#i cannot replace doors and frames :(

[tallymali]

i have sooooo much motivation to decorate my house and absolutely none of the money or physical ability

[radio-fmm]

Turmoil

Law x gn reader

Warnings: little fight between Law and reader but nothing crazy, sfw and fluff at the end, good ending, FEELINGS

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: In which you save Law’s life and he gets mad at you

Masterlist

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The moonlight danced with the dark sea water, accompanying you in your office as your eyes struggled to stay focus on the paper work in front of you, it was hard to tell the time when you lived in a submarine, but your body knows its well past 2 am, begging for you to snuggle into bed and drift away

From the shadows behind your door emerged your Captain, looking as tired as you did, a brow arching in confusion

“What are you doing?” His low raspy tone makes you jump on your seat as your eyes open wide in his direction, before they roll in annoyance and your eyebrows furrow

“Doing the work that YOU assigned me, Captain” the tone of your answer lets Law know that you’re still mad at him

“Should’ve thought better before-“ suddenly, and surprisingly you interrupt his so re-used speech he had given you a million times over since that evening

“Oh give me a break!” You trow your pen on the table, slamming your hands before gifting him the nastiest look he had ever witness painted on your face

Some days ago, the Heart Pirates found themselves in yet another fight were things weren’t going well for their Captain. You were the crews strategists and whenever you were caught in situations like these you were always by Laws side, but this time he had made you promise to stay out of trouble for this one, which in all honesty had struck your pride. Everyone knew how relentless of a fighter you were, that’s why you had gained such a position in the crew, so being told to back up was like a punch in the stomach, specially coming from your trusted Captain

Trafalgar Law was a stubborn, stubborn man, and that sometimes got him in more trouble that he could handle, as the enemies arrow flew trough his direction and a sword was drawn to his heart, in a blink of an eye you jumped in to protect him, without a second thought

Nothing bad had happened to you, you had came out victorious with a couple of scars nothing out of the ordinary, so when you were met with Laws angry eyes, a long speech on why what you had done was absolutely stupid and a punishment, you were left puzzled, and humiliated in front of all of your crew mates

Since then, you had been locked in your office, getting the extra work the doctor had assigned you so that ‘you learn how to listen’ done, and avoiding any words and looks of his

“I saved you” you got up of your chair as you walked towards the frame of your Captain, he may tower over you, but that would not stop you

“You put your life on the line y/n-ya, that I don’t tolerate” he answers you with a stern voice, eyes examining your every expression

“I did what I did because I wanted to, you may be the one giving orders around here, but you do not get dictate when or how I die”

As you get closer, Trafalgar cannot help but start to feel that maybe he was being selfish, after all, you had given him the greatest of gifts

Knowing there’s someone out there that is willing to die for you, no questions asked

But at the same time, the mere thought of losing you because he couldn’t be up to the task of protecting you boiled his blood and made his stomach turn a million times over

“Then maybe, you shouldn’t have joined my crew in the first place” he blurts out, every single word hitting you like a venomous snake bite, your heart clenching at the thought of being unwanted

Your greatest fear

Suddenly your body language does a 180, your anger being replaced with what could only be perfectly described as heartache. Almost immediately the doctor regrets even stepping foot in your office, before he can say anything you’re already back on your seat

“Sorry Captain” the pain in both your voice and your face makes Law hurt, and panic, and regret, yet words fail to come out of his mouth… just when he needed them most

“Don’t stay up too late” is all he can say before closing the door behind him

Next days in the Polar Tang were a pain, Law had been quite more irritable around everyone, even snapping on poor Bepo. You were either locked away working or in your room and sometimes even skipping dinner just to not cross paths with the damn surgeon, and if you were unlucky enough to do so, you would turn away immediately

Everyone knew something was up between the two of you, Ikkaku and Penguin had showed up at your office asking if everything was ok. You decided to keep it to yourself, you knew if Law found out you’re talking about him behind his back, about personal matters? Yeah, you would be dead to him, and even when mad, you respected him

Shachi was send to dig around Law, but when your name crossed his lips the doctor immediately shot down the conversation, this confirming their suspicions

But then, you finished the damn paper work, and guess who was the one you needed to hand it to?

You tried to convince anyone else to deliver the papers to Laws office, but it seemed like everyone had catch up and found this as an opportunity for you to make up with him, frustrating you beyond comprehension. They had even got to Bepo first

“Sorry y/n, I was told to tell you to deliver it yourself” he offered you a sympathetic smile, afraid of your answer, you just sighed defeated and thanked him anyways

“Just go in and hand him the papers! That easy” Ikkakus voice rings in your head as you try to wash your nervousness away in front of Laws office. Hesitantly you knock on the door, feeling lightheaded at the mere touch of it

“Go away Shachi” the doctors muffled voice meets your ears, confused you answer with the tiniest “It’s me, Captain” After a pause that felt like it lasted a decade, thinking he may had shambles himself out of the office, you hear a “Come in” so you do

You enter the office slowly, almost as if you made any sudden moves you’ll get caught like a pray in the wild. Trafalgar is sitting at his desk, his hands fidgeting and eyes following your form

“I have the paper work you asked for” you stay pretty far away from the desk, fear written all over you making Law feel twice as worse as he had been feeling this past few days

“Thank you y/n-ya, just leave them here” his voice sounded softer, but this didn’t made you feel any less scared as you approached the desk, gaze fixated on the papers in your hand. As you positioned your hard wok on the desk Law makes the uncharacteristic decision to hold your wrist before you retrieved, a shock running through your whole body at the action

Law’s heart beats a million times per second as he finds the right words to approach the matter, maybe he should’ve thought about them before taking your hand, your soft skin touching his freezing him. You lock eyes for a second and finally Law understands everything he had done wrong, from being ungrateful, rude, harsh and just overall mistreating the person he cares for the most

He would rather being shot than admit he was in the wrong, but he knew if he didn’t he’ll lose you, which was the reason he had caused this mess in the first place, so he swallows his pride

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed at you in front of everyone, or made you do all this work and… saying those awful things”

The fear washes from your body as you hear his apology, something you never thought you’d witness in your life, you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding since you stepped foot on the door, offering Law a genuine smile that made his heart fall to his feet

“It’s ok Captain”

“Law” he says, letting your hand go as his own insecurities disappear, thinking you were gonna bash at him after his apology

“Law” you parrot back, earning him another sweet smile of yours

“I just… didn’t wanted to lose you, I was so lost in that thought that I didn’t realize that’s exactly what I was doing” you had seemed to have pushed a button because he just couldn’t stop the thoughts that just fell directly to his tongue and overflow like a cascade out of his mouth

Laws eyes open wide as he sees you approach the other side of the desk, your arms wrap around his wide shoulders like the softest blanket, hugging him while he still sits on the chair, your head resting in top of his hat. The surgeon stays completely still, taken aback

“Thank you for apologizing Law, I really appreciate it” you whisper making his face bright red and his hands shake, the way your body weights over his makes his brain malfunction and his heart go wild

You let go and approach the door of the office, Law remaining completely broken and flushed in his seat

“See ya’ at dinner.. Law” you say his name mischievously, giggling after before you disappear

The Captain stays still for a while, alone in his office, thinking about everything being open about his thoughts and feelings had gained him, and how addicting his name sounded falling from your sweet lips

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

This came to me in a dream and wrote it in almost one sitting lmao, feel free to request anything you wanna read I am having so much fun writing his emo ass

Reblogs are appreciated ;)

[carbonfiction]

Soundless somethings

When logan comes home one day to absolute silence throughout your home, he knows something isnt right. He further cements that when he finds you tucked up in bed, struggling with a migraine attack.

This is something a little different for me; fluff not always being my strongest suit. But as a livelong chronic migraine suffering girlie, im always searching for comfort. This was completely self indulgent and i threw it at the wall (notes app) in the midst of getting over this very scenario. i figured I'd share in case theres anyone out there that needs some comfort the way i did when this came to be. <33

Warnings?: mention of migraine attacks, mentions of taking pills/medication, mentions of nausea (but no vomit), Logan being a sweet sweet man, Overall just fluff!

Pictured with origins!Logan in mind but feel free to imagine any version!

Masterlist Words: little over 1.3k

Logan could tell something was off the moment he stepped through the door. the lights are off, all the curtains drawn, enveloping the house in pitch darkness despite the earlier hour.

the sound of the tv doesn't play out, nor the usual music that would softly serenade throughout the house. Instead a deafening silence replaces it all.

His steps are quiet despite his weight; rushed yet carefull- calculated- as he treads to find you. He knows your home, the steady beat of your heart hushed in his ears as he strains to listen. He checks the kitchen and then the bathroom but he doesnt find you in either.

Instead, he finds you bundled up in your shared bed, blanket pulled up to your chin, a bag lined trashcan resting on the floor besides your bedside table.

There's a gentle sigh of relief; that your home and safe, as he pads over. A crease wedging its way between his brows as he Looks your bundled frame over. Your expression- that he can see anyway- is pained as he kneels carefully besides the bed. Slow and gentle to not jostle your body as his hands stabilize themselves on the plush mattress. Logan opens his mouth, question poised on his tongue, but you beat him to it.

"Logan?" you croak quietly, eyes squinted open, like the words hurt you to verbalize. In a way, they do.

"Yea baby s' just me." Logan keeps his voice low as he reassures you. His hand gently coming up and over your covered body to rest atop of your forehead and he smiles softly as you try to snuggle into it without much movement; his palm feeling cool and reliving from his time outside against your skin . "What's goin on hm? M' girl not feeling good?"

"Mhm" you hum back, eyelids falling shut again to block out the dimmed light. "'nother migraine attack".

Ah.. So that explains the quiet darkness filling, what is usually, your bustling home.

"Have you taken your pills baby?" Logan enquires with a sigh, voice low and careful to not hurt your head further as he stands as quiet as he can- save for the clicking of his knees that you'd usually tease him about- instead he finds himself apologizing.

Logan knows how bad these attacks can get, how they can range from a dull ache behind your eyes to a debilitating thump that pains every movement. That the trashcan besides your side of the bed often has a second purpose; for the days when you physically cannot move for the pain and nausea.

He knows how, when these attacks happen, even the quietest noise can make you unconsciously flinch in pain. That sometimes even the sound of your own heartbeat worsens the matching throb in your head. It breaks part of his heart every time, seeing you struggling so hard in your own body, but he'll do anything, often wordlessly to ensure you get through each attack supported with anything you need.

"Took em' earlier.. Didn't help much" you mumble, hushed and so sadly it makes logans heart clench in his broad chest. You hear logans steps retreat from the room, and you shift fractionally in bed. The movement deliberately slow as to not highten the nausea that floats over you in waves.

Tugging the cool side of one of logans pillows atop of your forehead, Its just enough to cover your eyes; to stop any extra brightness breaching your eyelids. The scent of him embedded in the fabric is comforting; but you find yourself thankful for the way it slightly muffles sound too as you listen to logan rooting around in the kitchen.

You know he's trying his best- he always does- his large heavy hands delicately struggling to maneuver around items much smaller. You just barley catch the muttered way he swears to himself as he grabs a glass out, accidentally clinking it next to another other, to fill with cold water.

When logan comes back he does so with his arms full. in one a condensation covered glass filled with water, crisp and cool from the fridge. The other is pressed to his chest and holds a box of crackers- simple and plain- and a packaged strip of ginger cookies to settle your stomach; your medicine carton then sitting atop of both.

You crack an eye at the sound of the packets as he places them down on the bed; apologizing for the rustling as you whimper. The idea of food not being over appetizing in your current state.

logan hides a smile, knowing and apologetic, seeing the grimace that rests on your lips.. "I know baby, i know.." he hushes gently, as he carefully sits himself beside you, dipping the bed as it groans. "but we gotta get something in your stomach before your next meds, y'know that."

You whimper again, pained and utterly miserable because you know hes right. You do need to eat before your next dose; otherwise you know it'll make the nausea worse. He sighs softly again as you whine, helping you rest up against the headboard.

The throb in your skull is louder as you sit straight, your eyes fully open now. the room is dimmed but light still filters golden through the fabric of the curtains. You make a mental note to purchase some blackouts when you feel more yourself.

Theres silence then, as logan watches your every move, occasionally handing you another cracker or cookie depending on what you mumble for. By the third cracker and second cookie a small protesting sound passes your lips, nausea flooding your bloodstream mid bite. Logan's hand finds your back, rubbing up and down softly hushing you through the wave, also ready to grab the trashcan if you need it.

"Just a couple more bites baby, you can do it.." he pushes quietly after a while of helping you steady your breath; urging you to just finish the last half of the ginger cookie sat in your hand. He grins slightly when you continue, bites small and almost sheepish as he places a kiss on your head before muttering into your hair "yea there you go. Good girl, proud of you baby."

For a while then, theres no movement; you sitting against the headboard and him resting besides you. His hand rubbing soothing shapes on your back.

Theres a panicked noise when he shifts, your fingers grasping at his shirt, but like always, Logans quick to reassure you. "Shh s' okay, just grabbing your pills, m' not goin anywhere, Promise"

You hum gingerly in understanding as his free arm reaches to the table, pulling your medicine packet into his lap before stretching again for the water.

You grimace, fingers wrapping around the glass as you bring it up to your forehead, resting it against your warm skin. Its cool and damp against you, making a sound of delight slip from your throat. Logan smiles at it, un-popping the little pills and handing you the correct dose.

He helps tip your head back, his hand resting over yours on the glass, guiding and gentle. Once swallowed he praises you again; lips pressing feather light kisses against your temple when you shift closer to his body.

"Love you lo" he just manages to hear you mumble into his neck. Your tone is still slightly sad; no doubt filled with fatigue as he helps you rest comfortable atop of him, head resting in the crook of his neck.

