words you would hear for the last time out in the open...

"You made me do this."

Memory hazy, you could only vaguely reminisce the moment a wet, white cloth was shoved towards your face before the darkness had closed in.

You awoke in a dingy, empty yet neatly structured basement, solid brick walls and metallic pipes enclosing the sturdy foundation of the architecture, where dense, black padding foamed across the walls and ceilings. Your breath was heavy, yet mouth taped and your movements restricted, only noticing the tight restraints around your wrists, digging into your soft flesh. Your cries muffled loudly, feeling the hot tears streaking down.

Eventually a part of the ceiling where stairs rose towards had opened suddenly, and cautiously, Aegon entered, a beaming smile across his face.

Approaching you carefully, as though you were some kind of hurt, defenceless animal that he dared not to frighten nor startle, he bespoke some "rules": no screaming, no fighting back, no disobeying and no running, under any circumstances.

"Try any of those and your punishment will be severe, understood Y/N?"

Internally, your mind raced a million thoughts incoherent to his words and yet you remained blank. Sensing the adrenaline beginning to surge intensely through your body, as Aegon began to untie the restraints, you felt yourself lunge forwards towards the steps, yet something had firmly tugged you back, causing you to grow unsteady on your feet, falling to the crowd. Met with darkness once more, your memory clouded the second time you awoke.

"What did I say? Look at what you made me do, Princess.... I told you NOT to run, didn't I? What did Daddy say, huh?"

Your head immensely throbbing with a dull pain, it took you a few seconds to settle, before realising that familiar feeling of the restraints and tight concealment of your mouth forcibly shut. Aegon's hand gripped at your jaw tightly, pulling your attention unto him, as he attempted to calm you down.

"You made Daddy hurt you... I never want to hurt you again, baby. I only want take care of you, okay?"

"Wh-What did you do A-Aeg? Wh-What have you done?"

"Only taken back what is mine."

You withdraw and grimace at his gentle touch, as he cleans your bloodied scar across your forehead, before softly applying a bandage. The faint, proud smile produced on his face as he admires his work, before his eyes linger over yours once more, the smile fades again.

"Do not think that your little defiance won't go unpunished... Daddy always commits to his word, sweet thing. You will eventually come to know this. I am in charge, you will respect this or learn the hard fucking way."

Aegon suddenly departs that very moment, leaving you lonesome to cry inconsolably for God knows how long: ignorant to the notion of time now, it felt like hours as you weakly pondered over your destitute thoughts, wondering if anyone cared enough to know or realise of your abrupt disappearance to send for help... Yet again, you were scarcely known in the neighbourhood, people barely recalled your name correctly, had you not worn your employee name badge.

Feeling your reddened, puffy eyes slowly succumbing to sleep, you had awoken instantly by the sound of the ceiling door opening suddenly, to Aegon's heavy footsteps etching down.

Without an exchange of a word, Aegon pulled a chair right in front of where you crawled up and sat, before slapping at his thigh, harshly gesturing for you to sit atop.

"Bend and lay over my lap, now-"

Not wanting to add fuel to the fire that ignited from within Aegon, you dared not to disobey. The dark, forbidding look in his lilac eyes, that you once fawned for, now frightened you into compliance. The feeling of your tense body relaxing over his sturdy, meaty thighs, you found more comfort over than the stony cold floor you sat upon for hours ago.

Without a warning, Aegon's rough palm came striking down hard against the naked flesh of your ass cheeks.

"10 spankings for my naughty girl, cause for 10 seconds she tried to run away from me-"

"2 slaps- 3 slaps-"

Reciting each total, and the shrieking cries from your behalf echoed across the empty room, feeling the skin of your ass growing number by the minute, your hands instinctively gripped at the flesh of Aegon's thighs for support. Your mouth pressing down against its side, to muffle the cries more.

"6 slaps- 7 slaps-"

"Sweet heart thought she could get away? What does she think, that Daddy will let her go that easily? I promise I'll take care of you- 8 slaps- I'll feed you, nurture you- 9 slaps- I will love you."

The final stroke stung sharply, your skin burning with the heat of the friction, it was definite Aegon took the silence to admire his handprint over your bare skin, a stifled chuckle escaping his growling laugh.

Guiding you to sit upright on his lap, you felt tense and immense discomfort as you hovered over. Tears streaming down your scarlet, tender cheek, Aegon stroked each fallen drop across your sobbing face, cooing you in his lap, as one free hand soothed at your back and the other gently squeezed at your thigh.

"Promise me, Princess... Promise me you'll never leave me. I'm the only one that can take care of you, protect you and love you. Mark my words."

general taglist - @evenstaris @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

credit to - @saradika for the headers 🤍

[gattnk]

For every shadow there's a light source. For Malachia, there's Reina.

The superior villain pair of the show and the highlight of the first season, everyone! I would've kept them secret for a bit longer but my darling @angelsfriendsass did one of their famous crossover pieces showcasing my (until now) server-exclusive Reina so... I guess my hands are tied :P Here's how the magic happened:

The first thing I did when I set myself to revamp the Angel's Friends plot, was work on Reina and Malachia's role in the story. They're the driving force behind the plot in both the series and the comic, which meant it was crucial to determine what their story would be this time around: what would I keep, what would I change, and what would be tossed out entirely.

I looked into Igor Chimisso's work for Malachia and Reina to better understand his design work (he was a lead character designer for the series). I also looked into their theme songs for inspiration. My research brought me to four key words: light, shadows, opposites, and neutrality. Reina would be searing light, and Malachia would be creeping shadows. The "opposites" and "neutrality" concepts would tie them together and unify their designs.

I love the idea of protagonists seeing themselves mirrored by their antagonists in some way. Reina used to be an angel in the show and Malachia used to be a devil in the comics, so I cemented this into my own canon; they would mirror Raf and Sulfus quite naturally this way.

