#let me tell you the iron thing is correct

[marinaraimpasta]

taking an iron supplement might be the answer yall because extreme depression and fatigue can be wildly washed aside by iron

[senseandaccountability]

"I'm me again"

Yes well this is me getting a little sappy - again - about the spirits/demon thing as a metaphor for the human experience, must be Friday. 

(Yes, this is about Solas.)

Last night my Ingellvar was tending to the graves with Emmrich and she said “demons” and immediately corrected herself, because of course she meant spirits but people outside Nevarra so easily call them demons and Emmrich, one of the kindest and most insightful people in the entire DA verse, would of course never do that. Because he sees them all as spirits. Some of them may be twisted, embittered, furious and cruel but to him they are still, at heart, the same being as their more positive virtues. You are always you, as Solas tells Cole. 

Which is also what Solas argues for all of DAI.

Which is also what Solas personal quest actively shows us in DAI.

His friend, broken and twisted by the mages' bindings, dies a spirit of Wisdom, thanking him and telling him not to be sad. “I’m me again.”

Which is also a very strong theme in Solas entire arc. 

But it’s really not just Solas, or the elves. The eternal struggle of spirits is a reflection of the human soul and what it means to be human. What parts of you does the world let you cultivate, what parts are hidden and twisted in the dark, what virtues would you be remembered for if you died tomorrow? What sort of person have you become? What person could you be? DA is crammed with these themes.

Since the spirit reveal/confirmation, I’ve seen a lot of very detailed and very cool discussions about the specifics of spirit virtues and demon characteristics and that’s some good shit right there, but you can also be lazy like me and very much just read it as various aspects of human nature interacting with each other. We’re all so many things over our lifetime, to different people, in different contexts. We all carry such endless capacity for goodness and gentleness and we’re all so very capable of hurting each other.

In the codex entries we see Solas try over and over and over again to appeal to the better nature of the Evanuris. He is described as brilliant and wise, he is pulled out of the Fade specifically for his wisdom and he tries to get them to reflect that, to listen to his concerns, to use their powers differently. Why don’t you make creatures that can protect the People, he asks Ghilan’nain. Why do you need to push your power further, he asks Elgar’nan, the people are already submitting to your rule, why must you shackle them? War may have twisted him up already but there’s nothing he says that isn’t extremely valid and wise about the Evanuris’ approach to ruling.

But as we learn from the Spirit of Command in Crestwood in DAI, wisdom is considered a soft virtue in a world of war and hierarchy and his reasoning falls flat or gets interpreted as fear or insubordination. Unheard and undervalued, his wisdom grows sour and prideful. He isn’t wrong, he knows he isn't, and he will show them. You are not gods, I will make you see that you are not gods. I will humble you until you understand that I am right. 

This is a profoundly human experience.

The ancient elven empire ultimately falls to its own greed and hierarchies and lack of boundaries - all of which Solas pointed out, all of which he and his rebels opposed. But the Evanuris didn’t listen, they were caught in a power scheme where only individual power matters and everyone else becomes pawns. How ironic then that their empire falls to its own foolish pride and boundless cruelty against the Titans, the first children of the earth. They hurt themselves by hurting them. They wound the fabric that binds them all together. 

Solas as a character is an open, ongoing conflict between "spirit" and "demon" aspects, between light and dark, between identifying as a solitary creature or part of the whole. It’s never more visible than during the final act of DAV where he is at once Solas, standing with the Shadow Dragons against the blight. And also Fen’Harel, scheming to get there in the first place, treating people in his way like dehumanized pawns to reach his final destination, a goal that can be argued to be entirely tainted with pride at this point, a way to soothe his conscience and need to be right more than it’s a way to save the world. And he’s the Dread Wolf, physically embodying the struggle against the corrupt powers since he, unlike the Evanuris, doesn’t believe in binding creatures to fight his battles. It’s significant that while he fights alone, he cannot do it without help from Rook. Elgar’nan directs all of the blight at the Dread Wolf and it takes a sacrifice from the team to free him from its grasp. It’s a battle orchestrated by a god. 

And Solas, powerful as he may be, is not a god. 

That is why it’s so lovely to me that the ending isn’t just a matter between Solas and his conscience or between Solas and Rook or Solas and Lavellan. Because we are not single entities. We are not islands. That’s why we need each other, because we respond to each other, we affect each other, we abuse and love each other and we cannot really understand in which ways until we connect. We use each other to remind us of who we are, or who we could be. Every Benevolence needs a Wisdom, every Command needs a Compassion, every one of us needs someone else in some way, shape or form. We are not meant to be solitary. We all share Solas' deepest fear of dying alone. We all share Solas’ ongoing conflict with the better and worse parts of our nature. We all reflect each other. The ending brings in the past, the present and the person that knows Solas not as a god but as a person.

We are shattered fragments of a greater whole and it was, as Morrigan points out, Solas’s love for and loyalty to his people that set him on this course long ago. And he broke the world. He broke his people. He couldn’t save them, all the horrible things that he has done and he still couldn’t save them. Ultimately and emotionally to him, this isn’t about wisdom or pride or good or evil or any such dichotomy, this is about grief and regret and broken humanity.

That is why it’s so powerful to me that a romanced or friendly Lavellan is so kind to him in DAV. They approach him carefully, they kneel down beside him to make a connection, they are understanding and compassionate and it may not be what he deserves on some grand justice scale of things, but it is without question what he needs. Pride and regret and grief need compassion, hope and benevolence much more than it needs to be proven wrong or challenged, kindness breaks the cycle.

They reach out to him not the way one would reach out to a god, but to a person. Because that’s what Solas needs to be reminded of - his humanity. That’s what their love and friendship has always reminded him of, that's what the Inquisition taught him - that the world is worth caring about because broken as it may be, it is also full of people. 

And people matter. They might not matter to the Dread Wolf, but they have always mattered to Solas.

That's what the good ending represents.

"I'm me again." 

[saphronethaleph]

Comparative Healing 202

“...he had such a knowledge of the Dark Side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying,” Palpatine explained.

“Really?” Anakin asked. “That’s strange… I wonder how that works.”

“It’s a power that you can’t learn from a Jedi,” Palpatine said, delicately. “The Dark Side is a path to many abilities that some consider… unnatural.”

Anakin frowned. “I guess,” he said. “But what I mean is, how it’s different from the Light Side way of doing it.”

Palpatine looked at Anakin.

“What do you mean?” he asked, a little puzzled.

“I asked Master Kcaj, I think he’s attending the performance actually,” Anakin explained, with a little shrug. “He took me through Light Side Force Healing 201, he said it was good that I was learning to solve problems in ways that didn’t involve a lightsaber.”

The Knight frowned. “Well, he just called it Force Healing 201, because I don’t think he knew there was a Dark Side version, but I guess that makes sense, because that kind of thing would have to be really, really old by now. Was Darth Plagueis killed by one of the Jedi during the Jedi-Sith Wars or was he a victim of infighting?”

“He wasn’t-” Palpatine began, but Anakin was shaking his head.

“Actually, now I come to think about it, the way the Light Side version of Force Healing works, the way it’s Light Side is that you have to personally pay for the cost,” he said. “I guess it’s kind of ironic, really, because it means that Jedi can keep other people from dying, but we can’t keep ourselves from dying… we’d have to take on our own wounds and we’d be back where they started. There’s other things we can do to make it so that injuries aren’t as serious, but those only work for ourselves, so it’s… actually a way that you can combine two techniques to get a net benefit.”

Palpatine blinked, still about one and a half sentences behind and trying to catch up. “I… suppose it is ironic, yes,” he said. “Darth Plagueis the Wise had the same problem.”

Anakin frowned. “Chancellor, how do you know about this? Are you sure that it was a Sith? Because the Force Healing technique you’ve mentioned sounds a lot like it has the same limitations as the Jedi one, so maybe it’s actually been distorted and corrupted over more than a thousand years. It could even be that he wasn’t called Darth Plagueis but was called something that sounded that way and the story’s been corrupted over the centuries. You know, like Sifo-Dyas and Sidious, that only took a few years.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin?” Palpatine said, after a pause to try and avoid panicking when Anakin linked the two names. “What do you mean? This isn’t… it’s the story of a Sith.”

“Sure, that’s what you’re aware of,” Anakin replied. “And maybe it’s correct, but there’s lots of possibilities even then, right? It could be that he discovered the Jedi healing technique independently, or it could be that he stole it from the Jedi. Maybe the Jedi stole it from him and they don’t tell the story because it’s embarrassing to admit that the most highly restricted healing techniques are something originally invented by the Sith. Or maybe they let this Darth Plagueis guy borrow some holobooks from the Jedi library and he stole them, and they’re embarrassed now.”

Anakin ticked off points on his fingers. “Oh, and there’s also the possibility that if a Sith stole holobooks on Force Healing he’d have done it in a way that couldn’t be traced back to him, so the Jedi wouldn’t tell the story because they just flat-out didn’t know.”

“This is not a story from a thousand years ago,” Palpatine said. “It’s a story from only a few decades ago, as it happens, so it is definitely not warped by time!”

“Not more than the Sifo-Dyas thing,” Anakin pointed out, helpfully. “But yeah, it’s now really obvious why the Jedi don’t tell me about it, because it’s either really catastrophically embarrassing because it would mean that the Jedi literally didn’t realize the Sith were back despite a Sith stealing some library books, or they just have no way of knowing in the first place. I guess I’m more interested in the second one, though… does this story go into any more detail about how Plagueis did the Force Healing? If they genuinely are Light Side and Dark Side and that’s different, then it’s interesting.”

“I… didn’t take you as someone to be interested in healing,” Palpatine admitted, since it was about the only response he could think of at that point.

“I didn’t think I’d be interested either,” Anakin said, readily. “But Master Kcaj had this great analogy, he said that it was like being a mechanic of the body. Isn’t that such a cool concept? The heart’s the motivator, that kind of thing… and the better I understand that the more I can work on not needing to use the Force to heal people, except in a real emergency anyway. All I need is to use it to stabilize someone, and then I can get them the rest of the way to safety.”

Palpatine nodded.

“A… useful endeavour,” he said, in as fatherly a tone as he could manage, and tried to get back on script. “As I said, Plagueis could use the Force to influence the midi-chlorians to create life. He taught his apprentice everything he knew, and then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. He never saw it coming.”

“Oh, right,” Anakin replied, nodding. “Yeah, I think this sounds like a badly garbled origin story for the Sith.”

“Excuse me?” Palpatine asked.

“If Darth Plagueis was a Sith who’d taught his apprentice everything, then how would he not expect to be betrayed?” Anakin asked. “It makes much more sense if this apprentice was actually the first Sith and Plagueis being a Sith got read back into the story at a later date… but I’m still not sure how to get the midi-chlorians to create life. They’re our connection to the Force, it’s not about a connection to the Dark Side specifically. Unless what he’s doing is forcing the midi-chlorians to create life when it shouldn’t be, that would be a Dark Side thing that violates the balance in the universe while Light Side techniques are about balance – that’s why Light Side healing involves paying for taking away a wound by taking on a wound. Balance.”

Anakin glanced at his chrono. “Huh, I should probably get going… I need to tell the Council that thing you mentioned about Grievous hiding in the Utapau System.”