Usually you'd giggle at the tickle of his facial hair against your skin but for now you settle for an amused huff; too pained for laughter as you nuzzle closer to his scent with your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. akin to how a child clutches a stuffed toy.

"Love you too baby.." he replies softly, palm coming to rest under your- his- shirt. He smiles, heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your lashes fluttering shut. His cool hand soothing up and down your spine until he feels your breathing slow. Soft snores falling from your lips as his motions never cease. "Now, get that pretty little head to snoozin' hm?"

lemme know whatcha think? is fluff something you'd like to see more of?? bc i actually really enjoyed creating this <333

[novaursa]

The Veil of Fire (3/3)

- Summary: Conclusion of the Dance and your terrible purpose.

- Paring: aunt!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon.

- Note: For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

You storm down the corridor of the Red Keep, the heavy wooden doors rattling in their frames as you pass. The servants who normally crowd these halls shrink away at the sight of you. They know better than to cross your path when you’re in such a state. Your blood hums with the fury that has been building since you left Aegon’s chambers. The image of your elder brother lying helpless, swathed in bandages, the flesh of his body charred and raw, is seared into your mind. And now, all you can think of is the one responsible.

Your brother Aemond.

The thoughts tumble in your mind as you reach his chambers, pushing the door open without knocking. Aemond stands by the window, his back to you, seemingly lost in thought. The light of the setting sun casts a long shadow across the room, a stark contrast to the heat you feel boiling within.

“Aemond,” you say, your voice sharp as Valyrian steel. “Why did you do it?”

He turns slowly, his one remaining eye locking with yours. For a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, calculating expression he often wears.

“What are you talking about?” His voice is measured, but you can hear the tension beneath it.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you snap. “Aegon. Why did you burn him?”

Aemond’s lips tighten into a thin line. “He was unworthy of the throne,” he says, his tone clipped. “He’s always been unworthy. He was a drunkard, a fool who laughed at me every chance he got. I merely did what needed to be done.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and you take a step closer to him, your anger morphing into something more complex—something tinged with sorrow. “Aegon is our brother,” you say softly, the fury in your voice giving way to something else, something pleading. “He is family. Your family. We are not your enemies, Aemond.”

For a moment, he says nothing, merely watching you with that unblinking gaze. Then he takes a step toward you, his expression softening. “You spoke to Helaena, didn’t you? She always knows what lurks in the shadows, even when the rest of us do not.”

You nod slightly, your throat tight. “She knew… but that does not change what you’ve done.”

His hand twitches at his side, as though he wants to reach out to you but cannot bring himself to. “He was a threat,” Aemond insists, though his voice has lost some of its earlier conviction. “To me. To the realm.”

You shake your head slowly, your eyes never leaving his. “You’re wrong. The real threat isn’t Aegon or any of us. It’s the idea that we are enemies, that we must destroy each other to claim power. Is that what you’re planning, Aemond? Will you strike me next?”

The question hangs heavy in the air between you, and for a moment, Aemond looks stricken. His gaze drops to the thin scar that now mars your cheek and lips, a reminder of the horror you faced to protect Helaena’s children. You see the way his jaw tightens, the conflict playing out in his mind. He’s always been so fond of you and Helaena, always protective in his own way, and yet now, he stands on the precipice of something dark and unforgivable.

“No,” he says finally, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I could never… not you.”

You take a breath, your heart aching with a mixture of relief and sorrow. “Then do not let this madness consume you, Aemond. We are Targaryens—blood of the dragon. But we are still human, still family. Do not lose yourself to this war.”

He meets your gaze again, and for the first time since you entered his chambers, you see the boy he once was—the brother who would debate with you for hours, who sought your approval as much as you sought his. But that boy is fading, buried beneath the weight of ambition and the demands of the crown.

“I will consider your words,” he says finally, though there is a weariness to him now. “But do not ask me to abandon my duty.”

“I would never ask that of you,” you reply, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “I only ask that you remember who you are, and who we are to you.”

He nods, though you can see the turmoil still simmering beneath the surface. This conversation is far from over, you know that much. But for now, you’ve said what needed to be said. You’ve planted a seed of doubt in Aemond’s mind, and you can only hope it will take root before it’s too late.

As you turn to leave, Aemond’s voice stops you in your tracks. “Sister…”

You glance back at him, waiting.

“Thank you,” he says, and though his voice is still strained, there is a sincerity there that you haven’t heard in a long time.

You nod once, a small gesture of understanding, before slipping out of his chambers. As the door closes behind you, you feel the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. But there is a small glimmer of hope now, too, fragile but real.

You leave Aemond’s chambers, the heavy door closing with a soft thud behind you, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. The conversation still lingers in your mind, a tangled web of emotions—anger, sorrow, fear for the future, and a thread of hope so thin you’re afraid it might snap at any moment. Your hand trembles slightly as you brush it against the stone wall, steadying yourself as you navigate the labyrinth of corridors that make up the Red Keep.

The fortress, usually bustling with life, feels eerily silent in the wake of Rook’s Rest. The weight of the events—of the war that rages beyond these walls—presses down on your shoulders, making each step feel heavier than the last. You try to shake off the oppressive thoughts, focusing instead on the task ahead. There are still things that must be done, plans to be made, and words that must be spoken.

As you turn a corner, you nearly collide with a tall, familiar figure—your uncle, Gwayne Hightower. He catches your arm instinctively, steadying you before you can stumble. His eyes  widen with surprise, and then soften into concern as he takes in your expression.

“Niece,” Gwayne greets you, his voice low and cautious. “You seem troubled.”

You offer him a small, tired smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s been a long day, Uncle. The burden of our house grows heavier by the hour.”

He nods, his expression grave. Gwayne has always been a steady presence, someone who prefers to stay out of the more treacherous waters of court politics. Yet, like you, he has been drawn into the web of deceit and ambition that has ensnared your family.

“I tried to confront Ser Criston earlier,” Gwayne says after a moment, his voice hushed as if the very walls of the Red Keep might be listening. “About his… affair with Alicent.”

You pause, surprised by his admission. You had written to Daeron about this in one of your letters to Dragonstone, knowing that Gwayne would likely read it, but you hadn’t expected him to act on it so soon. The thought of Cole and your mother… It has always made your skin crawl, but in these times, you’ve had to push it aside, focusing on the greater dangers looming over you all.

“And?” you ask, though you can already sense from his tone that the conversation did not go as he had planned.

Gwayne sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “It didn’t go well. Ser Criston… he’s not the man I remember. He’s… broken, shattered, perhaps beyond repair.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a cold reminder of the man Ser Criston Cole has become. The once noble and honorable knight, who served as your mother’s sworn shield, now reduced to a creature of bitterness and cruelty. You’ve seen it firsthand—how he treated Jace and his brothers when they lived here, how he sneered at them, never missing an opportunity to remind them of their supposed illegitimacy, to belittle them. The memory stirs a deep anger within you, one that simmers just below the surface.

“He’s not broken enough,” you mutter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. There’s a sharpness to your voice that catches even you by surprise, a reflection of the anger you’ve been holding onto for so long.

Gwayne’s eyes narrow slightly, his concern deepening. “Niece…”

You shake your head, brushing off his worry. “I just… I remember how he treated Jace and his brothers. How he tormented them. This war… it’s turning us all into something unrecognizable, something dark and twisted. I don’t know if any of us will be able to find our way back.”

Gwayne regards you quietly for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’ve always been strong,” he says finally. “Stronger than many realize. But you must be careful, child. This war is a poison that seeps into the soul. Do not let it take hold of yours.”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily upon you. He’s right, of course. The war has already changed you, made you colder, more calculating. You’ve had to become this way to survive, to protect those you love. But there’s a part of you, the part that remembers the girl you once were, who fears that you might lose yourself entirely if this continues.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, though the words feel hollow even as you say them. How can anyone be careful in a world that’s falling apart around them?

Gwayne nods, though you can see the doubt in his eyes. He knows, as well as you do, that there are no guarantees in this war, no promises that can be kept.

“Take care of yourself, Uncle,” you add, reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly. “We need to look after each other, now more than ever.”

He returns the gesture, his grip firm and reassuring. “We will, niece. We will.”

As you part ways, the weight of your conversation settles into your bones, mingling with the exhaustion that’s been building since the events of Rook’s Rest. The war is changing everything, and everyone. But as you continue down the corridor, you can’t shake the feeling that the worst is yet to come.

The cool air of the Red Keep wraps around you like a shroud as you walk through the corridors, your thoughts occupied with the latest reports from the warfront. It has been almost a year since the events of Rook’s Rest, a year of bloodshed and betrayal, and the toll of it all is evident in the weary faces of those you pass. You’ve learned to navigate the treacherous waters of this war with the same care you used to avoid the serpents of court. But despite your best efforts, the tide seems to be pulling you under.

As you pass by the council chambers, your attention is caught by the low murmur of voices—a conversation too hushed to be meant for anyone but those within. Yet, something about the tone, the urgency in the words, draws you closer, until you find yourself lingering just out of sight, listening intently.

“…fleet from the Free Cities,” comes the voice of Jasper Wylde, the Ironrod, who has become a frequent presence in these halls as the war drags on. “Tyland Lannister has secured their support, and they are en route to the Gullet as we speak. They should reach it soon.”

Your blood turns to ice, your heart skipping a beat as the words sink in. The fleet from the Free Cities, the Gullet—it all aligns too closely with something Jace told you not long ago. The secret letter he sent you, so carefully worded and hidden, comes rushing back to you in a flood of memory.

“I will be escorting my brothers to Pentos, across the Narrow Sea,” Jace had written, his words full of determination but also a sense of foreboding. “We must ensure their safety, away from the reach of those who would see them dead. I will return once they are secure.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you piece it together, the realization hitting you like a physical blow. Jace is taking his brothers across the Gullet—right into the path of the enemy fleet. 

The voices in the chamber continue, unaware of your presence, but you can no longer focus on the words. The world around you narrows to a single point of panic, a sharp, suffocating fear that grips you with icy fingers. Jace and his brothers are in danger—real, immediate danger. 

You turn on your heel, your feet carrying you swiftly down the corridor as your mind races. There’s no time to lose, no time to think. You have to act. You have to warn Jace, to do something, anything, to protect him and the boys. But how? The fleet is already en route, and there’s no way to send a raven in time, no way to intercept them before they reach the Gullet.

The panic claws at you as you reach your chambers, slamming the door shut behind you with trembling hands. Your heart pounds in your chest, and for a moment, you can’t think, can’t breathe. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and the weight of what you’ve just heard threatens to crush you.

But then, in the midst of the chaos in your mind, a thought surfaces—a memory, a power. Morgoth, your dragon. You share a bond with him, one that goes beyond the usual connection between dragon and rider. It’s something deeper, something primal, and you’ve used it sparingly, only when there was no other choice. 

But now, with Jace and his brothers’ lives hanging in the balance, there’s no question in your mind. You have to do this. You have to warg into Morgoth.

You close your eyes, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, to calm the storm raging inside you. You focus on that bond, the thread that ties you to your dragon, and you reach out with your mind, searching for him. It’s a feeling like plunging into icy water, the sensation of your consciousness leaving your body and traveling through the air, across the distance that separates you.

And then you find him.

Morgoth is there, a massive presence in your mind, all fire and fury, a living embodiment of power. He feels you as well, recognizing your touch, and you can sense his confusion at your sudden intrusion. But there’s no time to explain, no time to ease him into it. You push forward, letting your consciousness merge with his, until you are no longer two separate beings but one.

The world shifts around you, and when you open your eyes, you are no longer standing in your chambers. Instead, you are high above the world, the wind whipping past you as you soar through the sky. You can feel the powerful muscles of Morgoth’s body, the heat of his fire burning within you, and the clarity of his senses as they become your own.

The Red Keep is far below, the landscape spread out like a map beneath you, but you barely notice it. Your focus is entirely on the sea, on the Gullet, where the enemy fleet will soon arrive. You can feel the urgency in every beat of Morgoth’s wings, the need to reach them before it’s too late.

You push him harder, faster, your combined will driving him toward the narrow strip of water that could become Jace’s grave if you don’t intervene. The cold air bites at you, but you barely feel it. There’s only the mission, only the desperate need to protect your brother.

As you fly, your thoughts remain with Jace, with the secret letter he sent you, and the promise he made to return. You cannot—will not—let that promise be broken. Not when there is still a chance to save him.

And with that, you and Morgoth fly toward the horizon, the weight of your mission pressing down on you, the fate of your family resting on the power of your bond. The war has taken so much already, but you refuse to let it take Jace and his brothers.

Not while you still have the strength to fight.

The Battle of the Gullet is one of the bloodiest and most devastating clashes of the war, as recounted in the histories of Westeros. The Free Cities’ fleet, backed by their gold and hatred for the dragons, sought to break the Targaryen stranglehold on the Narrow Sea. It was meant to be a decisive blow against the Blacks, a maneuver to cut off Dragonstone from the support of the Crownlands. But history, as it would be written, tells of how that battle turned into a massacre for the attackers, thanks to a shadow in the sky—one that was not entirely expected.

The day was clear as the Free Cities’ fleet approached the Gullet, a narrow strip of sea separating Blackwater Bay from the waters of the Narrow Sea. Hundreds of ships sailed together, their sails marked with the sigils of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. They came prepared for dragons, armed with scorpions and vast nets meant to bring down the winged beasts. They believed their numbers and preparations would grant them victory.

But they had not accounted for the presence of Morgoth, the Cannibal. Nor had they considered that one of House Targaryen’s own, your spirit merged with the ancient dragon, would be waiting for them.

