#insufferable night i cannot even imagine

[stromer]

if i got sat at table 8 during the tkachuk wedding i’m cutting microphone cords so brady can’t sing mr. brightside and gluing his clothes onto his body as reparation

[toms-cherry-trees]

Thrilling Chase || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: All the girls want him. One does not. And he wants her

Word Count: 1551

Warnings: Not really. Aemond being a bit more of book Aemond than show Aemond and being overall annoyed with life

Author’s note: I dreamt this plot Sunday night and spend the entire day racking my brains to turn it into a fic. Please let me know about any errors, I am still polishing my English. Also this Aemond I am not sure I got the characterization right but I liked how it turned out. And remember I interact from @finite--incantatem

The ball is being hosted with the purpose of celebrating Aegon’s nameday. What better way to celebrate the anniversary of his birth than being surrounded by fine drinks and lovely ladies, a field full of flower buds for him to pick and spoil? Aemond can barely stand the frivolous pomp and pageantry, the ass kissing lords showering his brother and father in banal pleasantries and praises, as if any one of them paid any heed to such flummery; one too inebriated to care and the other unable to hear anything above his own wheezing. 

Aemond has tried to excuse himself three times before the feast has even been served; as dutiful as he could be, even he has a limit, and his limit has been long surpassed by this insufferable event. But his weak spot has overcome his distaste, in the form of his gentle mother, who implores him to play the part for the evening. His sweet mother, who does everything in her power for the family to present a united front, all while sweeping the shambles behind the drapes. Only for her happiness is he willing to endure this foolery.

He hoped that chatting up some minor lordlings and not yawning before them would be enough to fulfil his obligations; but he has not accounted for the unwanted feminine attention. Aemond thought his physical imperfections and his downright hostile demeanour would be enough to ward off the ladies, but he could not deny the facts; as the eldest bachelor in the family, he remains a coveted prize to whom lords would offer their daughters in silver trays. He can vividly imagine them, ambitious men whispering in the ears of their girls and urging them to employ any means necessary to get in Aemond’s good graces. Only then could he explain the parade of fair maidens, all of them more adorned than carnival horses, showering him with their candid smiles and their coy giggles, batting their eyelashes and hinting most cunningly how much they would love to dance. They all seem to ask the same pre thought and bland questions; if one more lady asks to ever see Vhagar, Aemond would go and bring her down to the hall for them to see up close and personal.

Just when he hopes he has done enough to please his mother and the crowds, the first dances begin. One look from the Queen deters his efforts to flee the scene; without word, he has been reminded that his duty has yet to conclude. But Aemond would much rather eat Aegon’s toes than be found dancing with a lady. All his dexterity and gracefulness in the sparring yard do not translate to his waltzing skills; while he could be fast and silent and slippery in the face of the enemy, at the tune of the strings he possesses the elegance of a rotting tomato left in the sun.

The Prince knows the second he sets foot into the dance floor, he will be swarmed with adoring girls. But he cares not for them, since he has already set his eye on one. Just like the others she is burdened by golds and silks and stones, but unlike them, she carries her adornments with such grace and dignity that the opulence of her garments only brings forth her natural beauty.

There is something in her, something unidentifiable and unexplainable, that makes her so…so alluring. It may be the way her lips hold a perennially ineffable smile, so subtle one cannot truly tell it is there, but the mere possibility of its existence is enough to entice the mind. 

It could also be her hands. Aemond cannot stop staring at them, from the way her fingers curl around the stem of the goblet, to the particular way they bend when she holds onto the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck, a subtle move that occurs whenever a young man engages her in conversation. Her left hand holds delicately onto a small fan, although its purpose seems to add to her aura of mysticism rather than keep her cool; her face disappears behind it whenever her smile becomes too wide, only her piercing eyes remaining visible, keeping her expressions unreadable, a most intriguing secret.

Only the greatest artists of the country, working for years on the best of marbles, could even dare to come close to resembling her splendour. The figure of the Maiden brought to life, and that would be a most dashing compliment - for the Goddess.

If he is to dance, he must dance with her.

He cuts through the crowd, moving past wide-eyed ladies and squeezing around dancing couples with one objective in mind. She is right there, standing near the pillar bearing the image of King Jaehaerys. She is alone, and she saw him coming. The proximity of the prey has Aemond on edge, muscles tense and ready to pounce. A man cuts his way, and he pushes him aside vigorously, but it is too late. Her figure has disappeared amongst the crowd like a vision.

Aemond spots her again a few minutes later, near the massive gates of the hall. Once more he approaches her, but he is distracted by his mother asking something, and once more loses his chance. The process repeats several times, with her always standing just at his fingertips but never close enough to grasp, her presence so real yet also so unsubstantial he begins to think he is trapped in a vivid dream.  

The Prince is well damn tempted to just order everyone but her out of the chamber, but there is something in the chase, the subtle yet invigorating excitement of the pursuit, the way his pupil is blown wide and his jaw set in concentration. A sensation he has only ever experienced while wielding his sword in the training yards or soaring the skies with his dragon. An unexplainable elation, all due to this little dove who keeps flying away.

Aemond groans in frustration as she evades him once more. How can she be so fast and nimble while wearing a heavy gown? Are the Seven playing a wicked game on him, fate holding the prize above his head just out of reach? He does not care now for dancing nor pleasing his mother. This is a matter of pride; to go through all these obstacles to drop out mid-hunt would be shameful and disappointing. 

She is now across the room, now more easily visible due to the dwindling crowds. She is looking straight at him, half her face obscured by her fan. But she pulls it down softly, painfully slow, and Aemond’s heart beats frantically in his chest, like he is witnessing the unveiling of the world’s greatest mystery. The fan rests lightly on her chin, and she rewards the prince with a cunning smirk.

She is doing it on purpose.

It all makes sense now. How could he be so stupid not to realise she has been playing the game alongside him? Evading him and taunting him, letting him think he had her and then slipping away like sand. This newfound knowledge spurs his desires. He needs to have her close, needs to know who she is and why is she doing this to him. His decorum and self-control slips away as a new feeling blooms within him. A warmth blooming in the depths of his body and spreading through his body. The more he cannot have her, the more he wants her. She may be akin to the image of the Maiden, but Aemond is sure the deity has never evoked the thoughts now crossing his mind, nor has any other woman ever before. 

Determined to sate his curiosity, and perhaps some other lowly needs, he makes a straight line for her. She does not move nor backs out, and he can already feel the silk of her dress under his fingertips and the scent of her perfume in his nose. He doesn’t understand where the primal urge to crash his lips against hers stem from, but he is ready to give in to that urge as well.

His marching is cut abruptly by the colliding of his body against a long table. He had been so focused and lost, so unlike himself, that he paid no attention to anything or anyone around him, his vision like a tunnel focused upon her. The table is so long he would have to wander half the hall to circumvent it, and he still has enough hold of his wits to know it would be improper to vault over it or slide under the tablecloth. They are so close, yet the brief distance is unbreachable for the time being. 

His eye meet hers, the mischief dancing in her pupils. The corners of those soft lips tug just a bit more, sly and bewitching. She backs away slowly, the fan coming up once more to shield her face. She turns around and disappears behind a column amidst the rustle of stiffened skirts and the tinkling of her bracelets

Defeat overcomes the Prince, but a smirk spreads across his own lips. He has not given up the chase; he is just giving the dove a head start before the hunt resumes. 

[clownholemcfannywhistle]

Hate Fucking (SDV Yandere!Elliott x Mean!Reader) ; MDNI

Minors, do not interact!!!

Content warnings: Obsessive/yucky/stalkerish behavior, love confessions, a tiny bit of first time fetishization, hate fucking (obviously), mean reader humiliating Elliott lol

From the minute you arrived in Pelican Town, Elliott was a nuisance. You weren't sure why the simple fact of his existence enraged you so much, but damn, you couldn't stand the fucker. Maybe it was the way he introduced himself.

"Why, hello! You must be the new farmer with whom everyone has been so anxious to become acquainted! I'm Elliott. Charmed," and he even lifted your hand to his stupid, soft lips and kissed your knuckles.

Maybe it was the way he dressed.

He donned a fabulous crimson velvet coat over a ridiculous white shirt with outrageous poofy frill on the collar and sleeves. What are you, a fucking pirate?

Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be lurking in the background, offering to walk you home after dark, as though there was anything in this town more creepy and pretentious than him.

It was after you had come out of the mines, late one night, when he'd been particularly insufferable.

"Darling, it's so dreadfully dark out. Please, allow me to walk you back home." He was practically begging.

With an annoyed grunt, you tried to shoulder your way past him, but evidently, he was having none of that. He gently caught your wrist and smiled kindly down at you. You gaped down at his fingers over your pulse, stunned by his audacity.

"Love, what's your rush?" he gently chided.

With a flare of your nostrils, you retorted, "I have big plans. I gotta get home so I can smoke a fat blunt, eat a mountain of cheese, and watch WWE until I pass the fuck out on top of my vibrator."

That shut him up. Elliott's eyes went wide as he froze with a mortified blush. You shoved past him as he was stupefied.

Unfortunately, much as you had tried to deter him from continuing to pursue you, your words seemed to have the opposite effect. The next morning, you were highly displeased to find a particularly disgusting love letter in your mailbox.

