#it was disgusting then and its disgusting now

[yohanseyebrowmole]

Indelible | Jacaerys Velaryon

(adj. impossible to erase or forget)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

Sum: Jacaerys realises he should have listened to you and told everyone about the two of you too late...

Or was it too late?

or in which

Jacaerys breaks up with you two years after secretly dating you, and you get wind of his potential engagement to your cousin the heir to your family's company.

Word count: 3,692 (give or take:/ I edited it and wasn't bothered to recheck the wc)

Warnings: idk nothing much. I tried to avoid using y/n but ended up using it like thrice (I think)

a/n: Reader's mother is the second child of a huge businessman and took on her husband's name upon marriage, but has business ties (her maiden name is Dayne but its not a big deal). Reader's father is a well-respected lawyer but it's not relevant. Jace is heir to the Targaryen family business. He's a little slow and doesn't connect dots until later on lol.

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☆ Loving Jacaerys Velaryon was easy.

Keeping the fact that you loved him a secret was the hard part.

Two years.

For two years, you loved Jacaerys, and now you are hearing that his family was actively trying to set him up with your cousin.

What’s worse is that it makes perfect sense for them to get together.

Jacaerys is set to inherit the family company from his mother and your cousin is set to inherit your family's company from your uncle.

Why did he want to keep your relationship a secret in the first place? You didn't know, but you respected his decision nonetheless.

But two years of not being able to tell anyone?

You wanted to tell your parents and your older brother, you wanted to gossip with said cousin about your relationship, but Jace remained steadfast in his decision not to tell anyone.

He probably got fed up with you asking to become public and broke up with you, at least that was what you originally thought.

Two years of dates and I love you's gone just like that, all because Jace wanted to keep your relationship a secret and you were tired of not being able to tell anyone.

You had no interest in your mother's family company to be honest. No care for business or the likes, your interest is and will always lay within anthropology.

You loved it.

It was the perfect balance of history, science and mystery and everyone who knew you knew how much you loved a good mystery.

You loved the drama and the slight chaos whenever you got called in, and they say they found a body and having to find out what happened to it.

What was their story? What were they like? What was their life like? How did they end up like this?

Sometimes, it was a simple burial. Sometimes, it was an accidental death.

The murders were always the most interesting.

Of course, as an intern, you were usually not always assigned to the murder cases, but you always accepted any that came your way.

You loved the hunt, your curiosity always getting the best of you and the sense of relief, pride and justice that filled you once you found the identity of who was lying in front of you and who was responsible for it was always worth it.

You loved finding clues that helped catch the one responsible for the person's death, and being able to give families closure after their loved ones went missing was rewarding to you.

Yes, it was confronting and disgusting at times like the time a body was found at the landfill and you had to sift through weeks of rubbish to find missing bones (you were sure you would never be able to smell anything other than rotten food ever again) but you loved it regardless.

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You were once again sitting in the library at your corner.

It was one of your favourite spots on campus.

The window provided a perfect distraction when she needed a little break from her work. It was far enough from the other tables that no one bothered her but close enough that she could watch people go about their day when she was bored.

The shelfs also obscured their line of view of the table giving you privacy was always an added bonus. 

“Having fun, pretty girl?”

You blink, shifting your gaze away from the window where you had been watching what seemed to be a very heated fight between a couple. You smile at your boyfriend. 

“Hey,” You said. “You're here earlier than normal.”

Jace sits down next to you, letting his bag drop from his shoulder onto the floor.

“Finished early.”

“You look tired,” you said, taking note of the light dark circles under his eyes. 

“Cause I am,” Jace groans, leaning into you. He practically shoves his face into the crook of your neck.

You shift sideways so he can rest his head comfortably and run your hand through his hair gently undoing any notes made from the wind outside.

“You should go home and sleep if you're tired, Jace.”

“Don’t wanna,” Jacaerys responds, not bothering to move his head from the crook of your neck. “Just wanna be here with you.”

You can’t help the upward tug of your lips.

“Careful Velaryon, someone might assume that you're obsessed with me.”

Jace huffs out a laugh, finally lifting his head and sitting back. 

“They would assume correctly. What are you doing later?”

“I don’t know,” You shrug. “But it seems like you know what I’m going to do.”

Jace grins, grabbing his bag from the floor and digging around it before pulling out two tickets. “You are going to go visit that new exhibit at the museum with me.”

“You got tickets?" You can't hide your excitement. "How? I tried getting them for weeks but they were sold out, I even asked mum if she could pull some strings.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Jace smiles. "You were going to ask your mum to get you tickets?"

You shrug lightly, grabbing the tickets from him, inspecting them before you all but throw yourself at him, hugging him. You pull away but grab one of his hands intertwining your fingers with his. 

Jace nods along to your random facts about Egyptian history as he watches your eyes light up as you giggle and ramble on about the exhibit, squeezing your hand, bringing it up to his lip and kissing the back of it. 

You barely react to the affection, already gotten used to the gestures and continue talking about Ramesses the great and his military accomplishments.

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Your first thought was that it was your fault.

Clearly, you must have done something wrong for Jace to break up with you.

You rack your brains for weeks afterwards to try and figure out what you've done wrong, but as you sit there in your little corner of the library, you realise you've done absolutely nothing wrong.

So then you wonder, why would he break up with you?

Was it because you brought up the fact of a public relationship more often than not these days? Did he suddenly think you weren’t pretty enough? Or were you and your random rants now annoying to him?

The tip of the pencil you had been using to draw snaps.

You thought it would be easy to get over him. After all no one knew you two were together so you weren't getting constant pity glances.

Turns out it was harder. Way harder.

You didn't have anyone to rant to, no one to lean on or cry to and you were practically at the end of your patience, about to call your brother and spill everything to him when you heard someone call your name.

"Oh my god finally!"

You turn only to be met with your best friend Baela, who coincidentally was also Jace's cousin. You smile at her, forcing yourself to push your previous thoughts to the back of your mind.

"What's got you so excited?" You ask her.

She plops down on the seat next to you.

“Why are you so hard to find?”

You laugh. “I’m always here Baela. You know that.”

She rolls her hands before leaning forward. You notice the glint in her eyes. Mischief. Her eyes were basically the same as Jace’s aside from the colour difference.

“It’s Jace,” she said. “Mum told me that Aunt Rhae was trying to set him up with Elise Dayne.”

You freeze slightly. “What?”

“I know! I was shocked as well!” Baela smiles, not realising the bombshell she had just dropped on you. 

“Elise Dayne?”

Baela nods and rambles on about how she had seen Elise and Jace on a date the other day and how cute they had looked together. You smile and nod along but all you can think about was this was why he broke up with you.

Baela leaves to go to class but only after after telling you everything.

She leaves and you sit there for what felt like hours trying to wrap your head around what she had told you.

Jacaerys had broken up with you only to get together with your cousin. 

You gather your things and walk to your car.

With your hands on the wheel you scream before you start laughing.

The laugh turns into choked out sobs as you let yourself cry for the first time since Jace left you.

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Seeing Jacaerys walk into your family home with his family had not been in your plans for tonight.

Frankly, if you had known this very important and must not miss family meeting was to officially announce his engagement to your cousin, you would have accepted that case on the unknown skeleton they found last week or gotten your professors to make something up so you could have an excuse not to turn up.

Instead, here you are, forced to stand and watch Jace smile and greet your cousin and her parents. 

You stand in a corner next to your brother, tongue poking the inside of your cheek in slight annoyance.

You can tell the exact moment Jacaerys notices your presence. 

You send him an overly sweet smile and watch him falter, confusion and something else flashing in his eyes before he blinks and puts his mask back up, turning and shaking your mother’s hand.

He had always been good at that, pretending that nothing was bothering him.

Your mother smiles and turns to you and your brother. Your brother nudges you, and you quickly plaster a pleasant smile on your face.

“This is my daughter and my oldest.”

Your brother shakes Jace’s hand and introduces him. Jacaerys turns his attention to you. 

“Hi,” you smile, reaching out and shaking his hand. “Y/n. Pleasure to meet you.”

You watch him gulp, smile and greet you back.

You keep your distance and stay quiet the entire time the two families eat. You know your brother has noticed because he keeps sending you odd looks, but you brush them off, not bothering to pay him any mind or explain your current predicament to him.

What does bother you is Jace.

He keeps looking over at you, most of the time it’s short glances but sometimes you can feel his gaze boring into the side of your head as you answer the questions his brothers, Lucerys and Joffery ask about your degree, his mother occasionally asking a few of her own.

You make sure to keep your answers brief. Your degree was hardly dinner conversation, and you didn't want anyone's dinner resurfacing in any way.

You make sure to turn to him and give him a smile. He snaps out of his daze every time, blinking a couple of times before tuning back into whatever your cousin was talking about.

At some point in the night, you get up, telling your brother you needed to get something from your room.

You don’t notice Jace’s eyes following you as you walk away, and you sure as hell don’t hear him excuse himself to go to the bathroom.

You startle slightly as you feel someone grab your wrist. You don’t even need to turn around to realise who it was.

The soft scent of sandalwood tells you enough.

“What are you doing?” you hiss under your breath, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen the both of you before pulling him into your room. 

Jace looks around, taking in his surroundings.

He can’t really help it. It was the first time he had been in your room. He notices the photo wall full of polaroids you told him about making and the string of fairy lights you had bought together after convincing him to go shopping together. 

“I didn’t know you were related to her,” Jace said.

“I told you who my mother was,” you scoff. “It was pretty fucking obvious Jace.”

Neither of you notice the person standing by the door, listening in on the conversation through the slight crack.

“Well you could have straight up told me,” Jace argues.

“You're arguing with me because I didn’t give you my mother’s government name? Are you serious? I told you her name, where she worked and what she did. I even told you she was helping coordinate that joint event with your mother! I couldn’t have been more obvious, it’s not my fault you couldn’t put two and two together!”

Jace opens and closes his mouth. It's not like she was wrong.

“This,” you whisper. “This is why you broke up with me? If you had known, would you have stayed? Would you have let me tell everyone that we dated?”

Jace winces at your harsh tone but otherwise stays silent, giving you your answer. 

“I can’t believe you.”

“You think I wanted this?” Jace said. “You think I knew my parents were gonna set me up with her?”

“Clearly you did since you refused to tell anyone about us.”

“That’s not -”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Just don’t.”

You sigh and shake your head.

“You need to go. Leave first, and then I can follow after a couple of minutes.”

Jace grabs your hand before you can push him towards the door. “Wait, just -”

“You need to go,” you repeat. “If you haven’t noticed your fiancé-to-be is down the hall along with the rest of my family and we both have better things to do then stand here and argue over a topic we already know our stance on. Also, I have somewhere I need to be.”

With that, you pull your hand away from his and walk away. He follows you into the hallway, hears you say bye to your family, and watches you turn to leave.

Fuck.

How was he going to fix this?

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Looking back on it, Jacaerys really didn't know how he didn't put two and two together.

He had met your mother on numerous occasions considering that she worked with his mother for joint events and whatnot.

You were practically a carbon copy of your mother as well. 

The hair, the eyes, the intellect. Everything about you screamed Dayne and his stupid brain couldn’t piece together the fact that you were related. 

How the fuck did he not know?

All those times when you had told him your mother was away on business and he had commented that his mother was gone as well. 

He groans, running a hand down his face. 

Rhaenyra, who had been standing by the doorway for the past five minutes watching her son have what looked like a mental breakdown, finally decides to make her presence known.

It was time to talk some sense into her son.

“Jace.”

“Mother.”

“Can I come in?” His mother asks. 

Jace nods and she walks into the room.

“Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” she questions. “Luke is complaining about your constant groans.”

Jace normally would have laughed but all he can do is sigh. 

“What’s wrong, Jace?” his mother asks again.

“I messed up,” Jace mutters. “Really bad, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

His mother nods, walking forward and sits beside him on the bed. 

“Why don’t you tell me everything so I can help?”

Jace looks at her, hesitates for a moment before the flood gates open, and he tells her everything. 

He tells her about how you two met, about your first date, about how he wanted to keep your relationship a secret, and you had been okay with that for a while.

He tells her how he broke up with you because she wanted him to get together with your cousin. 

He doesn’t leave anything out, and his mother just sits and listens to everything. 

When he’s done she stays quiet.

“Jace,” she asks softly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Jace forces himself to hold back the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t -” he shakes his head. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t approve, and I didn’t want to lose her, but I guess it’s too late for that now.”

Rhaenyra reaches out and holds his hands. 

“If I had known you loved someone like that,” she said. “I wouldn’t have set you up. I would never deny you your happiness. Even if she wasn’t what I envisioned for you, I wouldn’t have made you leave her, Jacaerys.”

His bottom lip wobbles. “What do I do now?”

Rhaenyra smiles and whips away a stray tear from his cheek.

“Jace?”

He hums.

“Do you like her?”

“What?”

“Do you like her?”

“I love her,” Jace said. “A lot.”

His mother smiles. “Then what are you doing here?”

He stays quiet, blinking at his mother.

“If you love her, why aren’t you with her?” His mother said. “Go get her back, Jace. If you love her, fight for her.”

Jacaerys stands up quickly and nods. He grabs a jacket from his chair and is gone the next second.