You had flown fast and far, Morgoth’s powerful wings cutting through the skies. You could feel the rage within the dragon, the deep-seated hunger for destruction that had earned him his fearsome reputation. But you harnessed that rage, directing it with your own will, focusing it on the threat below.

From your vantage point high in the sky, you spotted the fleet before they saw you. The sea was dark with their sails, a sprawling mass of ships moving toward their goal. And in the midst of that fleet, you saw him—Jacaerys, riding on Vermax, leading his brothers on their fateful journey across the sea.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how close they were to disaster. The ships were spreading out, forming a net around Jace and his brothers, their scorpions aimed skyward, ready to strike. There was no time to lose.

You dived.

Morgoth responded to your command without hesitation, folding his wings and plunging toward the fleet with the speed of a falling star. The wind screamed in your ears, and the sea rushed up to meet you. Below, the sailors saw the dark shape hurtling toward them, but by then it was too late.

You opened Morgoth’s jaws, and the world below exploded into flames.

The first ships were engulfed in a torrent of dragonfire, their wooden hulls splintering and burning, their sails catching like dry kindling. Screams echoed over the water as men were thrown into the sea, their armor dragging them down, or they were incinerated where they stood. The carefully laid trap was unraveling before it could even be sprung.

You and Morgoth weaved through the fleet, breathing fire, slashing with claws, and smashing into the ships with the full force of the dragon’s massive body. One after another, the ships fell, their crews fleeing in terror as the once mighty fleet was reduced to burning wreckage.

Jacaerys, still astride Vermax, turned at the sight of the devastation, his heart racing. He had expected to fight for his life, to protect his brothers as best he could, but what he saw instead was something entirely different—Morgoth, the dread dragon of legend, was laying waste to the fleet. And more than that, Jace could feel it in his bones, in the way Morgoth moved, the way he struck with precision and purpose. This was not a wild dragon on a rampage. There was a mind guiding him, a mind Jacaerys knew all too well.

“(Y/N)…” he whispered to himself, realization dawning. His heart swelled with a mixture of relief and awe. You had come for him. Even across the distance, he knew it was you, controlling the beast with the power of your warg. 

And then, the reinforcements arrived—Ulf the White on Silverwing, Addam Velaryon on Seasmoke, and Hugh Hammer on Vermithor. They had expected to find the fleet in full force, prepared for a difficult battle. Instead, they were greeted by a scene of utter devastation, the sea littered with burning wreckage and the screams of drowning men. Morgoth was already amidst the destruction, tearing through the last remnants of the fleet, leaving nothing but charred remains in his wake.

Ulf, Addam, and Hugh hesitated for a moment, their dragons roaring in the skies, but there was little for them to do. The battle was already won—by you.

Jacaerys urged Vermax forward, guiding his dragon closer to Morgoth. He needed to see you, to confirm what he already knew. As he approached, Morgoth turned his great head toward him, and for a moment, their eyes met. And there, in the depths of Morgoth’s dark, ancient eyes, Jace saw a flicker of recognition, a spark that told him he was right.

“(Y/N)!” Jace called out, though his voice was lost in the roar of the wind and flames. But it didn’t matter—he knew you could hear him, feel him, just as he felt you.

The battle of the Gullet was over before it had truly begun, the fleet of the Free Cities shattered, their hopes of breaking the Targaryen hold on the Narrow Sea crushed under the might of Morgoth and the iron will of his rider. When the histories were written, they would tell of how the Blacks secured their victory in that battle, how Jacaerys Velaryon led the charge, and how the dragons burned the enemy to ash.

But you and Jace would always know the truth—how you had saved him and his brothers, how you had taken control of the fiercest dragon in the world and turned the tide of the battle with fire and blood.

As the last of the enemy ships sank into the sea, you guided Morgoth away from the wreckage, feeling the dragon’s rage slowly subside. The bond between you and Morgoth was still strong, still thrumming with the power of what you had accomplished. But as the adrenaline of the battle faded, you felt the strain of it all weighing down on you.

You knew it was time to return, to pull yourself back into your own body, to leave Morgoth to his own devices once more. But before you could fully withdraw, you felt a gentle nudge in your mind—Jace, sending a wave of gratitude, of love. He didn’t need words to convey what he felt. He knew you had saved him, and he would carry that knowledge with him always.

With a final, lingering look at Vermax and Jace, you released your hold on Morgoth, letting your consciousness slip away from the dragon’s mind and back into your own.

The world went dark, and when you opened your eyes again, you were lying on the cold floor of your chambers in the Red Keep, your body trembling with exhaustion. But despite the fatigue, a smile tugged at your lips. You had done it—you had saved Jace and his brothers, and you had struck a blow against your enemies that they would not soon forget.

The Red Keep was a fortress of dread and uncertainty, its halls echoing with the uneasy silence that had settled over King's Landing in the days following the fall of the Gullet. The tension in the air was palpable as the city awaited the arrival of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the rightful queen in the eyes of her supporters, and the usurper in the eyes of her enemies. You stood in the throne room, your heart pounding in your chest as you gazed upon the Iron Throne, that jagged seat of power that had brought so much strife and sorrow to your family.

Helaena stood beside you, her presence a quiet comfort amidst the chaos. Your twin had always been a beacon of gentleness in a world that often lacked it, but even now, you could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty of what was to come. Her children, Aegon’s heirs, had been safely hidden away, but the thought of what might happen to them, and to Helaena herself, gnawed at you. Your mother, Alicent, stood further apart, her face a mask of stoic resignation, though you could see the lines of worry etched into her features. She was trying to be strong, for herself, for her family, but you knew that beneath that composed exterior, she was breaking.

The doors to the throne room opened with a resounding creak, and the sound of boots echoed through the hall. Rhaenyra Targaryen entered, flanked by her loyal forces. Her presence was commanding, her violet eyes sharp and filled with a cold determination. She was the Dragon Queen, come to claim what she believed was hers by right.

And beside her was Jacaerys.

The moment Jace saw you, his eyes softened, the harsh lines of his face relaxing as he broke away from Rhaenyra and the others, striding across the throne room with purpose. Without hesitation, he gathered you into his arms, pulling you into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against yours, the familiarity of his touch, brought a rush of relief that nearly overwhelmed you. He was here, he was safe, and for that moment, the world outside the two of you ceased to exist.

“You saved me,” Jace murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved us all.”

You clung to him, letting the tension of the past days drain away, if only for a brief moment. “I had to,” you whispered back. “I couldn’t let you go, not like that.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. The gratitude in his gaze was matched by something deeper, something that made your heart ache. But there was no time to dwell on it, not now. Not with Rhaenyra standing mere feet away, her gaze locked onto the Iron Throne, her claim finally within reach.

Jace reluctantly released you, stepping back as you turned to face Rhaenyra. The room was silent, the tension thick enough to choke on. Helaena squeezed your hand, her grip trembling, and you knew you had to act now, before things spiraled out of control.

“Rhaenyra,” you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I ask for your mercy. My sister, Helaena, and her children—innocent children—had no part in this war. Neither did my mother, who was bound by duty to her House. I beg you, spare them.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze flicked from the Iron Throne to you, and for a moment, you saw the conflict in her eyes. This war had taken so much from her—her children, her home, her peace—but it had not yet taken her humanity. You knew that she had every reason to despise Alicent, to see her as the architect of much of her suffering. But you also knew that you had done something that few others had—you had saved her children, the precious heirs she had feared she would lose.

“You saved my children at the Gullet,” Rhaenyra said slowly, her voice measured.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I did it because of my love for your son, Jacaerys. Please, let that be enough. Spare them.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened, if only slightly. The steel in her eyes melted into something warmer, something that spoke of gratitude and perhaps even understanding. She looked over at Helaena, who stood silently by your side, her face pale and drawn, and then to Alicent, who had yet to speak a word.

“Your sister and her children will be spared,” Rhaenyra said at last, her tone decisive. “They will not be harmed. They may remain here in the Red Keep, under guard, but they will not be harmed.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped you, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Helaena’s grip on your hand tightened, a silent thank you in the midst of the storm.

“And my mother?” you pressed, knowing you were asking for a great deal, perhaps too much.

Rhaenyra’s eyes darkened, the softness giving way to the resolve of a queen who had suffered too many betrayals. “Alicent will be confined to her chambers, along with Aegon,” she said, her voice hardening. “They will remain there until Aemond has been dealt with. Once this war is over, we will decide their fates.”

You nodded, understanding that this was the best outcome you could hope for. Alicent would be spared, for now, but her future, like Aegon’s, was uncertain. But at least, for the time being, they would be safe.

“Thank you,” you said, bowing your head slightly in respect. “For your mercy.”

Rhaenyra gave a curt nod, her attention already drifting back to the Iron Throne, the symbol of power that had caused so much pain. The room began to stir as her forces moved to secure the Keep, but you remained where you were, beside Helaena, Jace close at hand.

As the days ahead promised more bloodshed, more loss, you knew that you had done what you could to protect your family. You had brokered a fragile peace, one that could shatter at any moment, but for now, it held.

The city lay under a blanket of darkness, its streets silent as the tension of the past days began to settle into an uneasy calm. But within the private chambers where you and Jacaerys now found refuge, the weight of the world seemed to lift, if only for a little while.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle. You sat on the edge of the bed, your heart racing as you looked at Jace, who stood before you, his expression tender yet filled with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Jace,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness. The way his name fell from your lips, laden with emotion, seemed to draw him closer. He stepped forward, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against the thin scar that ran across your face—an indelible mark left by the horrors you had endured.

“(Y/N),” he replied, his voice low and husky. The way he said your name, with such reverence, made you feel like the only person in the world that mattered. His touch was warm, comforting, and you leaned into it, savoring the closeness between you.

Jace’s other hand found yours, and he pulled you to your feet, bringing you flush against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and you felt your heart steadying in his presence. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. There was no need for words; everything you felt, every emotion that had been building between you, was clear in the way you looked at each other.

Slowly, as if afraid to break the fragile moment, Jace leaned down and captured your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the intimacy of the moment. His lips were soft, yet there was a hunger there, a need that mirrored your own. You kissed him back, your arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as your heart pounded in your chest.

Jace’s hands slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your waist, pulling you even closer. You could feel the strength in his arms, the way his body molded perfectly against yours, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You had been through so much together—so much loss, so much pain—but here, in this moment, there was only love, only the fierce need to be with each other.

He broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he rested his forehead against yours, his hands framing your face. “I was so afraid I’d lose you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “When I saw you in the skies, when I realized it was you… I’ve never been so relieved in my life.”

You smiled softly, your fingers threading through his dark curls. “I couldn’t let you go, Jace. Not when I had the power to save you.” Your voice was a whisper, your words carrying all the love and fear and hope that had been swirling inside you since that fateful day.

Jace’s hands tightened around you, and before you knew it, he was guiding you back toward the bed, lowering you onto the soft mattress. He hovered above you, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission, for reassurance. You gave it to him with a slow nod, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch.

He lowered himself beside you, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you again, this time deeper, more urgent. The weight of him against you was grounding, a reminder that despite the chaos of the world around you, this—what you shared—was real, was something worth fighting for.

Your hands roamed over his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, memorizing every inch of him. The feel of his skin beneath your fingertips, the way he responded to your touch, made your heart swell with love for him. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget everything else and simply be here, with him, in this moment.

Jace’s kisses trailed from your lips to your jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that escaped you. He smiled against your skin, his breath warm as he whispered your name like a prayer, a promise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back to you, needing to feel his lips on yours again. He obliged, kissing you with a fervor that matched your own. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body moved against yours, igniting a fire in your veins.

“I love you,” Jace murmured between kisses, the words, a reaffirmation of a confession stated long ago, a vow. “I’ve loved you for so long… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Your heart soared at his words, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I love you too, Jace,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with the intensity of your feelings. “More than anything.”

The night stretched on, the two of you lost in each other, your bodies and souls entwined in a dance as old as time. The love you shared, forged in the fires of war and tempered by the trials you had faced, was unbreakable, unyielding. 

In that quiet, intimate moment, there was no war, no throne, no crown—only love, fierce and unwavering, binding you to Jacaerys in a way that nothing, and no one, could ever sever.

Excerpt from Fire and Blood by Archmaester Gyldayn, detailing the events following the fall of King’s Landing and the end of the Dance of the Dragons:

The Fate of Aemond Targaryen, Aegon II, and Helaena Targaryen

With the fall of King’s Landing to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her forces, the war known as the Dance of the Dragons reached its bloody climax. Aegon II, the deposed king, was confined to his chambers within the Red Keep, his body broken by the fires of Rook’s Rest and his spirit shattered by the weight of his defeat. His sister-wife, Helaena Targaryen, remained by his side, her gentle presence a balm to his tortured soul even as the world crumbled around them.

Aemond Targaryen, the most feared and relentless of the Green faction, continued his campaign of terror from Harrenhal, vowing to bring down his enemies in a storm of fire and blood. Yet, despite his ferocity, he was ultimately undone by his own ambition. Reports from that time tell of Aemond’s fateful encounter with the so-called Witch Queen Alice Rivers, who was said to have foreseen his doom. Whether through sorcery or sheer force of arms, Aemond met his end in the ruins of Harrenhal, his body found amidst the scorched remains of Vhagar, his dragon. It is said that Aemond died laughing, unrepentant to the last, his eye fixed on the west where King’s Landing lay, just beyond his reach.

Aegon II’s fate, however, was far less grand. Confined to his chambers, Aegon lingered in a state of despair, plagued by the injuries inflicted upon him by Sunfyre’s fall. Queen Rhaenyra, now on the Iron Throne, decreed that Aegon be kept alive, not out of mercy but as a reminder of the price of ambition and betrayal. His mother, Alicent Hightower, was likewise confined, her influence over the realm broken. Helaena, spared through the intercession of her twin sister, remained in the Red Keep, caring for her children and maintaining a fragile peace between the remaining members of the divided family.