My love,

Everything you do simply captivates me. I adore every scowl you grace me with. I cannot help but to steal longing glances every time you are so tantalizingly within my reach. You truly take my breath away with your stunning radiance. I want nothing more than to worship every inch of you with my lips, greedily inhale your titillating aroma, make you feel even just half of what you make me feel. If I were to die whilst beholding your beauty, I would be a lucky man indeed.

Forever yours,

Your secret admirer

You shuddered and tore the letter into pieces, letting it fuck off in the breeze. "Secret admirer," my ass. It was blaringly obvious who the culprit was. There was no one else in town who you could imagine using the word "titillating" besides fucking Elliott.

Watching you from just beyond your property line, Elliott's heart shattered with the letter you destroyed. He'd lost so much sleep last night before he'd frustratedly turned on the light and scribbled his thoughts down onto paper. Deciding his heartfelt words were worthy to be read by you, he'd carefully copied it onto his highest-quality stationery, put it into his fanciest envelope, and adorned the envelope with your name in his best calligraphy. He'd even sealed it in rose red wax and hand-delivered it to your mailbox in the middle of the night.

Elliott set his jaw, determined to get it right the next time and make you his. Well, he thought, I'm nothing if not dedicated.

That very night, Elliott had to relieve his pent-up frustrations, both sexual and emotional. You'd been on his mind for the whole day. He'd tried to get some work done on his novel, but the well of inspiration for anything apart from you had run dry. Sweat already on his brow from hours of unsettled tension, Elliott tied his hair back in a low ponytail.

Unsurprisingly, Elliott had a whole ritual for when he spent time being intimate with himself. He'd dim the lights, light candles, and spray a mist of his favorite fragrance (the perfume he'd shamelessly pilfered from inside your cottage...).

Elliott slowly disrobed, like he was flirting with himself. He pumped a squirt of pomegranate-scented lubricant into his palm, hissing softly at how it was unpleasantly cold. No matter, he imagined, I've got my darling with me to warm me right up. He glanced at his right hand somewhat regretfully, but he found that he was easily able to conjure your image.

As he slowly teased his hand from the blushing head of his cock down to the base, leaving a slick trail of the lubricant in his hand's wake, he let his imagination run wild with depraved fantasies.

They shook this hand when I first met them, he thought to himself, getting goosebumps from the memory combined with the sensation of stroking his shaft. Then I held their hand and kissed it... He was getting lost in his fantasies.

Unable to help himself, and unashamed since he lived alone on the beach, Elliott indulged himself by muttering some of his obscene fantasies out loud.

"You... you'll take me in your pretty mouth, yeah?" he whispered to his empty cabin, still stroking himself slowly, but now allowing himself to hold his cock a bit more firmly. The mental image of his cock perched on your tongue sent a shiver down his spine and a twitch to his dick.

"Let me show you just how much I love you..." muttered Elliott as he squeezed gently around his tip a couple of times. "I'll give you all of me... all of me..." He sighed out your name, starting to impatiently pick up the pace of his hand working gingerly over his shaft. If he could have managed to stop confessing his love to the thin air and breathing so laboriously, he'd have been able to hear the faint slick sounds of his lubed-up hand rubbing along his cock. He knew he'd imagine it being the sound of your cunt, instead.

An excited shudder ran through him at the thought of you finally stripping for him, and you'd know he was in the room, this time. He'd treat you right, of course. He vaguely wondered if he'd be your first, and that idea caused in involuntary buck of his hips. First and only, he feverishly thought to himself as he fucked up into his fist so hard that his bed was squeaking rhythmically against the floorboards.

He could feel his climax approaching rapidly, and a chant of your name came out with every breath until he pushed himself over the edge with a low whine. His sticky seed shot onto his hand, his stomach, and his thighs, but he was unbothered. As he basked in the pleasant glow of his orgasm, gradually coming down from his high, inspiration struck.

After quickly wiping himself off, he went and sat down at his writing desk, without even taking the time to get dressed. He took the fountain pen in his hand and furiously scribbled out his thoughts.

My love,

My heart, my body, and my whole being ache whenever I have to be apart from you. It's maddening in a distinctly pleasurable way, the way my mind obsesses over you. If this is illness, I don't want to be well. There's never a moment I don't think of you, and I'm positive the Earth would swallow me if I saw you with another. That is why I must cordially ask for your hand in the upcoming Flower Dance. You'll know it's me, my dove, when I ask for this dance at the event with the offering of a single red rose. Until then.

Your faithful admirer

The next morning, when you opened your mailbox to see this letter, you said out loud, "You've got to be fucking kidding me," and dumped the letter into your shipping bin.

Maybe the high-quality paper was at least worth 1 g.

Elliott's heart sank even lower when he saw this. Somehow, this stung worse than having his heartfelt letter ripped to shreds.

Come the morning of the dance, Elliott was a nervous wreck. He spent so much time making sure everything was perfect--his hair, his cologne, his outfit--that he was nearly late to the event. Fortunately, he arrived before you did, prepared with his single red rose and memorized speech.

His heart raced when he saw you make your entrance. You were wearing a simple, tasteful dress, and an innocent daisy in your hair, which complimented your beauty quite well, he thought. He cleared his throat, smoothed his blue jumpsuit, and worked up the nerve to go ask you to dance.

You frowned and groaned as you saw Elliott making a beeline for you. Sighing wearily, you grabbed a tall glass of water.

Elliott paused before you, taking a deep breath. Damn, I can't believe how just the sight of them gets me erect... Well, no choice but to proceed.

He began, "My dove--"

And he was swiftly cut off by feeling a shock of cold splashed over his crotch. Elliott gasped and looked down to see you dribbling the last of your cold glass of water over his front.

"You seemed like you needed to cool the fuck down," was all you said to him.

If his arousal wasn't obvious before, there was certainly no hiding it now. The cold wet patch over his crotch outlined his hard, but quickly wilting cock, leaving nothing to the imagination. In front of the whole town.

Suffice to say, in his opinion, the dance was awful. Not even his friend Leah would dance with him platonically. It was horribly embarrassing.

Suffice to say, in your opinion, the dance went better than expected. Elliott left you the hell alone, was humiliated, and you even got to dance with Shane.

And yet, even after all that, the pathetic son of a bitch still didn't give up.

If anything, he was trying harder than ever. Every single morning brought a new accursed letter. Every single night, Elliott was still insisting on walking you home or giving you his coat, even though it was nearly summer.

By the time the summer luau festival rolled around, you were fed up with his bullshit. You'd formed a plan in mind to get him to fuck off. Best case scenario, he'd leave you alone from then on. Worst case scenario... he'd just be left wanting more what what he couldn't have anymore.

Wearing your most revealing clothes and stoic expression, you confidently strutted your way onto the beach. Of course, Elliott took notice of your presence (and your outfit) immediately, which was to be expected.

What he didn't expect, however, was the way you boldly marched right up to him. He towered over you, but something about the energy of your glare made him almost want to shrink back. Almost.

"My darling, you look--"

"Shut your fucking mouth and take me inside your house."

Elliott was confused, thrilled, apprehensive, and cautiously optimistic. Shaking his head to quickly recover from the barrage of unexpected emotions, he delicately took your hand and led you into his cabin.

"Welcome to my humble--"

"Crusty outhouse," you cut him off again.

He looked at you, feeling an even larger stab of confusion. Inviting yourself further past the threshold, you kicked off your shoes and plopped down right onto his bed, and you started to explain yourself.

"I'm going to fuck you once so you quit bothering me."

A jolt of adrenaline shot out from his heart all the way down his toes. He was almost certain that this must be a dream, or that he'd lost his mind completely.

But as if to confirm the reality of your offer, you took off your shirt and unceremoniously dropped it to the floor. He had to pinch himself.

Lips quivering and unable to take his eyes off of your chest, Elliott simply whispered, "Why...?"

"Are you stupid?" you shot back, and he was taken aback by your harsh words and tone.

He was certainly frozen to his spot on the floor like an idiot. After a few more wasted seconds of staring, Elliott finally found his voice.

"My dear, let me run us a hot bath..." It would be exactly the way he'd imagined, taking his time with you, savoring you, worshipping you...

"Take your fucking clothes off," you coldly demanded.

...Okay, this was not quite like what he'd imagined.

When he stood there stupidly for another moment, you added, "You'd better fucking gratefully accept anything I offer you."

He definitely couldn't argue with that sentiment. He numbly removed his coat and unbuttoned his shirt, irritatingly taking his time about it. You quickly removed the rest of your clothes. Elliott unbuttoned his pants and took them off, still staring at your voluptuous form waiting enticingly on his bed.

"Allow me to show you... how much I love you," he tried.

"Yeah, save it," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand. "Every time you talk, it takes twenty-four hours off my lifespan. You strike me as the type of flouncy maniac who doesn't know any pickup lines that don't start with the words, 'Roses are red.'"

Elliott's cheeks turned a deep red. Humiliation was a nice shade on him, so you continued.

"Every love letter you wrote me activated my gag reflex in their own unique, horrifying way."

He was shocked, offended, flustered, and embarrassed. More than anything, he was surprised that your bullying was going straight to his cock.

With a melodramatic sigh, you lamented, "I can't believe I'm actually doing this... I would really rather assfuck a juggalo in a portapotty than be doing any of this shit with you."