Rhaenyra watches him leave shaking her head with a soft smile.

That foolish boy.

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You were on campus, specifically at the building where your professors kept the unidentified bodies that had been sent over after being found.

You weren't allowed to have phones near the workstations or the bodies and even if you were you would have never bothered to bring it up with you.

Who in their right mind wants to touch their phone with people juice on their hands, regardless of whether or not you were wearing gloves?

Not to mention that you would have kept having to change your gloves as well, and that would do your head in. 

Your phone was in your bag, which in turn was in your personal locker outside, which meant you had no idea that Jacaerys had been trying to get a hold of you for the past hour.

You had no idea that he was calling you or texting you to ask for your whereabouts. 

Luckily for him, you were slightly predictable. 

You had just finished writing down your notes for the Jane Doe in front of you and making sure her bones were locked away and secure. 

You swiped your student card into the security slot, and the doors outside opened. Smiling and waving to the security guards stationed outside the lab, you grabbed your bag from the the opposite wall, holding the lockers.

You push open the door and stop short.

It was raining, because of course it was. 

You put your notes in your bag and started walking to your car, which was conveniently parked at the far end of the parking lot. 

You had been too busy re-reading and protecting your over your notes while speed-walking to your car to realise that Jacaerys had been waiting outside waiting for you.

You couldn’t hear him call your name over the sound of the rain.

When the rain suddenly stops falling on you, you look up only to be met with the slight of an umbrella. 

You turn confused and are met with a panting Jacaerys.

“You walk really fast,” he said, slightly bent over as he caught his breath.

You just stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

He stands up straighter. 

“Uh, I came to apologise.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Jace said. “For everything. I’m sorry for being stupid and not putting two and two together. For keeping us a secret and breaking up with you. I’m sorry.”

“Where is this coming from?” you question.

“I came to a realisation,” Jace answered. “I can’t live without you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“I hate the fact that we aren’t together anymore. I hate the fact that I didn’t tell anybody we were together,” Jace said. “I hate being away with you. I hate not being with you. I hate not being able to hold and tell you I love you every day. I’ll do better this time. I swear it.”

“Careful Velaryon,” you say, stepping forward. “People could assume you are obsessed with me.”

Jace’s lips tug upwards, and he nods, closing the gap between the two of you completely, leaning down.

“They would assume correctly.” 

The world around the two of you fades into the background as he leans forward, his lips brushing against yours. 

The air around the both of you seemed to warm. You don’t know who leans in first, and you don’t care. 

All you cared about was the fact that Jacaerys was kissing you again. That he was yours again.

Your eyes flutter close as your lips meet, and the umbrella protecting the two of you from the rain drops to the floor as he pulls you closer.

You don’t register that you drop your bag to hold onto his collar and pull him even closer. 

You could have sworn lighting flashed through the sky as your lips met, but maybe that was you imagining things. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to kiss him. 

Those sparks when your lips touched his, that feeling of something more.

Of something real.

Your heart skips a beat

“You know you’re stuck with me forever now right?” Jace said as he pulled away smiling.

You laugh and Jace sees that familiar sparkle of light in your eyes. The ones that remind him of stars.

“I think it’s you that’s stuck with me.”

He grins leaning in to kiss you again. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” you smile into the kiss.

A particularly cold and harsh gust of wind coupled with the booming sound of thunder breaks the moment and you shiver.

Jace goes to pick up the umbrella that had fallen. Luckily, the wind hadn't carried it too far off.

Your eyes follow him before they fall on your wet bag on the floor. The bag that had your notes. The bag that held the notes that you had been painstakingly working on for the past few hours. 

You scream, causing Jace to jump.

“You little shit! You made me drop my notes! I take it back! I hate you!”

Jacaerys laughs as you pick up your bag and hit him with it. He runs away as you chase him in the rain, cursing him out for letting you ruin your notes. 

You really wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Well, except maybe with dry notes. 

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Thank you to my bby girl @icarusignite for pre-reading this and thirsting over Jace to an almost unhealthy degree with me ily<3

Go read her fics or else (this may or may not be a threat)

Written by Yor <3

[dixons-sunshine]

So Beautiful | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl had never fully shown you his scars before. He was too afraid of what you might think of him if he did. However, after being together for a while, he decided to finally bite the bullet and show you what he had kept hidden from your view for so long.

Genre: Mostly fluff, some angst if you squint.

Era: Prison, pre season four, post season three.

Warnings: Swearing, Daryl is insecure in this (I wanna hold him and reassure him that everything is okay), mentions of past abuse.

Word count: 1.5k.

A/N: This was meant to be a drabble, but it ran away from me lol. I hope y’all like this!

Daryl was breathing heavily. His chest was rising and falling quickly as he tried to control his breathing and ease his anxiety. It wasn’t the first time someone had seen his scars, he tried to remind himself. Carol had seen them. Merle had seen them. Hershel had seen them. It wasn’t like nobody knew of them, but he knew that this time was different.

This wasn’t some random person that had to patch up some injury he had sustained. This was you. His partner. The one he cared for deeply, on a whole other level than he did others, on a level that the archer was sure was love. The one he could see himself spending the rest of his life with, however short that might be. That made you different from the rest. You were so vastly different.

Talks of the abuse the archer had endured had come up from time to time, but only on Daryl’s terms. You never pressed to hear more about his childhood, knowing that Daryl would tell you on his own time if he wanted you to know. And sure enough, slowly but surely, over the months the two of you had been together ‘officially’, Daryl had slowly started opening up to you. However, he had never shown you the scars on his back before. He had allowed you to patch up a wound on his chest before, and that had been the most you had gotten to physically see of the cruel pain that had been inflicted on him in his life.

Until now.

The scars on Daryl’s back were on full display for your eyes to see as he sat on the edge of the bed in your shared cell with him. With his back turned to you, he didn’t have to witness the reaction you would give him. He feared a disgusted reaction, a sharp intake of breath as you fully gouged the extent of the pain he had endured that were gruesomely carved into his skin, a permanent, cruel reminder of his father’s abuse. He feared that you would shrink away from him, that you would see him like the worthless piece of garbage most people in his life had viewed him as, like he viewed himself as most times. And the worst part was that he wouldn’t even blame you if you did.

However, he had not expected to hear your voice calling out to him, that usual softness and love he always associated with your beautiful voice as present as ever.

“Is it okay if I touch them?” you asked him softly, your tone of voice gentle and sincere. You weren’t pressing, weren’t insisting on touching them. You were simply asking, and you would be completely okay with it if he said no.

Daryl did not turn his head to look at you, too nervous to do so just yet. However, after a few beats of silence and contemplation, Daryl hesitantly nodded his head. He anxiously awaited the soft touch of your fingers, but they never came. Instead, Daryl felt a soft, tender prodding from something soft against the highest scar on his back, a slight wetness being left in its wake. As the prodding slowly trailed down the scar and onto the next one, he quickly figured out that the soft prodding was caused by your slightly chapped lips.

Daryl sighed quietly at the oddly comforting feeling, an involuntary shiver rolling over his spine. He closed his eyes, relishing in the comfort your actions were bringing him. Slowly but surely, as your kisses trailed over each scar on his back, his initial uneasiness started fading away, instead being replaced by a sense of contentment and love, all thanks to you.

As you placed a final kiss to the lowest scar on his back, you raised up from the bed and moved to stand in front of him. Daryl ducked his gaze down to the floor beneath him, suddenly feeling nervous all over again, but you didn’t allow him to do so. You gingerly took a hold of his chin with your forefinger and thumb, and you gently tipped his head up, making him look at you.

Looking deeply into the eyes of the man you loved most, you sent him a small, soft, reassuring smile. “You’re so beautiful, Dar.”

Daryl scoffed at your words. “Ain’t beautiful,” he denied your statement. However, he couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at your words. He had never been called beautiful before. He had always considered it to be a feminine compliment, a compliment reserved only for women, a compliment he reserved only for you. So why his heart started beating faster and his cheeks started burning at your compliment, he didn’t know.

You laughed softly at his denial, shaking your head as if he had said the most absurd thing humanly possible. And to you, he had. It broke your heart that the man in front of you could not see himself the way you saw him: loyal, fierce, kind, unendingly fucking beautiful. There were so many other things that could describe the archer, and almost none of them were negative. Sure, everyone had their flaws, and there was no denying that Daryl had his flaws as well, but they were part of what made him Daryl. They made him the man you loved, and there was little that you wanted to change about him.

Except the way he isolated himself when it mattered most to talk to people, and the way he viewed himself, but other than that, he was perfect.

“Well, you’re beautiful to me, Dar,” you told him, your hand moving from under his chin to cup his cheeks instead. You rubbed soothing circles over the stubbled skin of his face with your thumb, your eyes looking deeply into the ocean-coloured ones of your partner. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t they say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Well, I’m the beholder, and this beholder is telling you that you’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your other hand came up to his chest, your fingers gingerly tracing over one of the jagged marks on his broad frame. “These don’t take away from the way I see you, Dar. If anything, it makes my view of you even better. All this shows me is that life threw you a lot of fucking curve balls before all of this, and you prevailed. Do you know how strong that makes you? How brave?” You shook your head with a huff of laughter, the sound one of wonder. “God, I can’t even begin to explain how much these don’t deter me at all. They’re relics of a time in your life you overcame, a time in your life I see you trying not to let define your present and future. If that’s not the epitome of strength, I don’t know what is.”

Daryl was rendered absolutely speechless. You truly believed that of him? All of that? You couldn’t, could you? Unwillingly, a lump formed in the archer’s throat. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t believe that you thought so highly of him, even after he showed you what he considered the ugliest part of him, physically speaking. However, his heart swelled at the knowledge that you did not view him any differently than you had before. You still looked at him with such love, a love he oftentimes felt he didn’t deserve, but he definitely was not about to throw it away, either.

“Thanks,” Daryl mumbled awkwardly at your high praise of him. He did not know what else to say. He wanted to say so many things to show how much he appreciated your words, how much he appreciated you, but he just did not know how.

You smiled at the singular word that left your partner’s mouth. It was so simple, so underwhelming, so undeniably Daryl. To most people, that simple response would be a punch to the gut after such a heartfelt confession, but to you, the response was enough. Daryl was a man of action, not a man of words. He showed his appreciation to your declaration in the form of his hands coming to rest and your hips, slightly tugging you forward to stand closer to him, albeit in-between his legs. He also showed it in the way his eyes sparkled up at you, the emotions swirling around in his beautiful irises conveying more than words ever could.

“Of course,” you replied softly to his thanks, your hand trailing up from his bare chest, up his face and to his hair. Your fingers ran through his brown locks, gently untangling any knots in their wake. “You have no idea how amazing you are to me, Daryl Dixon, but I promise, for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll never stop trying to show you.”

Daryl’s heart both sped up and stopped simultaneously. Your admission made the archer want to cling on to you and never let you go. He had wanted something, someone like that his whole life. Someone who could look past everything and still love him unconditionally. And he had found it. He had found you, and he certainly did not intend to ever let you slip through his fingers.

“Guess yer gon’ be stuck with me forever, then,” Daryl said in his gruff tone of voice, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

A small chuckle escaped your chest. “I really don’t mind the sound of that.”

[opal-owl-flight]

TIRED OF WAITIN’ MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND

YEAH ITS ALRIGHT, WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU WANT IT, DONT YOU BE SO SHY, SHY!

OH MY GOD I LOVE STARKILLER WIDNEKD. I had this idea for Tartar manipulating 3 with words similar to the song…

more abt that below + the piece without the words :]

I wonder if 3, at that point in OE, carry a thought within them... something Tartar can use.

The sanitization is absolute mind control, yes, but it would be neat if it was preceded by a sort of hypnosis; a suggestion that tartar puts out for a victim to bite onto (not that it really matters. The forced body control happens anyway.)

Theres a yearning for the past. That much I know. But I do wonder if Tartar also suggested something else alongside that.

"Ah, the legendary captain of the Squidbeak Splatoon. He probably was the one who pulled you out of that life, hm?"

"...Yes."

"Despicable, this old coot, forcing you to fight a war that ended a century ago. Forcing you to dig up a city your nation already buried.

Making you a weapon in this...disgusting show of continued dominance."

"..."

"Dont you want to end him, right here, right now?"

"...."

"Avenge that younger self, child. Join me, and we will make sure he never hurts you again."

"..."

They look at Cuttlefish. Cod, theyre so weak, their head hurts, they are in no shape to defend themself. Neither is the old man, but...

Their hearts were burning with a feeling theyve been burying for years. A feeling thats gotten stronger and stronger over the long patrol.

This...doubt. Towards the captain they followed the ends of the earth for. Day by day, being pushed to their limits for his continued war. Wanting his approval, wanting to make him proud. Believing that theyre indeed keeping this fragile world safe.

Wanting to...keep being this hero he said they were.

But its getting harder to believe those words now. Not when that Octarian from earlier was such a sweet soul...among others theyve encountered and observed in other patrols.

Their arm burned. It was drenched in that cyan ink the telephone was oozing.

They have no reason to trust this thing that almost killed Cuttlefish and that Octarian that he was with moments before.

Still...

They feel...