Malachia's new personality and role as a "creeping shadow" made me choose a variety of greys for him. Being a former devil, his focus on ambiguity and "neutrality" would fit well with him. Reina instead has more polarizing tones, dealing in extremes like the "searing light" she embodies: being a former angel, her line of thought would be more black and white, and this would be reflected in her dress with "opposite" hues.

You can't have a villain duo without complementary concepts, and what better way to represent complementary concepts than with complementary colors? I gave Reina yellow eyes and Malachia purple ones, and included "hints" of each other by adding shades of these colors on their counterpart.

Malachia has ochre accents, a yellowed shirt and bronze skin, very straightforward. Reina has dark magenta accents and her iconic blue hair to tie her to his counterpart. I considered white hair like her young self in the series at first, but it clashed with the dress; I took a page from her adult design and kept her silver bangs to frame her face instead.

Reina's shattered halo pieces are arranged over her head like a crown, a tongue-in-cheek reference to her name ("queen" in spanish) and her position of leadership in Limbo. Malachia instead used his shattered horns to fashion himself a diapason, like the one in the comics. The function of this tool is very different in my rewrite, but I'll keep the specifics to myself for now ;P

Also, I wasn't entirely sure where to include this, but remember how angels are tied to circles and devils to triangles? Reina, Malachia and other neutrals will be tied to a half circle on top of a triangle, kinda like a diamond with a round top. See how many of those you can spot around!

It'll be a long time before they show up in my fic proper, but I still encourage you to keep your eyes open just in case while you read my rewrite fic. After all, Raf and Sulfus aren't particularly careful or subtle, so who knows what's lurking around the Golden School these days...

I'll Fly With You (rewrite fic) Art masterpost

[ignoredbellyaches]

HE NEEDS ME, HE NEEDS ME... PT 2

WARNINGS/TAGS: continuation of first part posted yesterday, afab!reader, ambiguous reader story (plug in your own self), no dialogue, not proofread we die like men

PT 1

30 years had passed, and surprisingly, you stayed in Gravity Falls despite what you could easily categorize as the top five most awkward and horrific marriages.

You knew, at least partially, what "Stanford" or "Mr. Mystery" was doing in his free time. You gave him knowing looks or an occasional nod whenever you would see him in town— never going as far as to approach back the hellscape of a shack you ran from. Instead, you opted for a comfortable distance from that... Mess.

But when the Earth kept having "hiccups" as the townsfolk called it, then you could see the electricity go out in all of the town, and that damned blue light in the woods... You knew. You knew your husband had returned to you. To home.

It was like your legs moved on their own, running even in your older age, to him.

You don't know why you did. It was like you were waiting for him to come back, like a lost puppy waiting for her master to come back.

how sad is that?

When you entered that basement, closing the door behind you in fear of authorities, you came down to see that the 30 years passed hadn't been pretty on the lab you used to clean and dust for your once loving husband.

However, you could see the 30 years were pretty to him.

Out of breath, you stand in the corridor, Ford and Stan having some kind of talk to the two Pines twins and the repairman.

You saw him in all of his glory, making you nostalgic yet intrigued at his new appearance. His hair was longer, messier, and somehow poofier, like it'd been in zero gravity. He bulked up quite a bit, opting out of his lab uniform to a rugged scavenger look. Back then, he worked out for health reasons, but this survival build was... New. Attractive. Exciting.

Or atleast it would be, if reality hadn't rained on your parade.

It seems Ford had noticed a shift in the air, eyes on him, like it was second nature. His hand leaves his pen and he pats his coat side, feeling his trusty gun. Ready to face any threat, he faces towards the hall only to see... You.

Silver hair suited you.

Ford's mouth dried, and his once confident hold on his gun hesitated as he watched you shy away at the eye contact. You still cowered at the sight of him.

But, something had changed. No, this was the first time he had ever cowered at the sight of you.

...

requests/asks are open : )

[herbs-and-poultices]

More plotless self-indulgent stabbing...

(I actually finished writing something in a reasonable amount of time?!?!)

@silvercap wrote this lovely piece and it got stuck in my brain, and they were so kind as to let me run with it a bit :) so uh... now available with extra plotless self-indulgent stabbing?

Graphic description of blood and injury, hurt / not much comfort, character death.

Resident Evil characters, there's a kiss at the end but it's more whumpy than anything, possibly a bit of implied past relationship (?) of some sort but I kept that whole thing fairly ambiguous

A bit outside my usual aftermath/caretaking content, but I do love a good ol' knife between the ribs. Ship stuff is definitely outside my usual, I just (mostly) left in what Silver wrote.

I don't actually know these characters (only from hurt/comfort fanfiction and a cursory glance through fandom wiki), so things probably won't be accurate to canon/fanon for those who are properly familiar with it.

Silver's original / close-to-original is in italics. Silver, let me know if you want me to change anything about how I did this, since it includes your wonderful work.

With a ruthless twist of his wrist, Krauser sends Leon’s knife clattering to the floor. Leon follows an instant later, aching legs swept out from under him. But the hard crack of his spine on the concrete is dull compared with the bright white pain that cuts suddenly into his chest.

His free arm flails desperately against Krauser’s shoulder, scrabbles at his wide throat, but the pull on flayed muscle ignites a fire that flares from sternum to fingertips, turning the limb frustratingly weak and uncoordinated. The rest of him is well and truly pinned, Krauser’s meaty fist heavy on his other bicep so he can only claw ineffectually at the sleeve of his camo uniform, one knee between his legs with the thigh pressing his hips into the rough warehouse floor, the other leg planted wide in an unshakeable stance. 