In the end, Aegon II perished in his chambers under mysterious circumstances. Some say it was poison, a final act of mercy by his sister-wife Helaena; others whisper that it was his own hand that delivered him from his suffering. The truth remains shrouded in mystery, as does much of the Dance of the Dragons.

The Reign of Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen and the Union of the Houses of Black and Green

Following Rhaenyra’s ascension to the Iron Throne, the realm was plunged into a brief but brutal period of chaos. Yet it was her son, Jacaerys Velaryon, who would ultimately bring the Seven Kingdoms back from the brink. After Rhaenyra’s tragic death, Jacaerys assumed the throne as King Jacaerys I, the first Targaryen monarch to successfully unite the warring factions of Black and Green.

Central to this reconciliation was Jacaerys’ marriage to his cousin, the daughter of Alicent Hightower and twin sister to Helaena, often referred to in histories as the Scarred Princess or The Silent Protector. This union, born of both love and political necessity, helped to heal the rift that had torn the Targaryen family apart. Together, they ushered in a period of relative peace and prosperity, remembered as the Redolent Peace, a time when the wounds of the Dance began to slowly heal.

The marriage of Jacaerys and his queen produced several children, ensuring the continuation of the Targaryen line. Their eldest son, Viserys, would inherit the throne, carrying with him the legacy of both the Black and Green factions, and serving as a symbol of the unity that Jacaerys and his queen had fought so hard to achieve. The peace they fostered, though not without its challenges, proved lasting, a testament to the strength of their bond and the wisdom of their rule.

The Conclusion of the Scarred Princess and Her Terrible Purpose

Yet for all the peace and prosperity she helped bring about, the Scarred Princess carried with her a dark secret, one that weighed heavily upon her throughout her life. This secret, known to only a few, was her bond with the fearsome dragon Morgoth, once known as Cannibal, and her ability to warg into him. This power, unheard among Targaryens, had been both a blessing and a curse, enabling her to protect those she loved but also tying her to a creature of immense and terrible power.

In the later years of her life, as the weight of her past and the fear of what her abilities might mean for her children grew, the queen made a decision that would forever change her legacy. Accounts vary, but it is said that she warged into Morgoth one final time, flying the ancient beast away from Dragonstone, far across the sea, to the lands beyond the known world. There, in the desolate wastes where no man or dragon had ever returned, she released her control over Morgoth, allowing him to live out his days free from her influence. Whether she returned to her body or perished in that distant land is a matter of speculation and legend.

What is known is that after her disappearance, Morgoth was never seen again, and her body, pale and cold, was found in her chambers, her face at peace for the first time in many years. Her children and her king mourned her deeply, and she was laid to rest beside her husband, Jacaerys, in the crypt of Dragonstone he had commissioned to be built for them, a queen who had given everything for her family, for her love, and for the realm.

In the years that followed, she became a figure of legend, remembered not only for her role in ending the Dance but for her quiet strength, her fierce love, and the sacrifice she made to ensure that the darkness within her would never again threaten the peace she had helped to create.

And so ended the tale of the Scarred Princess, a woman who, though born into a world of fire and blood, forged a path of love and redemption, leaving a legacy that would echo through the halls of history for generations to come.

The Shadowlands

Far to the east, beyond the known world, where the sun rises over the jagged peaks of the Mountains of the Morn, lies a land shrouded in mystery and dread—the Shadowlands, a place where the sky is perpetually dark, and the air itself seems to whisper ancient secrets. It is a land where few dare to tread, where magic runs wild, and where dragons, long thought to be creatures of the west, still haunt the skies.

In the vast, foreboding wilderness of these Shadowlands, a great shadow moved across the sky, its wings blotting out the meager light that filtered through the perpetual gloom. This was Morgoth, the dread dragon once known as Cannibal, and within him, the spirit of the Scarred Princess—her consciousness intertwined with the ancient beast's in a bond that transcended time and space.

As Morgoth flew, his powerful wings cutting through the thick, heavy air, the Scarred Princess within him could feel the pull of this strange and ancient land, a place where the old magics still held sway. The landscape below was a desolate expanse of twisted rock and blackened earth, dotted with ruins of civilizations long lost to the memory of men. Rivers of fire ran through the land like veins of molten blood, and the very air seemed to hum with a dark, malevolent energy.

But Morgoth was not deterred by the inhospitable terrain. He was a creature of fire and shadow, a dragon born of the darkest recesses of the world, and this land, so unlike the green hills of Westeros or the sunlit skies of Essos, felt almost like home to him. Here, he was truly free, far from the conflicts of men, far from the eyes of those who would seek to control or destroy him.

Yet even in this place, Morgoth was not alone.As he flew over the darkened peaks, Morgoth sensed it—a presence in the sky, another dragon. The Scarred Princess, her consciousness still entwined with his, felt the thrill of the hunt rise within him, a primal instinct that she could not fully suppress. This was a place where the old ways held true, where dragons ruled, and there could be no sharing of the sky.

Morgoth’s keen eyes spotted the dragon—a great beast, pale as bone, its scales shimmering with a faint luminescence that seemed to draw in the darkness around it. The dragon, larger even than Vhagar, flew with a grace and power that marked it as a creature of immense age and strength, a relic of a time when dragons ruled the skies without challenge.

But Morgoth was not daunted. With a roar that echoed through the mountains like thunder, he descended upon the pale dragon, his massive form cutting through the air with terrifying speed. The other dragon, sensing the approach of its rival, turned to meet him, its own roar shaking the very ground below.

The two dragons clashed in a fury of fire and claws, their roars reverberating through the mountains, sending flocks of terrified birds into the air. Morgoth struck first, his jaws snapping at the pale dragon’s neck, his claws tearing through its scales with savage ferocity. The other dragon fought back with equal fury, its tail lashing out, its own fire scorching the sky as the two beasts twisted and turned in a deadly dance of power.

The Scarred Princess could feel the raw strength of Morgoth’s body, the immense power that surged through him as he fought. She could feel the heat of the fire that burned within him, the rage that fueled his every move. And yet, even as she shared in his primal fury, there was a part of her that remained distant, watching, waiting, knowing that this was the final act of a story that had been building for so long.

Morgoth’s jaws found purchase on the pale dragon’s throat, and with a savage twist, he brought the great beast crashing down to the earth below. The impact shook the ground, sending up clouds of dust and ash as the pale dragon struggled beneath Morgoth’s weight. But it was no match for the ancient black dragon, who tore into its flesh with a hunger born of ages.

The pale dragon let out one last, pitiful cry as Morgoth’s teeth sank deep into its neck, tearing through flesh and bone, ending its life in a torrent of blood and fire. The Scarred Princess, still within Morgoth, could feel the life drain from the other dragon, could feel the satisfaction that pulsed through Morgoth as he claimed his victory, as he consumed the flesh of his fallen rival.

As Morgoth fed, the Scarred Princess allowed herself to fully merge with the dragon’s mind, feeling the primal joy of the hunt, the savage satisfaction of victory. But within that wild exultation was a deep sorrow, a melancholy that came from knowing that this was the end of her journey, the fulfillment of a purpose she had never fully understood until now.

Here, in the Shadowlands, far from the conflicts of men, she had found her final resting place, her final act. She had come to this place to free herself from the bonds of the world, to release herself from the terrible power that had both protected and cursed her. And in doing so, she had become one with Morgoth, with the ancient dragon who had always been her shadow, her companion in the darkness.

The pale dragon was consumed, its bones left to bleach in the eternal twilight of the Shadowlands. Morgoth, sated and triumphant, lifted his great head to the sky, letting out a final roar that echoed through the mountains, a sound that spoke of power, of victory, and of an end.

And then, as the last echoes of that roar faded into the distance, the Scarred Princess released her hold on Morgoth, letting her consciousness drift away, leaving the dragon to his own devices. Her spirit, tired and worn, slipped from the world, leaving behind only the memory of a woman who had walked the path of fire and blood, who had flown with dragons, and who had found peace in the end.

Morgoth, the dread dragon, flew on, his wings beating against the darkened sky, a creature of legend, of terror, and of freedom. He was no longer bound by the will of men or women, no longer tied to the conflicts of the world. He was a force of nature, a creature of the old world, and he would live out his days in the Shadowlands, far from the reach of men.

And so ended the tale of the Scarred Princess and Morgoth, her terrible purpose fulfilled, her legacy left behind in the children she had borne, and the peace she had helped to forge. In the histories that would be written, she would be remembered as a queen, a protector, and a woman who had faced the darkness within herself and emerged victorious.

But in the Shadowlands, she would be remembered as the last rider of Morgoth, the black dragon who had flown beyond the known world, to a place where legends are born and where the shadows never end.

[libertyybellls]

I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE ?

pairing; finnick odair x f!reader

summary; few years after winning his games, finnick endures the trials of being a victor and all he needs is a helping hand.

contains; ANGST, comfort, descriptions of forced prostitution, descriptions of gore, murder, typical hunger games mortality etc etc. not proofread… ever

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

the room once filled with a bond you could not quite replace, is now empty, gray. it lacks the golden boy who brings light to every aspect of your life- and it has been for two months now.

you know where he is, what he’s doing, and who he’s with. you know the light of his soul will be snuffed away by the calloused deceiving hands of the capitol- their everlasting appetite to claim their control over citizens and victors alike.

you almost dread the sound of your front door unlocking. your mind manifesting his misery would be long gone- begging to a higher power that he will be okay- that the pillars of his body are not crumbling in on itself.

nevertheless, as you near the front door- you see it in his eyes. he almost looks like the same 14 year old that got thrown into a death match and came out with two legs and two arms- but this time his legs can’t carry him any longer, his arms are practically hanging off his tired body.

the door is still open behind him, the chilled air seeping its way into your once warm home. his shoulders are slumped, there is no light in his eyes- only that small tinge he adorns when he is with you.

you want to pull him into your arms, to kiss the disgust off of his features, to show him he is unworthy of this muck treatment, that he is the only light that cannot be choked out, the anchor that is not misplaced, he is right where he needs to be now.

there’s a silent understanding, you can see the falter in his steps as he tries to walk towards you- so close to disintegration you can almost see his seams falling apart one by one.

you meet him halfway- pulling him into you- now you must be his pillar. you must cover his ears, quiet his thoughts.

his tears coat your shirt, your fingers run through his scalp. he wants to crawl out of his skin. he can still feel a touch that isn’t yours- it sets his nerves alight.

why won’t you leave me. his mind screams- but his voice can’t carry these words. leave me here, let me rot.

you can feel him self destruct, his knees fail and now you are kneeling infront of his vulnerable frame. you want him to look at you, to see what you see, but who are you to ask for more?

but all he sees is grief, blood from kids his age- even younger, he feels hands all along his chest- his back, he smells roses- luxury- a scent that isn’t home, he tastes metallic blood from his lips- gnawing from anxiety, he hears the praises- he hears that he’s special, that he’s so humble, what a handsome young man he is.

“i wish i could be good.”

you can’t see his face, you are glad in a way- you don’t think you’d be able to take it. “you are good finnick,” your own tears fall. “if anything you are good.”

you want to yell these words, scream them at him. so inconsiderate of you- but how dare he not see this is not his fault? a puppet has no control over his own arms.

finnicks mind screams more at the capital than himself now. your tactics have worked. you have taken every last bit of my innocence away. you control me. he begs to be left alone, he begs to be so pure and unsuspecting again.

you both know his fate, you know where he’ll be in a few years. you know that your love alone cannot keep him here- however strong. every inhale feels like poison- but he listens to you murmur as you rub his back, telling him to breath.

you see his eyes now, he tries to drink in your gaze- he wants it to be the last thing he sees, except less concerned, less worn, less worried. despite his thoughts only ever consumed by you, he looked pained- he looks as though he is elsewhere in his mind.

“nothings gonna hurt you now” sanity is a sheltered lie but you would rather surrender your wits than your boy. your fingers dance up and down his back now- erasing the sinful marks left laying in his mind.

-

so short so technically a blurb but wtv….

[sweetfushi]

fluff, some angst | satoru gojo x reader.

vampire!satoru whose ears perk at the sound of the large doors of his castle creaking open. he hasn’t had visitors in years - centuries. who has now breached his sanctuary, is the question he asks you. you, who stand in the middle of his entrance hall with an anxious yet gullibly curious expression on your face.

vampire!satoru whose brow furrows at the sight of such a meek mortal staring him in the face. you ask him to feed you the knowledge he holds of countless decades that have passed, whether it be about medicine, society, or pure legend. satoru quirks his brow at this; your tone sounds as if you are demanding this of him, not asking.

vampire!satoru who appears in front of you in an instant, wrapped in a dark cloak that reaches his shoes. his hands remain behind his back, under his cloak, as he circles you and questions why he should do such a thing. “i know who you are, what you are. what is the purpose of your immortality if not to share your experiences?” you tell him.

vampire!satoru who, rather reluctantly, allows you to scour his endless libraries. he’s slightly bothered that he now must provide food for someone, as he himself does not eat. though he himself does not cook, his servants do. no, he doesn’t refer to them as servants. his companions.

vampire!satoru who, hears you knock on the door of his study only to enter without being permitted to. you take the chair diagonal to him and place the thick book you’ve been reading on your lap, before hurriedly turning to a specific page. you ask him about the book and listen intently to his comprehensive responses.

vampire!satoru who, at some point, finds himself looking forward to you interrupting him in his study, even when he's sleeping at his desk or reading his favourite book. he becomes hungry for your curiosity and indulgence in information only he can provide you.

vampire!satoru who falls so deeply in love with you that he makes you his wife but spares you the curse of immortality by not turning you into a vampire. though he wishes to keep you by his side forever, he cannot bare to have you fall into the darkness that is vampirism.

vampire!satoru who kisses you so deeply, a hand always steadying you against his larger frame as he feels you shiver when his fangs graze your soft lips. you can barely keep up with his desire and the way his fingers press so firmly into you, as if he's terrified of losing you (because he is, he just doesn't want you to know that and worry yourself).

vampire!satoru who assigns you a personal companion who tends to your every need - food, drink, comfort, guidance around the castle that you have still yet to memorise the rooms of. despite this companion, you still seek satoru's presence the most, even for the smallest of things.

vampire!satoru who doesn't know how he would have happily continued living in solitude if you hadn't stormed into his castle and demanded that he indulged you. satoru would change a lot of his past choices, but in every life would he admit you into his castle and allow you to replace it as his sanctuary.