Elliott's hands shook a little bit, and he said, "That's... hardly becoming of a beautiful young lady such as yourself--"

"Don't talk at all for the next twenty minutes, or my foot will be coming up your shitbox," you interrupted him yet again.

Elliott nodded stupidly, keeping his mouth shut. Even though he had his underwear remaining, he still felt more vulnerable than you acted, even with you being fully nude.

You tilted your head, as if in thought, then finally beckoned him. "Maybe your mouth would be good for something after all."

Biting his lip and with bated breath, Elliott followed your invitation and laid down on the bed on his tummy, with his face barely hovering above your cunt. He never imagined that you'd be the one to take charge, but he searched your eyes for a command. The tension in his body was positively electrifying.

"On your back," you commanded him with a stony face.

He didn't have to be told twice. He flipped onto his back, his hair sprawling out in every which way as he watched you with curiosity and excitement. You looked scrutinizingly down at the obvious tent poking through his boxers. You gave it a careless slap back and forth a couple of times, and Elliott was already gasping.

Leering down at him, you shuffled on your knees right up to his face.

"Look at you drooling, you fucking moron," you continued berating him mercilessly, and he was so fucking in love.

He was grateful that you granted him the kindness of gathering up all of his hair before you placed your knees on either side of his face, hovering your glistening cunt right above his mouth. With a dark blush dusting across his cheeks, he stared at the sight of it, looking absolutely ravenous.

"Go ahead," you gave your blessing as you lowered your slick cunt to his lips. "Recite your shitty poetry into my pussy."

Elliott's tongue darted excitedly out and his arms hooked immediately around your thighs. He couldn't help but let out a moan of pleasure as he got a taste of you for the first time, the sensation of your cunt lips on his tongue effortlessly coaxing thick drops of precum out of him to stain his underwear. In a greedy effort to taste everything your juicy cunt could offer, he flattened his tongue against your slit and lapped it up sloppily. He swirled his tongue around your opening, and it got him so excited that his hips were needily bucking up into nothing.

You were giving him frustratingly little reactions to work with, so he focused his efforts on just lightly but consistently ghosting his tongue over your clit. That got a sharp inhale from you, and even just that small response made his ego swell nearly as much as his cock. He pulled your hips down closer to him and doubled his efforts.

"Mm, that's right, Emily fucking Bronte. Tell me what Heathcliff is up to," you cooed out in praise, making him shudder and whimper. Somehow you knew exactly what to say to him to make him throb even more.

As he sloppily made out with your cunt, you let out a shaky breath. He was positive you were trying to hold back your reactions from him out of spite, so he was further encouraged to keep up the same pace and pressure. Yoba, he needed to make you cum for him.

At last, with a gentle tug on his hair, a needy buck of your hips onto his tongue, and a whine that escaped your throat despite yourself, you came on his lips. The noise you let out was such a turn on for him that he had to concentrate his efforts onto not cumming on the spot. Trying to keep quiet, you slowly let go of his luscious locks of red gold hair and toppled off of his face, laying down next to him.

Elliott gazed at you with a mixture of adoration and desperation. You hated to admit it, but he was almost somewhat attractive when he pouted like that.

Out of breath still, you ushered him on top. "Come on, before I change my mind."

He didn't have to be told twice. One moment, he was flinging his underpants to the side of the bed, and the next, he was on top of you, looking down lovingly at you panting beneath him. He paused for a moment just to admire the sight.

"Hurry up, jackass."

Elliott nodded and pushed just his cock head past the threshold of your hole, and it took all of his restraint not to eagerly shove himself all the way in like some brute. His heart melted at the way your cunt fluttered around him, as if excited to take him in.

He gasped as he slowly pushed himself all the way inside, and by the time he bottomed out, he knew he was done for.

"I'm no... not going to last v-very long..." he panted.

"Not my fucking problem," you grunted back.

And he was right. The way he glided in and out of you so easily while your cunt also squeezed him so nicely was his undoing. He only got a few decent strokes in before he was spilling his load into you with a pathetic, fucked-out whimper.

You growled a bit and graciously allowed him to stay inside for a few more moments as he slowly came down from his high. Then he was forced to face reality again as you all but shoved him off, quickly getting dressed again with that scowl he'd grown so fond of.

Still slightly out of breath, he gazed at you longingly. "Will we do this again...?"

"Not a chance," you spat, and walked back out to the luau, leaving his head spinning.

[nonbinarychaoticstupid]

hai,,, what r ur sulemio headcanons

OHH I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED!!!

they are autism4autism this is Very important to understand. suletta stims by swinging herself around miorine stims by being swung around and the distinction is small but IMPORTANT. this also because literally every time i try to write suletta being happy i always imagine her straight up wiggling around with it and i Fully imagine that when they're lying around some nights and cuddling she will just swing miorine around with her while she joyously rolls entirely from one side of the bed to the other on her back giggling and kicking her feet etc etc. miorine is like This is perfect for me I am winning

this also relates to this one tweet that changed me as a person lmao i am of the very firm belief that miorine needs to sometimes be Crushed into a Hug. compressed into a file even. flattened like in a tom and jerry cartoon. and suletta needs to be Holding something all the time. autistic girls who stim by hugging (they are in love). you understand. miorine discovers weighted blankets and her life is changed.

adding onto this they need to be touching All the Time they cannot go anywhere without grabbing onto each other. miorine consistently is like no you dont understand i have to be holding onto her every second of every day or i'll die and for suletta this is just normal behaviour that everyone expects

personally i do Not see miorine as butch (i see the vision though.... i see the vision) but i feel like she would get to earth and start looking into earth history and discover butches and her mind would be BLOWN

EVEN MORE AUTISM!!! miorine has sensory issues regarding clothes and is very specific about the work outfits she wears because otherwise she will have the literal worst day in the world and come home and just Not talk for a 24 hours straight. suletta of course is like. why do you own this blazer anyway it's Evil

they are always talking to each other all the time every moment of every day when they are separated for work reasons LMAO i keep seeing art thats like. work mio vs talking to suletta mio and i think that idea is SO funny. she goes from being your very serious boss to 'affgdhfjdsfggfsgjfgsdh hiii ♥♥♥♥♥♥' the MOMENT her wife is on call and she is So insufferable about it. suletta is equally annoying she will literally get a call and be like 'excuse me MY WIFE is ringing :)' and be on the phone for the next hour telling miorine about her day in excruciating detail (they are going to call again when miorine's meetings end in less than 2 hours). earth house is very divided on whether it's absurdly cute or not (chuchu vs Everyone Else)

miorine and elnora very specifically only get along for the purpose of making suletta happy LMAO they don't hate each other but they are absolutely not at any level of friendship and will likely not be for a very very long time. elnora does help with her work stuff a lot because she's used to the insane machinations of loser capitalists though

speaking of relationships with elnora i think it takes suletta a long time to work through the whole repli-child stuff and it's very important to her that she starts on that separately to spending more time with elnora. she tells miorine about the whole thing (she's been trying to work up the courage for months) and miorine is immediately like. do you want me to punch her for you. i will punch your mother for you. this is great for suletta because she fully thought miorine was going to break off the engagement and everything (there is no basis for this) + she continues to have a lot of identity issues about it as regular life progresses because it turns out that pretending that everything is fine does not in fact make it fine!!

i choose to believe that there is enough space in the cockpit of chuchus mobile suit for them to squish in behind her seat when miorine comes and finds her after quiet zero. suletta is barely conscious but miorine (who is terrified she will just die there and then) keeps talking to her (mostly sobbing hysterically and telling her off for making her think she was dead) and its at this point that suletta asks her if she loves her. (chuchu is very pointedly pretending not to notice and doing her best to tune them out)

miorine, still sobbing hysterically: oh my g-d. are you insane. of course im in love with you. what do you think all of this was about suletta: oh sweet! :3

i have written this scene out and will post it one day i think it's the catradora in me thats like. they HAVE to have a love confession and kiss NOW. i just think itd be so neat if it paralleled their first meeting even more.... miorine helps suletta take off her helmet and kisses her.... do you see my vision

suletta plays the guitar and miorine sings. you agree. reblog.

genuinely though i think suletta would pick up guitar to help with her hands and miorine, who is also getting back into playing piano around this time, gets into the habit of singing along while she's doing things around the house

suletta calls her wheelchair aerial 2.0 and nuno and ojelo help her paint it in aerial's colours. when she moves to crutches they get the holder colours

technically they still have a year of school to go but for most of it suletta isn't able to go to lessons + focusing mainly on her physical therapy and miorine is too busy dealing with the benerit group's funds that for all intents and purposes they're no longer enrolled. miorine's rooms aren't wheelchair-accessible and so they stay in earth house instead until they turn 18 and can legally buy a home on earth. all of earth house subsequently has to third wheel

they don't get married for a little while. mostly because suletta is in recovery but miorine also needs to work up the courage to actually ask. (eri bullies her into taking her with her when she goes ring shopping) eventually she gets around to it after suletta's health starts improving and when she pulls out the ring box suletta is like Oh! and reveals that she literally cut up and made paper rings one day for this specific purpose

their wedding is on earth, to sort of start the official move. miorine pulls some strings to get nika to at least be able to See whats going on + they have the ceremony in a big field not far from their new house. suletta's chair (aerial 2.0) is decorated with So many flowers as per the instructions of the kids in the neighbouring town (who love her + want to be her first students) and miorine absolutely did not get away without getting Flowered too. they both are crying the whole day and neither of them are subtle about it

miorine's hair gets shorter and suletta's gets longer. miorine just wakes up one day and is like I HAVE TO GET RID OF IT

mio fell basically immediately but i think that its only when suletta is in space with el4n that she realises + it clicks for suletta when miorine literally starts a company for her lmao

[spaceratprodigy]

7, 21, and 30 for faith and max 💕🚀

@freesidexjunkie — [ OTP Prompts ]

always always alwayssssss down to gush about my favorite goofballs 💖💕

–

7. Who's clumsier?

That's such a good question to think about because I see them both being quite the opposite in most cases! Both have a tendency to be rather clever and calculated in what they do and how they do it. I can go into how they both are a bit hot-headed at times and struggle with their own separate violent pasts, but that's staying too far from the path methinks.