Many things have changed in the years since he trained in the military with Krauser as his CO, but some things remain the same. Krauser is a mountain of a man, and, skilled and combat-hardened though Leon might have become, in a position like this his agility is no match for the Major’s sheer bulk. When the knife digging into him was rubber and he was - if not exactly fresh nor well-rested - at least not exhausted from two days trying to survive another goddamn mission gone ass-up, he had tried a few times to find an opening in Krauser’s stance or force him to shift his weight enough to take back the offensive, but it never once ended well. And now, even if he could somehow power through the pain long enough to get his muscles to obey him…  The blaze of agony is abated - or perhaps simply concentrated - enough that he can feel with terrible clarity the blade of Krauser’s knife, cold metal sunk into the muscle of his chest, the fine tip resting neatly between two of his ribs. Pinned, indeed. Like a butterfly in a biologist's display case. Any resistance could only hasten the inevitable.

Even as the recognition settles in his mind, his limbs continue to struggle, searching instinctively for any leverage, until Krauser leans ever so slightly forward. The pointed blade drags roughly through the gristle of muscle and tendon protecting his rib cage; his already clenched jaw knots in tooth-crushing tightness and his head slams back involuntarily against the floor, eyes scrunched tight as a keening sound escapes his throat. And then with an awful tear it slips free, gliding into viscera. His eyes fly open, head lifting off the floor again to take in the sickening sight of his own blood spilling across his chest and staining Krauser’s hand where it grasps the knife, but all he can do is gasp in a slow trickle of dank air.

Their eyes meet. Krauser pauses for a moment. Then one corner of his otherwise hard-set mouth twitches up by a hair’s breadth. 

Leon coughs a spray of blood as the knife sinks deeper into his breast, eyes widening and breath catching in a wheeze as the wicked blade carves remorselessly into his chest cavity. The chill of sharp metal through the warmest, vitalest core of his body is beyond his mind’s ability to accurately comprehend. Above him, Krauser's ragged expression has twisted into something unreadable, scars blurring as Leon feels him force the knife another inch deeper to settle it fully into place, the guard pressed flat against his skin through the blood-drenched fabric of his jacket and shirt which are far too thin to offer any protection against the chill creeping into him. The tip scrapes bone somewhere under his shoulderblade; static runs up and down his spine and out to the ends of his fingers and toes, and nausea pools in the back of his throat. His head falls back, hands loosening where they'd been desperately trying to stop Krauser's attacks. He's---he's failed. And he knows - from the frantic fluttering just below his sternum every time he tries to take a breath, from the way the burning pressure in his chest cavity builds and builds like a volcano about to erupt, suffocating him in a tide of blood and crushing him within the cage of his own ribs, from the way Krauser’s lip curls in grim satisfaction - there will be no coming back from this one.

The knife shifts a fraction of an inch as Krauser releases it. Leon gasps another agonized sound, unable to feel anything but the radiating, piercing pain skewering his major organs. A moment later, Krauser removes the other hand from his bicep, evidently confident at this point that he's in no position to try anything. Krauser's knee brushes over Leon’s leg where he'd jammed it in the fighting, his broad chest emanating humid heat as he props an elbow next to Leon's head and lets his weight come to rest partly against Leon's uninjured side.

Leon finds himself leaning into the contact, unable to deny that it is perversely comforting.  The man’s body is solid, feels almost protective as it curls around him. And warm, so warm against his cooling skin, a blissful shelter from the chill which has been soaking through his limbs. Everywhere that isn't an inferno of pain has turned to ice, and he feels like he'll never be warm again. He won't, he realizes. Sudden memories of happier days make his heart ache in a different way, tears starting in his eyes. Warm sunshine and cozy rooms, smiles and laughter, back-slaps and tight embraces. Many of those people are dead. Some have been corrupted, bought out, turned traitor. The rest he fervently hopes are far away from here, safe from this nightmare. It's silly, to be crying as the life slowly stutters and drains from his broken, exhausted body, but Leon doesn't have the strength to stop himself. 

Krauser rumbles from somewhere deep in his ribcage, like the purr of a lion. "Give in, soldier. It's useless to hold on like this." His voice is the gravelly rasp that Leon once thought was caring. He knows better, now.

"F-fuck you," Leon wheezes, blinking heavily to fight off the black spots encroaching on his vision. He can't breathe right, and God it hurts to try. A rough hand cards through his hair, the sensation lost in the sudden numbness that's begin to tug at his consciousness with a gentle insistence that makes it impossible to want to fight. He struggles for a moment, overwhelmed by the panicked fluttering caged beneath his ribs, only to sob and let himself go limp a moment later. "I'm s-sorry."

He’s not quite sure who he’s saying it to. To the many people he couldn’t save from so many tragic, horrific hellholes. To the mentor who for so long he could never seem to please no matter how hard he tried, throwing himself into training until he was worn down to the bone but never good enough for the stern-faced Major. Or to the bright-eyed police academy recruit from so many years ago who thought he could somehow put the world to right. Maybe all of them.

"Stubborn." Krauser sounds almost fond, blue eyes fading in and out of focus. He strokes Leon's hair again. He seems to hesitate. "I'm sorry, too."

Leon’s body convulses weakly, some primitive instinct still struggling in vain against the raging sea of agony. Each breath is shallower than the last, a great weight pressing down on his chest until he's sure his ribs must be buckling in, choking him on mouthfuls of hot copper.

“Let it happen, Rookie.” Krauser’s hand brushes a last strand of hair from his forehead and tucks it behind his ear before curving to cup the back of his skull, tipping his head up slightly. “I’ve got you.”

His mouth finds Leon's somewhere in the darkness that's settled over the world, hot and sharp with the acrid tang of blood and smoke. It's shockingly nice. Scarred lips brush softly against his own, the soothing sensation of mingling tongues and skin on skin easing Leon's distress. Krauser is here, with him, kissing him. It's steadying, comfortable. Bittersweet.

Leon can’t breath, could barely anyways, but he finds this way he doesn’t mind so much. His throat spasms once, twice, three times for air he cannot have, before the shuddering muscles are quieted by a heavy palm on the crests of his collarbones.