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

[rizsu]

let me in ( please ) manjiro, ran.

sum. when they fuck up & now are locked out of the house

mikey and emotions do not mix well. they're like oil and water. mikey is a victim to various emotions he has no knowledge on how to handle. you can think of him as a baby who has no idea how to express different emotions so they start crying. and just like that, he said his piece of rather colorful words and left before it got worse.

it takes nothing but a simple stroll around the area and some icecream bars to cool mikey's head. during his little freedom, he did some intense self-reflection and replayed the argument to analyze. three minutes of sitting on the park's bench and he came to the conclusion that he was in fact wrong. he one hundred percent overreacted.

all for his own defense, he thinks that it can be justified. crossing his arms over his chest, mikey nods in agreement to the imaginary audience. they too agree that it can be justified! even if it was but a stupid moment of him letting his negativity roam in his mind and became insecure.

mikey walks towards the door, crunching every leaf in the way to calm his nerves. he's spent at least twenty minutes practicing his apology speech. he cannot afford to butcher it. gripping on the door's knob, he tries to unlock it but to no avail, it did not work. this cannot be real, he amuses himself. mikey gives it another try. maybe it was just a jam in the knob? no. he gave it two more restless twists but god's grace was not on his side today.

“where is my phone?!” he's confused. he swore he shoved his phone into his pocket but it's not there!? patting his torso and sweatpants to feel for phone's frame, panic's tide rises in his body. he's half a second away from running into the middle of the road.

and on your side, you're watching this go down through the door's peephole. right now you may or may not be holding the very phone he's looking for in your hand. trust, you would grant him access to your shared home but this is too hilarious to give up.

the click of the door's lock on your side succeeds in getting mikey's attention. he watches like a hawk marking its prey's home, waiting to see if what he wants is behind the other side. biting at his lower lip's skin, mikey patiently awaits for you to come into display.

you swing the door open and lean on its frame. swaying his phone in front of him, you tease, “looking for this?”

mikey, relieved, tries to grab what's rightfully his but fails. there's no way you're going to give him this so soon.

“not so fast, manjiro. aren't you forgetting something?”

mikey takes three cartoonish blinks. he genuinely does not know what he forgot. tilting his head to the side, he looks around trying to remember what he could've possibly forgotten. oh right, the apology!

“'m really sorry. forgive me i know i acted like an idiot.” he speaks. mikey hopes you can tell he's being sincere. he's not one for apologies at all—which is easily known by his body language. he's rocking back and forth on his feet while playing with his fingers—almost replica to a child getting scolded for eating all the chocolates.

you try your hardest to not cackle. being able to witness the ‘invincible’ mikey awkwardly apologize feels like a gift from your ancestors. it may as well replace the definition of neuron activity.

“you're lucky i love you. come in.” tilting your head, you gesture for him to enter paradise. you didn't miss the way he clasped his fist whispering a “yes!” to himself. you really do love this loser.

pop-up quiz: if you lock ran out the house, would he:

a) go buy gifts to appease you.

b) demand that you open the door.

c) fight the tears and travel to rindou's to clear his mind.

d) none of the above.

correct answer? d) none of the above. see, if you dare to think you can get rid of ran you are just loud and wrong. you can't rip ran off of your skin even if you got the creator of earth to do it. he's like a flee.

he's a little on the lazy side which results in him barely caring for anything which also results in his nonchalant attitude in arguments. what happens when he just says to calm down? getting locked out until further notice. do not let this fool you, ran will, by any means necessary, make sure that you're not mad at him—even if he must guilt you in the process. ran can live alone but he's grown too attached to let you slip through his fingers.

like the fool he is, ran came up with the master idea of staying in the courtyard as he sets up his scheme. he has a plan, he just needs a platform. feeling mischievous, ran waited until four in the evening to begin his performance. dailing your number, he waits for you to pick up. the moment you do, he reads the script written on his palm.

“hey...still mad at me?” “yes. goodbye.” “WAIT—i'm sorry, unlock the door please?”

a moment of silence alongside a heavy sigh from you tells ran that chapter one: act one was successful. reeling out the hose, he quickly attaches it to the pipe before turning it on. taking large steps to the front door, he hides the hose behind the door as you open it.

“missed you. i'm shivering, would let me in?” coating his words with honey, he plasters a pleading look on his face. surely this would work..right..? yeah, no. you feel your anger bubbling again. for what and why would he bother you with this nonsense.

“what the fuck are you talking about? the sun is very much there.” you point towards the sun, completely finished with this idiocy.

“no, baby...it's not...” raising the hand that's holding the hose, ran turns the sprinkler effect on as he frowns. him suffering out in the real (fake) rain must hurt you. you know how he easily gets sick.

well, that's what he thinks. you think this is absolutely stupid. the scenario of ran, standing under the hose as it soaks him while the sun has yet to set truly makes for a good spongebob episode.

“ran, put it off. now.” demanding that he finishes his act, you publically judge him. although this is so stupid that it's hilarious, you don't want him to flood out the entire front yard. he's done enough to be let in the house.

“but do you forgive me, my love?” “RAN.”

ran chuckles to himself. chapter two: act two has been successful. dragging the hose back to its original position, he cleans up before entering your home but ran still feels mischievous. so what does he do? purposefully give you a tight back hug so that you can be soaked too but masks it with the excuse of “i really missed you.”

when ran isn't practically decomposing in bed, he's the most childish man ever.

[kinkandkreep]

♡︎ 𝐂𝐖: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 '𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

♡︎ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

♡︎ 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭

ʰᵉʸ ʰᵉʸ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ! ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃ ᶠᵃⁱʳ ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵈᵉˡᵛᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵒ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ, ⁱ ᵗᵒᵒᵏ ᵐᵃⁿʸ ᶜʳᵉᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉ ˡⁱᵇᵉʳᵗⁱᵉˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ⁱᶻᵃⁿᵃ'ˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡʸ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿⁱᶜᵃˡ ᶠᵃᶜᵗˢ ᶜᵒⁿᶜᵉʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ, ᵈᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ⁱ'ᵐ ᵃⁿ ᵃⁿⁱᵐᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢⁱᵈᵉ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵃ ᶠᵉʷ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘⁿᵃᵛᵒⁱᵈᵃᵇˡᵉ ˢᵖᵒⁱˡᵉʳˢ, ⁱ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ᵏⁱⁿᵈᵃ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵇᵉ ˢᵘʳᵖʳⁱˢᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʰⁱᵐ. 🙃 ˢᵒ ʸᵉᵃʰ, ⁱᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵃⁱˡˢ ⁱ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʰⁱᵐ ᵃʳᵉ ʷᵃʸ ᵒᶠᶠ, ᵃ.) ⁱ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵇ.) ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ʷʰʸ. 😂 ᵃˡʳⁱᵍʰᵗʸ, ʷᵉˡˡ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵗʰᵃᵗ, ⁱ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ! 👋🏾

Mikey hasn’t returned home.

Ken left a little while ago, after you assured him many times that you would be alright on your own and wouldn’t lash out and do anything drastic. 

“Though you’d be well within your rights to,” he’d said, causing a small, strained, albeit genuine smile to curl your lips. 

With a final hug and firm, comforting squeeze of reassurance from the tattooed man, you were finally left alone with your thoughts. Back to the front door, you let your eyes roam around your living area, gaze momentarily catching on each of the photos of you and your husband strategically scattered about the space. 

‘Now, how do I make that son of a bitch pay?’

Deciding to take advantage of the time you have alone before Manjiro presumably returns, you make the decision to do a little redecorating. 

You’re not entirely sure he’ll notice- especially not now, as entranced as he is with that whore of his- but you hope that at least to some degree, the subtle changes will cause a cold, looming shower of dread to trickle over his being. 

You don’t want to be too direct just yet, having decided that this learning process for Manjiro cannot be rushed. No, you’re going to take your time, and maybe even have a little fun. 

It’s strange, you think. How the initial shock and sorrow wore off so quickly, only to leave burning rage and bitterness in its wake. 

Perhaps it’s because subconsciously, you knew all along the truth. Perhaps it’s because deep down, you always knew something like this would happen. 

Despite yourself, you can feel tears threatening to build at the latter thought, and so you quickly push it away. 

You’ve not shed a tear for that piece of shit yet, and you’re not about to start now.

Continuing your journey around your living room, you begin removing certain pictures from their frames, replacing them with others. 

The photo of you and Mikey at the beach when you were a bit younger? Replaced with a photo of you and Ken from that same day. 

The photo of you and Mikey smiling big and bright on his CB250T the day he got it out from the shop following a minor accident? Replaced with one of you and Takashi smiling at each other at his workshop.

You smile fondly as you recall the memory associated with that photo. Takashi had made your wedding dress, and at the time that photo was taken, you’d been discussing the details with him. 

Several other photos are taken down and replaced as well, until you arrive at what is perhaps the most poignant one of them all. 

It’s of you and Manjiro on your wedding day, looking so young and in love, who’d have ever thought that it would ever come to this?

The picture was taken by your friend Shuji from high school. You remember with a chuckle how much of an absolute menace he used to be when you were younger, but it brings you pride, the thought of the respectable young man he’d turned out to be. 

He ran a freelance photography business, and when you’d approached him about being the photographer for your big day, to your surprise, he’d jumped at the opportunity, even offering to do so for free.

You still paid him, generously in fact, your heart warmed by his thoughtfulness. 

It almost pains you to hide that wonderfully taken photo away, but if you’re to make a point, the photo’s got to go. 

It is replaced with one of you and Manjiro's adoptive brother, Izana. 

The picture catches you and him mid laugh at something most likely he’d said, one of your hands gently clutched in his, nails partially painted. Izana holds the nail polish brush in his left hand, his head tilted back as he guffaws. 

You recall that day like it was yesterday, though it’s been quite some time. 

Your friend group had just recently celebrated the grand opening of Izana’s first nail salon in Shibuya. The man was so ecstatic, he practically vibrated with excitement for the entirety of the event.

It was a little unusual, given how collected Izana always was, but you were all extremely happy for him and his success. 

As part of the event, Izana and his team gave out free manicures to the first 10 people who entered the store and inquired about their services, then offering nail services at a discounted price to the next 15. 

You hadn’t expected him to approach you and offer to give you a free manicure, as you were just there to show your support, but with how skilled Izana was, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity. 

As you sat in one of the plush, high-end massage chairs and awaited your service, you studied Izana as he went about tending to some of the other patrons and his staff members before dedicating his full attention to you. 

Izana had a somewhat rocky childhood. He has a Filipino mother and Japanese father. Because of this, he moved back and forth a lot, never quite settling down and stabilizing in any one place. 

Eventually, once he was a little older, he did settle in Japan with his dad following his mother’s death. Growing up, Izana was left to his own devices most times, and this allowed him to get into some less than savory situations. 

Thankfully, he eventually straightened out and found his passion in nail artistry. He painted his nails in his younger years to express himself, finding later that he wanted to help others do the same. 

That led to now, and as you continue to observe your good friend turned brother-in-law, you can’t help but smile at how far he’s come. 

Izana is undoubtedly good looking too, but you’ve never known him to be with anyone. The thought strikes you as a bit strange, but you decide to leave it alone. 

After a bit, he finally makes his way back over to you, apologizing for the delay and laying out his tools. 

You decide to get something simple yet seasonally appropriate. It was the spring time when Izana opened up shop, and if you recall correctly you got a simple olive green nail base with white and yellow daisies painted on top. 

Izana worked thoroughly and efficiently, and the finished product had been so delicate and pretty you’d gone back for that same design before the season was up. 

The two of you chatted throughout the duration of your service that day, laughing and reminiscing. You couldn’t stop gushing about how proud you were of Izana, missing his fond gaze and lightly flushed cheeks. 

Now, in the present moment, you feel yourself smiling widely. Despite the unfortunate circumstance, you felt much lighter after having gazed upon the happy faces of those most important to you.

With the final photo in place, you head into the bathroom, preparing to freshen up before heading to bed. It’s late, and you’re frankly more than a little tired and worn out. 

After completing your routine, you head into the bedroom, switching into pajamas and sliding underneath the covers. 

You’re just about to drift off when you hear a key in the front lock, the hollow sound of the front door opening and footsteps followed by the low creak of it swinging shut. 

It’s Manjiro. 

The footsteps move through the living room, pausing at odd intervals. 

You hope it’s because he’s noticed the photos. 

Eventually, the steps begin making their way upstairs. You notice that they’re slow, even; almost like Manjiro’s trying to be as quiet as possible. 

He stops right outside the shut bedroom door, probably figuring it odd that door is shut in the first place. 

If he’s out and you’ve gone to bed, you typically leave it open in anticipation of him. But this time, you’ve shut it, almost as if you’re passively, subconsciously shutting him out as well. 

The doorknob twists slowly, before stopping entirely. You hear Manjiro make his way to the bathroom, the sound of the switch flicking on and the door starting to shut before it pauses. 