As much as he wouldn't want to admit it, I'm gonna say it's probably Max. Moreso when they're traveling, he has plenty of little banter that has to do with him tripping over things and what not.

The sloppiest Faith gets is when her Death Wish Arc is playing out. She's not in a great headspace either when Fallbrook Arc goes down, but her own behavior is different there, she isn't itching for someone to put her down anymore. Otherwise, her making questionable decisions and facing the consequences of them are too intentional for me to consider her clumsy, can't deny how much that woman has a head on her shoulders. She's a dork ass mf, let's be honest.

–

21. Any routines one has that the other had to get used to (ex. morning, nighttime, sleeping habits)?

I won't go too in detail over all the Insomnia Nights thoughts rn because this post will get insufferably long if I do. But before they're even Together™️ Max is very aware of Faith's sleep issues (and vice versa in my own headcanons). Her insomnia gets worse while being in Halcyon and when she can't sleep she'll start wandering the ship, Max eventually staying up with her on these nights.

After they do start sharing a bed Post-Scylla I'm sure he had to get used to how restless she is, even if things do improve once they're together. She'll toss and turn a lot from pain, discomfort, in general struggling to get her brain to work with her. And it doesn't matter how much or little sleep she gets, she's awake early at the same time every single day, her internal clock cannot be fought. She can be Very Weird about being touched, but once they're close he's gonna learn how much she enjoys holding and being held in her sleep.

I feel like as much time as they've spent together on the ship, they're pretty aware as it is of each other's routines and lil quirks, the only difference being they might start intertwining instead of taking turns. There are already so many little intimate things I imagine they start doing together or for each other. They were living together on the ship for law knows how long, and they were already quite close, I don't doubt they're able to find a rhythm that works.

–

30. Pet names? Yes or no?

They don't really have pet names for each other. For them, it's more intimate to say first names.

When meeting Max, he says something along the lines of "I'm Maximillian DeSoto, or Vicar Max if you prefer brevity." And so much of their early time together, Faith refers to him mostly as Max or Vicar. But as they get closer, she starts calling him Maximillian more and more frequently. Wanting his name to linger on her lips for as long as possible, whether she realizes it or not, she certainly isn't ready to acknowledge that train of thought.

I can't stress enough, that Max is the only person on the crew to ever refer to Faith by her name. Everyone else calls her Cap, Captain, or Boss. Most likely, it didn't happen until Death Wish Arc was wrapping up and it comes out in the heat of the moment, and Faith realizes just how serious the ordeal has been on him. Afterwards, he doesn't stop calling her Faith. And she doesn't want him to stop saying her name, she likes the way it sounds when he says it. This begins the start of when the lines are gonna start blurring over whether he's worshipping his faith or his Faith.

There are very few exceptions to those who call Faith by her name. The first being Phineas. But to be fair, he knew her as just Faith before shit hit the fan and she became Captain Faith Hawthorne. The second is Hiram. That situation is much more vulnerable and intimate. The third I would consider to be Spencer, but that's too much to get into right now and deviates way too far from the original question.

(This is not including friend AUs! Jasper, Rhea, Will, Fox, Landon, Toby.. y'all get free passes to call her by her name lmao).

[lostinforestbound]

WIP Tag Game

Oh my goodness, I've never been part of a WIP tag game before! How exciting!!! Thank you so much @dutifullylazybread for tagging me!

As part of this game I will tag @underdark-dreams, @graysparrowao3, and @el-tur-el! Absolutely no pressure!

This is a WIP of my fic Third Time's The Charm, the first chapter. I aiming for three chapters thanks to the title; this is Rolan with a M!Tiefling!Tav, who's implied to either be a fighter or barbarian type. I have the Tiefling body 4 type in mind when writing him! I plan to write this with Rolan's POV.

Just a disclaimer, it has not been edited quite yet so it may look a little rough, and may be rewritten later!

Later in the night, he just drank wine while Cal and Lia chat with the other Tieflings partying. The wine wasn’t good, nothing compares to Arabellan Dry, but what else was there to drink? Cal seems to be looking for someone in particular but isn't finding them. He looks disappointed.

As he wonders about Cal, he didn’t even notice the brute approaching him until his giant form sat next to him with his own alcohol, the bark of the fallen tree groaning from the extra weight. He covers up how it startled him quickly, tilting his head up towards the brute with a bored expression.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I’m here to drink.” He says nonchalantly, sipping on the bottle. “Impressive display of magic earlier.”

His nose scrunches up, yellow eyes settling on his flaming ones with a glare. “Was that sarcasm?”

“No. Are you self-taught?”

Why is he even asking?

“I am! And a man with many talents, is going straight to Baldur’s Gate to learn from the best: The Great Lorroakan.”

He sees the imposing Tiefling roll his eyes, putting his bottle down briefly to stare out at the water surrounding the camp.

Wait wait, why did he roll his eyes?

“What?” He demands, posture straightening as he grows defensive.

“Nothing. Just heard he’s a cad is all.” He mutters, deciding to pick the bottle back up and taking a long swig.

“Common gossip and rumors! He’s the greatest wizard in all of Baldur’s Gate. I’ve never imagined he would answer my letters.” He states with a happy sigh, idly swirling the liquid in his bottle. “I will become his apprentice as soon as I arrive. I cannot be late.”

The Tiefling stares at him for a moment, seeming to be searching his face. For what, Rolan had no idea. A lie?

“All right then. Good luck to you.” Tav eventually settles on.

“…That’s it??”

“If you’re looking for someone to argue with, find someone else.”

“You-“

“You talk too much.”

He settles a death glare on Tav's form. “Prick.”

Tav slowly looks at him with his own glare, determined to play his game. “Entitled fuck.”

“Dumb oaf.”

“Prickly bastard.”

They both stare each other down, faces too close but neither of them breaking their stare. He feels Tav's hot breath ghosting over his lips, and the tension could be cut with a knife.

“You’re insufferable.” Tav huffs, suddenly gripping Rolan’s jaw and kissing him firmly.

He moans in surprise at the force but isn’t against it. In fact, his face gets incredibly red and still before he remembers he can kiss back.

It’s not like this is his first kiss. He’s given and received kisses before, he’s not some kind of reserved prude. But this is first one that’s so heavy. Hot. He’s completely out of practice.

Something about being desirable to Tav makes him throb in his pants, though it also may be the way Tav's tongue is tracing his bottom lip, seeking entry.

[aniron48]

Love Letters - Day 2

Welcome to Day 2 of Love Letters, a 00q Choose Your Own Adventure! If you missed the first day and would like to catch up, you can read Day 1 here. As a reminder, there will be a post around this time (9pmish EST) every night through 2/14.

From this point on, the consequences of how you choose will be more pronounced--some options may pop up again down the road, but some will be foreclosed for the rest of the story! Choose wisely, and thank you so much for joining in! 😁 Day 2 begins below.

After a moment, he typed, “The one with Mr. Darcy and the governess and the wife in the attic?”

The truth was that while he’d never seen the film, he’d read the book, after finding an abandoned copy in the seat pocket on a flight to Tokyo. It might not have been his usual choice of reading material, but once he’d read the summary on the back and seen that the hero was a navy man, he gave it a go, and ended up finishing it in one sitting.

Not that Q needed to know that, of course.

Q responded with a series of keyboard smashes, an incomprehensible set of gifs, and, finally, “I’m sorry, but I cannot have a boyfriend that confuses Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice, and Jane Eyre.”

This was, admittedly, an even better reaction than Bond had hoped to provoke. They had yet to define their relationship, and Bond had assumed it was better to let it slip quietly into monogamous very-nearly-cohabitation without comment, rather than raise it and risk scaring Q away. But now that Q had opened the door….

“Boyfriend, eh?”

“It was autocorrect. Obviously I was trying to type ‘bastard,’ but my fingers slipped.”

“Naturally. Still, would my boyfriend like to propose a time to watch the film?”

“You’re insufferable,” Q sent back. Followed by, “And we’re watching it on Saturday.”

*💕*💕*💕**💕*💕*💕*

Q sighed, turning down the volume as the end credits for Persuasion played on the screen. “Nothing will ever hold a candle to Wentworth’s letter, for me. It’s the pinnacle of romance. ‘You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.’ Imagine getting a letter like that. It would do me in.”

“You must have gotten a slew of them over the years, surely,” Bond said, resting his head on Q’s stomach.

“A slew of what?” Q asked, carding his fingers through Bond’s hair.

“Love letters.”

Q’s hands stilled. “You’re joking.”