Their mind is slipping.

So tired...so hurt...

"Join me. I can give you rest.

Ill bring you...to the promised land."

"...Okay."

--------

They went fully unconscious for awhile. When they "awoke" (but is still under Tartar's control), they were already fighting 8. And their body hurt even more than before.

They never shouldve trusted him.....

--------

This baiting rings familiar, doesnt it. Order did it to 4, as well. Much to 3s horror, they were the reason she took that bait. Her desire to be their perfect agent, and their desire to never be hurt or used by anyone like Cuttlefish again...

They wanted her to be strong enough so she can stay safe and live her life the way she wanted to. But their fear spoke louder than their adoration for her.

Hurt people hurt people, cycle of violence, and all that.

[miifu666]

We know sukuna's a huge hater for Yuuji right? But theres a saying around my country where "you shouldn't hate someone TOO MUCH or else fate will always unite u with them."

Or sum like "don't hate someone too much, it'll turn to love."

<<<<<<♡>>>>>>>

Imagine a happy ending Sukuna, one where he genuinely decided to be in a loving and domestic household with you. He saw what the jujutsu world can do, both ancient and modern, Gojo has provenly showed him a thrilling time by being the one and almost only person to make him feel the life and death situation in such a predictable battle.

He got to meet the plentiful talented sorcerers in the modern world, one where they have far more advanced knowledge in how life works than those in the heian era. The new sorcerers didn't disappoint him too much. Some managed to learn innate domain expansion in a mere second, others didn't have any curse energy yet managed to hurt him more than those who do. He's seen it all, he feels content.

Hence why he made a choice to have his own happy ending, see where life gets him after his "unsavory" conversation with his fated nephew. The tangy memories of that boy's bright smile hearing sukuna giving him a chance to show him how beautiful life can be, even if deep within. Theres a dreaded feeling whenever he sees that gullible boy, a fire pit inside him whenever he realized how innocent his so called "nephew" is for believing someone like him can be saved too.

Sukuna thought back idly, coming back to his senses as he feels your hair being combed through his fingers in a consistent motion. He wonders if maybe that annoying brat is right, he has a dutiful lover now. One who he feels as though wouldn't have been his if he didn't accept that despicable brat's decision.

The warm feeling of the sun hitting both him and his equal is... a blissful feeling. He used to be empty, seeking thrill from both knowledge and greed of such delicacies, humans, animals.. all he could find and devour till his stomach is full. All knowledgeable for such sorcery to make sure he stays the top, to see if someone is there to fight and able to defeat him on top of the lonely world of the strongest.

Now he's sitting here, the daunting feeling of such title no longer haunts him. Theres no one who can use him like an object, to fight and treat him like a game boss, speak his name like an object to defeat, disregard him as something worth less than humanity and curses, a natural calamity. Inside this prosperous Minka, he is just sukuna. Hes not the starving child, ostracized from society, being stripped bare of his real birth given name.

He's now.. Sukuna.

The husband and father of... currently one brat.

Speaking of a brat.

There's hustling noises of running feet ontop of the well cared grass, the thumping of something- no. Someone not much older than 5 years old.

"Papa!"

There he is.

"I got butterflies!!"

The small brat he managed to raise. The one and only child he has, a miracle. He was tempted to call him "megumi" too actually- but he's too prideful to use a rip off of someone elses name. He created his own, he hoped. This child doesn't get sick from bearing the weight of his own name.

"Those are Dragonflies, Yajou"

Yajou, a combination of both the kanji for appearance and fulfillment. A perfect name for one who completes the boundaries between human and curses.

Although...

Sukuna stared at his son again. His face is much more similar to a certain brat than him. His bright and naive eyes, those unopened set of eyes under his proper main ones, the tufs of pink hair on top while his lover's natural hair decorated the sides. Its all too familiar, he hates it. He hates having a split image of his disgusting nephew in this... fleshy and chonky baby form.

"Free! Free dragon!"

The child babbles out, spreading his hands out to let the Dragonfly leave his fleshy touch. It was... cute, adorable even. Sukuna sigh.

This.. is a funny way of fate telling him to learn his lesson.

>>>♡♡<<<

God i had this thought at 1am i did NOT proof reading this i just fucking wing it brooooooo. Hope its good ig djdhdjjdkd

[bbyangyl]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— EASE YOUR MIND- DEKU | IZUKU MIDORIYA

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— description: after inviting you to an event, izuku has a difficult time deciding if "a date" would be the right term to use.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— w.c: 2.1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— tags: sfw (however, my blog isn't!), fluff, very soft, deku is basically in love with you but overthinks like CRAZY

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚— a/n: here's something that has been sitting in my drafts for a while now. I actually have a lot written so you'll be seeing a lot from me soon :) I just need time to edit a few things. please stay tuned!

deku was sweating

he was sweating so much that his palms felt drenched, struggling to discreetly wipe them against his pants, hoping you wouldn’t notice. you walked beside him, wearing a smile that outshined the sun.

he doesn’t know how he got here, with you. the only thing he could recall from the events of his spiraling and panicking brain when he asked if you wanted to go with him to a “history of heroes” event, where he scored two tickets for, were your bright, excited eyes and lovely smile when you agreed to go with him.

and then, he was sure he messed it all up when, for some reason, his mouth moved faster than his brain and said “I’m so glad! It’s a date then”

he didn’t mean for the words to be heard aloud. and through his stammering voice and flushed cheeks, he tried so hard to make an excuse; to distract you from the fact that he just called it a date. which meant he asked you out on a date.

but instead of gazing at him in confusion or uncertainty, (or worse, disgust), you simply giggled, nodding as you gathered your belongings before heading out to the dorms.

“it’s a date” you said, walking away from his frozen figure that decided to stay in place on its own accord, processing the three words you repeated back to him.

you said yes, despite him calling it a date, but did you really consider it a date? or did you know he accidentally called it that and you just went along with it, even though he truly did want to go on a date with you. but he never thought you’d ever go on a date with him. and even if he intentionally asked you out, he wasn’t sure a first date with you to a hero event was good enough. You seemed excited for it, should he plan something else?

as he looked up at your retreating figure, he noticed the way you look back at him, with soft eyes and a pretty smile before turning around, continuing to walk away.

he felt his brain short circuit, as you leave him with nothing but blooming red cheeks, shaky legs, and thoughts of you.

as the day of the event arrives, after thirty minutes spent rehearing how to approach you and what words to say, a soft knock unexpectedly echoes on his own door, before being opened slightly.

and he begins to sweat.

there you were, in a cute sundress, looking at him with such a sweet expression on your face. he felt his hands slightly trembling, his heart practically soaring through the air in a fluttering mess. he felt like a fish, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of what to say. anything at all! at least a hello.

he didn’t trust himself, however. deku had a tendency to ramble and mumble, and he had an small feeling that a simple ‘hello’ would turn into ‘you’re the most beautiful girl in the world’, or something more than he was ready to admit

it was difficult to form words anyways, when just the sight of you is enough to leave him breathless, unable to think about anything else but the fact that you were here, ready to go out with him…

to an event that he had called a date, and you seemed happy to agree...

he felt his face burn, and one part of him believed that the temperature could’ve rivaled todoroki’s quirk.

“hey! I’m sorry if I interrupted you, I just wanted to let you know that I’m ready! If you’d like I can wait in the common area while you’re done.” you say, playing with the straps of your backpack.

he laughs nervously. “o-okay, yeah. I just need to grab a few things and we can head out” he feels his voice get shaky towards the end, and quickly he turns around, flustered, as he pretends to try and find something on top of his bed.

he hears a small laugh from you, before announcing you’ll be waiting for him over there. as your footsteps indicate you walking away, deku immediately lets out the tremulous breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

the thought of being around you, without the confirmation of what this “outing” was considered to be, caused his nerves to skyrocket. he hated second-guessing, and couldn’t bear the embarrassment he would feel if he treated today as a date, only to find out you thought he was joking, or vise versa.

despite the inner conflicts in his overworking mind, he, at least, was certain of one thing. he invited you and you said yes, and you were now waiting for him in the common area.

with a small, unsteady sigh, he starts to relax a bit. everything will be fine. he’ll take you to the event, and you’ll both have an amazing time, free from his overthinking.

at least, that was the plan.

it’s a bit easier said than done, especially in this circumstance, where his mind is on endless overdrive, hanging out with a girl who practically hung the stars in his eyes.

he felt awkward, realizing that not a single word had been exchanged between the two of you since leaving the dorms. he tried to think of something to say, but the probability of stumbling over his words as he tried to start conversation was unfortunately high.

each step he took felt unnatural, as if every movement was a forced effort, desperately trying to match the light, effortless way you walked beside him toward the museum.

it only made things more complicated when deku realized he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you; it was too overwhelming. but the brief glances he stole, seeing you smile softly as you took in your surroundings, only made the fluttering in his heart grow stronger.

he was sweating

but luckily for him, you were the one to break the ice.

“y’know, I’m actually a bit shocked you invited me out, midoriya” you say softly, glancing at the ground with a small smile on your face. deku turns to you, feeling his hands trembling against his side, wondering if you’ll bring up his embarrassing ‘it’s a date’ declaration.

“what…uhm…what do you mean?” he asks, feeling his voice crack. immediately he feels his face grow hot, watching as you glance at him with a small laugh, no trace of teasing, just amusement.

“it’s just, we’re friends, obviously-“ you begin to clarify, and he can’t help but feel his heart drop slightly, despite that being the facts. “but…I don’t know, you were always so close with ochako, iida, todoroki and our other classmates. we don’t interact as much.”

it was the truth. deku never had much trouble talking or hanging out with his classmates. he was extremely close with a few and, at the very least, felt comfortable around all of them, even with bakugo. deku was proud of how far he had come from his middle school days, now able to talk freely and be himself. he felt lucky. but with you, things were slightly different.

he always caught himself rehearsing what to say before starting a conversation. he’d stumble over his words, his face flushing red during any interaction. just a glance in your direction was enough to turn him to mush. in some ways, you made him feel like his middle school self again; timid and nervous. but the reasonings couldn’t be more different.

“I actually wanted to get closer to you, but funny enough I was always kinda shy around you.” suddenly, he halts any movement. did that come from him? that wasn’t his voice. his eyes widen as he realizes that came from you. shy? around him? really?

“what?!” It was difficult to wrap his head around the fact. all this time he was so focused on how to interact normally with you, never once did he take the time to analyze any interaction you had with him and deem it as shy. you were always so happy and kind, and anyone with eyes could see how much he fumbled through the smallest of conversations with you. the thought that maybe you were also shy around him too, made his heart skip a beat.

he watched as you turn to him, cheeks blooming a pretty pink, like the petals of a cherry blossom fluttering through the air. “yeah…i mean…we talked every now and then. not as often, but you were always so kind despite our limited conversations. I never really reached out to you because I was always a little nervous around you, unable to get a clear picture of how you felt about me.”

you take a small step forward, and he immediately notices the slight hesitation in your movement, as if there was more you wanted to say but weren’t sure if you should. he catches the way you try to meet his gaze but become a little flustered, and how your fingers fidget with the straps of your book bag.

deku had always been so perceptive; picking up on body language and mannerisms with ease. but he never realized how similar the two of you were in your interactions. he was always focused on not looking like a fool in front of you; a blushing mess. Yet now, seeing the flustered look in your eyes instead, he felt himself melt on the spot, fighting the urge to kiss your cheeks.

“when you invited me to the hero event, I couldn’t help but feel happy! and…I felt over the moon when you called it a date. even if you didn’t mean to call it that l-“ you pause, before giving him a gentle smile “-it still made me very happy.”

he gazes at you, momentarily questioning if his mind is deceiving him, conjuring up a hopeful illusion. but as he watches you nervously bite your lip, awaiting his response, the reality of the moment sinks in. he feels his heart flutter in his chest, and the weight of your words sends a shiver through his entire body. “you wanted it to be a date?”

“Is it weird if I said more than anything?” you confess, shyly looking at the ground with uncertainty and anxiousness. he feels himself physically vibrate with excitement, hearts practically forming in his eyes as he steps closer, unable to hold back the confession on the tip of his tongue.

“I-I want that too! I want this to be considered an actual date!” he exclaims with happiness pouring out of his soul, feeling his cheeks become slightly sore from his smile. you look up at him, a shocked expression on your face as you slowly process his words. he watches in time the way your features soften, beautiful eyes widening slightly as you let out a gentle gasp.

“really?” you ask, as he feels the joy practically radiating off of you. deku nods in confirmation, hands trembling from overwhelming delight. he meets your gently gaze, as you both stare at each other with bashful grins before a small laugh escapes your lips, followed by a domino effect of uncontainable giggles between you and him.

he feels lighter, almost euphoric; his entire body buzzing with warmth that radiates from his flushed cheeks, offering a new kind of comfort he’d never known before. he was always used to feel shy around you, his heart brimming with so much love and admiration that he could barely meet your gaze. but now, that love has multiplied, and all he wants is to lose himself in your eyes for as long as you’ll let him.

you step to the side, offering him one last smile before the two of you begin to walk in sync. it no longer feels out of place. just right.