He exhales, and the world ends. 

[true--north]

• THE WOLF MOON • prompt: myth • pairing: Elsa x Hans • albino!Elsa, Northuldra, animal magic, medieval AU, suggestive, ambiguous ending •

Elsa was going to spend all night in a vigil. As a noaidi, she vowed to do her best to help others. But something wasn't working. No matter how much she asked the Spirits to heal old Yelana, she still was sick. The Spirits refused her offerings. So Elsa was going to try again and again while there was still hope.

She went deep into the dark forest, built a fire, and placed a wooden bowl of reindeer blood, and fish she intended to present to the Spirits, on the snow. Alone in the night, Elsa let down her hair, took off her girdle, sat down, and sang an invocation.

She closed her eyes and let her spirit merge with the Nature around her. But not the patrons of the tribe, something else, something alien, has come to meet her calling.

A ghostly white wolf circled around the fire, howling with her song, its weightless paws leaving no footprints in the snow. Elsa sprang to her feet, threatening the beast with an enchanted dagger made of whale bone.

It was a foreign spirit, not of their forest, but, surprisingly, she sensed no hostility. Only longing. Only sorrow. The wolf stopped, looking at her pleadingly, then disappeared into the forest.

Elsa set off after it. The wolf looked back at her, leading her somewhere.

Towards the glacier at the edge of the forest. At the last aspen, the wolf took one last look at her, and merged with the purple shadows. Elsa stepped forwards cautiously, and fixed her eyes on the glacier. There, inside the frozen river was a young man, frozen into the thickness of blue ice.

He looked like the people from the Fjord Lands, from the stone houses. Those whom the people of the Forest, her people, have always feared. He was handsome, this stranger. He had a mane of long red hair and freckles on his high cheekbones. He wore a fur cloak and a tunic of fine grey wool, and had a beautiful silver torc around his neck, and an iron sword.

So that's why the wolf spirit had called her to save its master, Elsa realised. So the man was a sorcerer, since he had a spirit helper? She didn't really feel like doing that, but could she leave a man helpless, even if he was an enemy? She couldn't. The Spirits wouldn't approve of that. So she went to pick her things she left behind, and made a new fire by the glacier.

She sat and watched the prisoner of the ice, and waited. When his body went limp, she laid him closer to the fire, and rubbed his strong chest and broad shoulders with a cloth and warming herbal ointment to draw fire to his heart, and then she drew a healing rune on his heart, dipping her forefinger in reindeer blood.

The ice man opened his eyes, and Elsa thought they looked like the youthful leaves of April aspens. "Where are they? Who are you?"

"You are in the Northuldra lands. We are alone here."

He sat up and stared dazedly at Elsa. At her white fur coat and beads, whale knife, drum, and loose hair. "Who are you?"

"I am Spirit Talker. Who are you? I saved you, you owe me the truth."

The man's eyes flashed mysteriously. He squared his shoulders.

"I am Hans, the thirteenth son of the konung Magnus. My brothers wanted to get rid of me. And it seems they have almost succeeded." And he told her about his family. Of the cruel father who kept many women in slavery, and of the children from them, all sons, each of whom tried to surpass the others in strength and ferocity so as not to end up at the bottom of the pyramid. In the place of the youngest. His.

"Why are they doing this to you?" Elsa couldn't imagine how a brother could hate his brother enough to bewitch him to die a cruel way like this, imprisoned in a block of ice.

"Because I'm not like them. I'm different." Hans replied in a low voice, glaring at her with a heart wrenching yearning. "I see I can share that with you, O Spirit Talker." He meant her white hair, and colourless skin, and almost invisible eyelashes, and eyes the colour of ice, everything that made her so different from her family; from all people, in fact.

"My people never hurt me because I was different," she shook her head, "But they thought I was born...this way for a reason, that I was marked by the Spirits and should belong to them, not to people." An honourable duty, but so lonesome. Elsa knew the forest and the mysteries of Nature's magic much better than human warmth and love.

Hans smiled strangely, the firelight dancing a wild dance in his eyes. "Then we are not so different, after all. Once people see your true face, they reject you and run in fear."

"True face?" Elsa raised an eyebrow.

A huge white wolf ploughed her down into the snow. His eyes were as green as a spring forest and its bloodthirsty mouth was bright red. Black claws dug painfully into her shoulders. He snarled.

"So this is why your brothers hate you..." she exhaled, fearless. "Will you be the monster they think you are, Hans, son of Magnus?"

The wolf blinked, and after a moment returned to his true appearance. Or was it the other way round, and the human form was a disguise for the wolf son...? Hans lay on top of her, his lips an inch from hers, his quickened breathing sweet and warm, his hands pleasantly heavy on her waist and hips. A strange longing echoed in Elsa's chest. She imagined them alone in her lonely lavvu, naked, buried in lush reindeer and fox furs, and his caresses on her body a hot, liquid fire.

"Is Spirit Talker your true name?"

But she had no time to utter it. Hans pressed a kiss on her lips, and after a few agonisingly sweet moments he was a wolf again, leapt off her and raced off into the darkness of the forest.

She sat up and listened to the echo of his howling. The winter moon was full that night, round and yellow as amber, and its call was one that no living soul could resist.

"It's Elsa." she said.

@helsaweenfun

[misguidedasgardian]

The Lovely Hallows

Prologue

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic), future Aemond Targaryen x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Reader is a reader insert EXCEPT FOR her last name, I need something to call her by, except for that, she is an un-described, ambiguous looking reader. Also, I will try to diminish the use of (y/n), so I will use pet names, nicknames and such

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia (?), that is what I’m going to call racism against muggles 😂😂with Draco we are going to have a lot of that, they are children so it’s pretty mild so far. 