Again, you hope he’s taken notice. 

You removed your wedding ring before you got in the shower, setting it in the most obvious place and neglecting to replace it before you left the room. 

If nothing else, this should cause the greatest alarm for Manjiro. 

You never take your ring off. In fact, up until this point, you hadn’t removed it since the day Manjiro slid it onto your finger. 

It’s silent for many seconds, before you hear the door swing completely shut and water begin to run. 

You’re still tired however, and for as much as you’d like to gauge Manjiro’s expression when he enters the bedroom, you feel your eyes droop and shut, and after some minutes, you’re off to the Land of Nod. 

It’s a shame you don’t stay awake for just a bit longer, because when Manjiro exits the shower room, he has your ring clutched tightly in his hand. 

Carefully making his way over to your sleeping form, he gently coaxes one of your hands out from underneath the covers, slipping the ring back into place before leaning over to place a single kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, __.” 

ᵃ/ⁿ: 👀 👀 👀 ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵈⁱˢ ʷᵉ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʰᵉʳᵉ? ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ʰᵃˢ ᵇᵉᵍᵘⁿ ʰᵉʳ (ᵗᵒᵏʸᵒ) ʳᵉᵛᵉⁿᵍᵉ(ʳˢ) ᵖˡᵃⁿ. ˢᵒᵘⁿᵈˢ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ˢᶜʳᵉʷ ᵃʳᵒⁿᵈ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐⁱᵏᵉʸ'ˢ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵃⁿʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵉˡˢᵉ. ⁱ'ᵐ ᵉˣᶜⁱᵗᵉᵈ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ⁱᵗ. 😈 ⁱ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ˢᶜʳᵉʷ ⁱⁿ ᶠⁱᶜˢ, ᵉˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡˡʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᶜⁱᵉᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵃʳᵗʸ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵈᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉˢ ⁱᵗ. ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ'ˢ ᵍᵒⁱⁿᵍ. ˢᵉᵉ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ ˡᵃᵗᵉʳ! 👋🏾

[hardlyinteresting]

Warm feelings

Aaron Hotchner Masterlist | Send Requests

More domestic thoughts about being warm and cozy

"Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives" -C.S. Lewis

Jackets

He always reminds you to take a coat with you on the way out the door, and you always insist that you'll be fine without one. He'll tell you it's his biggest pet peeve, you refusing to wear a coat and then shivering in the cold. He never fails to drape his jacket over your shoulders at the first sign of goosebumps.

Hotch is a traditional kind of guy and he's the type of guy who suggests you take a stroll after a fancy dinner. He's just not ready for the night to come to an end. You're all dolled up, and a little tipsy from the wine you had at dinner. You agree easily, holding his hand and tucking yourself close to his side. It's colder than when you left the house, he'll grant you that. “Cold?” He asks as concerned as he is amused. And you just have to bat your lashes at him and he's slipping off his jacket to wrap it around your shoulders. It smells like his cologne and is warm from his body heat. It's an easy way for him to say ‘I love you’.

Sweaters

Hotch absolutely has his old university and FBI academy crewneck sweatshirts. Softened and faded by time; worn and washed to the point of having frayed cuffs and collars. Aaron strikes me as the if it's not broke, don't throw it out kind of guy. He likes those sweaters. They're warm and comfortable. He knows they fit, and are easy to wash; he sees no reason to replace them. More than that Aaron has a definite nostalgic streak. As much as he acts like he's detached and indifferent to anything remotely sentimental, at home he almost overcompensates, holding on to every happy moment and memory he can. Case in point, his high school yearbooks, and the pirate hat. (You cannot convince me that he doesn't keep some kind of memory box with Jack's paintings; tickets from plays; his acceptance letter from college; and birthday and anniversary cards that you've taken such care to write such heartfelt messages in). He has fond memories of his law school and academy days; he wants to keep them close. At first, you think he might be upset that you're wearing them around the house but he would actually be thrilled. It's a collision of some of his favourite things and it's a specific domestic sight to come home to. He's a caretaker by nature and it thrills him that he can manage to keep you warm and cozy every when he has to be away. You can borrow his sweaters anytime.

Body heat

The man radiates heat. Just standing next to him is enough to feel warmer. He has a knack for knowing exactly how many layers he needs to put on to stay warm, while you struggle to decide whether or not you should also put on a scarf. He does everything with such a specific level of confidence, even the way he prepares for the day is borderline awe-inspiring.

He gets so few days off that he is unwilling to let the late autumn cold interrupt his time with Jack. When the three of you head to the park, Jack insists on shedding layers, his hat and mitten coming off first, he’s warm enough running around (Aaron doesn’t let the boy take his coat off completely but they compromise and he’s allowed to keep playing with his jacket unzipped). Despite checking the forecast several times, and bundling up, the cold still gets to you. And Aaron looks so cozy in his sweater and his coat. He’s the picture of a cozy winter boyfriend with his leather gloves, and scarf. Like his son his coat hangs unzipped on his frame, and it's the perfect opportunity for you to snuggle in, arms wrapping around his torso under the warm layer of his jacket, your cold nose pressed against his chest. “Cold?” he asks with a hint of a smile. You can only tilt your head up at him to pout back. He slips his gloves off to cup your face, his hands toasty warm against your ice-cold skin. Your face warms and your heart melts when he lays a kiss on your forehead. “Hey Jack,” Aaron calls, “What would you say to getting some hot chocolate?” Jack comes running.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Bargain 7

Masterlist

Warnings: financial stress and abuse, coercion, noncon, and some possible unmentioned triggers.

Character: Nick Fowler

Summary: You realise you don’t know Nick anymore.

Note: I'm still on a short hiatus for my novel but might drop tiny tidbits here and there between.

As always, I appreciate all kinds of feedback. A like and reblog means so much to me! <3

You pull the straps over your shoulders, the satin sheet cool around your figure. The frigid night ekes in through the window as you move through the dark. Your ears are pricked for the measured breaths keeping tempo. He’s asleep. You’re not free, but you can catch your breath.

You think of closing the window before you go. It nips deep into your flesh but he’ll be fine in the heaps of down and fabric on the bed. You ease open the door and edge down the hallway, careful not to do more than scuff the floor with your bare soles.

You take the stairs one at a time, careful not to creak on your descent. You go into the den, nightie swishing around your legs as your impatience boils over. You unclasp the glass doors framed in walnut and take out the bottle of Shiraz. You take it to the window bench and nestle up to watch the night gales stir the autumn leaves.

You wiggle free the cork, left loose by your last indulgence. You take a swig and sigh at the relief of the bitter flow across your tongue. You used to hate the flavour of wine, now you live for it. Those few minutes a night you can wash away the day.

You’ll have to replace the bottle. Again. Eventually he’ll figure you out. He’ll notice the label or the charge on his statement. You don’t really care, it’s just wine.

The billowing winds offer a soothing backdrop for your inebriation. You finish the bottle to your surprise. You want more. Anger brims in your drunken veins at the realisation that even this stolen delight is bound in his control.

You get up, the room jittering in your vision. Oops. You’re drunker than you thought. You hadn’t eaten enough at dinner. 

You teeter through to the kitchen and fill the bottle with tap water. You go back to the den and find the cork, forcing it back into the neck. You pause and stare at the shape of the bottle in your hand and belch. You’re pathetic.

You close your eyes and pout. How did it end up like this? You’re not supposed to be here. Not with Nick. Not like this. He’s your friend, now your keeper. It’s supposed to be different.

The vision of you walking down the aisle, white petals raining down in what can only be a fantasy, a man in a tux waiting for you at the end. Your eyes wet as you see Curtis watching you with a glimmer. Your heart pulses as you resist the urge to rush into his arms. Then you see Nick, across from him, watching with snakish spite.

The bottle slips from your hand and shatters at your feet. You gasp and look down, shaken from what could have been. What should have been.

You spin and look around at the ghostly darkness swathed over the space. You hate this. You hate it all. Each step you take is off kilter and reckless. You grab the low table before the artificial fire set into the wall and push it on its side with a deafening boom. You clatter the arm chair onto the floor, then that ridiculous chess table her never even touches.

Your rampage cannot be stopped even as you’re aware of the ruin, of what this will get you. You don’t care anymore. No matter what you do, it will always be torture.

You swing open the liquor cabinet and pull down a bottle, dropping it onto the hardwood. It smashes and the contents splash up your skirt and leg. Another and another. The sour scent brews around you with each crash.

Then the light flicks on and gives sight to your destruction. You stop with a bottle of scotch clutched in your fist. You wobble as you turn to face Nick, watching with sleep consternation. He grips the door frame and grits his teeth.

“Sweetheart…” his eyes scan the room with disappointment.

You don’t think, you just hurl the bottle at him. He side steps as it hits the wall just beside him, a shower of glass and scotch smattering down. He stares at the brown stain on the wall then slowly turns to you.

You waver as he stays silent. Marching towards you calmly even as his eyes blaze. You gulp as you look back at him, senseless. He brings his hands up to frame your face.

“Sweetheart,” he bows to look down, “what’ve you done to your feet?”

You let your head drop and look at your feet. Little cuts bleed along the side of your soles and red prints stain the wood beneath. You shrug and let out a sob. You know he’s angry, you just don’t know what he’ll do next.

[denjjisgf]

college student armin thoughts:

armin lives in the last room on the right at the end of your floor. although meeting a fair share of your floormates, he’s the last to introduce himself.

one wednesday, you round the corner for the elevator and collide into his backpack. he has a navy jansport, the kind with the tan suede padding on the bottom. he smiles an apologetic grin and steps into the now arrived elevator. divine timing, right?

it was silent on the way down. the normal scent of last friday’s activities and mud from the melting snow was replaced by pine and laundry softener lingered in the tight space. armin shuffles in place, swinging his arms low at his side and kicking at pieces of road salt with his camel birkenstock clogs. *ping* the metal doors slide inside the wall and you step out first. as you’re walking out, thinking of conversation starters and hoping fate might bring you back to this moment in another life, you give up on this chance to say hello to the nice smelling, pretty eyed boy on your floor. disappointed you make your way to your room for the night. a flash of blond flies past your peripheral. armin leaned into the door in your path with a shove, popping it open to both of your surprise. the owner of the room sat at their desk, shocked at the two strangers standing in the frame of the once closed door, “can i help you?”  

“sorry! just looking for the bathroom!” he sputtered out, face red like a tomato. he smiled and you found it contagious.

“we haven’t met yet,” in his head, he counted to ten to regulate his heart rate. “i’m armin.” his voice had the cutest inflections, perfect little cracks of nervousness caught in his throat.

his eyes followed you, taking you in up close. it wasn’t until that last second, really, that he decided to spark this interaction. it had been a long semester, one where his best days were in passing with yours. he dreamed of softly knocking on your door to wake you in the morning and carrying your laundry down to the laundry room, a pocket of change jingling, ready to pay for your loads. in the library, he yearned for you, seated in the chair next to his, where you both study and mostly distract the other. he searched for your face in every crowd and always walked a little faster to the one class you both had three semesters ago when he first saw you. he watched the weeks turn into months, waiting for the perfect moment, but it was never the right time. that was until now.

“hello armin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

—

“come sit with mee,” he pouts with a pushed out lip. he starfishes his legs out in the center of the bed, swishing them open and closed. his cropped shag sticks up in all the right places as it rests on the headboard. god is he lucky for being so cute; a short sigh slips out of your playful smile while you circle the room, ditching your socks and slipping into a tshirt.

“can you wait a second? i just got back,” you shimmy off your jeans, “and last i checked this was my room.” you finger through a drawer and take out some sweatpants.

“i actually cannot wait. it’s been hours. i thought you only had the one class today. where have you been? you have responsibilities here: me!” he’s gleaming, patting the bed with both hands and urging you closer. “i’ve been waiting to watch our show all day. can we pleasee?”

he’s so damn needy. but he’s so damn needy for you, so who are you to deny. you plop down in the space between his legs where the blanket is warm from his presence and you settle in, palms pressed flat over his thighs and his arms linked with yours in a hug. he kisses along your temple and takes a deep breath, “i needed this.”

he continues to play with you, adjusting the shoulders of your sleeve and pulling at lint on your pants, tugging on your hair and swishing his feet at the foot of the bed. you reach for the remote and a small projector screen illuminates the low lit room, “armin, do you remember what episode we left off on?”

“ i have it all set up and ready. all you gotta do is press play,” he’s so smug, a mix of nerdy matter of factness and what you know as puppy love. you play your show and smile at the familiar theme song— it reminds you of moments like this with your boyfriend. your eyes drift to scan the room; your mugs neatly stacked on the drying rack, makeup brushes resting back in their jar, and a freshly folded pile of laundry sat on the corner of your desk. had he done all this while you were gone? you swell with adoration, a cold tingle racing through your body as you paw for his hands with a squeeze.

“truly, love, what would i do without you?”

“i think you mean what would i do without you?” he smiles and kisses you, soft and sweet, light like breathing for the first time and overwhelming in every sense of the word. “now pay attention, you fell asleep again last night and i don’t think i can bear to watch this episode for the fourth time.”

[greycaelum]

Hi Grey! When Reader met Gojo clan it is not a good meeting, how about the day when Gojo met Reader’s family?

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { Normal }

—Gojo Satoru X Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

You glance at Satoru, his nervous look replaced with a relieved one as well. Your man looks like he just won the grand prize in the arcade. But it faded when your Dad cleared his throat, silencing everyone at the table.

"Mnn, which team are you?" He glared at Satoru who have gone pale once again.

"Sir?" ... Satoru's face has gone Pikachu.

"Team. Which team are you?"

"He means baseball." You supplied at his confused brain.