“can I hold your hand?” he asks, a hint of the familiar shyness still laced in his words. but this time, there’s a newfound confidence beneath it. he’s certain you feel it too as you beam at him, gently intertwining your soft fingers with his calloused, scarred hand.

“you know…I…all this time, I was kinda freaking out! I didn’t know if this was actually a date or not, and I was extremely nervous this whole time. I’m sorry if things were a little awkward when we left the dorms” you look at him with reassurance; an amused giggle leaving your lips as you shake your head.

“please don’t apologize. I couldn’t even tell!”

[bones32546]

TW:I'm gonna be venting in this one so if you're not in the right mental state for that feel free to skip this one♡♡♡

ITS NOT LETTING ME PUT A FUCKING CONTINUE READING ON IT SO JUST SCROLL PAST IF IT WILL TRIGURE YOU NOW

I cant stop fucking binging and I don't know what to fucking do anymore.i feel so fucking disgusting right now.im honestly at a fucking loss for how much of a fat fuck I am.i just can't believe I keep disappointing myself like this.i need tips so fucking bad on how to stop binging. I'm BEGGING you if you see this PLEASE reblog it cause I'm honestly out of ideas.if you have any tips and tricks for binging and not gaining weight without purging it would be GREATLY appreciated.if any of yall ever need to talk my dms are ALWAYS open.

Im just gonna try to keep my head up and not give up.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

This may be a bit of a hot take, and this is not directed at anyone who's asked me this question either, but…

I think it's really sad that people have to ask if they can interact with an x male/masc reader blog if they don't identify as exclusively male. :/

I DO understand wanting a space away from fem reader content and the people who assume that everyone who reads fanfic is female by default, and therefore the default for all fanfic should be x fem reader. Especially the people who act like they're entitled to men or masc writers creating x fem reader content for them/catering to an x fem reader audience. That's a problem all of its own, and I'm not touching that any further right now.

I'm just disgusted that we — as the x male reader community — have fostered an environment that's unwelcoming, and sometimes outright HOSTILE, to multigender folks.

This is even more concerning that it's happening in the year 2024. It shouldn't be a surprise that people don't identify with a strict, clean-cut binary.

If you can accept trans men; you should be able to accept GNC men.

If you can accept GNC men; you should be able to accept nonbinary people (INCLUDING nonbinary people who do use gendered terms for themselves AND/OR use pronouns other than they/them AND/OR present in an obviously masc/femme way)

If you can accept nonbinary people; you should be able to accept other people who don't conform. People who are sometimes men and sometimes women (and other combinations of other genders too!)

I believe anyone is entitled to setting boundaries and that said boundaries should be respected (within reason), but I also believe that forcing multigender people to choose a side and lump themselves in with one crowd — AKA "just pick one" (hey, doesn't that sound familiar? Like repackaged biphobia and nbphobia?) — is transphobic/queerphobic and unproductive. But that's just my 2 cents. 🤷

— as a male nonbinary guy with some sort of genderfuckery going on for multiple reasons

[smokesandsonatas]

Just wanted to pour some grief on the NRC boys.

Characters: Everyone in Night Raven College.

Warnings: Mentions of death. Slow death. Reader/Yuu is aware that they are dying. Headcanon after-effects of overblot. Gender-Neutral reader.

Not beta read.

Mors immatura

Your death rang hollow in the halls of Night Raven College.

You had vomited blood.

Crimson streaks splattered your trembling hands, and for a brief moment, you stared at them in horror. Your breath hitched, panic rising within you, but soon, a strange, eerie calm settled over your body. You wiped the blood away hurriedly, rinsing your mouth as the metallic tang clung to your tongue. Deep down, you could feel it, your magicless body is finally paying its toll. It was in your bones, your heartbeat slowing, your fragile body unable to cope.

Your time was running out.

With dizziness clouding your vision, you left the bathroom, finding Grim eagerly waiting for you. 

He didn’t know.

No one did.

….

Your sight had begun to blur, but you blamed it on the lack of sleep. The strain from fighting alongside the others, surviving every overblot, without the aid of magic, had taken its toll. The faces around you gradually began to warp into something sinister—shadows and streaks of color, barely recognizable. Faces twisted, shapes indistinguishable, until all you could see were faint glimmers of light.

You had survived seven overblots without magic. You had made it this far.

You would survive this.

Or so you told yourself.

…

You often thought about it—about what would happen if you died here in Twisted Wonderland or somehow returned home. In every scenario, Grim lost. In every outcome, he was alone. That thought crushed you more than anything else, a weight heavier than anything you’d ever borne.

You closed your eyes, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose. The sharp taste of metal lingered on your tongue. You looked down to see blood, a tiny crimson droplet on the paper in front of you.

Followed by another drop of red, then another. Until your blood had mixed with the ink of your pen in your trembling hands.

You crumpled the paper and threw it away.

…

It was undeniable now. You were dying. Your body—magicless, human, frail—had withstood more than it was ever meant to. The overblots, the chaos, the endless strain had pushed you past your limits, and now your body was breaking. You grabbed your lip balm, pressing it against your dry, cracked lips, but the balm melted, unable to heal the itching, peeling wounds.

Death looms near over you.

…

You had collapsed.

When you woke up, the cold floor of the bathroom pressed against your skin. Ghosts had knocked on your door, asking if you were alright. You shouted that you were fine—you feel your throat tear as you do so, but when you glanced at yourself in the mirror, you saw the truth. Bruises covered your body, dark and angry—blood had burst beneath your skin. Your lips were cracked and bleeding. Your eyes… lifeless.

Then blood dripped slowly from your nose and mouth.

You are dying.

How would they react when they found out? The people you had fought beside, helped, befriended, all without the magic they took for granted. Would they even care? Hastily you returned to your bath, the water in the tub turning a disgusting mixture of brown and red.

…

In the hallway, you found a strange sense of peace. Despite everything, you had played a part here. You had healed wounds that went deeper than magic, helped those around you without any powers of your own. You watched Grim, running ahead, his laughter mixing with Ace and Deuce’s banter.

You looked around at everyone: Malleus walking with Lilia, deep in conversation, Vil and Rook sharing a private laugh. Leona and Ruggie exchanging teasing remarks. Idia—talking to Azul regarding club matters, with Ortho by his side. Kalim swinging happily beside Jamil. Trey and Cater following not far behind, lost in their own conversation. The Leech twins laughing loudly, their voices filling the hall. Riddle, Epel, and Silver having a quiet chat. Sebek and Jack comparing their strength, as they always did.

Your heart swelled. Grim would be okay. They would all be okay. They didn’t need you anymore.

"Grim," you called out, your voice steady but soft. A few heads turned in your direction, confused, including Grim’s. He blinked at you, tilting his head.

"I'm glad I came here," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then, you fell.

Your body crumpled to the ground, your head colliding with the hard stone floor with a sickening crack.

…

Crack.

The sound of bone on stone reverberating through the hallway. The air went still, thick with an eerie silence. All eyes were on you, lying motionless on the cold floor, blood beginning to trickle from your nose and mouth. A slow, dark crimson trail painted the stone beneath you.

For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.

Then the first scream pierced the silence.

“Henchman!” 

Grim’s voice cracked as he bolted toward you. His claws dug into the floor, dragging him closer, faster, panic ripping through him like a tidal wave—fur standing on end. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the blood pouring from your lips, staining the stone red, your eyes rolled at the back of your head, and the way your chest no longer moved with breath. "No, no, no, no!" His voice was a desperate plea.

Grim wasn’t the only one who lost control.

Ace was next, pushing Grim aside, his hands frantically grabbing your shoulders. "Get up! Get up!" His voice shook, but it wasn’t a tease this time—it was desperation, pure and sharp. Blood smeared his hands as he shook you, but your body didn’t react. “You’re fine, you’re always fine! Don’t—don’t do this!” Magic had started accumulating behind him, like a slice of a sharp card against frail skin.

Deuce collapsed beside him, his face ghostly pale, his hands trembling as he reached for your face, wiping away the blood from your lips with shaky fingers—all it did was smear your face in red. “No… please… wake up…” His voice was barely a whisper, cracking with a grief he hadn’t known how to feel until now. Tears slipped down his cheeks, splashing onto your clothes, mixing with the blood.

Riddle stumbled forward, his composure unraveling as he tried to get past his two subordinates now in hysterics. He pressed two fingers to your neck, searching for a pulse, but there was only stillness. “No…” His voice broke, and a tremor of uncontrollable magic sparked from his body, making the air ripple. “No, no, no. You can’t be—Wake up!” His voice rose into a cry, desperate and accusing, but the accusations were aimed at himself.

Leona stepped forward, his face twisted in rage and disbelief. "Out of the way," he growled, shoving the others aside as if they were nothing. His claws dug into your arm, hard enough to leave bruises. "You don’t get to leave. You hear me?" His voice was low, dangerous. He leaned in close—you reeked rotten, his breath hot on your skin. “Wake up.” His voice was a command this time, snarling through clenched teeth.

But you didn’t stir.

“Wake up!”

Nothing.

Leona’s eyes darkened with something primal, something dangerous, his grip tightening, magic sparking at his fingertips. “You’re not leaving.” His voice was a snarl, deep and guttural. “I won’t let you leave me.”

Behind him, Malleus’s eyes burned with an unearthly glow. He took slow, deliberate steps toward your body, his presence making the room seem smaller, suffocating. His gaze was fixed on you, and beneath his calm exterior, something twisted and dark brewed. “No,” he murmured, his voice like a storm cloud forming on the horizon. “This can’t be the end.” His magic flared, crackling in the air like lightning about to strike. “You will wake.”

Lilia, always watchful, grabbed Malleus by the shoulder, trying to pull him back. “Malleus, no—your magic is too unstable right now.” Even he, the one who had seen so much loss, struggled to contain the well of emotion building inside him.

But Malleus’s eyes glowed, filled with a dangerous desperation. “I will bring them back,” he whispered. His voice was sharp, cold. “I must bring them back. I cannot lose them.”

Sebek froze, eyes wide with disbelief, his entire world crumbling as he stared at your lifeless body. "Prefect!" he roared, voice trembling with desperation as he rushed forward, but his hands hovered, shaking, too afraid to touch you. For the first time, the brashness that defined him cracked, and his voice softened to a broken whisper. "This can’t be real..." Tears welled in his green eyes, his heart shattering under the weight of failure. 

Beside him, Silver fell to his knees in silence, his calm exterior replaced by a hollow expression. He gently took your cold hand, his own tears slipping quietly down his face as he whispered, "You were supposed to stay with us..." Both boys were drowning in the same crushing grief—Sebek’s magic flaring wildly beneath his skin, fueled by helpless rage, while Silver’s quiet sorrow seemed to darken the very air around him. 

Azul, watching from the side, taking slow steps towards your cold body, felt all three of his heart drop into his stomach. His thoughts whirled, a hundred ideas—contracts, spells, anything to fix this—each more desperate than the last. His eyes had split into two horizontal slits. “This can’t be real,” he muttered, his voice trembling. His mind raced through his memories of every deal he’d ever made, but nothing could reverse death—No! You’re not—!

Floyd’s laughter echoed suddenly, sharp and jagged. “Hehehe… little shrimpy’s just playing dead, right?” He leaned down, his long fingers grabbing your shoulders. His grip was bruising, almost cruel, as he shook you like a ragdoll—no response, instead blood had gushed out of your ears. “Get up. We’re not done having fun yet, right? Right, Shrimpy?” His grin was wide, but his voice cracked. “Come on, don’t mess with me like this.”

Jade was silent, his hand resting lightly on Floyd’s shoulder, his gaze fixed on you. He said nothing, but the twitch in his jaw betrayed the turmoil brewing inside him. His hand gripped his brother’s shoulders tight, as if he was also grounding himself against the shock coursing through his body. His eyes were fixed on you, cold calculation flickering beneath the surface.

Grim’s breathing grew heavier. His little chest heaved, his eyes locked on your body, the blood pooling beneath your mouth. He backed away slowly, his fur standing on end, his pupils shrinking into pinpricks.

It’s his fault.

The thought slammed into him, unbidden and cruel. If he’d been stronger—if he hadn’t needed you to fight for him—you wouldn’t be lying there now, still and cold. The rage bubbled up inside him, thick and dark, something feral.

“NO!” Grim screamed, his voice warping as thick, black flames exploded from his body. The ground trembled beneath him, cracks spiderwebbing through the stone. Black sludge began to rise, oozing from the cracks, his magic spiraling out of control as he overblotted. His eyes turned black, his tears mixing with the darkness pouring out of him. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME! I WON’T LET YOU!”

The flames grew, licking at the walls, dark magic pulsing from Grim in violent waves. The very air around him warped, as if the weight of his magic was threatening to crush the room itself.

The others barely noticed.

Malleus’s magic roared to life, his desperation turning to fury as he stood over your body, green lightning flickering at his fingertips. “This world… this place... It doesn’t deserve you if it takes you from me!” The darkness in his voice reverberated through the hallway, his magic on the verge of snapping.

Leona’s claws dug into the stone floor, his muscles taut, rage barely contained. “You will not depart,” he growled, his fangs bared. Jack had froze beside a wide-eyed Ruggie, who now trembles, their voices leaving the both of them. The beasts had gone cold, dissociating from reality. 