“Come, now, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “You can’t find yourself running around doing the bidding of the Jedi Council all the time. We were talking about this. They don’t necessarily have your best interests at heart.”

“I know, Chancellor,” Anakin replied, nodding. “But I don’t speak Quarren and I think if I need to watch five more minutes of this ballet I’m going to pass out from boredom.”

“This ballet is in Mon Cal,” Palpatine said.

“Yeah, I don’t speak that either,” Anakin shrugged.

“Did you know the Chancellor’s really interested in old stories about the Sith?” Anakin asked Obi-Wan, back in the Temple. “Fascinated by them.”

“He is?” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ve never got that sense.”

“No, it was a surprise to me, too,” Anakin agreed, shrugging. “But he was telling me this story about a Darth Plagueis who could heal people. It’s a weird kind of healing, though, using midi-chlorians to create life? At least that’s what the Chancellor said… he said the Jedi didn’t know about it, so I guess it must be an old story, even though he said it was recent. I wondered if maybe it was twenty generations ago instead of twenty years, or something like that.”

“I won’t lie, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t know what I expected your assignment to result in, but this isn’t it.”

Anakin sighed. “Master… I can’t do it, okay? I can’t spy on someone who’s been such a friend to me. Sithspit, all I’m really doing is sharing gossip he brought upand that still makes me feel dirty.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand, Anakin,” he said. “The problem is really that there’s… a question about how independent the Jedi Temple is.”

He indicated the nearest landing pad, which had a trio of gunships waiting there. “We’ve been acting as generals for the last two years at least… the Chancellor feels that he can make decisions about who becomes a member of the Council… regardless of your abilities and suitability for the role, Anakin, after he suggested you it was impossible for us to put you on the Council with the rank of Master. It would set a precedent that the Jedi are simply another department of the government for the Chancellor to control.”

Anakin looked thoughtful.

“I hadn’t realized that,” he admitted. “I don’t think the Chancellor would do that, though.”

“The problem isn’t with this Chancellor,” Obi-Wan replied. “It’s with the next Chancellor. Or the one after that.”

He spread his hands. “Really, I think part of this is my fault. I didn’t try hard enough to make sure you learned the political skill a Jedi needs.”

“Master, you’re really good at that kind of thing,” Anakin protested. “I’m more into… aggressive negotiations.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin waited.

“...you’re supposed to tell me I’m not that bad,” he said, eventually.

“I know I’m supposed to,” Obi-Wan said, virtuously.

Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Oh, before I forget,” he went on. “The Chancellor did say General Grievous is on Utapau.”

“Noted,” Obi-Wan said. “Now, what’s this story about Sith healing that the Chancellor told you? I’ve never heard of Darth Plagueis before.”

When Anakin had finished recounting the conversation, they were most of the way to the Council chamber, and he shrugged.

“You get what I mean… right?” he said, then took note of Obi-Wan’s disturbed expression. “Is something wrong, Master?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, firmly. “Anakin, what you’ve just described is exactly how it would look if Palpatine was trying to hint that he could teach you a Sith technique.”

“Really?” Anakin asked. “The Chancellor be able to use Sith techniques? There’s no way that is possible…”

He got out his datapad, and began flicking through records. “He’d have to be able to use the Force, and his midi-chlorian count is… is… not here?”

Anakin looked up. “Didn’t the whole Senate get tested to see if any of them was Darth Sidious?”

“Now I’m very worried,” Obi-Wan declared. “I know he’s your friend, Anakin, but how possible is it that Palpatine is Sidious?”

Anakin considered that.

“Do you think that explains why he ordered me to cut Dooku’s head off and leave you on a starship that was about to explode?” he asked.

“Definitely need to teach you politics,” Obi-Wan muttered.

[merakiui]

the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly. 

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious,  places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline. 

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

[luxaofhesperides]

Accidental Bride Sacrifice ; requested by @starlightcat04!

Danny has long since gotten used to the feel of summonings. They don’t happen often, but sometimes the right components are put together to force him into answering, and he’d have to go as the new Ghost King.

Which no one told him was a thing! He hadn’t protested too much about the whole Ghost King deal when they finally told him about it after he graduated high school. It gave him a good excuse to ditch life in the living realm and not worry about college or a career, and let him really embrace his ghost side. 

The summonings are a problem, though. They always feel staticky and bad, like a dumpster that just got struck by lightning. The taste of iron on his tongue, a clear sign of blood being spilled, lets him know that it would be one of end the world for us summonings, because some people can’t put in the effort to do it themselves, apparently. 

But this time, the summoning feels different.

Danny pauses, eyes going unfocused in the middle of his conversation with Jazz. He had been looking forward to spending the week with her, now that she’s on winter break, but his luck is as bad as always.

“I’m being summoned,” he tells her, cutting off her rant about a transphobic professor she had. 

“Oh, no. Do you need me to do anything? Should I go with you to beat up whoever it is that’s summoning you?”

Danny tilts his head to the side, considering. The taste of blood is noticeably absent. In fact, this summoning pull doesn’t make him feel sick at all. It makes him feel warm, as if he’s just been wrapped in a hug.

“No,” he says. “I think I’m good. This one feels different.”

“A good different?” Jazz asks, worry clear in her voice.

“Yeah. A good different. I’ll come back soon, okay?”

“Alright. Be careful, Danny.” Jazz pulls him into a quick hug, then steps back to watch as Danny stops fighting the pull of the summoning and disappears into a swirling white rings that flashes into existence behind him, blinding her for a moment, and is gone when she manages to blink the spots out of her vision. 

For a minute, Danny drifts in a void of stillness, traveling through the realms as the summoning draws him closer to the correct realm. And then he’s rising out of the ground in a dark building made of concrete, candles of green flame scattered all over the place.

“Great One!” someone in a hooded cloak cries, raising his arms in jubilation. “Our calls have been answered!”

“I’ll fucking kill you!” a mechanical voice yells from farther back. When Danny looks past the cultists’ heads, he spots a man in a red hood and leather jacket chained to a pole, along with a bunch of other people in strange costumes tied up, desperately trying to free themselves. 

“Silence!” The leader of the cult, or who Danny assumes is the leader, snaps at the hooded man and gestures to the people off to his left. They force another costumed person forward, this one in yellow armor. He can see the blood running down their face from beneath their helmet and from their nose, dark lines of blood cutting through their brown skin. 

The cultists throw the armored person forward, forcing them to kneel. Then they bow to Danny and step back.

“Great One,” the leader says, voice unpleasantly reverent and grating, “Welcome to the mortal realms. We offer you this sacrifice to feed your strength. He will make a fine general for your undead army in your crusade to rid this world of its filth.”

The people in the back begin shouting all together, panicked voices overlapping, and Danny is left staring down at the cultists in shock.

The summoning had felt so nice. What the hell was this? He did not sign up for another ‘end of days’ insane cult. He just wanted to be hugged. 

His silence makes the cultists nervous. They begin to shift uneasily, whispering to each other, and the leader clears his throat, then pulls a large crystal dagger out of his cloak. “We shall prove our devotion to you through an offering of a hero’s blood!”

And then he moves towards the sacrifice and Danny snaps out of his shock to yell, “Wait!”

The entire room freezes. Even the costumed people in the back go still. 

Danny winces, then tries to smother his power, make himself more palatable to the humans of this dimension. “Wait,” he says again, and he sounds closer to human now. If he could, he would drop his ghost form entirely, but he knows better than to endanger himself like that. “What, exactly, did you summon me here for?”

The cult leader stares at him for a moment. “To… To rid the world of filth and allow your loyal followers to spread word of your power. You will be worshiped again, Great One, and serve as a reminder to man that Death shall always prevail.”

“Okay, I get that, but I was talking more along the lines of the summoning. What ritual did you use? What specifically were the summoning requirements?”

Normally, he’d be able to figure it out himself, but these cultists didn’t use a summoning circle. So they did something else, something less visible and therefore harder to figure out, in order to bring him here.

A woman standing off to the side speaks up, stepping forward hesitantly. “I had pieced together a few summoning spells from this book to bring you here. You had to accept our chosen sacrifice to your side in order for the summoning to work.”

“Hold up that book for me, please?”

She does, and Danny flies down to grab it from her hands. “Point out which lines you used,” he says, already reading a few of the words written down. It’s definitely ghostspeak written down, which should be near impossible for living humans to translate without being skilled in magic.

“Ah, these ones.” She points to each line, reading them out for him, and Danny starts understand what, exactly, went wrong.

“Is there a problem, Great One?”

Danny returns the book then floats over to the sacrifice and picks him up. The costumed people make alarmed noises, but quietly quiet down again when all Danny does is move him away from the cultists.

“Okay,” he says, “So. The lines you used to summon me were not translated properly. What you interpreted as ‘accepted to stay by the king’s side in loyalty and strength’ is not meant to be, like, him being part of my undead army or whatever. It’s a royal marriage vow.”

“They married us?” the sacrifice shouts, disbelieving. The cult leader buries his face in his hands and sighs.

“My deepest apologies, Great One. We meant no offense. We simply wanted to aid in your destruction of this depraved world.”

Danny scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not gonna fly with me. I do not do the biding of random people, especially those who are ready to murder innocent people for no reason. Frighty, if you would.” He snaps his fingers, calling up Fright Knight who always enjoys getting to torment the people who summon Danny for murderous reasons.

Fright Knight appears in a swirl of darkness and screams. Shadows swallow the room, and when they recede, no cultists remain.

“Thanks, Frighty. Have fun with them. I need to figure out all… this.”

Fright Knight bows to him, then disappears. Danny lets out a breath, then floats down lower to be eye level with the sacrifice. “Hey,” he says gently, with a smile, “I’m so sorry they did this to you. I’m Danny. What’s your name?”

“Du— Uh, Signal,” the sacrifice says, sounding rather dazed. 

“Signal,” Danny repeats. “Like… a traffic signal?”

“No. I mean, maybe? But it is Signal. That’s my hero name, not my real name.”

“Oh, you’re a hero!” His getup makes more sense now. Danny checks him over for any signs of injuries. So far, only his head and nose seem to be injured, but his wrists are tightly bound behind his back. Carefully, Danny calls upon his ice and shapes it into a sharp knife, then cuts through the zipties.

He helps Signal up to his feet, floating by his shoulder. “All good?”

“Yeah, man, all good. Let me just get the others free.”

“Oh, I can do it!” Danny flies over to the other costumed people, who must also be heroes. All it takes is one link in the chain being frozen and broken for the entire thing to go lax, allowing them to free themselves. Hooded guy spares Danny a single glance, then hurries over to Signal to check on him. The other three, a man with a blue bird across his chest, a blond girl with a yellow bat outline on her chest, and a guy with bandoliers and a golden bird emblem, all watch him warily as he floats back towards the center of the room.

“So,” the blue bird man says, “If they summoned you with a marriage vow, and you accepted, does that mean you’re planning to steal Signal away from us?” He’s smiling, but it’s not a nice smile.

“No! I had no idea they did this! I am so sorry you all got caught up in this. You most of all, Signal.”

Signal shrugs, nudging hood guy away from him. “Nah, man, it’s all good. This is definitely the better outcome.”

“I don’t know, being married off isn’t really a good thing.”

“Hey, at least they married me off to a decent guy.”

“You don’t know that,” Danny says, “What if I’m secretly evil?”