Wordcount: 1.3k

You always liked coming to Malfoy Manor, not because Draco was your friend since you were born, but because it was beautifully built, details in every corner, statues, old paintings, it was very fun to play in, and you also liked visiting Draco specially when his mother Narcissa celebrated these huge parties.

Not because of the pure blooded wizards and witches… But because of the immense tables served with desserts and snacks, and all the butterbeer you could drink. 

You knew you were few weeks short of starting school, so that was the reason for the Malfoys to throw a huge celebration in honor of Draco, you also knew that amongst the guest list was going to be a huge number if not all of Hogwarts’ faculty

It is something uncle Lucious and aunt Narcissa would do.

But you didn’t care about that either

“Remember dear, smile and… be polite”, reminded your godmother as she fixed the bow that kept your dressing robe together, you whimpered when she did the knot too tight, “many important people will be there tonight”, she said with that cringing smile 

“I know”, you whispered, and smiled at her, she smiled back, grabbed your hand, and you aparated right before the huge gates of Malfoy Manor

“Be in your best behavior”, she said one last time before you were greeted by servants and house elves. Once inside, it was easy for you to sneak away from your aunt, you already knew where Draco might be… right in the center, meeting everyone with his parents. The ball room was exquisitely decorated, dark green everywhere, with silver plates and cutlery serving a feast in one side of the room, the 

“You are late Basilik”, he said quickly as he saw you

“Don’t be mean Draco, tell her how nice she looks”, invited Narcissa 

“You look like a Brussel’s pastry”, he mocked your dark green puffy dress, you pouted

“And you look like a Grindylow licked your hair off”, you said back, mocking his silvery stands always combed back tightly

“Children”, said Lucius, with that creepy smile that looked like he wanted to go to the bathroom, uncle and aunt greeted your godmother as Draco grabbed your hand and took you out of the multitude and towards the table which had big jars of butterbeer being sere by themselves 

You drank the yellow brew slowly, when you took the cup down Draco giggled at you, pointing at your creamy lips and foamy mustache, in turn he took a sip of sweetscotch

“Tomorrow we are going to Diagon Alley to buy all the things for school”, he told you with his sneaky smile, “my father already pre-ordered the Nimbus 2000 for Quidditch”

“You know they don’t take first years into the Quidditch team”, you reminded him, “even though our abilities with a broom are pretty sick”, you winked 

“They will accept us once my father gifts the entire team the new brooms, and you will enter with me”, you giggled

“Buying our way in, I love that”, and he smiled, and you clink your glasses in a small agreement

But you wiped your smile off your face when you saw uncle Lucius walking towards you, accompanied by a tall man, all dressed in black robes

“Draco, little one, this is Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin house, and teacher of Potions”, he presented and you both looked up to the black haired man, you knew since this moment he demanded respect, it made your skin crawl

“I trust I’ll see both of you in Slytherin?”, he asked, his voice was deep and slow, he looked at the both of you, you were always at Draco’s side anyways

“Severus, it has never been a Malfoy that hasn't been in Slytherin”, said Lucious, proudly, placing his hands on Draco’s shoulders. Your friend smiled as he used to

“How about you?”, he asked, then looking right at you

“I hope so”, you seemed to notice he drew a small smile, but it could have been easily your own imagination

Even if they had taught you the sorting hat looked inside your head, inside your mind and inside your souls for your virtues and abilities… you knew that didn’t apply to people like you, for Draco, for the Crabbes, Goyles, Perkins… it was already written for you, you were going to Slytherin, and there was no more to it. 

Your family on your mother’s side was one of 30 pure blooded families, just like Draco, and Crabbe, and Goyle, and Parkinson, and all of those who were in the party tonight, you had met them all, you knew them since you were born.

All pure blooded families ended up in Slytherin, it was some sort of birthright, and all of you knew each other

It was your birthright too, Slytherin house

More children approached Draco, as the music played by itself sounded in the background, you recognized Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crebbe, you didn’t really liked them, but they were friends with Draco, so you guessed they had to be yours too 

But the music came to a stop, and all the chatter and conversations died, you looked instinctively to the entrance of the dancing hall and you gasped. The Targaryen Family

They were easily recognizable, their silver hair, their purple eyes… their… majesty

“I didn’t know those were coming”, Draco said with a disgusted tone in his voice

They were one of the most prominent families in the Wizarding World, but for some reason, they didn’t get along with other important families, like the Malfoys

“Did you hear? they used to practice incest”

“You don’t even know what that means!”, you mocked

“Yes I do!”, said Draco back

“Shush it!”, you mocked, “they can hear you!”

“I don’t care, I don’t even know why my father invited them”, you followed with your eyes as a silver haired man reached uncle Lucius to shake his hand, he was accompanied by an auburn haired woman, and four kids, two of them about your own age. 

“Those are Aegon, Helaena…”, numbered Blaise Zabini as he joined your little group, “and then there is Aemond, and Daeron”, he introduced. The boy he named as Aemond was looking everywhere with twisted lips and a frown, like he didn’t even want to be here.

“The Aemond one is supposed to be in our year”, said Draco, but you couldn’t care more, he and another 60 kids. 

The party continued without fuss, you stuck with Draco, and the others stayed by you as well, all talking about how cool it was going to be to go to Hogwarts, the things they were going to buy for the school year, and the familiars they were going to get

Of course Narcissa had planned everything for you and Draco. Of course your godmother said yes to everything she proposed, because, who was she to come between Narcissa and what she wanted?. You giggled at the thought

Your godmother had been in charge of you since your parents died when you were a baby, it was the only parental figure you’ve ever met. She took care of you properly, but she was… eccentric… 

More concerned about the way you looked than the way you were feeling, but she did what she could, you guessed.