“Why would I be joking?”

Q sat up, peering down at James. “Have you met me?”

James rolled over, bemused. “I have. Which is in no small part why I assume you’ve received a lot of love letters.”

“Flatterer,” Q looked away, flustered, and tried to cover it up by hitting Bond with a pillow. “Look, it’s just—it’s not a self-esteem issue, or anything. I’m exceedingly good at any number of things. But I also know that I’m—a bit cerebral, I suppose, and I work too many hours, and I’m very particular about some things—“

“You don’t say.”

“—and I don’t think I really tend to inspire that sort of passion in people.”

Bond opened his mouth to protest, but Q clamped a hand over it. “Let’s not, please. I’m just woolgathering. I’d much rather talk about how it’s a national tragedy that men don’t wear silk stockings like that anymore.”

“You’d have to have the calves for it,” Bond mused.

“Ciarán Hinds does, certainly.”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Well, let’s put it this way, I’d let him—“

“You’d let him what? Put the wind in your sails? Climb your rigging?” Bond rolled on top of Q, tickling his ribs. “What does he have that I haven’t got?”

“I think the question is, what do you have that he doesn’t?” Q said breathlessly. “Maybe you should remind me.”

“With pleasure,” Bond said. But as he leaned down for a kiss, an idea began to take shape. He’d let Q change the subject, before. He’d learned that it paid to let their harder conversations breathe a bit, to give Q space to sort things out in his wickedly clever, eminently generous mind. But Q deserved the world, and Bond would give him whatever pieces of it were within his power. And he could give him this, at least. He could give him a love letter.

Although it was possible he might need a bit of help.

You chose chaos the last time, mis amores! But your votes unlocked the 'boyfriend' text exchange that opens this part, so it appears I've rewarded your behavior. 😂

What will you do this time? I can't wait to see!

[impossiblescissorspeachpaper]

Come back Nesta, please

This is perhaps the silliest thing I’ve ever written. Honestly it’s ridiculous. But considering Nike has her own Cassian at home I’m sure she can relate to these antics. Maybe :)

Happy birthday @nikethestatue! It’s been so lovely getting to know you this year and honestly I cannot imagine a day going past without chatting with you. Not only are you strong and intelligent, but you are so generous and truly care about your friends. So, here’s a little drabble of ridiculousness just for you. Don’t ever leave your Cassian 🤭 lots of love to you today, and always 💕

Bat boys + background Nessian. 1.3k words. Fluff/idiocy.

The final bars of a moody Mariah Carey song blasted through the tiny apartment Azriel shared with his brothers. It was tough being a fresh university graduate and they all told themselves the living situation was temporary, but really, it was second nature.  Azriel, Cassian and Rhys had all been living together since Rhys’ mother had fostered the other two boys when they were eleven and even shared a dorm during their college years.

It felt like home for Azriel, and he really didn’t mind it. That is, until last night. When Cassian had decided to incessantly play that fucking song on repeat. That whiny, depressing, shrill song. We Belong Together. Over and over and over.

Sure, Mariah could croon with the best of them, but his last nerve was fraying. Her voice was blasting though the speakers and echoing down the hall from Cassian’s room where he’d been holed up for about fourteen hours now and Azriel had developed a tick in his jaw.

Rhys, even more infuriatingly, seemed unperturbed.

Azriel tried to concentrate on the words he was typing on the resume he was updating to send to prospective jobs he intended to apply to. His jaw clenched as he deleted the last line he’d messed up, backspacing aggressively.

As the final notes of the tune faded off, he breathed a sigh of relief… before he heard that insufferable song start up. Again.

Slamming his laptop closed, Azriel only saw red as he muttered darkly, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Rhys’ head snapped up from his phone at the violent declaration, lazily sprawled in a brown leather armchair, one leg hitched up on the armrest. He sat up at attention when he spied the livid look on Azriel’s face.

“Wait. Az. Stop—”

Abruptly standing from the couch, Azriel shoved his laptop aside as he trudged down the hall, his footfalls stomping loudly, ensuring Cassian would be well aware of the onslaught that was heading his way.

Azriel didn’t even turn around as he growled back, “It’s been long enough! And if I have to hear that gods damned song one more fucking time—”

“He’s just upset, leave him be. You know what Cass is like,” Rhys reasoned, trailing after Az as he barrelled down the hall.

Azriel had reached Cassian’s room and, not bothering to knock, he burst through the door with such force Rhys was surprised it hadn’t been ripped clean off the hinges.

…I should have held on tight, I never should have let you go I didn’t know nothing I was stupid I was foolish, I was lying to myself…

The song pounded through the small space, like a wave engulfing them as Azriel opened the door. The melody ricocheted off the walls of the tiny bedroom, the curtains drawn tightly closed, Cassian seemingly intent on giving the room a cave like quality in his melancholy.

Peering around Azriel’s shoulder, Rhys spied the most pathetic sight he’d possibly ever seen: lying feebly in his bed like an 18th century maiden who had taken ill and required to either be shipped off to a distant aunts’ home by the sea or await her demise on her deathbed, was Cassian.

If Azriel hadn’t been so irritated, he would have laughed, then perhaps felt a little bad for the guy. But as it were, he was just annoyed.

“Cass!” Azriel shouted over the loud music. “Turn that shit down, or turn that shit off, but either way I do NOT want to hear it again!”

Cassian turned his hazel eyes onto his brothers, now both standing in the doorway; Azriel’s face twisted in a look of disgruntled rage, while Rhys’ mouth seemed to be wobbling, either trying not to burst out laughing or truly feeling sorry for his friend.

From his bed, he curled into a foetal position on top of his duvet, clutching his pillow with the most wretched, forlorn looking expression on his face. After a beat of silence between the brothers, Cassian just dramatically started singing along to the words, intent to ignore Azriel’s requests to turn it off.

“When you left I lost a part of me, it’s still so hard to believe, come back baby please, ‘cause we belong together.”

Azriel just exhaled through flared nostrils. “For fucks sake, Cass—”

“Who else am I gonna lean on when times get tough…”

Rhys, this time interjected. “She didn’t even—”

Cassian only got louder, singing over his brothers’ fruitless reasoning. “WHO’S GOING TO TALK TO ME ON THE PHONE ‘TIL THE SUN COMES UP?”

“Cass. She’s only—”

“WHO’S GON’ TAKE YOUR PLACE THERE AIN’T NOBODY BETTER OH BABY, BABY, WE BELONG TOGETHERRR!”

Azriel and Rhys could only stand there dumbfounded, each with various shades of disbelief and incredulity splashed across their faces.

Rhys leaned towards Azriel, his eyes flaring in alarm and flicking towards Cassian before landing back on Az. “You’d think after draining the life out of that song repeatedly for the last 14 hours he’d know the words,” Rhys muttered from the corner of his mouth, a smirk fighting its way across his lips.

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing deeply, trying to fight the urge to straddle Cassian where he lay and suffocate him with his own pillow. Instead, he just stomped to Cassian’s desk and turned down the volume, Mariah reduced to background noise as his brain finally cleared of its rage induced fog.

“Cassian, get a fucking grip, man!”

“You don’t understand!” Cassian started heatedly, sitting up on his bed, his hair ruffled and matted behind him.

“It’s really not that bad, Cass,” Rhys placated, leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed against his chest.

Cassian scoffed. “Easy for you to say. Feyre didn’t just up and leave you!”

“Oh my god,” Rhys sighed. “Nesta did not just up and leave you!”

“She did! She’s gone, she’s not here!”

“She is on student exchange for two weeks. TWO GOD DAMN WEEKS! You’re acting like she ran off with her yoga instructor,” Azriel exasperated, arms flailing around him as he tried to make his brother see reason and stop the insanity.

Cassian narrowed his eyes, before hurling his pillow at Azriel’s face.

“At least I express how I feel. Pined after Elain much, lately?”

Azriel caught the pillow and promptly launched it back at him.

“I don’t pine! And she has a boyfriend.”

“She dumped him months ago!”

Rhys interjected, sensing one of their infamous brawls brewing, and he didn’t feel like replacing a lamp or cleaning up pieces of broken desk tonight. “Cass, why don’t you just call Nesta? She wouldn’t be starting classes straight away.”

Cassian averted his gaze, a look of sheepishness fleeting across his rough-hewn face. “I tried. I don’t think she’s landed in Japan yet.”

Azriel snorted and Cassian cast narrowed hazel eyes in his direction, as if daring him to say something. Rhys swallowed his lips, smothering his own desire to make fun of his friend as he grabbed Azriel by the shoulder and led him out.

“Well, come out when you get hungry. We ordered pizza…”

Cassian just grunted in response as Rhys closed the door behind them.

They hadn’t reached halfway back down the hall when the music started blaring through the corridor again, Mariah serenading them all once more, to Azriel’s dismay.

“Nesta better not extend her exchange program. I’ll be throwing a sack over his head and abandoning him in a forest otherwise,” Azriel muttered.

Rhys just chuckled, clapping his brother on the shoulder before responding, “It would be no use anyway, he’d eventually find his way back home. He’s incredibly needy.”