Riddle stood frozen, shaking violently as his magic flared uncontrollably. His eyes flicked between you and the others, panic and helplessness overtaking him. “This can’t be!”

Even Idia, standing further back, his face pale, muttered to himself, his mind spinning into madness. “I—I should’ve done something. I should’ve—I can’t… fix this…” His words tumbled out in a frenzied whisper, as if his mind was collapsing under the weight of his thoughts. The familiar flicker of a tablet or the comforting click of his keyboard were nowhere to ground him now. His shaking hands reached for nothing, helplessly twitching as if trying to summon some unseen solution from thin air.

His usually distant gaze, now haunted, locked onto your lifeless body, his breaths coming in shallow, irregular gasps. "I-I... I should've been faster, smarter... anything... ANYTHING." His voice trembles, and he stumbled back, hitting the wall behind him like a marionette with its strings cut. His fingers dug into his hair, pulling at it as though the physical pain could stop the onslaught of guilt ravaging his mind.

Ortho rushed forward, his sensors going haywire as he scanned your body. “No… no… no signs of life detected.” His voice, usually so calm, so confident, trembled with panic, his little hands trying to support his dissociating brother. “This… this can’t be…” His mechanical heart raced as he looked up at his brother, but Idia was unresponsive, lost in his own spiral of grief.

Around them, the world seemed to warp and twist, the sheer weight of their grief and magic bending reality itself. The stones beneath their feet cracked, the walls groaned under the pressure of the overwhelming despair. The storm of emotions threatened to tear the very fabric of Night Raven College apart.

And at the center of it all, you lay still, blood seeping from your mouth and nose in slow, dark rivulets.

You were gone.

And with you, the fragile threads that held their world together had snapped.

The world had become a swirl of madness, magic crackling in the air like a live wire ready to snap. But as your blood spilled, that dark crimson seeping into the cracks of the stone floor, more footsteps echoed down the hall. A shift in the wind. Others arrived, drawn by the sound, the fury, the unmistakable metallic scent of blood that clung to the air like death itself.

Vil’s sharp gaze fell upon the scene first. His flawless expression cracked, just for a second, before his entire being seemed to tense, the air around him growing taut. “No… no.” His voice was a whisper, cold disbelief woven into every word. He dropped to his knees beside you, his fingers brushing your skin. Cold. Too cold. His lips twisted into a snarl. “This is unacceptable!” he screamed, the desperation in his voice mingling with fury. His perfectly controlled magic flickered, unsteady.

Rook followed closely behind, his usually composed smile twisted into something unsettling. “Trickster…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He knelt beside Vil, his eyes scanning your still form, the blood that stained your lips, the emptiness in your gaze. “Non, this is not how our story ends, I will not let it!” His hands clenched into fists as his magic pulsed in frantic rhythm, the usual elegance of his movements gone.

Epel was shaking, his fists white-knuckled at his sides. “No, no, no…” he whispered, his voice small, filled with disbelief. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, staring at the blood—your blood—that pooled around your head—shit, why are you bleeding everywhere?! He clenched his teeth, tears slipping down his face as he screamed, voice cracking, “WAKE UP! This can’t be happening! You promised we’d go back to Harveston together!” His eyes burned with the beginning of an overblot, the tension in his frame snapping as his magic rippled uncontrollably.

Jamil and Kalim arrived moments later. Kalim’s face was pale, the usually joyful light in his eyes dimming as he saw you lying there. His lips trembled, the words stuck in his throat. “No… no… You can’t leave like this!” His voice was barely audible, his shaking hands hovering above your still form as though afraid touching you would make it worse. Tears streamed down his face, his entire body trembling.

Jamil was deathly silent, his face an unreadable mask, but his eyes told the story. He was calculating, desperate, thoughts spinning rapidly for a way to fix this, anything to undo this nightmare. His usually steady breath hitched, his magic swirling like a hurricane beneath the surface. “This… this shouldn’t have happened,” he mumbled, his voice low, filled with suppressed panic.

Trey was next. He saw the blood first, the way it dripped from your mouth, your nose. His hand covered his mouth, but his eyes betrayed his calm demeanor—shattered. “This isn’t right. They can’t… they can’t just be gone.” His voice faltered, the certainty crumbling away as he kneeled next to Riddle, who was still shaking violently, unable to tear his eyes from your body. Trey’s usual calm was gone; his hands trembled as he looked for any sign of life, but the stillness of your chest was all he could see.

Cater followed, his usual easy-going demeanor obliterated. “No way… no way…” His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes darting from your body to the others. The red, the stillness, the sheer finality of it all twisted something in his chest. He dropped his phone—in his haste to be close to you. “Come on, don’t leave us like this…”

All around you, magic rippled violently—like a dam ready to burst. The boys couldn’t accept it. They wouldn’t accept it.

The stench of your blood was heavy in the air, metallic and cold, thick like death itself. They all felt it, tasted it. The scent stuck in their noses, their throats, clawing at their lungs as denial and rage took over.

The smell, the sight of your blood—your blood—on their hands, on the ground, on your lips, drove them all to the edge.

They couldn’t lose you.

Malleus’s magic lashed out first, the walls groaning under the weight of his unchecked power. “NO!” His voice shook the very foundation of the school. Green lightning cracked across the floor, a storm of dark energy coiling around him, suffocating. “I refuse to accept this! I refuse to let them go!”

Vil, clutching you, cried out as his own magic spiraled. “This cannot be how it ends!” His hands trembled, unable to reconcile the beauty of life and the hideousness of death sprawled before him. “You will open your eyes again!”

Leona’s magic exploded in fury, his claws digging into the stone, cracking it beneath his weight. “God damn it!” he snarled, his voice guttural, raw with unspoken grief. “Wake up herbivore!”

Grim’s overblot had fully consumed him, black flames scorching the floor as he screamed into the void. Snarling at anyone who dared touch your cold body. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME! I WON’T LET YOU!”

And just as it seemed the entire school would collapse under the weight of their magic, the teachers arrived.

Crowley stood at the front, his usually calm, distant demeanor shattered. “Enough!” he yelled, though his voice wavered—with fear perhaps, at the thought of a student losing their life under his supervision. A strong magic bursts forth his cane as he tried to snap back his students to reality. Professor Crewel followed, his face a mask of fury and disbelief as he forced his way through the students, his whip snapping as it cut through the swirling darkness. “Control yourselves!”

Professor Trein moved in beside him, his face pale but determined. “We must act quickly,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.

Even Vargas, normally brimming with energy and confidence, stood there, his usual bravado swallowed by an unbearable solemnity. His massive arms hung limply at his sides as he tried to process the sight before him—You, the human who had survived every challenge, now lay motionless. 

Without a word, he strode forward, bending down to gently lift your lifeless body into his arms—Ignoring the snarls, and the hysterics thrown at his way. His usual strength seemed to falter as he cradled you, his broad chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths. His gripped on you tightened, you had gone cold.

The chaos reached its peak, every student fighting to grab hold of your body, to deny the truth staring them in the face. But no amount of magic, no outpouring of rage, could undo what had been done. No force could bring you back from the edge you had already crossed.

Years will pass, and the world would move on without you, but the heart of Night Raven College would never fully recover.

[loganswdc]

i dunno who fucking said it, if it was david c. or will buxton but they tried my baby (logan), comparing franco to logan talking about how franco was better and saying logan crashed more and shit, but they both can eat my shit and leave my baby ALONE .

- 🏎

REAL REAL REAL REAL REAL literally i don't understand how anyone thinks they can fairly compare logan and franco when logan never got to drive the car with upgrades (and when he got upgrades they took them away !) while franco is driving a fully upgraded car like come on 😭 and in general it's insane to me how vehemently people have been comparing franco , not just to logan but to other drivers , too !! like it not only makes me upset for logan and the other drivers being compared to him because ?? wtf ?? but it also makes me sad for franco because he didn't sign up for this kind of treatment .

i truly will never understand how people can think they can fairly compare franco with others , especially with logan , and the insane hate that people have towards logan . i cannot comprehend it and i don't think i ever will . i overall do not understand the hate that a lot of drivers get . perhaps it's because i have a lot of empathy for people and can understand different sides of things ,, but i just don't understand how hateful the f1 community has been recently . and that especially goes to how people have treated logan .

and the commentators making such comments and coming after logan even though its been a whole month since he got dropped is also insane to me . it's as though they have nothing else to talk about and their commentary will fall flat if they don't take a jab at logan . like , please , just move on . let him rest . let him go on to different motorsports series and show how good of a driver he is . they need to stop constantly bringing him up in such a negative way . he was their scapegoat then and he still is now , and it's pathetic and sad and disgusting .

and it's crazy to me how it's their job to know what's going on (who has upgrades , who doesn't , who is driving what car , etc.) and yet they never have any clue what the fuck is going on and make stupid comments . like y'all fucking SUCK at ur jobs if all you can comment on is negative things about logan . literally they need to do some damn research and open their eyes like us fans have been doing for so long 😭

also !! on a happier note -- oh my gosh hi race car anon !! this is my first ever emoji anon message i've ever gotten so this is genuinely so exciting to me 😭💞

[mithrifer]

My thoughts on Flipside

Class of 09 Flipside was hilarious, but I don't think it approaches the original or reup in quality.

I don't think it's because the main character is Jecka, or anything. Honestly, Jecka is the best part of the game, she's consistently good whether it be in jokes or likeability. The side characters just don't... live up to her though. Aside from her it's just Nicole, Jeffery, her dad and Kelly. I don't think Nicole is very good in this game, Jeffery and her dad are rather one note as expected and Kelly... unfortunately stars in the weakest route by far and does not much even there. Barely any Emily and Ari, no Kylar, no Karen. No Kyle. Jecka's great and carries herself quite well throughout the game, but she feels really alone narratively. This could be a conscious choice, as she goes through most of her troubles as a lonely girl without anyone to rely on, but I think they could've made that point without sacrificing the interest that comes with everyone surrounding her. Most of her interactions either use the other characters as jokes or to elevate her story, which wasn't how 09 or reup felt. Nicole got to try out new things thanks to all the weirdos she was surrounded with giving her new ways to have fun, whereas Jecka only really has Jeffery and her dad in that way, and she feels trapped no matter what she does. She didn't seem that way in the first twk games, but I suppose you could say those were not about her. I think the fact that you can't see her mom even on the school routes speaks volumes though.

Every ending is there just to shock you, and I'm not saying this because there's no happy endings or anything, the first two barely had those. It's more like... the endings feel like they barely have anything to do with the routes they come from? Why does the foot route end with... that? It's just out of nowhere. Not to mention the deal with the whole FYE route. I don't think there's anything redeeming about that one, it doesn't even feel like it belongs to the same world. And the way the game cheapens one of the best endings in the original by just, inserting Jecka. Which is something people have wanted for a while now, but I don't think the idea was done justice. It feels like a cheap "here you go" moment to me. It's really upsetting because I feel like the game could have gone in a ton of great places, but there's barely any choices or routes and the abrupt, weird endings just feel like a slap on the face even to the ones that were given. I think the best route was the one about drinking because it felt honest to Jecka's character and the ending was something I could've actually foreseen in one of the earlier games. After that it's the one with Jeffery, but I'm kind of iffy on that because I don't think Nicole would do that. Not for any moral reasons but more due overall disgust. Feels inconsistent with her presently given character.

The writing feels overall different imo. It's hard to put a finger on it, because it definitely relies on the same formula it had in the previous entries, but nothing in Flipside packs the same emotional punch. The humor is fairly good, but it's not spectacular like the first two games were for me. I still laughed out a few times though, since this is right up my alley.

I'm still happy I saw it, because it was quite fun... But it wasn't really more than that. It just felt like a humor piece. I don't know what spoke out to me in the first two VN's, but I don't think Flipside has it. And honestly, considering it true to these two (canon, ig?) lessens their value for me due to the shift in the thematics and I guess writing, so I think I'll ignore it when I think about the series in general. Which is such a shame, because I want to love it, it's just... not there.

It's definitely worth the time to check it out either way though. Again, pretty funny. This is what I felt about it, and I wanted to get my thoughts out. Since it's so early in its release, I've tried to avoid putting any spoilers in the post. Maybe someone will read it and appreciate, idk. Drunk driving rules.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 3 - A Manageable Situation

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: As LaCroix brings Vincent home to Venture Tower, each one has a very simple plan. Surely all will go well.

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, kidnapping

Vincent drifted through the city of angels, a prisoner in his own body. Bars and restaurants and strip clubs flashed past in neon and chain link and rain-drenched concrete. The downpour did nothing to stifle the city stench, but rather enhanced it. The air was too warm, too humid, the look of palms and alien plants more unfamiliar than it should have been, given that he’d watched American movies. But everything looked different in person. He had been to the states before, but never the west coast. It occurred to him, in fact, that he was probably farther from Versailles than he’d ever been.

By the clock on the dash, it was just past 8 PM local time. The whole night lay ahead of them. And LaCroix was just getting started, taking his “early” business calls in the front seat as the city’s nightlife shook itself awake. Meanwhile, Vincent fought against the hunger and exhaustion that had not been properly addressed for days even before he was taken.