“If you were secretly evil, you’d be destroying the world right now. I think you’re fine.”

The blond girl waves at him, demanding his attention. “Quick question! They were calling you ‘Great One’. Are you a god or something?”

“Not really? I’m the Ghost King. So I’m a ghost who rules over other ghosts and also a majority of the Infinite Realms.”

She nods as if this is all totally normal for her, then shoots Signal a grin. “Congrats on bagging a king! Not the worst way to spend a night, right?”

“Can you break the marriage?” blue bird man asks, the lines of his shoulders tense.

Danny awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, not looking any of them in the eye. “I honestly don’t know. I can look for a way! But I genuinely have no clue. This was unexpected.”

“But you accepted.”

“I didn’t know what I expected! It just felt like a hug, and I wanted a hug! I thought I was being summoned for something nice for once!” Danny curls up, bringing his knees up to his chest, and hides his pout behind his hands. He knows he’s being childish, but he can’t help but be upset that he couldn’t have this one good experience from being Ghost King. 

It’s always responsibilities and death cult summonings and fighting ghosts who don’t think he should be king. Sure there have been some good things, but they’re comparatively few when looking at all the other stress and pain that comes with the crown. Sue him for wanting to have a nice night for once. Hell, at this point, he’d take being summoned to help with some kid’s homework, because at least then he could have a quiet night helping someone.

“Hey, man, can you come down here?” Signal asks. 

He wants to stay out of reach, hiding himself away for a bit longer, but Signal is his new, surprise, accidental husband, so Danny lowers himself to the ground and peeks through his fingers to look at him.

He tenses when Signal hugs him, soft and warm and comforting. It takes a moment for him to realize what’s going on, and then he’s melting into Signal’s embrace, dropping his hands to wrap them around Signal’s back.

Distantly, he can hear the other heroes talking quietly amongst themselves. He blocks out the sound as much as he can, determined to enjoy this hug while it lasts.

Which is… fairly long. Signal makes no moves to end the hug, so Danny closes his eyes to really savor the moment. 

“So,” Signal murmurs into his ear, “As newlyweds, how about we get to know each other a bit better before we start working on fixing all this?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Let’s ditch these guys and take some time to ourselves.”

“I promise I’ll get this fixed,” he says, just to make sure Signal knows. “Genuinely, I am so sorry to have married you through an old Realms vow when you had no say in it.”

“Hey, if it lands me a very nice, very attractive king, then I don’t mind at all. I could have done without the murderous cultists, though.”

Danny huffs out a small laugh. “Oh, for sure. Thanks for being so cool about this. Want me to fly us out of here?”

“Yes please,” Signal says. Danny smiles and tightens his grip on Signal, then lifts them both up. “I’ll see y’all later! Have fun with the rest of your patrols!” he calls out to the other heroes, who start shouting at him.

Danny flies them right out the roof before the other heroes figure out a way to kick his ass. The city they’re in is smoggy and dark, tall buildings rising up into the cloudy sky, and police sirens ring through the air. There’s no where that looks like a particularly nice spot to land for a conversation, so he asks Signal where he’d like to go and follows his directions from there.

They end up phasing through a building, then into the floor, which leaves them in what Signal calls The Hatch. 

Danny takes a quick moment to freak out over being in a hero’s secret hide out, the composes himself and finally pulls away from Signal.

“So,” he starts, looking around The Hatch and taking in the giant computer, the workstation, the motorcycle farther down the way, “What did you—Woah!” Danny spins around, slamming a hand over his eyes the instant he realizes that Signal is taking off his helmet, leaving his face bare.

It’s not like he’d know who Signal is anyways, being from a different dimension, but it’s the principle of the matter.

Signal laughs when he sees Danny’s attempt to keep from looking at him. A warm hand wraps around his wrist and gently pulls it away. “It’s okay, Danny, you can look,” he says. “It would be pretty weird if my own husband didn’t know my face.”

Slowly, giving Signal to change his mind, Danny opens his eyes. He moves his gaze up, going from Signal’s armor to his face, his very cute face and his warm brown eyes, and Danny stares for a moment. 

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Signal says, fondness coloring his voice. “My name’s Duke. Are all Ghost Kings as cute as you?”

“Duke,” Danny repeats. “Hi. Um, no. The last one really sucked, actually, which is why I fought him. He was so bad the Infinite Realms didn’t want him anymore, so though I technically didn’t beat him in single combat, it was enough for the Infinite Realms to kick him out and get me on the throne.”

“Man, I can not wait to hear more of your stories. Think we got time for that while we search for a way to undo that marriage vow?”

Taking his chance, Danny says, “Sure! It’s a date.”

He’s awarded by Duke’s bright smile and idly wonders how long he can keep them married. Hopefully long enough for them to get into a real relationship where he can propose properly. And then he can get Jazz’s blessing too—

“Oh shit,” Danny realizes. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need to tell my sister or she’s going to actually kill me.”

Duke winces. “And I should probably tell the others before Spoiler makes a mess of things… B is not going to be happy with me.”

They share a despairing look, already dreading the amount of scoldings they’re both going to get. He’s not looking forward to it.

“...Put it off until tomorrow?”

Duke nods. “Yeah. That’s a tomorrow problem. For now, how about a late dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

[sluttywonwoo]

collision || h.js

pairing: virgin!fratboy!han jisung x best friend!reader

summary: jisung's fraternity brothers decide to pool their money and surprise him with a stripper for his birthday! nice gesture and all, but that stripper just so happens to be his best friend...

warnings: swearing, a little bit of mention of stigma towards sex workers at the end, smut (18+ ; minors dni)

additional warnings: lap dancing, dry humping

word count: 3k

Jisung’s blood ran cold as he stared at you from the opposite side of the room. A similar look of shock graced your features for a moment but it was quickly replaced by a smile, a fake one if Jisung had ever seen one. 

To be fair he had imagined this exact scenario- you in lingerie, standing in the middle of his living room- hundreds of times. But in those fantasies, the room wasn’t also full of a dozen or so of his friends.

When Jisung’s fraternity brothers told him they had a “surprise” for his birthday he knew it couldn’t be anything good but he certainly hadn’t been expecting his best friend to be the hired... entertainment for the party he hadn’t even wanted. 

“Should we leave them alone?” Minho, one of the older boys, teases. 

“We don’t get to watch?” Jeongin whines. 

“Nah, Hannie’s too shy for that.”

“That, and we only bought a private dance because it was the cheapest option,” Chris mutters under his breath, hopefully not loud enough for you to hear. 

“Let’s go into the other room, then,” Hyunjin says, finally drawing all of the attention away from you. “The others are waiting for us and we haven’t finished mixing all the drinks yet. The birthday boy can join us later.”

There’s some grumbling as the boys shuffle out of the room but they do make their exit, leaving you alone with Jisung. 

You’re the first to break the silence. “Happy birthday?” you offer with an awkward chuckle. 

“This is why you couldn’t come tonight?” 

“I was going to join later!” you correct him. “But yes, this is why I was going to be late.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you I had to work! I didn’t know it was you!”

“They didn’t... give you my name or anything?” Jisung realizes as he’s speaking that he doesn’t really know how your client intake works. Is there a form they fill out? Or do they just Venmo you and give you an address? Surely not, right? That would be dangerous. There had to be more to it than that. 

“They called you ‘Late Bloomer’,” you mutter, staring at the floor. “Said I’d know you when I saw you.”

Jisung’s cheeks burned and he scoffs. “Ironic. Yeah, that’s what the guys call me because they know, um, about...”

“You don’t have to say it!” you blurt. “I already know. That’s a really mean nickname.”

“All the pledges get nicknames like that,” he sighs. “Sometimes they don’t wear off after initiation.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You had taken a couple of steps closer to where he was sitting while you talked but you were still several feet apart. 

“Uh, well did you still want me to-”

“No!” Jisung shouts, cringing when he hears himself. “No, oh my god. You don’t have to do that.”

“I mean, it’s what I’m getting paid to do,” you point out. “Do you want your brothers’ money to go to waste?”

“I don’t give a fuck about their money.”

“So you don’t want me to?”

He’s sweating now. He feels it on his brow. “No, no. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

And I don’t want to cum my pants the minute you sit on my lap. 

You laugh. “Nothing can be more uncomfortable than what just happened in front of your, uh, friends.”

You had a point. “You don’t think it’ll make things... weird?” Jisung asks. 

You shrug. “Things are already weird, aren’t they? But if you don’t want me to, I'll go get dressed and we can join the rest of them at the party.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to!” Jisung clarifies. “I mean, I’ve always been curious about... how your sessions go, like what happens and stuff, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to or that I want you to if that makes sense. Like I don’t want you to think I’m a creep-”

“Jisung.”

“Huh?”

“Instead of a real dance, why don’t I just demonstrate for you? Show you what I do, like you said?”

That didn’t sound too dangerous. 

“O-ok. You don’t have to do it on me, though. You can just, like, use a chair?”

You give him a small smile and nod. “Sure.”

There are lots of chairs to choose from but you pick the closest and drag it in front of where Jisung is sitting. You spin it so that the back is facing him and then run to get something from the bag that you’d dropped by the door when you came in. 

Jisung tries not to look at your ass as you bend down and rifle through the tote, training his eyes on the ceiling instead. He’d already been struggling not to get hard this whole time and it was about to get a whole lot harder, metaphorically and literally. 

You come back with a speaker and set it up on the floor under the chair. 

“Usually I put on some music,” you explain. “I’ll sit on the guy’s lap and ask him what he likes to listen to.” You sit sideways on the chair and cross your legs, pretending like there’s a man underneath you. “Whatever he says doesn’t matter to me, though. I just pick whatever I want to dance to and pretend his answer influenced my decision so he feels like he gets to have a say in the matter. Men like to feel special like that.”

Jisung nods along. You look up to check that he’s following before moving on. 

“Then I’ll stand back up, like this, and start dancing. Most girls dance in front of them first, to make them want it more. I used to get really self-conscious about that part because it feels silly to me but it really pays off in the end.”

Jisung gulps and nods again. He watches you sink to your knees and arch backward, spreading your thighs wider as your back touches the floor. He had no idea you were so flexible, no idea you could move like that, though he supposes he should have assumed considering you literally do this for a living. 

“And then right before I get back on his lap I’ll take off my top. Usually, it’s like a bra or something but sometimes I’m wearing a bodysuit and I’ll just pull it down.”

He doesn’t expect you to actually do it but you do. You reach behind yourself and pull on the ribbon holding the corset you were wearing together until it unravels and you can take it off. 

Jisung immediately averts his eyes, going as far as shielding his vision with a hand.

“Oh my god!” 

He hears you laughing. “They’re just boobs.”

Yeah, your boobs. 

“I thought you wanted me to show you how I usually do it,” you chide. 

Jisung hesitantly turns his head to face you again. He stares you right in the eyes, pointedly ignoring everything below your neck. “I didn’t think you would actually, um, strip.”

Your teasing smile falters. “Do you want me to put it back on? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No! You don’t have to. I’m not uncomfortable.” You look like you don’t believe him so he adds, “I just wanted to be respectful and stuff, you know?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re sweet. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t seen me topless before. We’ve known each other for so long.”

Jisung is in so much pain. “Haha, yeah me too.”