*******

tagging: @offtorivendell @fawnandshadows @swankii-art-teacher @pagemasters @the-laughing-bubble @sakurakittypeach @tswaney17 @wingedblooms @thefangirlofhp @alwayssara @ultadverb

[thesilverlady]

I really loved your headcanons about helaena so may I ask of you headcanons about Aegon ii if you don't mind ofc!!! You know his upbringing, his relationships with siblings+dragon..etc anything that comes in your mind!

agh, I'm so sorry for the late reply anon 🙏 I thought I had published my response but it was camping in the drafts all along 💀 I'm so happy to hear you liked my headcanons. I'm always so nervous with sharing them 'cause I never know how ppl will react. so really, thank you for being so nice.

Aegon II Targaryen headcanons (I tried to keep them a bit generic similar to how I did with Helaena)

1) Aegon was a very lively, active child. Adventurous, curious, stubborn and loud, he loved being the center of attention as his mother showed him off and bragged about her firstborn living son.

2) After Helaena was born Rhaenyra quit any attempts at bonding with him. Not even their father's gentle encouragement could keep her long. So Aegon figured annoying her and picking up fights with her were the best way to notice him.

3) Aemond is definitely his favorite sibling. Their shared temper and ache for recognition and attention serves quite the bonding experience. They got along much smoother when they were younger however, because back then he was the main male figure Aemond had to look up to and his brother always followed him around without trouble. Aegon used to pretend it annoyed him but now that it no longer happens, he can admit to himself he misses it quite a lot.

4) Sunfyre is his pride and joy and he never misses an oppurtunity to praise and show her off. Oftentimes he enjoys talking privately to his dragon, speaking up everything that's going on in his mind.

5) He absolutely loathes his uncle Daemon, and it's possibly the only thing he shares common with his grandfather. Aegon doesn't consider him a threat but he thinks it's ridiculous how everyone always bends over for him. He may have had a reputation once upon a time, but his uncle is now old and completely cunt struck with Rhaneyra. It's embarrassing he doesn't even bother to hide it.

6) Like Aemond, he also dispises the green colored clothing his mother's nags them to wear. His younger brother claims it's ridiculous that his bratty nephews can dress as targaryens while they (Aegon & Aemond) who are the sons of the king, cannot. His mother and grandfather claim its important to honor their hightower side but neither gives a fuck. Aemond is more vocal about this issue but Aegon always agrees and backs him up. needlepoint

7) When he was a child he tried to mimic Sunfyre's roar because he thought it'd be more effective way of communication than learning the Valyrian language

8) His first time with a woman was actually with a lady who served his mother. She wanted to gain power and influence with having a young boy prince favoring her but she was in for a rude awakening. Aegon never cared for promises or honor. And he found he quite enjoyed this side of power he could have over lesser people.

9) He used to wish for Aemond to find a dragon to claim soon so he could have someone to race with up in the skies. Helaena never flew and Daeron was too young, but when eventually Aemond claimed Vhagar he became quite insufferable about it. Still, their races was something he was fond of

10) Among the whores he visits, his favourite one happens to be one that bears a strong resemblance to his older half sister. It's hard not to imagine what ifs- scenarios every now and then. Aegon knows how much his mother and grandfather tried to push for a betrothal between him and Rhaneyra. And as relieved as he now feels for not having to deal with Rhaneyra's bold, bitch attitude, he still finds it quite offensive and telling that his father picked a velaryon to give his sister to instead of him.

11) Few nights before he married Helaena, Aegon sneaked a whore into his chambers and ordered her to show him how he could be gentle for the first wedding night

12) During Helaena's first pregnancy, her fingers and legs begin to swell. And after some careful nagging Aegon was convinced to try to complete her needlepoint for her. Surprisingly he's very good at it

13) Before his son's death, the war was about winning everything he should have had. While he never longed for the throne, he had to live his entire life with being a firstborn son of a king and being passed over for his elder half sister. In his eyes the war was about protecting his family from his uncle who would surely kill them and to give himself and his brothers everything they were owned. After his son's death, it's about revenge. He doesn't waste time to find someone to blame, and he won't fall into the madness his wife has. Anger & hate are easier to embrace than grief & guilt.

14) After Blood is tortured to death and announcing to Helaena he ordered every ratcatcher in the city to be hanged, the two sleep on sperate chambers and it's the last time he sees his sister.

15) Prior to everything, he had never felt any ties to his youngest brother, Daeron. The boy didn't grow up with him and Aegon never got to know him. It is only for his wife's memory - who used to talk about Daeron and yearn for his return - that now Aegon orders better guards to fight alongside him.

16) Rook's Rest is the turning point when he's left with his half body burnt and his body so broken to the point it'd remain bent and twisted for the rest of his life. For the moons he remains in bed and the rare hours he happens to be awake, bitterness and hopelessness find their way to his head and he's never been more envious of his brother Aemond who glows and stands strong like he's the personification of the Valyrian God of death himself.

17) Post the fall of Dragonstone, when Aegon had shuttered both of his legs, the reason he'd go on refusing the milk of the poppy until the day he died isn't only due to his experience with it from his recovery from Rook's Rest, but also because he had noticed how mistrustful the maesters were when they were treating his father. And his recovery from Rook's Rest showed they'd treat him the exact same way. That ignites lots of paranoia from his part

[possumteeths]

So like when I was in junior year i was on this school trip for a competition that the entire team had to thank me for even qualifying us. Anyways the teacher who for some reason had personal beef with me and just went out of his way to bully me, he told everyone ok ur not allowed to eat at anywhere that we have on the island.

Me, with dietary restrictions for literal health reasons of which he knew about assumed that like as long as I tried my best i’d be fine.

Proceed to read the dumbest injustice that ever happened to me in highschool. Its so insane its funny I promise.

So like day one after the first day of the competition we’re released into a food court and told that we cannot go anywhere else in the mall. Only the food court. So legitimately the only possible thing I could eat there was tacobell. And anyways the teacher lets me purchase the food, lets me get to the table, waits for everyone else to come back and then he stands up to proceed to SCREAM at me. Like full mad saying I am disrespecting him by disrespecting his rules and that is dangerous because that means I’ll break all other rules.

He threatened to send me home….? Like hello?? Imagine pissing urself over tacobell. So like I legit hid my sad ass burrito in my bag because i was worried he was gonna make me toss it.

Later that night in the hotel the other girls and I conspired to order pizza and pick it up in the lobby. We ordered pizza and were like so far getting away with our crime. But!!! Later like at midnight the teacher fucking opens our room unannounced with no warning like wtf what if someone was idk naked or something but anyways he sees the pizza box and he makes a big show of crumpling it with his shoes and fucking gets in my face while im literally in bed to tell me im on thin ice and i was all mad so i took the full blame and said yeah i ate that entire pizza wtf are u gonna do? make me go throw it up?

So END of the competition (i was the ONLY person to take home 3 awards, one other kid got an honorable mention but I in single challenges got fuckin 3, the team itself as a group got nothing.) we were gonna go to like a six flags rip off. I already knew there was pretty much gonna be nothing i could eat there so I packed like a buncha granola bars in my bag. The park had pretty clear on their website that any food of any kind is allowed in. This was also reinforced by one of the other children watchers who told us all that food is ok.

So at the fucking place in the van, mr asshole turns and stares me dead in the eyes for like 30 whole seconds and says all fuckin dangerously. “Dump ur bag” and im like wtf? and hes like “Empty your bag RIGHT NOW.”

So i literally dump it upside down and shake it, and he like picks up a granola bar and is like are you TRYING to be insufferable??? do you WANT to get us kicked out of the park? (The other lady isnt in this van) And like other kids are defending me saying that the other teacher said its ok or saying like she probably cant eat anything in the park. Mr asshole, takes like a handful of the contents of my purse and stomps to a garbage can and throws literally everything away. I had to go and like pick out lip balm and a necklace I had in there.

And guess fucking what. Other kids had food in their bags. The park checks your bag and any food that other people had was NOT thrown away or even mentioned. Mr asshole said NOTHING to me like no sorry no nothing.

So! Guess what! There WAS nothing I could eat!!! At the place!!! Like I guess chips and frenchfries but like I legit dont eat that..? Nor did I wanna spend like $16 for frenchfries. I hadnt eaten breakfast because we went back to the same food court, I hadnt had dinner last night because the team went out and I was to stay in the hotel as a punishment. I got EXTREMELY light headed, and had to go to the places like idk medical area. Mr asshole had to come with me.

He immediately was telling the person giving me water and an icepack and shit that i’m stubborn and difficult and this is all my fault. The person asks me like whens the last time ive eaten, and I say like yesterday morning and the person offers me a voucher for park food and!!! !!! and!!!!! A fucking granola bar!!!!! Like I wouldve had if this fuckin dickhole hadnt thrown mine away!!!

For the rest of the day I wasnt allowed to ride any rides I just had to sit and wait for everyone. I literally have never gotten over being mad about this. I hope this man dies. I hope he gets literally flattened by a big truck like in a cartoon.

Even worse, he took my awards from me and put it under his desk in the team’s like workroom and said I didnt deserve them because of my poor attitude and everything I pulled during the trip. I had to convince another teacher to go get them for me! And even then he like took the ribbons off my awards and who knows what he did with em.

[clatoera]

Hi! I just saw your reply from the anon asking about your thg story! I'm not usually one to send asks or even post on tumblr (never was tbh), but this just hit so close I felt the need to say, me too! That's why I followed you initially, I just gasped at your bio and thought "there's more people like me on here!" and pressed follow!