With Sebastian’s concentration slipping to other concerns, Vincent’s numbed emotions were slipping back into the pit of his stomach, where they tied themselves into an aching knot. Horror was there, in nightmarish quantity, but so was hope - a feverish, desperate kind of hope. This was not the time to panic, but to plan. This was really a very manageable situation, all things considered. “No one is looking for you because no one knows you are missing.” He kept repeating those words to himself. LaCroix was quite right. All he had to do was contact someone. Even being seen alive in public might be enough. And then everyone would be looking for him. And they’d take him away. And LaCroix would be so devastated…pictures of him kept intruding into Vincent’s mind, crying over Vincent, losing him, missing him. There was some overwhelming desire to see LaCroix utterly pathetic on his account. It wasn’t ideal to be so fixated on LaCroix, but…better to hate him than to love him. In the midst of this feeling, it was possible to dream of escape, and so he clung to it.

He’d been directly commanded not to jump out of the vehicle, but he rested his forehead against the glass, hoping to be seen as the streetlamps passed over him in cycling flashes of yellow. But they were, of course, moving too quickly for anyone to recognize him, even if any of the passersby somehow knew who he was. Without any incident, the car came to a stop in front of an enormous skyscraper which LaCroix announced as Venture Tower.

The building itself seemed hostile, designed for intimidation. What kind of a man flanked his doorway with these god-awful Modernist figures of what Vincent could only describe as emaciated shadow people? It was chilling, but in such an unsophisticated way, like hoisting up a head on a pike for all to see. He wondered if they were meant to represent those Sebastian had drained of blood. He tried to play off his shudder of body horror as mere aesthetic disgust. “How is it that you lived through Romanticism without absorbing a single one of its artistic principles? It was wasted on you.”

LaCroix’s eyes widened and Vincent realized too late that he’d given himself away. Until now, the Prince probably thought he was still under full domination. “Already running your mouth again? Extraordinary, how you break free. So much so, in fact, that I’ll indulge you.” He gestured to the dismal grey lobby that would have been better suited to a penitentiary. “I change with the times and the requirements of leadership. It’s called branding, Vincent, and it saves lives. You’ll find the penthouse better suited to your tastes, but there’s no reason for the masses to see how I furnish my own living space. They have a tendency to start lopping off heads when they see too much open gaudiness…or firing bullets through skulls, as the case may be.” The Prince eyed Vincent’s embroidered greatcoat pointedly, as if that had been the sole reason for Wick’s dispute with him.

But he hadn’t stolen Vincent’s voice again, and that was something. Better try for a compliment, keep him talking.

“It does make for a brutal spectacle, at least, which is its own sort of…functionality.” His eyes were fixed on the elevator’s emergency call button, and his mind on the phone at the front desk of the lobby. His own cell phone had been confiscated at some point in his unconsciousness. Who was carrying it? LaCroix, or the Sheriff?

LaCroix nodded, no doubt pleased with his own advice. That confident smile, the way his mouth curled back against his fangs…Vincent suddenly felt like he had lost command of himself again. It was so difficult to look at this man without wanting to crush him to pieces. “You’ll learn a great deal with me, Vincent. I’m offering you an opportunity, to serve the interests of the Camarilla, to rule over LA at my side…and eventually much more than that, as your regnant’s hold expands.”

An opportunity to serve. How enticing. Vincent physically bit his tongue until his irritation subsided before replying. “Do you take me for a fool, LaCroix? I know what it means to share power, and it does not interest me.”

“How unfortunate. Then you will have none. You’ve lost your privileges again.”

A violent jolt of compulsion followed, stronger than anything on the aircraft. He was a passenger in his body again for the remainder of the elevator ride. He drifted powerless into the heart of Sebastian’s domain, gliding past the collection of history paintings that had been missing from the art historical community for hundreds of years, past the gold filigree flickering with firelight and the white moon that flashed through driving rain to cast a sliver of halo against the Prince’s hair. Sebastian wasn’t joking – he was a man of taste after all, and to be at the epicenter of his power was to walk in a decadent dream.

Never had Vincent felt so completely in the power of another person. Never had he felt another person’s strength so directly, inside of his own body and surrounding him on every side with the fruits of his superior’s machinations. He was totally and completely in Sebastian’s hold, spurred to the point of some manic envy. Two centuries of power were concentrated in this room. It made him want to sing and scream out loud, to climb the walls and knife the cushions, to tear the curtains with his teeth, to fling himself at LaCroix and…and…

To outdo him. How good it would feel, to conquer the most magnificent man he had ever seen. An opportunity. Yes, an opportunity to conquer. To see you broken and wretched. To impress you, REALLY impress you, until you bow to me. You’ll look so pretty weeping on your knees when your new pet disappears back to France with all your secrets, Bast…shame I won’t be here to see it… He shook himself, trying to focus only on the return home, but the return home was tied up with a powerful vengefulness towards LaCroix. To live, to be himself, was to struggle against LaCroix. His blood was pounding wildly all through his body, livid with another man’s vital energy.

Then Sebastain’s hands were on him, guiding him gently into a chair. “Easy. It’s hitting you, isn’t it? You like my pretty things?”

Oh, Sebastian. You don’t understand at all. In a wrathful haze, he grinned. “…Oui.”

“Good then.” He straightened up and snapped his fingers at the Sheriff. “He’s coming under control. We should be alright.” They were whispering about some assignment, and the Sheriff was gone.

Vincent stared into the fire, half insensible and trembling. I’m going to devastate him. I’m going to make him hurt. I’m going to devour everything that’s his and make it MINE.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

LaCroix opened his briefcase, removing the contents from his travels and settling in at his desk for the night. He was thoroughly relieved. It was really a very manageable situation. The Marquis just took a while to feel the full effects. Perhaps that made sense, given how long it had taken him to heal from the bullet wound. Regrowing a brain was such a long process. But the vitae had finally taken root, and he was completely entranced.

Sebastian’s eyes lingered on Vincent. He was shaking in some ecstasy of reverence or lust, his eyes fixed on a Ventrue crest above the fireplace. It was strangely…disappointing. To see him like this was such an insult to the Marquis who had been fighting for his freedom tooth and nail just minutes ago. The Prince couldn’t help the sense that he had crushed something irreplaceable, and that it wasn’t worth it. Brought to heel, Vincent was cute, but before he had been…

Well, anyway, he wasn’t just cute. He really was bright. It was only a matter of how best to use him. He’d make a uniquely opportune spy within the High Table if there was some way to send him back in without compromising the Masquerade. But that was doubtful, and besides, he’d make just as clever a spy within the underworld. It seemed a shame to waste him among the kine - a specimen such as this wasn’t meant for such a life.

Or he could be useful on the trail of the Sarcophagus…

“Join me for a moment.” It was somewhere between hilarious and painful, watching Vincent cross the room. He wasn’t unsteady exactly, but pulled taut as a violin string. He practically vibrated. Sebastian could hear his racing heart. Vincent’s wide eyes locked onto his face and could not turn away. There was still something terrifying in them, and he found himself wondering whether he hadn’t best calm him down before attempting conversation. “…Are you quite well now, Vincent?”

“I am…hungry.” It was said with all the strained desperation of a newborn vampire. “Please, Prince. I know you don’t need to eat, but it’s been all day and night for me. Won’t you get me something, anything?”

He smiled, indulgent. Vincent wasn’t just cute this way, he was adorable. Those pleading eyes. “Alright. One moment, and then we’ll have a talk over your breakfast.”

One moment, turned away to call the front desk. And Vincent had already retrieved his cell phone from the briefcase and run halfway across the room. It was ringing.

He swore and made after him. “Oh for - Just where do you think you’re going!?” Vincent only sped up and disappeared into the stairwell. For god’s sake, his legs were so long…

Down they spiraled, Sebastian shouting useless commands that only seemed to spur him onward. It was no use to take him by force, it would have to be old-fashioned reason. “WHOEVER THAT IS WILL DIE IF YOU SAY A WORD!” The words echoed down some twenty stories. More quietly, for Vincent’s ears only, “The Masquerade. Recall what I told you.”

Vincent went still. In the sudden silence, a voice could be heard on the other side, barely loud enough to filter out towards LaCroix. “Hello? Who is this? It’s not possible that this is the Marquis.”

Panting, staring up at LaCroix with unbridled hatred, Vincent hung up the phone. Why did that look cut him so deeply? He pushed the pain aside and continued his descent, slowly now. Vincent did not retreat any further. “Good boy. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But you have to understand that I couldn’t let you go now even if I wanted to. It’s a violation of all our laws. To save you, I had to take you away. Permanently. You cannot go back.” He came to the same step as Vincent, looking up at him now, their bodies inches apart. “And now that I have you, can you fault me for putting you to use? When you are such a sharpened tool that you frighten even me?”

Very softly, “I frighten you?”

“…Dreadfully.”

Vincent’s eyes had never looked softer, never more innocently pleased. “Merveilleux.” And he lifted Sebastian right off his feet, and hurled him over the railing.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

Image Sources: One (background) | One (Vincent) | Two

[whereserpentswalk]

You have to wear power armor for your job. You're a ranger, it's your job to go out to under explored planets and other heavenly bodies and retrieve things, or make contact with people, or deliver things. As romanticized as it is its mostly just walking through places humans can't safely walk through.

Seeing your power armor for the first time was weird. It was entirely metal, but it was very sleek, form fitting, with a pinched in waist and chrome texture. The helmet had a large visor, like a motorcycle helmet, you could see someone's eyes through it, you'd be able to see more but a gas mask like thing covers your mouth and nose below the helmet. You're even allowed by the company to paint it or add stickers. You feel so elegant within it, so powerful, so modern.

On your first mission you understand just how much you'll be wearing your power armor. You're on a planet with an atmosphere that would poison any humanoid on it, and it's inhabitants breath that stuff so there's no changing it. You spend months trying to track someone down, and never take off your armor once.

As time goes on there are more and more missions like that. You've walked through a forest filled with poison plants. Several places with no atmosphere at all. A planet where it rains glass. The skeleton of a long destroyed spaceship. A place so cold the ocean is solid ice. A place so hot your blood would have boiled if not for your armor. Days, weeks, months, spent inside armor. The company doesn't let you take off the armor on missions, but it's just safety, in almost all of these places it would kill you the momment you took your helmet off. They don't give you much time between missions, so you get used to being in armor very quickly.

Your armor takes care of you. Nutrition is injected into your body, and waste product is removed directly from your guts. The suit cleans your entire body without you noticing it. You can sleep while the suit still walks for you. You don't feel any pain or heat or cold. You can even browse the internet with it, and you can call or text anyone without moving your hands. They joke that the armor masturbates for you, but it actually does send pleasurable sensations throughout your body when you need that type of sensation. It all feels weird at first, but soon it feels normal. You had some robot freinds in highschool, you wonder if they felt like this.

When you’re between missions, and spending time in various hub stations or port cities, you realize you're wearing the armor most of the time too. Sometimes you take the helmet off but that feels weird, you don't like the feeling of air on your face. The other rangers you know, the ones who have been doing it for years longer than you, don't ever want to be outside of their armor.

You eventually get permission from the company to go back home for a few weeks to see your family and freinds. When you get to your homeworld you take off your armor for the first time in a long time. You don't really have normal clothing so you're wearing what you had when you first left nearly two years ago. Your family and freinds all want to catch up with you but it's all so weird and awkward.

You feel like you've been skinned. Every little thing touching you feels so uncomfortable. Your body seems so gross and soft and week, everything feels so wrong, and hard to move. You're not used to taking care of your bodily functions or grooming, and it's both hard to adjust, and gross for you to have to do these things. The idea of putting food in your mouth seems so disgusting. You can barely walk on your own now.

You tried to go on a walk with your joyfriend. But the wind on your flesh disturbed you so much that you began to weep. They tried to hug you but it only made things worse.

After that you just wore your armor for the rest of the trip. Most people you know were disturbed. They wanted you to quit the job but the pay was too good, and you wouldn't know where else to go. It was just another thing everyone would get used to, just another mundane fact of life.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Choose Your True Love - Keith Howell (part 3/4)

This is the from the 4th anniversary event.

(Alter)Keith indicates that it’s Alter!Keith pretending to be Keith.

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. 

At the last estate we visited, the noble had an herbalist develop highly lethal poisons that he’d illegally sell to other countries.

It was the gravest crime I heard of today.

(And yet…)

Noble: I don’t know what you’re talking about! Your evidence was arranged to slander me.

(Alter)Keith: Are you kidding? Do I look like I have free time?

Noble: Ha, shameless. You’re getting rid of everyone you see as unfavorable since you can’t do anything else. The thought of you as the next king is terrifying. Are you unaware of how much you worry His Majesty?

(Alter)Keith: “I’m” well aware. However, you don’t need to take something so trivial so seriously. Actually, I think His Majesty would be happy to hear that I got rid of anyone that would hurt our country.

While the man raged like a demon, Prince Keith remained unbothered.

However, his voice was cold and it was like you could see the words “unpleasant”, “annoying”, and “depressing” written on his large back.

(How can the noble say something so harsh when the evidence is right in front of him?)