You approach the chair and straddle it like you would if someone was actually sitting there. Since there isn’t, you fold your arms on the back of it and rest your chin on your wrists. 

“I always lay some ground rules before I start, even if they’re a regular.”

“Ground rules?” Jisung asks. 

You nod. “They’re not allowed to touch me whatsoever. I’ll touch them unless they request otherwise, but only on the face and the shoulders, sometimes the chest. I’m not going to grope them or anything like that, even though I am grinding on them.” You demonstrate with the air, pretending to cup someone’s face and bring it closer to yours before pushing them away. “The whole thing is essentially just teasing someone for however long they booked me for.”

“Are there any other rules?” Jisung asks, trying to seem engaged and eager to learn more about your profession instead of focusing on how you’re riding that chair. 

“Yeah, one of my biggest rules is that the client has to stay fully clothed the whole time. There are exceptions like if they’re wearing a tie, I might loosen it or undo it. I’ve worn their ties myself once or twice.”

“Has anyone ever, um,” he pauses. 

You cock your head to the side in intrigue. “Has anyone ever what?”

“Has anyone ever like, cum? While you’re doing that?”

“It’s happened before. But they usually try not to because they’d have to pay me more. It’s in my contract. It’s also really embarrassing for them and it’s unsanitary- I won’t get into the details but it’s not very common.”

It definitely would have happened to Jisung if he had gone through with it. Honestly, it would probably happen if anyone were to give him a lap dance, but if it was you? He wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“But it’s normal for guys to get, like, hard, right?”

“Oh yeah, that’s pretty much guaranteed. Anyone would get turned on if someone was grinding on them. Sometimes it happens before I’m even on their lap, like you’re hard right now and I haven’t even touched you.”

“Wha-” Jisung’s neck snaps as he looks to confirm what he already knows to be true. He rushes to cover the bulge in his pants with his hands even though it’s way too late for that. “Fuck, I didn’t- it doesn’t-”

You brush it off. “Don’t worry, Ji. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to seeing something arousing. It means I’m good at my job.”

“No, but I’m your best friend! God, you must feel so objectified and weird...”

“Jisung, I promise I don’t feel weird or objectified. Is this too weird for you? Do you want to stop?”

“I- uh, I don’t know,” he admits. Obviously he likes what he sees, his hard dick pressing against the zipper of his jeans is proof enough of that. But he’s also never felt so embarrassed in his life. It feels so... wrong of him to be taking advantage of the situation like this. He should have taken up your offer to go join the rest of his brothers at the party because now he’s fucked. He’s a weak, weak man.  “Are you sure you’re okay with... it?” 

“Of course,” you assure him. “That’s the point of this birthday present anyway.”

Maybe, but it wasn’t supposed to be a present from you. Jisung is so overwhelmed by thoughts and emotions that he can’t even focus on what you’re doing anymore. He zones out, willing his erection to go down until he remembers that he’s supposed to be paying attention. He’s supposed to be learning. 

“So I go back and forth between grinding on the guy and dancing in front of him so it doesn’t get too intimate, and then towards the end I usually- fuck, it’s kind of hard to do when there isn’t someone actually here.” He watches you stand up and approach him. “Do you mind if I just....” you trail off expectantly. 

Are you asking what Jisung thinks you’re asking? Is whatever it is you’re trying to show him so important that you need to torture him further?

“If you just what?” 

“If I sit on your lap for this part? It’ll be quick, I swear.”

“Go ahead,” Jisung says before he can argue with himself. 

He had already dug his grave, he might as well bury himself too. 

You take a deep breath before placing a hand on each of his shoulders for balance and lowering yourself onto his lap. His legs are spread a bit so they’re kind of awkward to straddle but you’re used to it so it’s easy to adjust. 

“Wow, you are hard,” you breathe out, laughing a little. 

Jisung wants to die. He takes a deep breath of his own and steels himself before asking, “what was it that you wanted to show me?”

Your eyes light up like you had forgotten why you were sitting on him in the first place. “Oh, right. I put the music on a timer to fade out at the end of the session so when that happens I’ll grab the guy’s face like this,” you take Jisung by the cheeks and squeeze so that he’s forced to open his mouth. 

He wonders briefly if you’re about to spit in his mouth but to his disappointment you make him bite down on a piece of paper instead. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion and reaches up to pluck whatever it is from between his lips.

“What is this?”

“My business card!” you exclaim. “Smart right? I wanted to do something memorable and so far it’s gotten over fifty percent of my clients to become repeat customers.”

Jisung snorts. “Yeah, it’s definitely that and not the fact that you’re hot and have your tits out.”

“It’s all part of the sell,” you joke.

“Well, I can see why you’re working all the time,” Jisung quips. “You’re very good at what you do.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Of course I do.”

“I’m just sorry I ruined your birthday present,” you sigh. 

Jisung frowns. “What do you mean? You didn’t ruin it.”

“Yeah, I did! If your friends had hired someone else you would have gotten a real lap dance, not... an instructional.”

“I didn’t even know that’s what I was supposed to be getting! I didn’t know they had hired anyone!”

“Still, it could have been fun.”

“No, this was fun. I’m glad it was you.”

The worry line between your eyebrows softens and you smile fondly at him, making Jisung’s stomach do a somersault. Out of everything that had happened tonight, that was what affected him the most. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes but suddenly your expression changes. Your gaze shifts from relaxed to focused as you sit up and lean in, closer and closer until your nose is pressed to his. Jisung doesn’t want to speak. He doesn’t want to break the spell. His fists clench and unclench repeatedly at his sides. He’s desperate to touch you, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him, but he won’t break your rule unless you give him permission. 

You break it for him, grabbing his hands and placing them on your hips.

“Is this okay?” you whisper. 

He nods, his forehead knocking against yours. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive.”

You swallow hard, eyes searching his for something he isn’t sure he has. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

Jisung has fantasized about this moment countless times and not a single one compares to it. Your lips are soft and warm and you taste like that chapstick you always keep in your pocket. Jisung recognizes it immediately because he’s borrowed it more than a few times. 

You moan and run a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. It’s gotten a lot longer recently but you seem to like it. In fact, part of the reason he hasn’t cut it yet is because you keep complimenting the way he’s been styling it. He wonders if you like how it feels between your fingers. 

To his own surprise, Jisung is the first to use tongue. He feels your lips part and uses the opportunity to slide his tongue between them like you had with your business card. You moan again and this time you grind down on his lap for real. 

It catches you both off guard. Jisung’s hips follow the movement of yours, chasing your heat even when you lift yourself off of him in a panic. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t be,” he murmurs, trying to hide a smug grin, “it’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Mhm- mph!” You kiss him before he can get another word out, this time shoving your tongue in his mouth. 

Now that you know it’s okay to grind on him, you don’t hold back. You seem so eager. If Jisung didn’t know better he’d think this had been your plan all along. 

“God, baby,” he whimpers, shocked at how shattered his own voice sounds. “This feels so good but if you don’t stop I’m gonna-” he can’t bring himself to say it. “I’m not going to last.”

You slow down and lift your head from the crook of his shoulder. “Do you want to stop?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know how far you’re okay with going but...”

“We can go as far as you want, Ji. You’re the one...” you don’t finish the sentence but Jisung knows what you’re implying. It isn’t hard to guess. It’s why he’d been given that stupid nickname freshman year. 

“You’d... you’d want me in that way?” he asks. He’s almost afraid of the answer because he doesn’t think you feel the same way about him. Even if you are down to fuck, he doesn’t think it’s because you have a big giant crush on him like he does you. Maybe you’re just horny or maybe you’d be doing it as a favor.

“Of course.” It’s not an answer that quells the burning questions he’s been holding onto since he met you but it does enough to temper the flames a bit. You want him. It’s enough. “But... you don’t care that your first time would be with a stripper?” 

He knows that’s not what you mean. He knows you’re worried that he feels like it’s inorganic. That it’s part of the job you had been hired to do. But he knows the truth. That isn’t what it is at all. 

He shakes his head. “My first time would be with my best friend. There’s no one else I’d rather it be with.”

lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

[stariyu]

Sanji Headcanons ❀༉‧₊    ──★ ˙ ̟

⤷ General Relationship Head-canons - 

a/n: So I tweaked this a little bit because I was so so exhausted when I first wrote + posted this at 12am and then I woke up this morning and decided to look at the post and was like why would I post this omg… I went the whole day regretting it so I fixed it a little because I couldn’t stop myself from not doing it, but anyways, once again enjoy!

—-------

⤷ LOTS of endearing pet names, I swear he’ll call you every single pet name there is to exist. His main pet names for you are baby, sweetheart, mon amour, mon ange, mon coeur, my dear, darling, honey -  this list could on for forever honestly - 

⤷ I also feel like he might come up with nicknames on the spot for you depending on the situation - like I could totally see you helping him in the kitchen chopping cabbage (for this specific example) and him gushing calling you chou (cabbage in french if I’m correct). 

⤷ I’ve seen some headcanons calling Sanji disloyal or saying he would cheat on his partner, and let me say this loud and clear, my chivalrous prince charming black leg Sanji? HE. WOULD. NEVER. (it blows my mind people actually believe this) 

⤷ While in a relationship with you Sanji would still be a gentleman to Nami and Robin as to be expected, but he would definitely tone the flirting down now that he has you, his love and joy. 

⤷ He doesn’t want to mess up what you have after the mistreatment he went through during his childhood, you make him feel like he’s on cloud 9 and all of his worries melt when he is with you, losing you is honestly a great fear of his. 

⤷ Trust me when I tell you that you’ll. be. spoiled. rotten. If Sanji is willing to spend millions of berries to buy the Thousand-Year paper for Nami in the Post-Alabasta Arc, just imagine what lengths he would go for you. This man will seriously go into debt just to see your stunning smile and a kiss to his cheek as a thank you. 

⤷ He would smother you in so many fancy gifts. If he was dead broke at the moment, that wouldn’t stop Sanji from still spoiling you - heartfelt letters which he claims his love for you (seriously he puts his soul into them) flowers hand-picked, he would even attempt a handmade gift like a painting or a scrapbook - all for you. 

⤷ His love language(s) are acts of service and quality time. This man would be learning and cooking your favorite meals all the time even if you didn’t request them, Sanji would then get pissed that Luffy had eaten it all before you got to have some (this happens A LOT btw.)

 ⤷ Sanji would also love to do little things for you to make your day easier, he’ll make you breakfast in bed, do your chores for you, carry the stuff you bought on a new island, anything for his darling love.

⤷ For quality time, it could be you just hanging in the kitchen with him while he’s cooking chatting his ear off, having romantic dates, or just simply staring into each other's eyes in silence after a particularly long day - Sanji doesn’t care - as long as he basks in your presence, his day is so much better.

⤷ Dates with Sanji would meticulously be planned out with great love. I honestly feel like he would prefer to cook you homemade meals rather than go out to a restaurant. (ironic i know) Sanji pours his heart and soul into his cooking and he likes to know that your dishes are made with great care. Picnics with him would be the absolute best. I just know it. 

⤷ I also see him planning very intimate dates with you, like going dancing, a candlelit homemade dinner, cuddling in the crows nest on the ship stargazing. 