𑁍 Genre: fluff, domesticity, family

𑁍 CW/TW: (2.5k)— Satoru, and Y/n being sleep-deprived, slight cursing, and Satoru being a nice kitty to your dad

𑁍 A/N: Merry Christmas! I hope y'all keeping we arm in this cold days~

Satoru wants to meet your parents, and it was an interesting afternoon.

"Remember Hikaru-kun? Your childhood best friend. He came home for a short vacation. He's grown to be such a charming man." Your Mom happily chattered over the phone. "I was surprised to know he established his own company. Could you believe that? He's just 24 years old."

"He's always been a smart kid." You shrug, a blurry memory of this childhood friend you don't remember playing much with. Nonetheless, that's a great thing. Being successful at such a young age. "Send my regards to him Mom." You took a taste of the curry you're making

You heard your mother sigh.

"Someday, if you're gonna get a person to marry, I'd rather have you a normal man Y/n. You don't need to go after those rich men who have too much money to spend for a lifetime. A man with a job enough to feed you and finance a good life is enough."

"Mom!" You laughed at the sudden switch of her topic.

"What? It's true. Even your father agrees with me." You heard a grumble from the phone, probably your father being glared at by your mother to agree. "A man who can treat you right, and provide is more than enough. What would you do with the money if he cannot have time for you?"

"I know Mom." You turned the stove off and checked the rice cooker.

Great! Dinner is ready, all that's left is to wait for Satoru.

"You have to bring home the guy when you find one, okay? Your Dad and I are looking forward to it!"

"Sure." You helplessly smiled at her insistence. Your friends' parents would usually say the opposite. But your mother has a good point.

Bringing Satoru over... well, after that sudden remarks from your mother you're starting to doubt the resolution you built to have your boyfriend meet your parents. Satoru is quite the opposite of her aspiration of a guy for you. It would be unfair on Satoru's part if you ask him to act like a 'normal citizen'.

She said her goodbyes after one last reminder and that left you to sit and wait on the counter stool. It's still early, Satoru will be home in an hour or two. You look up from your phone and froze at the man leaning on the kitchen door frame.

Brooding eyes staring at you with his arms crossed. Uh-oh...

"Aren't you bringing me over?"

"'Toru, welcome home!" You easily brush off the surprise and jump off the kitchen stool, padding in his direction and throwing your arms around him for a hug. "You already showered." You inhaled the menthol scent of his shower gel accompanied by aftershave. The faint redness from shaving his jaws was still visible even as he just his lips down for a pout.

"When are you gonna take me to meet Mom and Dad?"

Mom and Dad? You look at him between laugh and frown.

"Soon." After I explain to them...

"Baby!" He whined, throwing his arms around you, pouting and huffing. "You're not proud of me huh?"

"That's not the reason 'Toru." You sighed, turning around to cup his cheeks.

"Is it because I'm not normal?" His shoulders visibly tensed, turning to hide his face in your neck, enveloping you in his tight hug.

"Silly, 'Toru." The last thing you need is to make him feel inadequate. You struggled to gather his face, his lower lip jutting down as he avoids your gaze. "Look, give me just few days, I promise I'm gonna take you to see them. No secrets this time. Okay?" Leaning forward you give the tip of his nose a small peck, hoping it would appease him.

You're sure your Mom and Dad would change their mind when they see Satoru and his intentions with you.

"Mnn, 'kay." He hummed, pulling you for another hug.

It's Saturday dusk. Your hand laced around Satoru's rough ones, a layer of his Infinity naturally clung to you against the busy Tokyo crowd. It's a normal occurrence for Satoru to have you in his weekend work also being your date time. And you're both now on your way to grab dinner before going he brings you home.

"I think there's a festival." Satoru draped his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer to his side to protect you from the crowd colliding over your shoulders. "Do you want some cotton candy?"

"Just say that you want to eat some."

He laughed, pinching your cheeks. But nonetheless, you nod with a smile. Your boyfriend's sweet tooth rubbed on you over time.

"Which one do you want?" Satoru turned to you to choose from the different cotton candy colors.

"The blue on please."

Satoru paid for it while you peek at the nearby takoyaki stall.

"Y/n?"

Someone's calling you. You roam your head in the crowd.

"See I told you it's her. Y/n!"

You turned and saw your parents waving at you.

Fuck

"Don't run around like that Baby, I thought I lost you for a second. Mnn, what's wrong?"

Agh! Double fuck!

Here you are, twirling your straw on the iced tea with your parents looking at you and Satoru back and forth. It's certainly not the first time they met, Satoru already met them at your graduation but apart from asking if he could take you out, there was nothing more.

"So are you two..." Your mother trailed down, her eyes wandering to Satoru, with his hand holding yours, despite the thin sheet of sweat forming on his palm. "Are you two, dating?"

His shoulders visibly straightened, and the constant bobbing of his throat was as if he was having a hard time swallowing whatever it is stuck in his throat.

Your father grunted from the side. Raking a good look at Satoru who has switched his bandages to his sunglass. Clearly, your old man is not impressed.

"Yes, Ma'am."

You Mom made an 'oh' face and smiled. A smile that you don't trust.

"So... what's your job? Gojo-kun?"

And there it goes. You trust Satoru alright, but he does say random things out of the blue that jeopardizes the situation.

"I'm working as a teacher in a technical school in Tokyo."

An unlicensed one at that too. You bit your tongue. Squeezing his hand to give moral support to your man. He squeezes back, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb, assuring you in his small gesture.

Your Mom looks brighter. That fits in her 'normal' category of prospect for you.

"How about your family Gojo-kun? Are you an only child?"

"Ma, that's a sensitive question." You stop sipping your iced tea and frown.

But there are that soft circles, rubbing your knuckles, calling your attention to calm down. Satoru kept his gaze straight on your mother and answered.

"My family is a little wider than the usual family tree, and we have a small family business—"

What the fuck is small? Gojo Clan basically monopolized the big three sorcerer families. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his fatass lie.

"—I have a sister. But she's studying as an exchange student so we don't see each other that much."

Your Mother nod, quite satisfied with her interview-like questions.

You glance at Satoru, his nervous look replaced with a relieved one. Your man looks like he just won the grand prize in the arcade. But it faded when your Dad cleared his throat, silencing everyone at the table.

"Mnn, which team are you?" He glared at Satoru who have gone pale once again.

"Sir?" ... Satoru's face has gone Pikachu.

"Team. Which team are you?"

"He means baseball." You supplied at his confused brain.

"Oh! Yomiuri Giants... Sir." He almost stuttered under the scrutinizing glare of your Dad. What if your Dad is a Hanshin Tiger's fan?! He will hate him!

"Come to the house tomorrow." Your father grunted and tug your Mom who was staring at you, making some hand signals she will call you later. Only when they left your vision did you let out a long sigh.

"Your Dad hates me." Satoru has never felt so dejected in his existence.

"I also don't know." You finally broke the poor man's last string of hope.

"He. Hates. Me?!" 

"Stop shaking me!"

Thinking about it it's not like your Dad spat vitriol on Satoru. It's just that he also didn't look like he was convinced. Satoru has been silent since you went home. You've never seen him this bothered. Agitated, and restless. Sitting on the kitchen counter stool, he's been staring, absentmindedly at the wall.

"Get your ass over here." You rolled your eyes. "I made hot cocoa." That one didn't need much convincing.

Soon you're enveloped in his arms, a thick quilt covering the two of you while sipping some hot cocoa. His calloused fingertips, occasionally rub the back of your hand when you took too long before giving him a sip. A part of you is confident your parents would understand. Even if they knew the truth... that Satoru is not the conventional man they idealized for you, they'll still accept your decision.

Your heart has never been this peaceful even if he's a walking disaster.

"I want your parents to like me." Out of nowhere, he mumbled. A mumbling Satoru is a common thing when the two of you huddle on the couch.

"They'll do." You hummed and close your eyes, leaning your head back to his shoulders. "After all, I'm not planning on switching you for anyone anytime soon."

He huffs, making you smile knowing he's already pouting. Telling you he's up to talk about it more.

"I want them to like me for you." Satoru shrug. "Y'know, like treat me how they'd treat a son too."

"Why? You planning to be my adopted brother?" You quirk an amused brow and Satoru rolls his eyes. His thumb, drew circles over the back of your hand, resuming the cozy silence until you both finish the mug of cocoa and went to bed.

The next afternoon, you rang the doorbell of your parent's house.

"Oh! They're here. Come in, we've been waiting for you." Your Mother announced your arrival and your Father grumbles in the background.

You can't hide the budding smile on your lips when you see your father, brooding by the stove but he's cooking a special dish. Something your mother asked in the chat yesterday.

"You should stay for a sleepover, we're going home tomorrow." Your Mother smiled, especially in Satoru's direction. "The both of you."

But Satoru has to go to work. No man is available to fill in Satoru's place, much more there are not many people to ask that favor anyway.

"I could stay over but Satoru has work later afternoon."

A hand intertwined with yours squeezing it. Satoru intervened.

"If you'd have me, I'll stay Ma'am, Sir."

"Of course! Of course!"

Your Father quietly puts the bowl on the table and crosses his arms, staring at Satoru. Your poke his side, nudging a bowl to his side while you also get yours. Ladling for him and for you.

Satoru sat there, a little confused but a glint in his eyes sparkled as he brought the spoon to his mouth.

"How is it?" Your Father asked in a gruff tone.

You can't help but giggle. Your father can be a tsundere at times, even having your mother text you to ask what Satoru's favorite dish is.

"If Y/n doesn't cook this, your cooking would be the closest I've ever had to my childhood." A small smile bloomed on Satoru's lips, followed by a wide boyish grin.

Your Father cleared his throat, nodding his head, evading your knowing smirk. He's so easy to please.

"How long have you and Y/n met?"

The lunch started with the talk of how you and Satoru started. Your mother is the best at remembering your embarrassing moments as a kid but forgetting to brag about your formal achievements.

You could already see that little horns in Satoru's head to tease you when you get home.

"He's a good man." Your mother hummed, watching your father and Satoru play catch ball in the backyard, the two of them talking but you cannot hear it.

"Oh, you don't know what a menace he could be." You shook your head.

Your Father laughed with his hands by his waist and Satoru rolled on the grass clutching his stomach in a fit of laughter too.

"But yeah, he is."

Your mother smiled. It doesn't take long for you to get sleepy, with a full stomach and the relief that Satoru is getting along with your family, it was enough to lull you into a peaceful afternoon nap.

Satoru found you in that state—sleeping on the living room couch while your mother is reading some novel.

"She's asleep. You should go freshen up first."

"I didn't bring any shirt with me, Ma'am."

"I'll bring you a fresh set, and you're my daughter's boyfriend it's weird for you to keep calling me Ma'am and my husband Sir."

"Auntie then. Thank you."

It was only in the bath did it sink into him he's gonna spend the night together with your parents. It's like the sleepover he's never had!

Dressed in his fresh shirt and sweatpants, you're still sleeping and he can't see your Mom and Dad anywhere. You look cozy and vulnerable and it's making him sleepy too.

A little nap won't hurt...

Getting into the covers without disturbing you is easy, he's so used to it that he doesn't break a sweat in turning you over to cuddle into his chest.

Your Dad found the two of you in that position. Sleeping soundly, cuddling each other for warmth and neither of the two of you notices the soft weight of a blanket draping over you until you wake up at the scent of dinner.

"I'll see you next time. Don't forget to wear thicker clothes it's cold."

You hug her and said yes to the remaining reminders. Satoru also hug her, thanking her for the wonderful day off he had.

It was your father's turn.

"Take care Dad. Don't forget to say hi to grandaunt for me."

"I'll tell her. And visit home when you're on vacation." He rumbled, glancing in Satoru's direction. "Bring Satoru with you."

You nod, smiling ear to ear. The boarding announcement to the train rang out and they got in, waving the two of you one last goodbye.

"Bye Mom and Dad!"

Next thing you realize you're engulfed in a tight hug and Satoru's laughing.

"See I told you. They'd like you."

A wide grin is on his lips as you both walk out of the station, Satoru's arms draped over your shoulder.

"Hmmm, you gotta bring me home soon Baby." He whispered and bit your ear making you yelp and hit his chest

Pretty normal Satoru, cheeky and the ball of menace that he is.