You took another sip of your sixth butterbeer and smiled at Draco, tomorrow you were going to Diagon Alley to buy your things, and the day after tomorrow… you were going to go to the most prestigious school of Witchcraft and Wizardry 

[chaos0pikachu]

tldr: censorship fucking sucks and word of honor and xena are mlm/wlw solidarity 

okay this was a random thought that came to me during a combo of rewatching of Word of Honor and reading a post that declared Word of Honor “didn’t count” on their BL list of whatever the fuck and here’s the thought, here’s the vibe, Word Of Honor has a lot in common with Xena: Warrior Princess

Hear me out

Everyone kinda knows that Xena - and by extension Lucy Lawless - as a bisexual/queer woman icon, and that Xena/Gabrielle is probably still one of the most prominent wlw ships in western canon. That’s a huge part of the shows iconography in pop culture. But like, if you rewatch the show, things between Xena and Gabrielle are kept pretty ambiguous but in that ambiguously totally gay way (like WenZhou!). 

The network was actively against Xena and Gabrielle being more than, what fans would probably call nowadays, bait. An executive told producer Rob Tapert that by making Xena and Gabrielle explicit there would be a surge of interested followed by a sharp decline. 

It should be noted that Xena was already a controversial show for it’s era - not just for the gay subtext but under fire from religious groups, anti-feminist groups, and others. 

The showrunners and producers also didn’t intend for Xena and Gabrielle’s relationship to, eh, blossom the way it did. Fans ran with it. Ironically, the intention of the show was to push Xena’s men of color love interests which also made the network gun shy (remember folks racism exists alongside homophobia!). 

Xena and Gabrielle operated in a highly censored space (that still exists in American media btw!! Take it from someone who knows first hand) that was beholden to network hand-wringing, capitalism, and societal homophobia at large.  So their relationship could only live within an ambiguous space. Ironically enough, just like WenZhou, Xena and Gabrielle are also referred to as “soulmates” in the text of the show. But ya know, sometimes soulmates are platonic, sometimes romantic. Which are WenZhou and Xena/Gabrielle? Well that’s up for the viewer to decide b/c the production teams hands are tied. 

Even so, even with the censorship, we all still view Xena as legitimate queer representation within the pop culture space. Why? Why Xena and not Word of Honor?

For me, they both count, especially WoH because it’s source material IS queer. But the filter of censorship snipped and cut the text away so everything would be forced to live within that ambiguous “up to the audience aka gotta make the advertisers comfortable” space. 

I don’t think it’s fair to throw WoH out because the production couldn’t, like they were not allowed, to showcase text on screen. Similar to Xena queer fans knew that her and Gabrielle were in love, soulmates (romantic) by the end (where Xena dies, like literal for reals death she’s ashes carried on by Gabby at the end btw spoiler alert for a 20 year old show at least WK got silver hair and immortality out of his death experience). 

Queer fans appreciated and cultivated what Xena gave us because, no offense but what the fuck else was there? Not a lot, and even less in the fantasy space. Hell, there’s still not a lot of queer representation in the fantasy space we’re only just now going “hey maybe Tolkien’s ultra white British view of things is not the only way to do things?" And now House of Dragon has Black actors in terrible wigs (they’re so fucking bad rip) in 2022. Woooo~ most queer chars in western fantasy media are mainly found in kids cartoons - which, fucking aces there but also - probably why there’s so many adults in those spaces in fandom (not my bag personally) and why I think the popularity of danmei, c-dramas, and k-dramas is on the rise. People are hungry for epic fantasy content, epic romance content, and queer content. 

but like, I think about queer folks who live in China, who watched WoH (ya know, the intended audience, not Americans) who are probably feeling the same thing people felt when they watched Xena. Yeah, Mr. Advertiser Xena and Gabrielle are soulmates (platonic) wink wink, Yeah Mr. Network ZZS and WKX are soulmates (platonic) wink wink

and I think that’s still valuable. idk I just don’t think it’s right for foreigners to be like “no you’re queer media doesn’t count actually because I deem it so” when the reason for the relationship being subtextual is literal censorship. And yet the text is hella gay anyway!! like at the end of the day we’re all battling the crushing weight of homophobia but not everyone’s fight is exactly the same especially country-to-country and I think that should still be respected. given how damn gay WoH is anyway I imagine the producers fought really fucking hard to give audiences what they did. Just like the producers of Xena fought against the network to do what they could. 

anyway, thoughts and shit

[reidslovely]

Casual (Sam UTSL x Fem! Reader)

Pairing: Sam (Under the Silver Lake) x Fem! Reader Content Warning: Smut 18+. Oral sex female receiving, arguing, low-key gaslighting(?), ambiguous ending.  Authors Note:This may flop. Oh well. I know you guys are still expecting the last chapter of That’s the Price..it is coming I (loosely) promise! I’m about to start working on it after this. As always please reblog and leave a comment if you want love you! Also please don’t be upset I use tasm hashtags I’m just trying to put it out there sorry.

Her feet were placed on the dashboard of the mustang, heels tossed on the floorboard and her dress bunched around her hips. “Does it go back any further than this?” (Y/N)’s voice came out slightly more annoyed than she had intended. Sam, who was knee deep in floorboard, fumbled around under the seat trying to push the passenger seat back further.

“It should. I’m trying okay.” He bit back bitterly

“I wasn’t complaining, I just worry ab-”

“My leg is..” Her body slammed back as the seat went all the way back as he spoke. “...fine. No flare up in months.” Sam mumbled, kissing her inner thigh. His stubble tickling the soft skin there, (Y/N) rested her head back against the headrest. She just wanted to relax. The day, Sam included, had been so draining. From an early morning meeting, to the coffee burn on her thigh from a painful spill, and not to mention the sudden dinner with Sam’s mom that gave her no time to shop. She hadn’t had any time to stop and breathe.

She gasped as Sam pressed a soft kiss to the red burn mark on the top of her thigh. “You need to be more careful.” He laughs before dragging his lips down her thigh to her cunt. His nose pressed against her clit as he breathed her in.