Behind Prince Keith, I was stewing in anger while holding back the urge to slap the noble.

At that moment, Prince Keith cleared his throat and cut the man off.

(Alter)Keith: I don’t wanna waste any more time, so we should wrap things up.

He looked at the noble and handed him a document.

The man’s face paled at its contents.

Noble: Stripped of…my land and title? No way, don’t mess around with me!

(Alter)Keith: There’s no need to yell, it’s the truth. Are you unaware of how serious the crimes you committed were? Even if you try to run away, you have no status, no money, nothing. You’ll be spending your days wishing for death.

Noble: Gh…Then we’ll just pretend this never happened. No one will go along with your lies anyway.

(...!)

The man rang a bell that was on the table and hired mercenaries stormed in.

(He thought something like this would happen…he’s basically admitting his guilt)

Alter!Keith: You stay close to the wall.

Emma: …Okay.

As the mercenaries charged toward Prince Keith with their swords drawn, he drew his sword with a mocking smile.

He proceeded to cut through their arms, legs, and stomachs without hesitation, and delivered bone-shattering kicks.

The way he fought was like that of a savage beast, a far cry from the man I knew.

Mercenary: Damn it…

(Ah…)

I met eyes with a mercenary. 

When I braced myself for an attack, a flying chair slammed the man against the wall.

Alter!Keith: Where’re your eyes at? You got the wrong opponent.  

(He saved me…Even though right now, I’m just a stranger and not someone important enough to protect)

(No…that doesn’t matter)

(What matters is if someone’s harmful to the nice Prince Keith or not. That’s what I think his criteria is)

After that, the mercenaries swung his sword at Prince Keith, but wasn’t even able to land a hit on him, and soon, we were the only ones left standing in the damaged room a beast had rampaged in.

Noble: Why…why did this happen…

(Alter)Keith: You were the one who knowingly committed a crime. Your refusal to accept it won’t change the facts.

In a fit of rage, the man slammed his head on the floor and then writhed in pain.

When I took in the horrifying scene, the man’s fists suddenly stopped shaking.

I could hear my heart pounding in the odd silence that followed.

Noble: …If what I did was a crime, then what about you? You killed your brother.

(Wha…)

(Alter)Keith: …

Noble: You couldn’t save him because you’re a failure? You killed him because you’re a failure. A good little brother who was loved by everyone was in your way. You’re just as much of a criminal as I am. So why weren’t you judged?

(You don’t know anything…How dare you say something so disgusting to a person who just lost someone important to him?) 

I was so angry I felt dizzy. My vision became spotty. I was hyperventilating. 

If I said anything, my anger would erupt like a volcano.

(But I can’t take it anymore)

Alter!Keith: …

(Eh…)

Prince Keith drew his sword again.

When he stalked toward the man on the floor, an alarm went off in my head.

(No…!)

I found myself moving when he raised his sword.

Noble: Gah…!

(...!)

When I hugged Prince Keith from behind to stop him, his sword struck the man’s shoulder.

(I was late…but he missed a vital spot. If I didn’t move, it wouldn’t have been his shoulder)

Alter!Keith: …Who killed my brother? Who’s a criminal? Say it again.

Noble: Eek, s-save me…

Alter!Keith: Now the greedy criminal’s playing the victim? Digusting. Why…do people like you get to live comfortably? Don’t use that guy as a distraction.

(He’s not used to hearing this)

(He’s been holding in more anger than I could ever imagine)

(Wicked Prince Keith exists for nice Prince Keith. He’ll never get used to it)

It was like my heart was torn out of my chest as I felt him trembling through my hold on him.

(Anger dulls the pain as it continues piling on)

(Prince Keith doesn’t know how much he’s hurting because of that anger)

(And all these words hurt the nice Prince Keith)

--

Emma: Huh, are you sure?

Alter!Keith: If you came from the future, then you got nowhere else to stay. Think of it as an apology for keeping you out so late.

Emma: …Thank you. For everything…

(I didn’t him to prepare a room for me)

By the time we returned to the castle, it was dark out.

After leading me to my room, Prince Keith immediately turned away.

He was heading in the opposite direction of his room and I found myself speaking up.

Emma: Um, Prince Keith.

Alter!Keith: Hm?

I didn’t expect him to stop and look at me.

Those dark circles under his eyes had gotten worse.

(Of course they were. Everywhere we went, people hurled words that made me want to cover my ears)

Emma: Where are you going?

Alter!Keith: Somewhere to relax. I’m not sleepy yet. You should get some sleep. I’ll play with you again tomorrow if you’re in the mood. It’s better to be with someone when you want a distraction.

(Does he think I’m feeling anxious over suddenly being transported into the past…?)

(After all that’s happened…How can he be so kind?)

(Even with a different personality, Prince Keith’s still Prince Keith. That’s why…)

Alter!Keith: What else do you want?

I grabbed Prince Keith’s arm as he started to walk away.

I was hesitant, but had a strong desire to not let go.

Emma: So much happened today that I don’t think I’ll be able to get any sleep. So…can I stay with you for just a little longer?

(I don’t want to leave Prince Keith alone when he’s like this)

After a moment of silence, my hand was removed.

And then Prince Keith crudely pulled me toward him.

Alter!Keith: …Sure. Since you invited me, you’re gonna make it fun for me, right?

--

(—I didn’t expect this)

[pascaloverx]

BORN TO DIE

Summary: In a tense political setting, a Targaryen bastard working as a prostitute is summoned by Prince Aemond to the Red Keep. Aemond wants her to approach his dragon, Vhagar, as a test of her worth. Although he plans for her to claim another dragon in the future, her immediate challenge is to survive Prince Aemond demands while trying to stay alive.

Author’s Note: This work is set in the world created by George R.R. Martin, as depicted in his book Fire & Blood, and none of the characters belong to me. The story will follow some events from the series House of the Dragon (2022), but with changes to fit the fanfiction narrative. Therefore, it will not adhere strictly to the series' storyline. This fanfiction is a work of fiction and may contain inappropriate language, adult content, and violence. Readers be warned. I hope you enjoy the story and interact with it. I apologize if there are any errors in the High Valyrian sections; I used a translator and am unsure of its accuracy. Whoever enjoys this fanfic and wants it to continue, please engage with it. Comment and give it a like.

Warning: This chapter will contain inappropriate language and adult sexual content. Minors should not read or interact with this chapter or this fanfic.This chapter will also feature Aegon II x reader. Those who do not like it, consider yourselves warned.

FOUR

FIVE (+18)

With your hair still damp, you realize you have no idea where the dinner celebrating King Aegon II’s “great conquest” is being held. As a dutiful girl, you stand outside Prince Aemond’s chambers, waiting beside his door. You are certainly not prepared to face any of the sons of the late King Viserys, that much is certain. First and foremost, Prince Aemond likely only keeps you alive for the sake of your dragon. His opinion of you is poor, and it will not be an easy task to change that. As for King Aegon II Targaryen, he has claimed your dragon as his triumph, and it is only a matter of time before he lays claim to you as well.

After what feels like an eternity, Prince Aemond finally emerges from his chambers, his silky hair brushing past you. He walks with haste, but you could swear you glimpsed a hint of a smile on his face, amused, perhaps, by how desperately you follow him. Eventually, the two of you reach a grand room, where a large, bountiful table awaits. Seated there are several figures—among them, you can imagine Queen dowager Alicent and Queen Helaena, along with men of importance whom the King favors enough to keep near. What matters now is that you and Aemond have arrived to take your places at the table, all eyes upon you, while you remain half-hidden behind the One-eyed Prince.

"Brother, come join us. Bring the bastard whore with you; I’ve chosen a special place for the both of you." King Aegon speaks, taking long swigs of his drink, his tone almost gleeful. Prince Aemond turns back to look at you, his gaze offering some semblance of reassurance. He then walks ahead, making his way toward the two vacant seats—one directly across from the King, and the other beside it. You hesitate, uncertain of where you should sit, until Aemond takes his place across from his brother. With a sigh, still unsure of why you’ve been seated next to the King himself, you quietly take your place at Aegon II’s side. As soon as you settle, Aegon seems to revel in your presence, a sly grin playing on his lips, while Aemond’s irritation becomes palpable. Queen Helaena remains composed, though it's clear she’s discomfited by not being seated beside her husband, yet she betrays no outward sign of it. As for the Dowager Queen Alicent, her gaze upon you is filled with disdain, as though your very presence disgusts her, a look of barely concealed nausea crossing her face.

"And what have I missed whilst I was out there, risking my life so that my beloved brother might revel in yet another triumph? I trust you are basking in this small victory claimed in your name, Your Grace," Prince Aemond speaks with veiled mockery, his tone laden with provocation, clearly aiming to stir his brother. The King, however, merely chuckles in response, rising from his seat as he lifts his goblet, maintaining a steady gaze upon Aemond.

"I have a new dragon under my command, brother. Celebrate this with us and cease your sulking—no more complaints. In fact, as you bring with you two pieces of news, tell me, who is the bastard that claimed a dragon on my behalf?" King Aegon II speaks with a slurred voice, clearly intoxicated, as he takes another long swig from his cup before seating himself once more. For a fleeting moment, you feared the brothers might come to blows right before your eyes.

"She is a whore who once worked in a brothel. By chance, I learned she might be a candidate to claim a dragon in your name, Your Grace. Her name is Y/N. One might say she is here both as the rider of Cannibal and as my companion." Prince Aemond speaks with an air of possession, making it clear that you belong to him, even daring to assert this in front of his brother. The King throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"This is an outrage, Aemond. It is one thing for this bastard to be necessary for riding a dragon, but granting her liberties is quite another. She must be treated as any other servant within the Red Keep—or worse than a servant, for the nature of this woman is filthy. I trust the King will agree with this," the Dowager Queen Alicent speaks, her voice dripping with the same disdain her gaze conveyed when you entered the room. Her sons glance at her, seemingly holding back laughter or mocking expressions.

“Filthy or not, mother, this woman will be of utmost importance in ensuring our king's victory against Rhaenyra and her bastards. To treat her as a mere servant would lessen her efficiency in what truly matters, not to mention it leaves her vulnerable. If the bastard dies, we will have a wild dragon without a rider on our hands, and that is a risk we cannot afford,” Prince Aemond declares, calmly taking a bite of food as he finishes his words. Alicent appears momentarily unsettled by her son’s reasoning, her eyes shifting to Aegon, as if seeking his support.

"If my presence displeases the Dowager Queen, I shall take my leave. With your permissions, Your Graces, Your Highnesses," you finally speak, sensing the discomfort your presence has caused. Rising from your seat, you move to step away, but before you can retreat, Aegon seizes your hand with a sudden force, drawing a soft cry from your lips. The king's grip tightens, and the flash of pain seems to amuse him. His gaze locks onto yours, not just with the arrogance you'd expect but with something far more unsettling. His eyes burn with a mixture of hunger and fascination, it feels as though he sees nothing but you, the intensity of his stare sharp and invasive, as if he seeks to consume and control.

The room falls into an uneasy silence as King Aegon II holds you in his gaze, the weight of his attention making your skin prickle. You remain frozen, unsure whether to meet his eyes or look away. The tension only breaks when Aemond clears his throat, the sound harsh, cutting through the stillness. The awkwardness breaks when you hear Aemond clear his throat, the scrape loud and sharp. His expression is dark, fury simmering beneath the surface for reasons unknown.

"Gundjabo, sit down. Your king has not given you leave from the table; and as long as you remain my companion, where I go, you shall be," Prince Aemond commands, his voice calm yet laced with authority, as though he were merely stating a simple truth. Despite the firmness of his words, there’s a measured quality, as if he’s reminding you of an expectation rather than issuing a harsh order. King Aegon II shifts uncomfortably, visibly displeased that his brother spoke before him. The tension between them is palpable, but the thick scent of alcohol clinging to Aegon suggests his ability to assert himself coherently is slipping. His eyes cloud with frustration, though no sharp retort escapes his lips. The haze of drink weighs too heavily on him, making him less dangerous but no less unpredictable in his demeanor.

"Dragons are delicate creatures; to tame one, you must forsake the other. Your survival will depend on this," Queen Helaena murmurs, her hand gently gripping your arm just as you make to sit again. Her gaze is heavy with sorrow, perhaps even anguish, as though she pities you deeply. The weight of her words lingers, leaving you unsettled and confused, though you dare not disregard the queen’s cryptic warning. With a quiet nod, you gently remove her hand from your arm, your fingers brushing hers in a gesture of respect. You offer a slight bow of your head, as if signaling your understanding, though in truth, the meaning behind her words remains a mystery to you.

"My wife’s mind is clouded. She must be in need of rest," King Aegon II declares, his voice languid, as though half-expecting someone to escort the queen away. The Dowager Queen takes a sip from her goblet, her gaze cold and unreadable. With a nod of reluctant duty, she rises, helping her daughter to her feet. Together, they leave the hall. It’s clear that Alicent seized the opportunity to withdraw, no doubt irritated at having to dine in the presence of someone she deems as filthy as you. Helaena, however, seems shaken, likely still grieving the loss of her son. You cannot help but feel a twinge of empathy for her. Having lost your own mother not long ago, you understand the pain of trying to remain composed after a great loss. The weight of grief can be unbearable, and you imagine Helaena is suffering under its relentless pressure.