⤷ Even though he plans his dates with care and wants them to go perfectly, he loves it when you drag him off the ship to see something interesting on the island and it turns into a spontaneous date, it allows him to relax a bit and of course do his favorite thing, spend time with you ;)

[you-know-honey]

Risky Moves

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Chapter Summary: A secret experiment and a punishment at the academy end up conspiring to bring Jayce, his partner, and you together in the same place, and a half-lie will shape the path of their future.

Series: The Path to Zaun

Past Part / Next Part

A/N: English isn't my first language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I'll update it. Remember to share if you liked it. Sorry for the delay but the holiday season is full of work.

That morning started out as a beautiful day, the sun spilling down all the streets and reflecting off almost all the buildings in Piltover, perfect for doing anything but going to class.

“Oh come on, I thought you liked that class” Sky said beside you, both of you had seen outside the dorms and took advantage of the walk to their classrooms to catch up.

“I like the class, but my classmates are asymptomatic smarts” You complained, moving your hands in exasperation, it wasn’t long before your wrist creaked and a grimace of pain was reflected on your face. You remembered perfectly how you had won that.

Sky just laughed with the softness of a kitten. She was very used to seeing you be very expressive, if your mouth didn’t say it your face spoke for you and she simply enjoyed the show, it seemed cute to her. It was something she had seen you do since you were little and it reminded her of the times when things were less complicated, at least in her childish eyes.

“What happened to you?” She asked as he saw you holding your wrist.

“It’s just a little discomfort, don’t worry.” You offered her a calming smile. Sky didn’t believe your words at all, you weren’t that kind of clumsy, but she knew you would tell him when you were ready.

It had been weeks since your little escape with Jayce to undercity, you hadn’t seen him since then, not at the academy or walking down the street. You had passed by his apartment several times by mere chance, your feet simply dragging you to his street every time you left the academy. Your mind kept thinking about whether all those things you had managed to get had really been of any use to him for his secret project, you wished he would need things again, even though you didn’t want to admit it, it had been fun going out with him, running through the streets, returning to your native home without being alone. Of course there was still a thorn of poison in that memory and it had a name, Finn, you didn't expect to see him again, just thinking about his stupid smile made you clench your fist again, you would hit him again even if it broke every part of your hand just to permanently erase that stupid smile.

“Okay, we’re here.” Sky said, pressing her notebooks to her chest before giving you a big hug goodbye.

“You’re leaving already?” You asked like a puppy who was about to be abandoned, you wished you had taken advantage of the time on the way to chat instead of getting lost in your thoughts. But it was too late and you were already in front of her classroom door.

“Can we have a girls’ afternoon tomorrow, tea and cakes?” Your face lit up, your friend could only let out a delicate laugh before giving you a kiss on the cheek and breaking the hug.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything… in your room?” you mentioned putting your hands in your pockets, rocking on your heels. She confirmed it with a sweet nod of her head.

Sky was about to enter the classroom after some students but she turned quickly “I almost forgot, here.” She handed you what you could only describe as a masterpiece of craftsmanship, a notebook with leather covers, cyan blue and gold details.

“Wait what?” You asked as you took it in your hands as if it were a red-hot iron.

“I saw it in a store and it reminded me of you, I hope you like it.” She seemed to enjoy your reaction quite a bit. You were so unaccustomed to receiving gifts that you even refused to accept one. “Maybe it’s worthy of being used in your research.”

“But Sky…” You were left speechless to respond, something that Sky took advantage of and entered the room quickly, leaving you alone in the hallway.

A smile crossed your face from ear to ear, as your fingers wandered over the cover of the notebook, it seemed expensive and even if you tried to rack your brain you couldn’t find a way for it to give off any vibe of you. But that was Sky, out of nowhere she would appear at your door with a hand-knitted scarf or some freshly baked cookies without giving a damn that she had to climb the stairs to the top floor, she seemed to simply sense when something was wrong in your life and would appear to offer you a helping hand.

It was something that happened since you were both little, when you ran away to go to her parents' house to pretend you still had a sweet childhood, where you could feel loved and cared for. More than best friends, she felt like a sister, the good half of your whole life. And that made you have no idea what to put in such a nice gift, your notes about your research were barely legible even for you, pages of theories, data, horrible crossed out lines and torn pages, giving the same fate to such a nice notebook would be like slapping Sky. You would wait, you would wait for something incredible that was worth putting in it.

You continued on your way to class, putting the beautiful notebook in your bag. You knew it wouldn't be an easy day when you could hear a loud commotion inside from the beginning of the hallway. When you entered, Professor Heimerdinger was trying to quiet everyone down, but no one seemed to take the cute yordle seriously, so you decided to give him a little help, slamming the door as hard as you could to close it. All eyes immediately turned to you.

“Oh,” the yordle jumped. “Welcome to class, dear Y/N,” the professor said when he saw you and with one of his small furry hands he motioned for you to sit down.

“Oh, perfect, just what we needed, the misfit has arrived.” one of your classmates murmured as you passed by his table. Others laughed a little under their breath, no one was stupid enough to play along in front of the professor.

“Errik! That language is unacceptable in class!” Heimerdinger quickly reprimanded, the boy just rolled his eyes. “That merited an apology to your classmate.” The professor always fought to keep the peace, no matter how difficult it was.

The boy grimaced before speaking. “I’m sorry for having said such an apt comment about you.”

“Errik!” Heimerdinger scolded again.

“Its okay, professor.” You didn’t want any more attention than you were already getting. “An insult only hurts if it comes from someone admirable, if not, it’s nothing more than envy.” You said as you sat in the first row of tables, next to the window so the air currents would cool you down. The professor seemed to want to say something else, but gave up and decided to continue with the class.

You didn’t care what someone like Errik said, he was the fourth nephew of Councilman Hoskel and apparently low intellect was a dominant gene in that family. You had become the object of his mockery after the last boy he annoyed left the academy, he was basically an untouchable fly, leaving his bacteria on everything and no one would do anything to respect him, not even Heimerdinger himself could give him anything more than a mild scolding. So the best thing was to bite your tongue and try to evade his provocations as best you could, advice that the same teacher had given you along with a long apology for not being able to reprimand him properly.

You would never be on equal terms after all, everyone had someone powerful who watched their back in case they made a mistake, you only had your excessive sarcasm and confidence to defend you and that, well... wasn't much use in Piltover.

You had left blood and tears on the road to even be considered to enter the academy, more exceptional than the average applicant, but not enough to be able to apply for more important careers. So you were stuck with some students really interested in biology and spoiled brats who just wanted to brag about having studied there.

Professor Heimerdinger took advantage of the small silence and started the class, climbing up tiny stairs to reach the blackboard, moving his chalk with agility and speed.

“Well class, I have noticed that no student of this faculty has presented an idea as a project. I must not repeat that without that project the grade of some of you will be severely affected. So we will fix that today” The professor came down the stairs with a small jump “With a brainstorm” his eyes seemed quite excited and by his tone I expected that at least one or another would respond with that same emotion.

Unfortunately the only thing you could do was evoke a smile and a look of support in a sea of tired and indifferent faces. You knew your grades wouldn't be affected in the slightest and honestly, an extra project wouldn't hurt, it would be the perfect excuse to get materials in a less suspicious way.

“Tough audience” the yordle muttered “Okay, then each of you will come forward with an idea, no matter how crazy it is, think big!” he said as he sat down behind his desk.

The whole activity took up a lot of the morning. Not all of them seemed like bad ideas to you, of course some were fantastic and really crazy but really interesting. When your turn came, you walked like the others to the front, you took a breath before speaking. “Replacing the gas streetlights with bioluminescent elements, in the mines of undercity there are mushrooms that shine brightly, it would be a safe and natural way to light up the nights in the cities” the professor seemed quite attracted by your idea and the whispering of your classmates gave you the indication that you were on the right track.

“Ha!” a fake laugh came from Errik’s seat “You can get the rat out of the sewer but not the sewer of the rat”

“Excuse me?” You said through your teeth, clenching your fists behind your back.

The professor’s ears lowered. “Y/N…”

“How do you plan to bring those dirty mushrooms here? Have you even thought that they could be toxic?” Errik asked with the clear intention of discrediting your proposal.

“We will go down to take samples and study them in the laboratory” You answered, it wasn't something complicated to do.

But as soon as the rest of the group heard about going down to undercity it was as if everyone had suddenly stopped their spirits and perhaps not so secretly that offended you.

“Are you crazy or do you take too many drugs? Nobody wants to go down to that dump!” His words were supported by cowardly looks “And help them? This is a project for the city of progress!”

That was enough for you, for your patience and for your pride, it was seconds in the middle of the disaster. The ground shook, the entire classroom moved, some students even fell to the ground. The sound of an explosion in the city resonated in everyone's ears and blue particles floated through the window in the wind. You were the victim of an unknown force, as if a bolt of pure adrenaline had split you in half, traveling through your spine and leaving your brain collapsed. While everyone looked at each other due to the noise of the explosion and helped each other to stand up, you took the eraser from the board and with a lucky aim you managed to throw it with all your strength towards Errik's throat.

“You miserable son of a bitch! I'm going to rip your guts out with a corkscrew if you say one more word about Zaun, you ignorant bastard!” You didn't know how, but you were on his table, holding Errik's shirt collar while a thick drop of blood ran down his nose, his eyes had become moist and his gaze only reflected a scared big mouth bitch. It was the first time you pronounced the name that Undercity had given itself as a promise of freedom for the next generation, that name was something that any inhabitant of above hated to hear. A symbol of rebellion.

“Y/N!” Heimerdinger scolded. “Please let him go!”

His voice made you react, letting go reluctantly, feeling like your fingers had gone numb in the grip. Errik quickly moved away with his hand on his neck.

“Professor, look!” One of your classmates shouted, pointing to the window, the entire class ran to see what was happening. You tried to go too, but your body felt heavy and dizzy so you had to push your way through to look.

“Oh for the gods…” The teacher murmured when he managed to look out the window.

A giant cloud of smoke rose over a building in the academic district between flames and the sound of firefighters and police. The entire class was shocked and they whispered among themselves what could have caused that. But your mind was stuck on a single fact. From the height you knew that street, you knew that building and even more importantly, you knew who lived there.

“Jayce…” your heart was hit by anguish and worry.

“Professor Heimerdinger!” a policeman flung open the door, drawing everyone’s attention. “The council urgently requests your presence.”

The little yordle moved his whiskers in surprise. “I understand…” he gently massaged his chin. “It seems serious. Please inform the others that classes are cancelled today and that all students are prohibited from leaving the academy.”

A group “What?!” spread throughout the classroom.

“Please escort them to their rooms,” the yordle continued.

Despite the complaints, each student heeded his words and lined up in front of the door. You were still at the window with almost half of your body out of it, waiting to see at least a sign of life.

“Y/N...” the teacher said heavily when it was your turn to leave the classroom, you walked to the door still looking towards the window “Not you” the policeman just closed the door in your face before leaving.

Your face frowned before relaxing to look down and face the teacher. His face only showed that he was looking for the wisest and most thoughtful way to let you have the scolding.

“My dear, violence is never the answer, not even in the most frustrating moments…”

“I know, it wasn't my intention, it was…” he stopped you with a sign of his hand.

“Hitting another student not only puts the harmony of the academy community at risk, but also your own progress. I know you want to help yours. But how can we advance as innovators if we don't learn to cross the sea of frustration? True greatness lies in controlling our emotions and using our intelligence to build, not destroy.”