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey

[theragamuffininitiative]

things my cats do, in no particular order (not exhaustive)

grab my hand (softly, no claws) and bring it down (smoosh) on head for forced petting

make biscuits on one (1) blanket (Esben, it is "his" blanket)

steal favorite blanket off the bed and drag it into the bathroom if someone else has used it too much (Esben)

yell (MROWEEUEOOWMRREOOO?!) for any and all reasons (Artham)

cry at the door if I am in the bathroom too long

attempt to force open the closet if I am in the bathroom too long because of a steadfast belief that the closet enters the bathroom somehow (Esben)

hop onto my back and stretch himself across my shoulders like a scarf and fall asleep there (Artham)

decide the most optimal way to traverse the bed is to walk across the back frame, which consists of an inch-wide metal rung he cannot balance on and therefore he walks across it on three legs while the forth leg supports him from the mattress, and you will not convince him that he is not able to balance all the way without thus cheating (Artham)

bite brother if brother is being annoying

cry for brother if brother is too far away

sit like gentlemen to wait for dinner to be given

bite anything and everything that might fit in his mouth (Esben. I have replaced my laptop cord three times, preventative measures only go so far when you are thirteen lbs of determination and incisors)

roll over for belly scratches (Esben)

get the zoomies and scream like a banshee and ping around the home like a pinball (Artham) or smack straight into everything like a psychotic bulldozer (Esben)

come and cry at me if the litterbox in the bathroom needs to be cleaned out (Esben - the other litterbox is fine no matter how dirty apparently)

roll under the littermat and get himself all dusty and then look at me with Absolute Pride (Artham)

need to sleep under the blankets with me at night (both, they take turns but get mad when the other one beats them to it and refuse to share or sleep on either side of me - the loser sulks on the next best available sleeping space)

sleep in the window and when a neighbor walks by yell at them for attention

if one is in the window and the other is not when a neighbor walks by, the other brother will jump into the window (this results in cries of delight from said-neighbors when a second identical cat joins the first)

eat plastic bags (ILLEGAL, ARTHAM, NO)

sulk when I take away plastic bags because I value his continued existence (Artham)

come running when I turn on the kitchen sink because he loves to watch me wash the dishes (Esben)

sleep on the stove after the oven has been on because of the heat (Artham - I am very careful nothing is too hot, and He Is Not Allowed after the stove itself has been used, I just gave up on keeping him off indefinitely)

chase thrown toys down the hall, jump over them, and then run away from them (Esben)

eat tape (ESBEN STOP)

drop toys in the water bowls. repeatedly. (???)

get mad At Each Other if I am hanging out on my bed during the daytime because that is Cat Nap Space

jump up and run to the other side of the apartment so it doesn't look like he was cuddling his brother when I come home (Artham - the spot next to Esben is warm, he isn't fooling anyone)

eat books (Esben, I swear...)

play with his dozen chew toys and THEN eat books (Esben)

desire to be held in one hand at my hip, like a football (Artham)

watch brightly colored and/or animated movies with me (Artham)

watch serious and/or action thriller movies with me (Esben)

get upset if I am watching a movie with headphones

remain convinced the black cat plush pillow I have is an untrustworthy third brother and requires supervision

hang mostly upside down from a perch, my bed, a scratching post, etc. and yell happily at his toes (Artham)

become aware that he is not currently being petted and cuddled in bed and have no idea how to remedy this tragic situation other than to cry pitifully about it until I go get him (Esben)

be basically incorrigible alien goblins all day every day and I adore them so much, black cats are the best, adopted cats are life, I have lost half my sanity in managing them and would not give them up for anything under the sun.

[honeygrahambitch]

WHATS A HANNIGRAM CODED TAYLOR SWIFT SONG

The perfect ask doesn't exi-

I have prepared for this my whole life. Here is a list of hannigram coded taylor swift songs.

Look what you made me do

it's sexy and petty and it's the perfect Will Graham in salmon shirt revenge song but it's also very Hannibal in Mizumono coded.

2. I did something bad

perfect for both of them and especially for Will discovering that killing people makes him feel stuff that he shouldn't

3. Back to december (I am feral about this one)

perfect for them. chef's kiss. You can listen to it and think about Mizumono or about Digestivo, depends what kind of pain you want.

It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you

Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it alright

this is so Will Graham thinking about Mizumono and also Hannibal surrendering to the FBI cause he doesn't need freedom if he cannot have Will.

But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right

I'd go back in time and change it, but I can't So if the chain is on your door, I understand

This lyrics too because it's the tea cup motif, turning back the time, which is exactly what Hannibal wanted to do in digestivo. And also related to Will's regrets about Mizumono.

4. Mastermind

Perfect for them both, from beginning to end. Nothing to add than some very fitting lyrics.

I knew I wanted your body I laid the groundwork, and then Just like clockwork The dominoes cascaded in a line What if I told you I'm a mastermind? And now you're mine It was all my design

5. Better than revenge (more as crack if you want to think of it from Hannibal's pov towards Molly lol)

6. Right where you left me

season 3b coded, breaks you to pieces if you imagine them and the glass wall in between.

7. Wonderland

I reached for you, but you were gone I knew I had to go back home You searched the world for somethin' else To make you feel like what we had And in the end, in Wonderland, we both went mad

them in season 3a, Hannibal trying to replace Will with Anthony but it was in vain.

8. Come back, be here

Will grieving after Hannibal left

9. Hoax

there is so much to say about this one, I find it very fitting

My only one My smoking gun My eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My win-less fight This has frozen my ground

(...)

My best laid plan Your sleight of hand My barren land I am ash from your fire

(...)

You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart You knew the password, so I let you in the door You knew you won, so what's the point of keeping score? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart But what you did was just as dark

you can think about all the pain they have inflicted into each other and each time they have betrayed each other

10. I almost do

11. Sad Beautiful Tragic

so so so hannigram coded

We both wake In lonely beds In different cities And time Is taking its sweet time erasing you And you've got your demons And darlin' they all look like me

12. Ivy (which is considered to be a very queer song)

I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed

13. Willow (a lil more cheesy)

14. The lakes

hannigram coded because they don't fit in the normal world. And the lyrics sound like something Hannibal would say

15. Vigilante shit

as petty and sexy as Look what you made me do

16. Bad blood

doesn't need any explanation

17. No body, no crime

for the whole arc of Will trying to convince everyone Hannibal framed him

18. Getaway Car

Mizumono coded

19. The Great War

twotl coded

All that bloodshed, crimson clover Uh-huh, sweet dream was over My hand was the one you reached for All throughout the Great War

(...)

It turned into something bigger Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed Your finger on my hair pin triggers Soldier down on that icy ground Looked up at me with honor and truth Broken and blue, so I called off the troops That was the night I nearly lost you I really thought I lost you

and this part very Mizumono coded

20. Peace

they are both problematic for each other

21. The Alcott

describes the Uffizi Gallery scene. Like, in perfect detail.

22. My tears ricochet

23. Illicit Affairs

Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

24. Last kiss

for when Hannibal is locked up

25. Haunted

26. Cowboy like me

especially because Will is from the south lol

I've got some tricks up my sleeve Takes one to know one

Hope this helps!

[mechanical-artery]

boo oc texts jumpscare

          “Are you truly in such deep disrepair that you cannot manage a single knock?” Rhinn asked, not bothering to turn from the partially disassembled hand scattered across their workbench. “I do not ask for much, I think.” They picked up a delicate steel phalange, squinting at it through their thick goggles before gently brushing the dust from the sockets.

          Archangel grunted wordlessly as he ducked into the cabin, closing the door behind him with a small click of the latch. “Why bother? You knew I was coming.” He disdainfully kicked the snow off his feet to melt on the floor.

          Rhinn sighed, biting their lip behind their mask to keep from smiling. Receiving confirmation that his total disregard for basic courtesy was amusing to them could only encourage him. “Fortunately for you, I have almost completed my task here. I will be only a few minutes longer.” They inspected the phalange one final time before slotting it back into its place on the cool metal palm.

          After a few seconds of silence, they glanced over their shoulder to raise a brow at him. “Were you going to stand behind me like a vengeful ghost for the evening, then? I cleared your table earlier. There is a place for you to sit while I work.”

          Archangel stared at them for a second longer, the end of his tail flicking. Finally, he wordlessly crossed the room to collapse onto the long table in the center of the room. It was covered by a thick cloth tarp to protect the old wood from his metal frame, and a somewhat threadbare oil-stained rag was carefully folded and laid at one end to provide a soft place to rest his head. Ridiculously sentimental and foolish, of course, but the gesture was…appreciated, all the same.

          After glancing over to make sure he was comfortable, Rhinn turned their attention back to their work, humming softly. Rebuilding the hand now would be a fairly straightforward process and save them the trouble of finding or replacing lost components later.

          Laying on his chest, Archangel crossed his arms under his chin and watched them. Their quiet humming and the gentle click and scrape of their tools was soothing, and he found himself relaxing as he watched their skilled hands at work.

          About ten minutes later, Rhinn slotted the final piece into its place. They straightened, stretching their shoulders and back to loosen the knots beginning to form. “I thank you for your patience, my friend. If I had lost my place, I would have wasted time finding it again in the morning.” They paused, waiting for his customary grumble or growl to interrupt them. Met only with silence, they furrowed their brow and turned around in their chair.

          Archangel’s face was tucked into his arms, using them and the worn rag as a pillow. His optics were completely dark, the typical orange glow absent, and the whirring of his internal mechanisms was almost inaudible.

          They chewed on their lip, considering. Automata generally did not require rest, but Archangel was unique. They had seen him fighting his exhaustion often enough to know that he needed to shut down to give his mind a few hours to sort itself, even if his body did not share the same need.  However, the sulking and aggressive posturing after an unexpected crash was undesirable, to say the least.

          Rhinn slowly turned back to their workbench, tail flicking. They cleared their throat loudly and straightened out their tools. They very pointedly did not swivel their ears back to catch the sound of him startling awake, his throat clicking desperately for a few painful seconds as he fought to regain his composure.

          “I have finished my task here. Thank you for your patience, my heart,” they said, again, finally turning to look at him once they were sure he had reoriented himself. “Is there anything you would like to do before we begin?”

          Archangel, now sitting with his legs crossed at the ankles and his tail draped across the table at his side, gave a lazy shrug with one shoulder. “Been waiting long enough already. I’d rather get this over with, if it’s all the same to you.”

          “Forgive me,” they said, tilting their head with an amused glint in their eye. “You know how particular I am with my work.”

          He grunted wordlessly, shaking his head. Reaching up to his shoulder, he released the hidden latches securing his pauldrons and set them down while Rhinn gathered their tools and moved their chair closer to the table.

          Once they were settled, Rhinn picked up the pauldrons, one at a time, and carefully inspected the ornate pieces for damage or dirt before placing them on the floor, out of the way. Gesturing for him to lean down, they reached around his frame to detach his breastplate for inspection. His optics flared briefly as their fingers traced his sides and they smiled brightly, thankful once more for the mask obscuring their face.

After setting the breastplate to the side, they turned their focus to the plain grey plates that composed his chest. They traced the seams with a gentle hand, once again looking for damage. Satisfied, they pressed the center of his sternum, a hidden button cracking open the panels and spreading his golden ribs like wings to grant them access to his delicate circuitry.

Archangel watched them silently, suppressing a shudder as his chest cracked open and he felt their nimble fingers darting along the vital wires inside. He thought briefly of asking them to take their knife and slice through them, one at a time, until he was left paralyzed under their blade and his heart was carved out as a trophy to rust, forgotten on a shelf, but ultimately decided against it.

“You have not been caring for yourself, Archangel,” Rhinn said, deftly reattaching some loose connections. “I tell you why it is important and yet you still do not listen to my words.”

Archangel ignored them, focusing instead on their hands in his chest. This was a familiar conversation, one that had occurred many times over the years, and he wasn’t particularly interested in hearing it again.

Seeing his refusal to engage with their scolding, Rhinn sighed. They finished their inspection of his internal components and resealed his chest. Gently nudging his side, they sat back as he rolled over to give them access to his shoulders and the armor plating on his spine. Running their hands over each vertebra, they carefully cleaned out any trapped debris that could impede his motion or damage the wires inside.

Pausing over his lower back, they frowned. “What happened here, love?” They traced the shattered metal, careful not to cut themself on the torn edges.

Archangel’s throat clicked, and he hummed to himself. “A…miscalculation. Nothing more, hunter.” He did not try to look at them over his shoulder.

Rhinn frowned harder, detaching the broken plating and setting it on the table to the side as they prodded at the damage underneath. “This will take some time to replace, I am afraid.”

“I can wait.”

“Good. I would not see you do anything rash out of impatience.” Rhinn busied themself with the initial repair work on his spine. “Will I be able to contact you when I have the replacements in hand?”

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to be, hunter,” Archangel said, finally twisting to look at them over his shoulder. “Haven’t had a job in a while.”

“Mmm. I question how you got this, then,” Rhinn said, swatting at him for moving. “But I suppose I will allow you some secrets, as you are so fond of them.”

Archangel laughed quietly. His throat clicked again, once, twice, and he shook his head as he returned to his previous position. “Maybe one day I’ll talk.”

“I doubt I will live to see the day. I know you, Archangel. Do not forget that.”

[bengiyo]

Laws of Attraction Ep 4 Stray Thoughts

Last week, ARSON. DROWNING. Charn set fire to Tinn's house while his grandmother and he were still inside just to frame Thantai, and then thought everything was okay because of a pizza party like an American elementary school teacher! Meanwhile, Thantai got choked out and almost drowned by his dad because he let himself get recorded by a teddy bear that has become the most important plot token.

Unrealistic. You cannot put girls in the same room after a fight. I worked with middle schoolers.

Look at this young paladin in the making.

Damn, Tinn. Protect your face.

Of course you knew these mofos had guns. How did he think this was going to go?

Ooh, a new wrinkle from the handler.

The sister is acting her ass off with the eyes in this scene as Chan reverts to radical honesty.

Tinn's grandmother reminds me of my own.

Absolutely everyone is chewing on the scenery in this show. I love it.

That glint is back in Chan's eye. What does he have planned next.

This evil man forced this case into his gardener? That's fucked.

Chan is gonna fuck the bodyguard, I just know it.

Not Chan wearing white pants.

Oh lord he replaced that ugly ass shirt.

Chan said, "Potion seller! Enough of these games!"

I bet it was Chan's dude who betrayed them. I bet it was for unrequited gay reasons.

Not Chan in wrinkled white pants, a shirt with its own big ass tie that looks like a sloppy bunny ears knot, and a black jacket. What in the hell.

Oh shit Thantai hit that floor hard.

Also, Thantai's pants are too tight.

Beer told on himself when he got excited about those potential clips.

Beer and Ice? Gross.

I respect Beer's game.

I suppose they have to absolve Thantai of Ton Khaw's murder if they want us to feel bad for him about his dad. He's still a piece of shit though.

Not Chan going for a goddamn pinky touch. He couldn't even pretend about it and went immediately for the whole hand.

What in the Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory is the way Chan always opens these doors?

These two are so ridiculous.

I'm having so much fun with the silly gay energy of this show.