“I need to find a job that isn’t just me getting coffee for old white men.” She says waiting for him to move.

“I’ll put you in my movie.” He said licking a long strip up her slit, his tongue circling against her clit for a few seconds before wrapping his lips around it. The conversation may as well have poured out of her ears word by word, she couldn’t think of a response. Her hands reached down to grab his hair pulling at the brown locks. Her eyes closed, her mouth dropping open as he continued licking and sucking at her clit like he had never been here before. His mouth traveled further down, his tongue dipping in her wetness, his nose pressed against her clit. The pressure pulled a low, tired moan from her. Her hand pulled at his hair harder, as she held back a laugh. Sam's eyes looked up at her, she knew he had a smile on his face, she could feel it against her.

He pulled his mouth off of her, his middle finger creeping its way into her. “Don’t you think you  look a little pathetic? You're spread out like a whore in the car, behind a restaurant anyone could come out and see us.”

Sam spoke with his normal cadence, low and monotone. But the way he looked at her drew her in, it was something so dirty like this would be their best kept secret. He acted as if this was the most public place they had ever done something like this.

Pumping another finger into her, he smiled his head dropping against her thigh watching himself finger fuck her. “You’re so close huh? You wanna cum?” (Y/N) nodded her head, swallowing her moan as he pressed his thumb against her swollen clit rubbing slowly.

(Y/N) came around his fingers with a small moan, her eyes closing and her head dropping to the side. “Fuck” They both breathed out, Sam pulled his fingers out of her licking his fingers clean before digging in the glove compartment for a tissue. She took it from him, starting to clean herself up.   “How was that?” He asks, “You look less tense now.” He laughs crawling over her and into the driver side. (Y/N) nodded her head, turning to look at him with a smile as she reached over to kiss him. It was a quick peck before he grabbed her panties from her hand, shoving them in the glove box.

Regardless of what had just happened, and however he looked at her in the moment, the rush of what they really were washed back over her.

“Casual..we’re  just casual.”

Was his response this morning when she asked if this dinner  meant they were exclusive now. Hearing those words fall out of his mouth filled her with less upset and rage then filled her now. A hot feeling of either embarrassment or heat rushed through her chest, and suddenly she felt like she was a puppy being used to make a Hollywood starlet look better.

Turning her body away from him she put her shoes back on, wishing she had her underwear to make her feel less bare.

“You okay?”

He asked, his clean hand reaching out to brush hair off her face. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.” (Y/N) swallowed the lump in her throat and put on a smile placing an undeserving, yet loving kiss on his palm.

“I’m fine.” She responded, opening the car door and stepping out. She fixes her dress, checking herself in the reflection of the car door, before walking around to meet Sam. Putting on a good face she took her hand in his and leaned against him as they walked around to the front of the restaurant. “She’ll like you.” Sam says his hand on her forearm. “Doesn’t matter if she does.” (Y/N) shrugs, her hand rubbing the fabric of his jacket. “If we are just casual it doesn’t matter.” “I..” Sam starts his sentence thinking of what to say.  “God. You literally take everything to heart, I didn’t mean it like that. You should know.” He rants, the annoyance in his voice prominent. (Y/N) huffed, pulling her arm out of his starting to walk away. Sam grabbed her arm gently, turning her to face him, his hands finding her face.

“No, no that’s not what I meant, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t wanna know what you meant.” She yells at first, lowering her voice as the sentence goes on. “Okay, you’ve done this all week. You tell me how much you like me, how much I have improved your life. But then you turn around to your loser fucking friends and say that we aren’t going anywhere and we are just casual. Your friends don’t even know my actual name, but I’m meeting your mom? Make it make sense Sam, because I’m really fucking lost. I have clothes at your place, I literally spent an hour looking for my favorite bra today at my apartment and I couldn’t find it. Do you know why I couldn’t find it? Because it’s in your dresser, at your apartment where we cook together, I clean for you, we’re we share a bed but no of course we are just casual.”

Once it started there was no plugging the feelings back up, she hadn’t cried like she thought she would. She didn’t even really have time to process what she was feeling until the words had left her mouth. The two traded dumbfounded looks, neither knowing what to say. “I didn’t know-”

“That I knew?”

Sam nodded, his hands dropping to her shoulders rubbing softly. “Or that you felt that way..I just thought you..we..didn’t want anymore than what we had. You never said anything, had you told me.”

(Y/N) could have screamed, it was like he wasn’t hearing her. “I have been telling you, for weeks.”

“Not explicitly, I can’t pick up on your weird girl hints. I thought you were just leaving stuff at my apartment to leave it.”

As she opened her mouth to respond, an older woman cleared her throat looking at them.

“Excuse me.”

Sam took a deep breath and headed into the dining room, heading towards his mothers table. He just dropped it, god she hated him so much right now. The thought of grabbing the champagne from its chilled box and smashing it on the ground was too strong. Instead, she closed her eyes and latched onto his arm, calming herself down, falling back into their game her eyes opened no longer glossy now holding a faux happiness. His mother stood, greeting her with a hug complimenting her dress. She smiled and mumbled a quick thank you, before settling next to Sam who was quick to hold her leg under the table. She caught a bit of the conversation here and there, adding her small useful remarks whenever needed. Thinking she was playing the perfect role of girlfriend.

“You seem distracted (Y/N), everything okay?” The older woman asked downing her third glass of wine, (Y/N) casted her eyes up to her smiling.

“Yeah, huh just work stuff on my mind.” She lies, taking her own big gulp of red wine. “She works too hard, she needs a break, my little journalist.” Sam laughed, his hand stroking her arm as it came to wrap around her. “Well I’m going out to grandma’s house in Long Beach next weekend and staying for a bit, why don’t you two take the week off and come up?”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to respond, truthfully she didn’t know if her and Sams…situationship would last after tonight's dinner. Before she got the chance to respond, Sam was already nodding his head in agreement.