He was right, he always had the right words and you knew it. To argue with him or turn it into a fight would be ridiculous, so you just nodded shyly, hands clasped in front of you.

“I understand professor, I’m very sorry for what I caused.” The embarrassment was clear in your voice to the chagrin of your pride.

“You will understand that I must give you an exemplary punishment.” You averted your gaze, you had already expected something like that. “But you are my best student in this faculty, and since there is an emergency call from the council I don’t think they will pay much attention.” He cleared his throat. “So I will ask you to stay late today and organize tomorrow’s class.”

“Understood,” you said, something like what you had normally done would put expulsion on the table. You were glad it wasn’t like that.

The professor walked towards the door and before closing it behind him, he gave you a few last words: “As for your graduation project…you better postpone it a bit, at least until Councilman Hoskel forgets that you hit his nephew.”

“What?!” You didn’t even know what to say when the door closed, leaving you standing alone in an empty room, just like your hopes. The only sensible thing to do was to let yourself fall to the ground, a stupid fool in a thousand different ways.

The day passed with the afternoon until it reached night, you took a long breath, dropping the pen into the inkwell when you finally finished the punishment that Heimerdinger imposed on you. You had taken as long as you could, writing each letter meticulously just so you could have an excuse and waste time. You stood up abruptly from the teacher's desk, dragging your feet to the windowsill, the cold air of the city making your skin crawl and almost pushing you back inside.

From the window you looked at all of Piltover, every building and every person that was now nothing more than a lost point in the night only illuminated by streetlights that looked more like fireflies from above.

“I'm so… idiotic…” you hit your head against the cold stone behind your back, hugging yourself, just to receive at least some peace of mind. “What the hell happened to me?” You weren't usually violent, at least not at the academy, that outburst was so surprising that you yourself didn't expect it.

You weren't ready to go back to your dorm, see the wall full of terrariums and know that you had ruined everything in a fit of rage that you didn't know where it came from. You had always been agile at dodging Errik's insults no matter how painful they really were, but this time you basically painted a target on your chest. You looked at your hand, the same one you used to throw that eraser straight at his throat. Where had that strength, that anger, come from? You had no idea, again you fell into a hole that you had brought upon yourself by recklessness. Again stagnant like a piece of wood that begins to rot among the garbage in the sewers and by the time it is released it will have already sunk in the dirty water...

You scolded yourself, saying that next time you would be smarter, that next time you would be more prepared. Your mouth opened but no words came out from between your lips other than a warm puff of breath. Your mind wanted to free itself from the torment in which you were submerging yourself, an escape, a fleeting one that would take away your feelings for a while, at least until you knew how to deal with them. Your vocal cords vibrated, even for your ears it was strange to hear yourself sing again, if you closed your eyes you could even see yourself still on that old, damp stage, with the pink and purple lights above you, with the slow and sad music rumbling against your eardrums until it silenced the laughter of the drunks, a way of reminding you how far away from that life you were now. A spectator in the interrupted life of that girl on the stage full of lace and transparent tights reminding you that if there was someone for whom you had to bet everything it was yourself.

“Am I interrupting something?” You quickly wiped away the tears you didn’t know you have, when you heard a soft female voice from the half-open door. “You have a beautiful voice.”

“No…” you said but the tremble in your voice didn’t help your cause at all.

Councilwoman Medarda showed herself, the moonlight illuminating her silhouette from head to toe, she walked towards you with the same elegance of a princess and to your not very enlightened imagination in that regard, she looked just like a pretentious cat. Even though it was ridiculous at this point you still had a shred of dignity to preserve, so you pretended that the darkness of the night outside was more important. The councilwoman dragged her soft hand across the teacher’s desk, caressing the perfectly ordered papers you had arranged.

“Is that song yours?” You nodded in response, the giggle she let out made you immediately turn to look at her.

“Are you amused, councilwoman?” You asked, jumping down from the windowsill with a attitude that stopped the woman from walking.

“Not at all” he said again with his soft tone and a smile on his lips, approaching you with the air of superiority, classic of the advice “But it's hilarious to me that someone with your talent would waste it in these four walls” His hand embraced your cheek, caressing your cheekbone.

You took a step back, moving away from his touch. You didn't expect him to get so close and even less that he would dare to touch you with such sweetness.

Your voice wasn't something that mattered much to you, you knew that it was at least comfortable to listen to but it wasn't your passion, it was a gift that you didn't ask for and that didn't satisfy your soul, if you thought about it, it had even brought more problems.

“Mhmm…” your evasive response to her touch forces her to focus on something else, she looked at the blackboard, it wasn’t long before she sensed that your presence in that classroom was the work of a punishment “It took you so long?” she was provoking you.

“I had my reasons” you weren’t willing to reveal much more.

“You missed an interesting judgment” she sighed resignedly “That boy had so much potential,It's a shame that he was expelled. What a tragedy…”

“Expelled?” as soon as you opened your mouth you knew you fell into her trap, her feline eyes quickly picked up on the concern in your voice and pulled that thread a little further.

“That’s right, Mr. Jayce Talis was officially deemed a danger to the academy community for carrying illegal and dangerous material.” With the click of her heels she turned around ignoring you to play the pen you had left inside the inkwell. Which you were grateful for, so she wouldn’t see your nails digging into your palms.

“Is… is he okay?” you asked.

“He looked devastated at the trial, I doubt he’s better now.” You couldn’t believe how her voice still exuded grace despite such news not being a joy at all. “Did you know him?”

“No.” you rushed to answer, if you didn’t know him you wouldn’t have given a damn about the news and you wouldn’t have shown even a shred of interest, maybe you would have even made fun of him for being discovered. But you had led him to get all that illegal trash and part of you felt responsible for his expulsion although of course it’s not like you would admit it in front of anyone, you didn’t want to run the same fate. “Why is he here?” You asked, maybe something you should have done from the beginning.

“Can’t I just walk around the academy?” she asked but got no response from you so she resigned herself to a sigh and slumped her shoulders before returning to her elegant posture. “Anyway, if you want to do something more than sing to an empty room, call me.” She approached you and from somewhere on her dress she pulled out a card, name and address on it, marked in gold. “And I will make Piltover die to hear you.” She said against your ear, leaving the card in your hands as if it were a secret. “Think about it, it’s a great opportunity…”

With a smile she walked away again towards the door.

“Why are you giving me this?” you asked incredulously.

“Because I see potential. It would be a shame if it was wasted,” she answered from the door frame. “Shall we walk together?”

The echo of Mel's heels resonated in the empty hallway as you tried to keep up with her. Despite her elegance, the councilwoman moved forward with a determination that made it difficult for you to catch up without tripping in the darkness.

You both turned a corner and came across a curious scene: two young men, one stocky and black-haired, the other brown hair and skinny, were leaning in front of an office door. The stocky one held a strange device that emitted a dim light in his hands, while the other nervously looked around. It was Professor Heimerdinger's office.

And it wasn't hard at all for you to figure out who they were, at least one of them was undoubtedly Jayce. A part of you was glad that he was safe and sound and the other wanted to kick him for being so stupid as to infiltrate the academy.

“Are you sure no one will discover us?” Jayce asked, feeling the adrenaline in his ears as they snuck away.

“If you don’t shut up they will” his new partner in crime muttered under his breath. “Gods you really suck” Jayce was basically a bundle of nerves.

“You’re not the first to say it” Jayce replied “Can we just go in?” he complained.

His partner crouched over the three-bolt lock, searching through all the keys for the right one. “So far so good” he managed to get one of the keys to fit.

But to the surprise of both of them a blinding light appeared out of nowhere, revealing two faces familiar to Jayce.

“You'll risk exile for an invention. That's having conviction.” Councilwoman Mel didn't seem very surprised, maybe she already saw something like that coming.

“Councilwoman!” Jayce exclaimed surprised trying to cover his eyes from the light of the flashlight. “Y/N?” but in your case, he seemed disconcerted. As if it were a bad joke from the universe such a rare reunion.

“Wait a minute, isn't this my room? How did I end up here?” You raised an eyebrow at such a terrible excuse. The boy gave up with a soft exhale, holding onto his staff with an unfriendly expression. Although well it was understandable, nobody likes to be caught.

“Please, can we test that it works” Jayce begged causing the councilwoman to laugh.

“Jayce, what are you doing, have you gone crazy?” you asked in a whisper, as if you expected no one but him to be able to hear you.

“It's my secret project... well... ours” he said, giving his partner a quick look. That answer wasn't comforting at all for you. “Believe me, I'll make it work.”

“You couldn't do it before, why would it be different today?” At such an answer from the councilwoman, Jayce's attention returned to her again.

“We managed to stabilize him” Jayce's partner seemed convinced by his words, and he didn't like the way the councilwoman spoke to them at all.

“The professor has you as an assistant...” Councilwoman Mel pointed her flashlight at the boy with the staff.

That helped your gaze analyze him better. He had an appearance that clashed with Piltover's, thin but firmly planted on the ground with a palpable determination, straight back and proud posture. His face was angular, pale skinned, with soft dark circles under his sharp, intense and penetrating golden gaze. His hair was carefully combed with some unruly strands that escaped from the rest. He used the cane elegantly, as an extension of his body. He wore simple clothes, at least compared to Jayce or Councilwoman Medarda, without luxuries but he carried a certain methodical order that was easy for you to notice.

He seemed to make eye contact with you for a moment, you didn't mind that he caught you looking at him, but he quickly looked away with a serious expression to look at the keys hanging on the door. He was in a hurry.

"No, he's my new partner," Jayce said with determination, bringing you back to the situation in front of you.

“Even if you were to prove your theory, the council would destroy it.” These were not baseless comments, she knew the council’s ways better than anyone.

Her words seemed to offend the boy with the cane. “Heimerdinger will recognize the potential.” She said firmly.

“He already does…” the councilwoman began to say. “It scares him. It scares everyone…”

“What do you think?” The question came from the person you least expected, the boy next to Jayce. A discreet search for a little support.

It’s not like your word had any importance or weight in the councilwoman’s opinion but it was worth a try. After all, these boys risked exile to prove that they could do it. It would be hypocritical of you to go against them.

You looked at the councilwoman, she seemed to be waiting intently for you to say “Any innovation represents a risk…and if this is the city of progress, we should be the first to take them.”

Jayce gave you a sweet look of gratitude but everything was cut short by the sound of heavy police boots accompanied by a carefree whistle at the end of the hall.

You weren’t the only one, Jayce seemed more affected than you “Councilwoman, this technology is real and no matter what happens here, it will change our world. We should be the forerunners. Piltover the land of progress, equality, innovation. I know it sounds impossible but have we ever let that stop us…? Please give us a chance.” There was no other chance than this, time was playing against them.

The councilwoman looked at them and then looked at you “One night gentlemen, I suggest you surprise me or pack your things.” Her words were clear before she turned off her flashlight. “My dear, take care of these two. Make sure they don’t do anything that could cause a disaster or worse, a funeral.”

“Good luck.” Before you could protest, the councilwoman disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone with the two young men.

“Sneaking in? That was their best plan,” you scolded Jayce with a smack to the back of his head, crossing your arms.

“This is no time for fooling around, let’s get in quick.” The boy intervened, his calm but firm voice an order you both followed.