I too was that insufferable 14 year old. I could not get away with wearing any form of braided hairstyle without being teased that I was trying to be Katniss (I probably was half the time haha). My friends, family, school teachers, everyone knew I was obsessed with the Hunger Games.

It fizzled out gradually for me too. I think it was just the natural progression with the films coming to an end etc etc. It never left though, obviously.

I re read the books before reading the prequel. I'm so with you on these books being a whole different experience now that we're closer to Finnick's age than Katniss and Peeta's. 16 seemed so so old to me, so imagine what i thought of characters like Finnick and Johanna. I can't even comprehend having gone through something like they did at my age now, let alone at 16.

I think back then, the main draw for me was definitely Katniss and Peeta's relationship. It still is one of my favourite things about the books, but after rereading them and the prequel, I agree that there is so much we missed, just by simply being too young to fully comprehend it. I find that I now have a larger interest in the political scope of everything and just the world in general (like...how tf did they rebuild the whole country after mockingay? need to discuss!!)

anyway, sorry for the long "ask". i'm so excited to see another tumblr returner on here! i've been coming back every so often to get content for other things i love, and have only recently taken the plunge and become a little more active.

I suppose there is a sense of shame a lot of us were made to feel about liking the things we like and coming on the internet to form passionate communities around it. I feel the same, it very much is a service to my teen self to come on here and find joy in rediscovering the things I love as well as using this site to explore my new interests. A reclamation, I suppose. I'm a bit more confident now. Back then, I would never, ever have sent asks or made my own posts. I think my 14 year old self is very happy for me, for this little

hope you're having a good day/night, whatever time, where ever you are in the world! :)

Hi hello! I read this as soon as it came in this morning, and wanted to respond, but wanted to be sure to give it the enthusiastic and lengthy response it deserved, that my brain could not formulate at 4 am when I read it.

I am so glad others feel the same. I remember in the early days, I was on Tumblr ( my main blog has existed since 2012 lol), but not active in fandom spaces. I was a fanfic writer. And on Facebook I was REALLY active in fandom and was literally participating in like..Hunger Games RP in Facebook comments. Wild. I was so into it.

Whats really settled with me, as a 25 year old woman, is like..the way mentors had to feel. My baby brother is 17 years old. He is a baby to me. He is just a child to me. I cannot imagine being Johanna or Finnick or Annie, mentoring at my age (or younger, actually), to kids my brothers age. Teenagers feel like Kids and I feel such an immense sisterly, guiding, mentor-ly role to them. Even college kids, I've been a mentor for pre-medicine students in my sorority for years, and those 18 year olds vs me, at 25? massive difference. I cannot imagine watching someone my little brother's age fight to the death. I cannot imagine someone my baby cousin's age, who is 12, fighting someone my brother's age. I cannot imagine watching someone my brother's age lead a war, lead a rebellion, and go through the things Katniss does. I can only imagine the horrors the past Victors learned to feel, and the emotions attached to their tributes every year.

more things that I am horrified by?

Katniss and Peeta. 16 years old. About to be MARRIED in the Capitol.

Gale, 18, working in the mines.

Again, Katniss and Peeta, with the (albeit fake) baby. 17 with a child? I remember being 16 years old, my best friend in the world had a baby. I was there. I remember watching her become a mother far too young, and I have watched ever since the way she has struggled and what it did to her mental health. Two 16/17 year old kids, having a baby, is a horror that should be addressed beyond what I at 16 thought it was. I was so team yes let there be a baby! as a child. But now? Now I see the horror of that. I Have delivered the babies of girls that age. I have held their hands as they are alone in the world. I'm going into a field specifically to help girls and women, in this position especially.

I think to that letter Plutarch wrote Katniss, where he literally says he would put her all through it again for the same outcome.

The youth of these tributes is haunting. If there were capitol doctors around they would be pediatricians. Let that sink in. The things these Victors would need is a pediatrician (also a psychiatrist and a surgeon probably).

Please message me (anyone can actually to talk about this) to talk about these things. The hidden horrors that are missed at 15, that stare you in the face as you reexamine as an adult. I'd love to talk about it in depth. I'd love to talk about how it has shaped me.

But seriously HMU because I want to talk about that most mockingjay rebuilding :)

[saetoru]

Imagine how funny it’s be if it was the “break up with my son” trope with rich boy gojo but instead of break up it’s his mother begging you to stay with him forever because he gets insufferably sad/annoying when you’re not around

[ FINALS WEEK ] GOJO SATORU.

“satoru.”

“please don’t leave me,” his voice is croaked, frail, broken. you roll your eyes—gojo has always had a knack for being the most dramatic person in the room, but you think of all his moments, this one might just take the cake.

“this is ridiculous—”

“please,” he even pretends to sniffle, and for a moment, you almost consider actually leaving him. “i’m nothing without you. empty with no meaning—”

“satoru, it’s just for this week,” you say flatly.

gojo has always been spoiled, and truth be told, you don’t hold yourself to the standards you’d like to be able to say you do in order to break the cycle. but really, it’s not your fault—his pout is rather dangerous, and he’s pretty damn good at whining, and he knows how to bat his lashes just right to get what he wants. this time, however, you’re determined. this time is strictly a no-giving-into-satoru time, and he can shed pretty tears all he wants, but you’re not relenting.

“what if you fall in love with someone else during our one week break up? i won’t make it if you do,” he gasps dramatically. you have to hand it to him—his ability in theatrics is at least persistent, even if quite a bit overdone sometimes.

“i’m sure your house would be peaceful then,” you snort. you can just picture the offended pout on his lips even though he’s not here, and you’re somewhat happy that he can’t see the smile you crack over the phone—that would only add to the drama, and he’s already a handful without the addition.

“baby, don’t do this,” he begs, making you sigh. 

it’s finals week. meaning all the days of class gojo has made you skip in order to coddle him (again, he’s very spoiled) will soon come back to really bite you in the ass while you have to make up for what you missed to pass your exams. meaning no gojo satoru will be allowed anywhere near your vicinity as an added distraction to keep you from studying. you know your boyfriend, and you know him well. you know that i promise i’ll just sit and be quiet will turn into his head resting in your lap, which will turn into pouts for your fingers to play with his hair, which will turn into complaints of boredom, which will all end with forced cuddles and an earful of his blabbering as he steals your attention. 

and you cannot afford a single failed final. 

so, with careful and deliberate consideration, you come up with your solution—which seems to have utterly broken your (painfully) spoiled boyfriend. no staying over the nights for a week is a very hard thing to grasp for rich and spoiled boyfriends who rarely hear the word no, apparently, and gojo is not taking the news lightly.

in fact, he seems to be taking the news a lot harder than you initially anticipated. never did you think a one week ban from sharing a bed with gojo so you can earn your degree would turn into his mother phoning you with a desperate plea to not break up with her son. it takes you by surprise, makes you stare at your phone with a double take to make sure you’re really talking to who you think you’re talking to—and that she’s really said what you think she’s said.

which begs the real question…where did the words break up even come from? and then you realize a certain somebody has exaggerated your rule for the week to something entirely new.

“satoru, you are entirely too much,” you groan, “one week of no sleepovers will not kill you. stop being bratty. and stop telling your mother i broke up with you, liar.”

“you practically are,” he huffs. “you don’t see me all day when you study. now you’re taking away the night too? just say you stopped loving me.” you scoff, and he pauses. “don’t actually say that, though,” he adds quickly.

“some of us have to pass,” you scowl, “i don’t have trust funds to swim in.”

“you can—”

“if you say i can spend your money, you might have to tell your mom we actually broke up.”

“so mean,” he whines, “well, why can’t i just sleep in your bed? i don’t even snore, i wouldn’t bother you,” he protests. he’s stubborn—which sometimes makes your heart flutter (like when he defends your honor to his snobby father) but sometimes (like now, for example) it’s enough to make you wish his lips would sew shut. permanently. 

“because,” you sigh exasperatedly, “you never sleep unless i’m in bed with you, and i’m going to stay up very late. stop being difficult—”

“i promise i’ll be good—”

“you are never good,” you accuse, narrowing your eyes. “and you break this promise every time. no sleepovers for this week until all my finals are over. and no more bothering your mom. got it?”

“but this time for real i’ll be good—”

“no, toru,” you say firmly, a hint of finality in your tone. it’s silent, and you can just imagine him deflating, and a small part of you feels just a little bad. “baby, i promise i’ll try to squeeze in some time every now in then, okay? we’ll meet for lunch or something.” you try to ease his conscience, but it doesn’t do much to persuade his sulkiness. 

“yeah, whatever,” he mumbles under his breath. 

a sulky gojo is a nightmare to deal with—you silently send your prayers to his mother for the next week, and you almost consider saving up for a fancy gift to offer her as an apology. but you also feel just a little bad for your sweet (though annoying) boyfriend. it’s at least the slightest bit endearing that he enjoys your company as much as he does, and you’d be lying if you say you don’t enjoy it just as much. 

so you relent—not fully though, you reason. “you can stay only the night,” you mutter, huffing as you hear his breath hitch with excitement, “and you have to stay in the living room until i’m ready to sleep.”

“i’ll tell my mom we’re back together,” he grins.

“we were never broken up!” you hiss as you pinch your nose, but before you can help yourself, there’s a light giggle that spills past your lips.

“she’ll be thrilled,” he chuckles, making you roll your eyes fondly. 