“We’d love it to be a perfect getaway for us, it would be our first couples trip. What do you think babe?” Sam asked, his hand trailing down to grab her hand waiting for her answer. (Y/N) stared at him confused. “I mean sure yeah, I’ll talk to my boss about it. Couples trip, yeah.”

His mom smiled, and exclaimed something of excitement that she couldn’t understand. (Y/N) had already started looking down into Sam’s words: he had never called them a couple before. Is it no longer casual, did her words actually change his mind? Or was it just his mothers presence that caused him to choose his words. Maybe she was just falling back into his game, but that could wait till after dinner.

tags: @helloheyhihowdyheya​ @nymphonet​ @bxcketbarnes​ @sincericida​ @toomanyfictionalboyfriends​ @andrews-lovr​ @raajali3​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ @a-lumos-in-the-nox​ @megmehz​ @adhdhufflepuff​ @lunaleah​ @eevylynn​ 

[luimagines]

Prepare For Trouble

Another Commission!

Masterlist

They asked for some OC’s who are the embodiment of Team Rocket. It’ll be a small series so expect parts two and three within the follow updates.

Next Part

Content under the cut!

Sky didn’t know what exactly to expect when he was traveling on his new adventure. Sure, he can handle saving his home land. He could swallow the idea of his successors needing to join forces against the curse he was too late to stop. He could handle all their shenanigans. Sky could even gather that there was a force perhaps beyond their means that was pulling the string with them following blindly like puppets.

Ok. A bit dark on that last one. He blames Legend.

Being kidnapped by a trio of morally ambiguous magic….sorcerers? He’s not quite sure. Either way, that wasn’t on the list.

They claim it’s because they saw him holding the Master Sword and they need him for something.  Sky rolls his eyes in his head and sighs. They could have just asked.

Sky looks at the chains that they’ve kept on him. They’re frail. Borderline broken. He’s sure that he could break them just by pulling his wrist hard enough apart and then he’d be free.

But they haven’t hurt him yet. They haven’t even threatened him.

So admittedly, he’s curious.

Not to mention that Wolfie followed him there and they’re also holding him hostage. Sky feels a little more than disinclined to meander his way around the world.

He jangles the chains once more and looks at his captures. They’re not really paying attention to him. They’re looking through some old supply boxes that the old residents of this hideout had. Sky has a sneaking suspicion that they’re in the desert if the heat is anything to go by and that Wild would recognize this place should he show up.

Sky looks at Wolfie and sighs. “Alright. I’ll bite. Am I just supposed to sit here? Aren’t we your captives? Isn’t there a place where I should be held?”

“We haven’t finished exploring.” The dark fairy flutters around his head.

The young woman with the pink hair thinks about it and looks him up and down. She had a book and a silver staff with a teardrop crystal hanging from the tip of the crescent top. Sky wiggles nervously in his seat. He doesn’t trust that look. Why did he open his mouth?

She hums. “Well I supposed there would be cells here that could hold you.”

“I doubt that would be very comfortable.” The other one speaks. They’re… interesting. Sky doesn’t know what exactly to make of them. Other than that they scream magic user but for reasons Sky isn’t equipped to decode. They cloak billows around them as they adjust it on their shoulders- a long red feather hangs from their belt. It stirs something in Sky that he’s not sure he wants to explore just yet. To make matters worse, they refuse to look in the eye, let alone his face. They speak with their back to him. “It’s not like you would be able to run from here anyway.”

Sky’s eye twitches. He doubts they know his running abilities but hey.

The girl in pink shrugs and smiles his way. It’s infuriatingly nonchalant. “It’s a decent deal, really.”

Sky feels like he was thrown for a loop. Isn’t he a prisoner? A captive? Hostage? Shouldn’t he be in a cell? They’re really just going to let him have “free reign” around their base? He tries to speak but the words elude him. “Should…. You all…Aren’t we your prisoners?”

The one pink waves him off with her other hand over her heart. “Oh no. Much too bleak. Unwilling audience is better.”

The other two seem to agree with her. She grins and moves to pet Wolfie. He doesn’t look amused but he makes no moves to stop her. The action delights her. “Right sweet boy?”

Sky feels like he’s been smacked in the face. He sits further back on the box behind him. He stares at the three of them, willing something to happen where they seem more villainous so he can attack and escape with a clean conscience.

They make no such moves.

He takes a deep breath, hangs his head for a second in defeat and looks up at them again. “So now what?”

The little dark fairy flutters around and faces him. “Good question.”

“We don’t know yet.”

Sky hangs his head again and face palms.

Wolfie sneezes and Sky reaches over to pet the top of his head.

The next few days are a bit of a blur.

He’s treated kindly for sure. He’s treated with respect and dignity. They answer his questions. They let him have his space. They let him explore.

They’re right, there’s no way he could get away in a place like this.

With time he gathers that they’ve felt the rip in time and space and have vowed to stop it by any means possible. They watched the group for a while and noticed the Master Sword and its power… and him. Who held onto it about ninety five percent of the time.

Which explains why he’s here.

He both admires them and is annoyed by them. They had a whole group formed for the same purpose. Why didn’t they just ask?

In fact, he’s going to ask them.

He finds the one with the dark fairy and tugs on their cloak.

They turn and scream.

Unexpecting this reaction, Sky jumps away and puts his hands up as best he can with the cuffs around his wrists.

They seem to recognize their strange reaction a moment afterwards. Before Sky can even get a word out to explain and demand more answers, they run away from him.

He gives chase.

“Hold on!” Sky calls out.

“No!”

His step falters. No? Who on earth do they think they are to just… run and not talk to him? Who’s the one being held captive here?

Sky has to pause for his breath and glares in the direction they disappeared off to. Ok. Fine. If they want to play this game, that’s fine by him.