You sighed, looking at the two of them. “Okay,” he finally said. “But if this goes wrong, it will be your fault.”

A spark of amusement crossed the boy eyes. “I expected nothing less.”

You closed the door as soon as they entered, you had been in Heimerdinger’s office a few times and everything was just as you imagined, somehow too big for its owner’s size.

Jayce rushed to grab some things from the shelves and throw them on the table, with the low light, you could barely tell they were the things you helped him get, you imitated him, bringing the rest and leaving them on the table, he seemed surprised by the sudden support.

“What?” you asked when you saw the way he looked at you “I helped you get this and you think I’m not going to help you with whatever it is you’re doing?” you asked with a proud smile.

He didn’t say anything, he just rushed to give you a big hug, you froze in place as he wrapped his arms around you. “Thanks…” he said against your ear with a nervous breath.

A fake cough was heard behind both of you “We start working once?” The boy asked, holding a box with some tools against his hip, making his way through the two of them to set them on the table. The scolding worked, Jayce got to work, opening his notebook full of notes on the table.

“Well… Y/N, do you know how to weld?” You nodded when Jayce asked. You didn’t really know, but how difficult could it be? “Well then do you think you could put this together while we work on the rest?”

“Sure, boss,” you dropped into the chair to the side, Heimerdinger’s welding glasses were too big so you had to hope you wouldn’t go blind in the process. “Can I at least know what we’re doing?” you asked, turning the page of the notebook and having it completely catch your attention.

The page was covered with blueprints and notes about runes and a strange artifact with giant letters ‘Hextech'. The boys looked at each other.

“Is it trustworthy?” the boy asked as he searched for cables and circuits.

Jayce looked at you for a few seconds, his eyes were a bit doubtful but he didn't last a second to answer “Of course, she's the girl I told you about.”

His partner sighed “Is she the girl?” He seemed somewhat disappointed as he said it “Then tell her” he said with disinterest, as he sat down at the side of the table and began to work quickly, leaving this cane aside in his seat. You were dying to ask what they had both been saying about you, but it wasn't the right time.

“We managed to find a way to unite magic and technology with this…” From the shadows of the table he brought a box closer, when he opened it there were hundreds of blue crystals that shone brightly, with each small touch rays united and separated them. You swallowed hard, trying not to let the panic show on your face. “They’re magical and really unstable, but we managed to find a way to stabilize them a bit, imagine that. We’ll change the world.”

His words were full of hope and pride, while all you could think about was not ending up blown to pieces.

“We don’t have all night, let’s get to work!” the boy growled a few feet away from you. “I’m talking to both of you.”

The scolding worked and although the night was cold the frenzy of their activities throughout the office warmed the atmosphere, even you were starting to sweat after welding a few pieces, the image of the frame was clear and although you felt your eyes burning, you were not willing to stop. If what Jayce proposed was real and really worked then you had to be involved, if it didn't work you wouldn't hesitate two seconds to jump out the window and sneak like a thief into the student residence area and pretend that nothing had happened. Magic was a serious matter, only some were born with it and none of those people were even allowed to get close to the doors of Piltover. Things were different in Undercity, you had had one of them as a client, although he never proved that he was and one day he simply disappeared completely.

Time passed and when everything was ready Jayce and the other boy spent hours adjusting one of the crystals, facing small flaws. You watched along with them, now just as committed to making it work as they were.

“Try it now,” the boy exclaimed, and you leaned over the table with a mix of concern and curiosity. They had already fixed the circuit three times and perfected the structure a few more times. It had to work.

The boy pressed the button and the crystal inside the device rose a few inches from the base causing larger rays to hit the metal that spun around it.

“I told you it would work” the boy exclaimed with an air of enormous pride. “All yours.”

“Impressive…” you murmured, taking mental notes of the entire process.

Jayce’s gaze seemed lost in the crystal, as if he couldn’t believe it was actually working. “Wow… I’ve never done that before.”

“Alright, what are you waiting for? Make it work, I’m dying to see what it does” You handed the notebook over to Jayce, he's partner had been writing down a few things in it.

Although his partner honestly seemed the most excited about it.

Jayce sighed and brought his hands closer to the button, turning it just a little. Everyone held their breath as the runes on the device began to spin and the crystal’s activity began to increase. Another spin. The crystal rose even higher, the runes spinning like crazy on their axis, after another movement of the button, strange shapes orbited the crystal. You held back a sigh as you felt one of the rays coming from the crystal hit the table and its electric current ran through your body, you removed your hand as quickly as you could.

“Are you okay?” Jayce seemed worried, you nodded, it was not the time to worry about you “I don't think it will last!” Jayce shouted when the atmosphere began to charge with heavy energy and the sound was filled with that of the Hextech spinning.

“Look at the accumulation!” you pointed at the crystal with your head.

“The resonance will stabilize it” The boy did not shout, he seemed very calm and sure. A feeling told him that this time it was going to work. “Trust me”

The crystal began to go crazy, spinning faster and faster, emanating a blinding light that electrified the atmosphere.

“Turn it off!” Jayce’s partner shouted as he tried to protect himself a little from the electrified particles.

You tried to turn it off when Jayce couldn’t get close to the table, but the button and the energy of the crystal prevented you from doing so.

“No…I can’t” you exclaimed, any movement you made that was in contact with the particles felt like needles on your skin.

Before anyone could do anything, the power of the crystal concentrated, and a beam of energy went through the window, filling the glass with it.

It was a relief for a few seconds, before the window panes were drawn back to the cristal, flying and breaking against everything and everyone in the office. You felt yourself being dragged towards the cristal, managing not to do so as you hid behind Jayce, luckily his fist crashed into the button and the cristal fell on the base as if it were a simple rock.

“Unbelievable…” the other boy exclaimed in the middle of the darkness.

“Shit!” You shouted as you approached the broken window “The police at the entrance are not here, they must come here, we must hurry and get out of here”

You quickly began to search blindly for your bag in the dark. Jayce seemed to agree with you.

“No!” The boy shouted, getting his attention with a blow of his cane to the ground. “We can't leave, it's ready, it's going to work.”

“The police are coming for us, I don't doubt it will work but we have to leave or they'll catch us.” You confronted him, even though he was taller than you and even though you hit the table somewhat violently he didn't falter, there was no spasm or movement, he was firmly in his place next to the table.

He didn't hesitate to look you in the eyes, like a staring contest that you couldn't win, his eyes were full of conviction.

“Hey guys…” Jayce murmurs, as a mediator of the discussion.

“One more try.” He said somewhat rudely, taking a step closer to you. His scent of parchments and clean clothes embraced you completely.

You tried not to give in but it was impossible, with a sigh you walked away “I'll look at the door. Make it work” you pointed at both of them before opening the door and being alert for any light or sound.

“She it's a bossy” he exhaled, perhaps he would say something else but your frown stopped him.

Seconds were enough to put the crystal back into operation and it was those same seconds that were enough for the police and Professor Heimerdinger himself to approach quickly.

“They come!” you shouted, closing the door and rushing to find something that will work to give them a little more time. “Hey! Give me your staff!” you yelled at the boy who just didn’t hesitate before throwing it and placing it between the door handles. It wouldn’t stop them forever but it would give them a few minutes.

“Stop this madness!” You heard the professor yell in an angry tone that you had never heard from him before.

“They’re going in!” You yelled as you tried to hold the doors back with your own body. “No pressure but… hurry up!” You yelled at both of them.

“That sounds like it!” Jayce answered you upset.

Jayce’s partner raised the button again which didn’t take long to rise between the metal and the runes.

“She won’t hold out for long” the boy said watching you put all your weight against the door.

Jayce's mind was racing through all his knowledge. He had gotten the best student at the academy into this and dragged you along for the ride, it wasn't just his life that would go to shit if Hextech didn't work, but also the lives of two people who had made many sacrifices to get to where they were and still didn't hesitate to support him. It was as if the answer had come like magic, his hand instinctively moved over the button.

Right.

The crystal rose higher and began to spin around itself rapidly.

Left.

The runes froze in place, glowing and propelling the crystal.

Right.

Arcane symbols and seals began to expand from the crystal and fill the air.

Center.

When Jayce pressed the button the symbols and seals filled the entire place, joining together above their heads, culminating in a huge implosion.

You closed your eyes before the light hit you. What a way to die.

“Excuse me, careful downstairs!” Heimerdinger exclaimed, his voice was what made you open your eyes, you were still alive and even stranger. You were floating in the air in a strange galaxy of energy coming from the crystal.

Your face was not the only one that seemed amazed at everything you were witnessing.

The artifact floated beneath your body, along with other books, crystals, and other objects. In front of you, the crystal had transformed into pure energy, surrounded by a ring of light. You were impressed, maybe it was nerves or excitement but you couldn't help but laugh nervously, looking at your companions' gaze.

Jayce was more than amazed. Laughing, as nervous as you, pushing a small nut towards the crystal with his hand.

But it wasn't the reaction that interested you the most. On the other side, catching the nut, the boy with the cane laughed, sweetly and genuinely with a tender smile, the tiredness in his gaze had completely vanished. And that seemed cute to you.

“Oh shit!” You exclaimed when your body was inexplicably drawn to the crystal, your fingers touched the ring of light and before you knew it you were floating headfirst over that boy. His eyes and yours connected and both of you smiled nervously, it had worked and relief was something you could breathe in peace now.

“Wow…” he was surprised to have you so close from one moment to the next.

“You were right… One more try…”

“I told you so” He extended his hand towards you as you began to float further and further away from both of you, keeping you together.

“You really did it” the teacher called the attention of everyone floating. “But just because you can make it doesn’t mean… Guys could stop flying?” he exclaimed a little annoyed.

“I’m not sure how to do it sir” the boy answered somewhat nervously.

A giggle escaped your lips, how he could break all the rules and be so inhibited when speaking was something you didn’t understand.

“Y/N?” The teacher seemed surprised “What are you doing here young lady?”

“Ummm… I’m the… assistant?” You said raising your shoulders, not quite sure that the lie would work. “Right?..ummm..” you realized that you never asked him his name.

“Viktor, Miss Y/N,” he replied with a confident smile on his face.

Mental note: You already knew what you would put in the special notebook.

Tags:aise-30 optimistic-but-very-realistic flare-on ratnamedtoby

[songmingisthighs]

Pitiful, You're Pitiful

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ch. v

group : ateez

pairing : aged up!wooyoung × aged up!reader

genre : angst, mature

word count : 5.2 k

warning : adultery, cheating, negative depiction of wooyoung, name calling, (y/n) finally growing a damn spine frfr

a/n : i'm finally updating this oh my god has it been so damn long I am saw sawrey for skipping updating in july. let's hope I can update twice on September or just not forget to update in september lmaoooooo i

buy me coffee ?

Ever since that day at the hospital, you felt like you've been living your life on autopilot. Scratch that, it felt like you were just watching your life happening like a movie. You couldn't quite feel anything and it was as if life's choices were already made for you.

Oh yeah. Choices.

As if that word meant anything to you.

You were reluctant to go back to see Wooyoung at the hospital as he had once again been put on a 24-hour observation period because he had exhibited signs of mental distraught on top of his back pain. Ironic. Your plan was to pack some of his shit up, throw it at him and tell him that he could finally go live with his whore and just make an exit from his life and maybe for once you could work your children into your decision instead of it going the other way.