“cause it means you’ll leave the house to see me.”

“true,” he laughs this time, soft and sweet and enough to make you think spending nights with gojo this week isn’t the worst thing to happen. “i love you.”

“i know.”

“say it back—”

“okay bye. i have to study,” you grin as you cut him off, hanging up the line with a snicker.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

[jakekgs]

hello 🤍🤍 can you do how txt would be as best friends?

txt as best friends.

THIS WAS SO CUTEKDJSJ!! as always, this is with a female reader since the request wasn’t specified with anything else!

YEONJUN

you’ve definitely got something matching, knowing yeonjun with his black-card (… many thoughts on this), it’s probably some really expensive bracelet.

if we’re going down the route of imagining you’re both idols, there would be so many complications of your public interactions!!! he definitely makes the two of you watch them and laugh at everyone’s assumptions fkdhfj

takes the absolute best photos of you, he’s better at the posed photos, the only candid ones he can (successfully) take of you are when your backs turned to him!!!

cue thousand of sunset pictures with you stood in front of them, probably his lock screen tbh <\3

you’re both each other’s emergency contact (to both of your parents’ disapproval!) no matter what.

SOOBIN

always wears a hair tie on his wrist in case you need it (if your hair is long enough of course) !!!

gives you pep talks even when you don’t ask for them, not in a patronising way, more in ‘i love n support u so much u could take on the world if u wanted!!!’ kind of way. literally your biggest cheerleader i’m gonna sob.

probably have polaroids of the two of you in his phone case and no matter how many times people ask if you’re his girlfriend– he loves to explain how you become friends, how cool you are and truthfully everything about you!!!!!

if you have siblings (rip me- only child syndrome <\3) he’s so close with all of them!! i can see him babysitting them, taking them on days out, playing games with them etc.

basically an extension of your own family, in a non!idol au you probably go to the same university and wind up being roommates (we love platonic soulmates in this house!!!)

BEOMGYU

the same way soobin carries an extra hair tie, gyu carries an extra plaster. (and by extra i mean one- you have to carry one for him bc he’s forgets).

literally the two most insufferable, chaotic idiots the world had ever seen. people cannot stand the two of you, in the nicest way possible.

the biggest sibling vibes ever!! but he’d also be so protective over you :( the type to rip you off at dates and glare at whoever you’re meeting… very intimidating gyu.

your selcas???, jail. literally prison you both need to be locked up! the silliest of faces, definitely sticks his finger up your nostril or licks your cheek have you met him?!?!?

he’s almost too comfortable with you, but you love it, he’s completely himself when he’s around you and it’s 100% refreshing. he’s so open with you about everything, feelings included, and definitely writes you handwritten thank you cards/letters for being there.

TAEHYUN

carries a whole ass ‘y/n bag’ rather than just one item, it’s not just a mini-first aid kit, it has hair ties, plasters, pain relief pills, allergy tablets everything you’d ever need!!!

whenever you guys go out, he knows your feet are gonna hurt in heels (if you wear them- if not just skip this!) but not only will he gives you his blazer to prevent you getting cold, but will carry both your heels and you, on his back.

if you’re up for it, he’ll take you to the gym and work out with you!! helping you with whatever machines you don’t understand and blasting your favourite songs to keep you motivated!! probably makes you one of his healthy smoothies to try too ><

surprisingly, i think he’d be amazing at taking candid photos of you, like he won’t even mean to but you’d become the it-girl of pinterest thanks to photos he took!

whatever you do, don’t ask him to take posed photos unless you want a blurry mess.

KAI

the type to always text you, morning, noon n night!!! ‘good morning, good luck on your exams today!’ he’d definitely take you out for ice cream afterwards :,)

buys you both big, oversized jumpers thats are probably very ugly to anyone else but the gesture is sweet enough to make you cry fjfhdkfhsk

always orders food for you, even if you say you aren’t hungry, in case you changed your mind!! he is always looking out for you he is so!!!! also little things like knowing your favourite dish from every takeaway within a 5 mile radius!!

if you’re ever stressed or overworked (with school/work for example) he wouldn’t hesitate to write whatever essay was due or fill out the paperwork you were supposed to do a week ago, as long as it meant you could watch your favourite kdrama with him and relax.

if your hair is long enough, pls let him braid it and practice hairstyles#^&: he’d typically used beomgyu but after he cut his hair you were his only hope <\3

masterlist, request.

© JAKEKGS 2022

[getouswh0re]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast. 

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end. 

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months. 

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated. 

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.” 

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy. 

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.” 

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex. 

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure. 

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train. 

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague. 

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night. 

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?” 

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you. 

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!” 

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!” 

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart. 

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!” 

That is when he activates his domain expansion. 

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way. 

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms. 

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...” 

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love. 

“In time and evermore.”

[bleungrh]

Gojo and Cats

ahaha hi..... been a while

Anyways :D

I have been absolutely obsessed with the idea of Gojo owning a cat.

Also this is gonna be hella long because I have so so many thoughts about this I NEED TO LET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM.

I feel like he would be so so so dramatic, insufferable and overly affectionate with cats.

Now, I don't think he'll willingly go to a shelter to adopt a cat or something like that. He probably thinks oh no I don't have the time to take care of a one I'm too busy, besides who's gonna take care of it when I'm out to work

He probably used to play with stray cats during his highschool years, but he'd never think of taking one home.

Picture this though:

He's coming home from a mission, it's dark and pouring outside; that doesn't bother him though because he's got his infinity to keep him dry. As he's walking through the rain he senses something, then hears it - barely audible meowing. Gojo takes a couple of more steps to locate the sound and he sees a cardboard box. It doesn't even look like a box anymore, the rain making it look like it's falling apart. But inside it there's a small little kitty meowing its heart out; soaked to the bone, shaking, its eyes glued shut. Probably less then a month old. At this rate it has no chances of survival, so of course the only logical thing to do in Gojo's mind is to take it with him.

No vet clinic is open at this time though, so Gojo can only take the kitty home and buy some bare necessities from a 24-hour market.

Once he comes back home he immediately turns on a heater, even if its summer. His biggest priority is to warm the kitty immediately so he places a few small towels in front of his heater so they can warm up, then he himself sits in front of it with the kitten in his hands; he burrito wraps it with the heated up towels throughout the hours.

He does not sleep that night (not that he gets that much sleep in general) and the moment it's morning he rushes to the nearest vet.

After that? That kitty is glued to him. He feeds it every hour with special kitten milk replacer/formula (since regular cow milk won't provide the needed proteins). Cleans it after every meal, helps it pee and poo. Gojo at that point is a whole momma cat.

And how does he manage to do that with his work schedule? Well... for the first week or so he would almost get in trouble for it. If he has classes he'll literally just call his students to his apartment so they can all look at the kitty. (They cannot believe or imagine how careful their teacher is with such a small and fragile animal) And if he has a mission and has to travel? Nope, sorry I'm unavailable, I'll do it next week.

At that point Yaga is personally banging on his door to demand an explanation as to Why are you neglecting your duties, what is happe- oh my god are you serious

Gojo opens the door and Yaga sees a little calico kitten snuggled in his arms. He could only facepalm and let out a heavy sigh as Gojo snickers. But the disappointed principal cannot stay sour for long as he stares at the little creature snuggled into the arms of a man as big as Gojo.

"Her name is Papaya but I like to call her my little princess :D"

"Gojo......"

Once Papaya gets a bit older Gojo would even take her with him to class. Almost everyone is ecstatic to see an adorable little cat. Yuuji and Nobara can't stop squealing and petting her, Megumi watches from the distance and acts grumpy. But when no one is looking he gives the little Paya a good and relaxing belly rub.

As the months go by Gojo feels confident enough to leave his little princess alone at his place. And when he comes home the first thing he does is shout-

"Papaya!!!!! My little adorable princess!!!!!"

A jingle of a bell is heard (because of course he's gonna buy her a pink little collar with a bell) as well as a meow meow meow at every step of hers. And when she trots up right in front of him, looking at him expectantly? The strongest man can only pick her up and shower her with kisses as she purrs in satisfaction.

"Did my little girl miss me? I certainly missed you !!!"

At any given time she would be found comfortably laying on his shoulder without a care in the world.

Other times she would rub herself all over his face as if he is the best scratch post ever. Only purrs and giggles can be heard in the room.

And when he sleeps, she would curl up next to him, maybe even sleep on his chest if she's feeling mischievous. Gojo is so used to seeing a pile of white and spotted fur upon waking up that he feels empty when he has to go on missions out of town or out of the country.

Papaya has him wrapped around her paw and honestly Gojo isn't even complaining.

Nanami, Utahime and few others have seen him and how affectionately he treats Paya, how careful and meticulous he's taking care of her and they simply cannot believe that that is the same person. No way someone as silly and as annoying as Gojo is willing to put so much effort into looking after a cat.

He doesn't care, how can he care when all of his worries are immediately washed away when his little princes trots up to him, jumps on the table and bumps her head against his - her purring loud and clear.

He takes so many pictures of her. He always posts her on his story, he always finds an opportunity to be annoying and mention her in a conversation. Everyone has to know how adorable Papaya was today.

Papaya supremacy (Gojo started the movement but only Yuuji and Nobara are supporting it)

[glowingbadger]

Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

~

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

~

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.