"We should return to our celebration," King Aegon II declares, his voice thick with drink and a trace of a grin forming on his lips. "Soon enough, we shall be feasting over the defeat of my sister, the maker of bastards." He raises his cup again, indulging in yet another long sip. You quietly take your seat, trying to maintain your composure under the weight of so many eyes. Though the room hums with voices, you can feel the unwavering gaze of Prince Aemond on you, as if his watchful eye would catch even the smallest misstep. The tension lingers, but you remain silent, unsure of what fate awaits you in this unpredictable court. The fact that you are being watched by Prince Aemond in itself is not a challenge until King Aegon II begins to run his hand under your thigh. The fabric of your dress is what separates his hand from getting dangerously close to your pussy. You bite your lip lightly as you try to hide it, as King Aegon II continues to touch you.

It is undeniably awkward, feeling the touch of the King upon you, yet a gnawing intuition suggests this was his intention from the moment he chose to seat you beside him. Stranger still, Prince Aemond seems fully aware of the King’s actions, though his silent fury is evident as he continues to eat, his movements tense with unspoken rage. Deciding to test the waters, you gently place your hand atop King Aegon II’s, running your fingers softly across his skin. His response is immediate; a faint sound of surprise escapes him, as if your touch unsettled him. However, moments later, he pulls his hand away, only to lean in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice, low and thick with intent, whispers, "I shall be waiting for you in my chambers." The words send a jolt through you, and you almost choke on the piece of bread in your mouth.

The remainder of the dinner passes with far less tension once King Aegon II rises to address the other guests, his attention mercifully drawn elsewhere. Seizing the opportunity, you quietly decide to slip away, hoping to escape the lingering eyes and unspoken threats. Rising from your seat, you move with practiced stealth, making your way out of the hall. A walk through the darkened corridors of the castle feels necessary—anything to clear your mind from the weight of the night's events and to gather your thoughts about what may come next. However, your solitude is cut short when, without warning, a hand grabs you and drags you into a nearby room. Another hand quickly covers your mouth, stifling your startled gasp. Panic flares briefly, but then you recognize the touch, the familiar grip.

"What business do you have with my brother?" Prince Aemond inquires, his hands firmly gripping you—one at your waist and the other covering your mouth. Despite the inappropriateness of the moment, you find yourself enjoying his evident jealousy. He impatiently waits for your response only to realize that he must remove his hand from your mouth to allow you to answer him.

"Your Highness, your brother is my sovereign. Aside from that, there exists no connection between us. Should there be any misunderstanding, permit me to clarify that I harbor no intention of causing offense to anyone." You speak with an air of feigned innocence, aware that deceiving the Prince is of utmost necessity. Otherwise, your carefully laid plans may be imperiled, and you have not endured so much only to face failure now.

"Do you presume to deceive me? Gundjabo, I trust you understand the peril of attempting to mislead me. I am well aware that he was touching you, likely suggesting a meeting later. Pray tell, what could possess His Grace to take such an interest in you?" Aemond speaks with a sadistic edge, a near diabolical laugh escaping his lips upon concluding his words. You ponder how to respond appropriately but soon realize that a different approach may prove more effective. Drawing the Prince's face closer to yours, you lean in as though to kiss him. The tension in the air is palpable, intoxicating; the scent of Aemond envelops you as you claim his lips as if they were rightfully yours. This time you are in control of the kiss, devouring Aemond's lips. His tongue is battling with yours for dominance in the kiss but when you pull his hair back a little, you see him get lost in you. His hands now dominantly holding your waist, you using your hand to massage his cock over his clothes. Even though you just relieved him a few moments ago, he already seems excited. And then you push Prince Aemond away, pushing him away abruptly.

"I trust I have alleviated your doubts, Your Highness. However, should this demonstration fail to satisfy, allow me to use words. Your brother, our beloved King, desires from me what any other might wish. Do not forget, you refer to me as gundjabo for a reason. I wish you a pleasant evening, Prince Aemond." With that, you swiftly exit the chamber. As you leave, you hear a loud noise behind you, prompting a smile to grace your lips. It is evident that you are toying with fire, yet at this moment, it is the best course of action you can take.

As you regain your composure, you begin to traverse the corridors behind the chambers of King Aegon II. The castle is vast, yet your determination drives you forward. His goal is to gain some sort of influence over King Aegon II, if screwing him is what he has to do, it will be done. It wouldn't be the first time you've given yourself to him anyway.

"Are you looking for me?" The King speaks as he leans against the door of what you assume to be his chambers. Your gaze towards him is like that of a predator seeing its prey. As if the fire within you was ignited by your previous encounter with Prince Aemond, you don't take long to attack King Aegon II's lips, kissing him. His lips are like pure alcohol, you feel like you're losing your breath but not in a sexual way. He awkwardly tries to put his arms around you, but you quickly hold him against the door to his chambers. He doesn't know where to put his hands, he needs you to have dominance.

"Your Grace, we are too exposed. Queen Helaena might be nearby, which would be an inconvenience. Don't you think it would be more prudent to keep our distance?" You speak with feigned innocence, almost bordering on naivety. You even gently place your hands on Aegon's face, like he used to love you doing the times he went to the brothel.

"I am the King. I will not keep my distance from anyone I do not want. And right now, I want you in my chambers." Aegon speaks with a certain firmness, but the goofy way he says it almost makes you laugh. You decide to pretend to take him seriously.

"I am nothing more than your servant, Your Grace. If King Aegon II wants me, I must be his." Those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth but he seems to believe you. He gives you an awkward kiss and then pushes you into his chambers. As he suddenly opened the door to his quarters, you ended up falling on top of him who was leaning against the door. He laughed out loud, while you were already getting less horny. Then his firm hand pulls your face close to his, forcing a kiss on you. The kiss is hard, he doesn't know whether to use his tongue or bite your mouth. His hands are playing with the detail of your dress, which is holding the back of it together. In the middle of the messy kiss while you're under him, he unties the detail of your dress. This causes your dress to almost fall down and reveal your naked body.

"Be mine, you bastard whore. I promise you that if you give me your wet little pussy, I will give you as many bastards as you want." King Aegon II has a habit of talking nonsense after getting drunk. You're already adapted, you were the prostitute he fucked for a few years. You kiss him to shut him up, trying to show him how to kiss in a more attractive way. You suck his tongue, slowly; while your eyes are closed. You'd be lying if you didn't say that with your eyes closed, you can imagine yourself kissing Prince Aemond. Aemond may be a greater risk to your safety but he knows how to turn someone on like no one else.

"Your Grace, I want to try to do something. I assure you that you will like it." You say, practically sitting on top of Aegon's dick. Either your kiss is really good or the drink has already taken over him, because all he does is mumble something that sounds like an authorization. Either way, you rip the hem of your dress, taking the torn piece of fabric and using it to blindfold King Aegon II.

"What are you up to, whore?" King Aegon II says as he runs his hands all over your body. You tear the dress from your body, and any other clothing you were wearing. Taking advantage from the King's vulnerable moment, you remove the pieces of King Aegon II's clothing. In reality you only remove the essentials so he can fuck you.

"I just want you to feel good, Your Majesty," you reply, almost whispering against the King's ear. You giggle lightly as you feel him drag his nails down your thigh. Before riding his cock, you kiss him. In the middle of the kiss, his hands go to your face and hold you firmly. Then you position his dick at the entrance of your pussy, going down and up his dick. He smiles, even blindfolded; for a moment you imagine what it must be like to ride Prince Aemond. Him with his eye patch, would it be like this? If you could now, you would leave Aegon only partially blindfolded to get a better idea of what it would be like. The hands of King Aegon II, hold your breasts, massaging them while it seems that he wants to be connected to you in any way possible. You still going up and down on his cock, kissing his neck while moaning his name. You start to increase the friction between your pussy and his cock when you feel he is about to cum. For a moment between the moans of both of you, you throw your head back continuing to ride the King's cock, but imagining what it would be like if you could taste his brother's cock. Your reveries are only interrupted when King Aegon II aggressively touches your nipples, trying to stimulate them. The feeling is nice so you end up moaning even more, maybe even a little too loudly. It is then that King Aegon II, groping you, pulls you closer to him and kisses you aggressively. He bites your lip, with such force that it cuts your lip, causing some blood to come out. The taste of your blood is in his mouth, which seems to excite him as he moves his waist more as if he wants to give stronger thrusts while he forces his lips against yours even with your blood being all he will taste.

"Your taste is so delicious that it should be reserved just for me . Your mother was right, you are special. You seem to have been made to be eaten by Targaryens. It's even in your blood." He speaks against your mouth while you were still kissing. Shortly after he cums inside you, while his hands are pressed against your back. You could stop fucking King Aegon II, but you were too eager to feel something. So you continued to move up and down on his cock, grinding a little. King Aegon II didn't seem to mind, especially when you stood over him, kissing his chest, then slowly moving your kisses up to his neck, biting him lightly but you wanted to bite him until you ripped off his skin. As your hands were passing close to his neck, you imagined yourself pressing your hands tightly against his throat. But you kept kissing him, from his neck to his lips. While fucking yourself using his cock, at least that's what it looked like. Finally as you kiss him, you cum under him. He also apparently managed to cum a second time.

"I must leave your chambers, Your Grace. Know that I am grateful that you have welcomed me into your chambers," you say as you climb off of King Aegon II, removing the piece of cloth from his eyes. Then you start to dress again while the King, sits on the floor, half naked; watching you.

"There's no need to be so urgent about leaving. Helaena isn't sharing quarters with me. To be honest, I haven't fucked her since Jaehaerys died." Aegon opens up to you as you finish getting yourself decently dressed. Strangely enough, he seems genuinely sad, you just don't know if it's because of his son's death or because he can't fuck with his wife.

"I am certain that, in time, Queen Helaena will return to your chambers, even if only with the purpose of granting you an heir to the throne," you say softly, seating yourself upon the floor near the King. He approaches, his touch light as his fingers graze your face.

"I do not have the luxury of waiting for Helaena to grant me another son," King Aegon declares, his tone unguarded, as though he is not concealing the gravity of his words. "We are in the midst of war. My son was my legacy, and with his death, it is only a matter of time before my claim to the throne weakens. I need a legitimate male heir to pass the crown to when the time comes." His words are spoken as if ridding himself of his wife were a mere formality, nothing more.

"Your Grace will surely find the best course to resolve this dilemma, just as you shall win this war. By the grace of the Seven, you will prevail. With your leave, I must attend to the obligations of your brother’s company." You rise to leave, but King Aegon II seizes your hand.

"Outside these chambers, you may be a dragonrider, Aemond's companion, or whatever else proves convenient, but within my quarters, you are mine. My whore. Have I made myself clear?" His words send a chill through you, the bluntness unnerving. In response, you take his hand, kneel before him, and press your lips to his in a kiss, one that you strive to make seem spontaneous and tender, masking your dread with feigned affection.

"Indeed, Your Majesty. I bid you a good night." You murmur as your lips part from King Aegon II's, maintaining an air of composure despite the tumult within. With deliberate grace, you rise and depart from his chambers, your gown partially torn, the weight of what you have set into motion pressing heavily upon you. The realization that you are treading into the dragon’s den, fully aware that you may emerge burnt or broken, settles like a shadow over your resolve. Yet, no act of vengeance is without its cost. You understand this well. You shall endure, for the memory of your mother demands retribution—even if it should be your last undertaking.

"My mother was right about you. You truly are a filthy whore. If you've finished entertaining my brother, gundjabo, I believe your dragon would greatly appreciate your company tonight." Prince Aemond's voice takes on a deeper, more menacing tone, clearly seething with irritation. He had been standing near Aegon’s chambers, likely waiting. You offer no retort, silently accepting his words as you watch him stride away, his silver hair swaying with his steps, his presence intimidating and cold. All that remains is your hope that Cannibal will be in a forgiving mood, willing to offer you refuge for the night.

  GLOSSARY

Gundjabo - Prostitute

[asgardswinter]

Having been in the cod fandom for a year and a half now (played the games since i was a kid tho) i have noticed how a lot of the big cod fanartists draw the characters eerily similar to the VA’s even though the characters look VERY different from the VA’s. It also goes hand in hand with the mlm fetishizing, how these fanartists (mostly straight cis women honestly) have the audacity to draw nsfw content looking exactly like the VA’s, bc again its very fetishizing especially when their sole content is mlm nsfw content.

It also bothers me that these fanartists draw some of the characters such as Gaz and Simon exactly like the zionist VA’s even tho they clearly look very different.

With Simon it isnt even confirmed he looks like the VA, so its even more gross that some of these fanartists draw him.

I think its rly disgusting how fanartists like Wombywoo block people for calling her out on this, especially the zionism. Like u have no problem with drawing characters looking like real people that support genocide. Its despicable. Get a grip and stop being complicit in this.

[radiant--as-the--sun]

do people really just wanna be fans of the hunger games and not mention palestine at all? like honestly? do you really wanna just support fictional uprisings and fighting back against fictional oppression but don't actually give a shit about it in real life? did y'all genuinely learn and internalize nothing from this series????