But of course, life had a different plan because the devils must be making snowmen in hell.

Once your children were made aware of the situation their father was in (all thanks to San, one of Wooyoung's partners who struck up a conversation with Dayoung when he came by the house to drop off some things Wooyoung had requested from earlier in the morning), they immediately asked to be taken to him. At that moment you wanted to tell them that it wouldn't be possible since you and Wooyoung were splitting or separating or whatever the correct term was. But seeing their distraught face and hearing them beg you broke your heart, it was obvious that you couldn't break their hearts at that moment. So you relented, you took them to the hospital the next day, allowing them to skip school against your better judgment. You can see how stereotypes about children being spoiled after their parents divorced came to be.

Wooyoung was honestly surprised to see you through his door. He had thought that you would never show your face again but there you stood in front of him, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. But before he could say anything (nothing you wanted to hear anyway), you raised a hand and told him the situation, including the fact that your children knew nothing and that you weren't planning on telling them until the two of you could sit them down together and have a proper discussion when the time is right, so until then, you promised to remain civil as long as he promised to do the same and also not involve his affair partner with their children yet. Wooyoung attempted to protest because he felt like he needed to let you know that he was well on his way to breaking up with her before the incident and he had even told her to not come to the hospital and to not visit him at all. Unfortunately, you didn't want to hear what he had to say and you simply opened the door to let your children in, rushing to their father with tears in their eyes from being so worried.

During the whole visit, you stayed in the far corner, looking at your children interacting with their father for a good hour before you suddenly left the room. You came back with one of Wooyoung's gigantic Prada travel bags, plopping it on his bed before instructing your children that their dad needed to rest. They had attempted to bargain with you, telling you that they weren't going to school anyway so it wouldn't hurt if they were to stay and take care of their father. It astounded you that Wooyoung had the audacity to tell them that they'd have plenty of time with him when he come home. It was one of the rare times your anger took over you but you let slip that Wooyoung would not come home with you. You immediately regretted saying that.

"What do you mean dad's not coming home with us? He's sick, mom," Dayoung scoffed, tightening her grip on Wooyoung's arm angrily. Still, you stood your ground, "I... Am not equipped to care for a sick man. He hurt his back again after three weeks of me taking care of him so obviously someone else could take care of him," you cleverly took a jab at the bitch he had been with and Wooyoung was well aware of it as seen from the way his face grew red and his eyes started to well up with tears. Unfortunately for you, Woohyun saw this and he immediately climbed up to his dad's bed, frantically wiping his tears, "Daddy don't cry!" he whimpered, and he too started tearing up seeing his dad with tears in his eyes and seeing how much his son loved him, Wooyoung started crying as well, overwhelmed from the way his children cared for him which pushed his guilt into its maximum level because he had finally realized the other people he had hurt with his inexcusable decision.

You were very much aware of why Wooyoung was crying and again, you couldn't help but let your feelings overtook you as you rolled your eyes. Dayoung, seeing you reacting the way you did, took a big offence since she had clearly seen you with Yunho and based off of the wrong conclusion she drew, she took your behaviour as you trying to leave Wooyoung for his own friend. But of course, she couldn't reveal her knowledge just yet.

"Mom, how could you be so cruel?" she spat, "I swear, if something happens to dad because you wouldn't take him in because you're so selfish, I will never forgive you," she declared.

And that was how you ended up spending the next 4 days sleeping on the couch with Wooyoung sleeping in your bed. The man who broke your heart slowly started to break your back in a new way, a way unlike he had done a long time ago. The time when you both were still in love. The time when it was all still good.

"Thank you."

A voice broke you out of your trance and when you looked around, you saw Wooyoung leaning against the bathroom door, looking somewhat bashfully at the floor before his eyes moved to yours from the mirror. Unfortunately for him, you immediately shifted your gaze to the pile of towels you were folding and storing into the cabinet.

"For letting me stay here," he finished, offering you a small smile as a gesture of goodwill as if you were expecting him to thank you. You'd very much like to say that his gesture meant nothing to you and that you no longer felt anything for him. What's more infuriating was the smile he gave you was still the mirror image of the boyish grin that managed to charm you into trying yourself to him, it was the same boyish grin that made your stomach flutter even at that moment, despite him hurting you and betraying you. You hated it. You hated him for making you feel like that and you hated yourself for letting yourself feel like that.

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to hold your emotions at bay despite feeling like breaking down out of sadness and frustration. "Don't thank me, Wooyoung," Wooyoung felt his stomach drop from the way you called his name out and it instinctively made him swallow the lump in his throat, "If you must thank anyone, thank your children. Particularly your daughter whom I'd have to admit is quite the master extortionist and manipulator, I'd wonder more about where she inherited those traits if I'm not more concerned that she has what it takes to be a politician one day," you said, avoiding looking at Wooyoung with absolute determination which hurt him but he had to admit he absolutely deserved. But he didn't want to push his pity party on you so he swallowed his feelings and stepped into the bathroom, "You... I don't think the couch would be a very comfortable place to sleep in and you've been at it for four days so," you cut him off with a scoff, "I can say with absolute confidence that the couch was very uncomfortable for several good night's rest, especially considering the fact that after the torture, I still have to cater to your children and also you." That time you really wanted to drive in the hostility to let him know that you definitely did not let him stay out of the goodness of your heart. "Well you could've joined me in our bed," he sighed, saying the words as if he didn't know what he was saying and the gravity of it all.

But if he was oblivious to his words then the glare you gave him once you turned around conveyed all the feelings you reserved for him. "You know damn well why I couldn't have, Wooyoung," you spat, shoving the towels into the cabinet harshly as you sped up your work so you could get out of the room faster. "We might be fighting and all, (y/n) but if it's costing you your rest and your wellbeing then-" "Fighting? You think we're-" You held yourself from screaming at him and pushed past him to peek outside, wanting to make sure that neither one of your kids were nearby to hear the conversation. Wooyoung took this as you leaving the room to not talk to him so he was surprised when you turned back to push him inside the bathroom, this time with you near the door.

"Get this into your head, Wooyoung, we didn't fight, we didn't have a disagreement, it wasn't a misunderstanding between us, you fucking CHEATED on me with the first doe-eyed slut bitch who was willing to open her legs and break up a family probably because she was just so stupid and deluded enough to think that she could make her own family with you, so no, I couldn't share that bed or other beds or any other surface where one could rest on with you because you have ruined me, Wooyoung, you have ruined our marriage, and you have ruined my inner peace so all you could do now is get the fuck better so I can either kick you out or leave without being manipulated by anyone just because you're physically injured when I'm absolutely dead. You killed me, you killed my soul. You and that whore." you spat before turning and leaving him in the bathroom as quickly as you could so he couldn't stop you. Tears were brimming in his eyes as he let the words you hurled at him pierce his heart but he couldn't even complain. After all, he hurt you a million times worse so he had no excuse for himself.

You rushed to the kitchen, the only place you could think of to cool down and not just because you downed a tall glass of iced water that did nothing for your anguish. To make things worse, as you were still trying to calm yourself, your daughter came strolling in on her phone, being absolutely clueless over your distress.

"Hey Mom, can we order that soup from that place Dad likes for dinner? He seems rather down and y'know... Flimsy lately, I just want him to get his strength back."

Oh, how you wanted to ask her why she cared so much for her dad but she couldn't spare common decency to you. By all means you were not a vindictive person nor were you petty. But God, at that moment you wanted to turn around and ask her, "What about me? What about what I like? What about what I need? What about how I've been broken for months now because your father is a cheating son of a bitch?" Unfortunately, you were not your husband. You were not selfish. You were too good even to those who had betrayed you and then some.

"Mom?" She called, an eyebrow raised along with her face from her phone when she didn't hear you answer her. Sighing, you immediately gather yourself to make your leave quickly, "We can talk about this later, I need to pick up Woohyun from the Academy, his class is ending soon."

Dayoung didn't find that answer acceptable so she pressed, "No way, you'll be gone for a while and if we 'talk' about it later, Dad would have to wait to eat and that would be bad for someone who's sick!" "I really can't talk right now sweetie, I promise I just need to go now," you said, turning around to make your leave only to see Dayoung in your way, glaring at you. "Why are you rushing to go to the Academy?" It was such a confusing question because while the answer is easy and you were sure she even knew but her tone made it seem like she was alluding to another meaning. You opened your mouth to answer but she beat you to it, "Who are you rushing to see, Mom? Is it Uncle Yunho? Are you rushing so you could spend more time with him? Perhaps you're hoping to get more hugs from him or maybe something more?" The accusation dropped on you like a thousand tons and your jaw slacked from surprise, "Mind your tone, young lady. What are you trying to say?" "I saw you and Uncle Yunho hugging in front of our house. Mind telling me what all of that was?"

In your daughter, you saw a glimpse of your husband and it infuriated you. Her defiance, her stubbornness, her instinct to pursue the truth. While all of that might be good in life when applied properly, you couldn't help but be sure that your girl had crossed a line with you.

"I don't need to talk to you about that and you don't need to know more than the fact that it was nothing, it was between me and my friend and your tone is disrespectful so I would suggest you drop this attitude RIGHT NOW," you didn't mean to sound so harsh and you felt bad when Dayoung's bottom lip quivered before she dashed out of the kitchen, going God knows where. A tired sigh escaped your lips, you truly were under a lot of pressure and even though you were stressed, even though you were emotional, you shouldn't have snapped at your daughter like that. You knew you had to make it up to her but at that moment, you really do need to go get Woohyun so you simply grabbed your bag and your keys and left the house.

Meanwhile, Wooyoung jumped slightly when Dayoung came barging into his room, huffy and her face all red. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion seeing her in such a state. "Dayoung, what ha-" "How do you stand her?" she asked, cutting Wooyoung off. "What?" "How can you stand Mom? She's such a bitch," she hissed, wiping the tears off her cheek.

Wooyoung was taken aback at the language Dayoung used to describe you. "Hey, don't talk about your mother like that," Wooyoung scolded, voice firm and he stood up from his bed, "I didn't raise you to use such language on your mom." "But she IS a bitch!" Dayoung screeched, "You don't know what she's been doing behind your back, Dad. God, she's so manipulative, you don't even know!" Wooyoung felt his body vibrate with anger because he couldn't let his own daughter talk about you like that. "You drop this, Jung Dayoung, you drop this right now because you don't know what you're talking about and I'm not willing to listen to you talk smack about your own mother," he warned in a low voice. Usually, when Wooyoung spoke to her like this, Dayoung would drop it and say sorry, wanting to go back to her dad's good graces. But not this time, not when she felt that her father had been wronged by you. "Oh Dad, believe me, I know A LOT of stuff. For example, I know that there is stuff going on between Mom and Uncle Yunho," Dayoung said pointedly.

There was something that was like a tug on his heart hearing your name and Yunho's in a sentence that was put in such a way. But he knew that you were not like that and his daughter shouldn't talk about her own mom like that. "Jung Dayoung, I'm warning you, drop this right now," he sternly said. Despite seeing the seriousness in her dad's eyes, Dayoung pressed on, "You don't think I noticed that there's something going on between you two this past couple of months? The tension is palpable and don't even get me started on Mom sleeping on the couch and saying that it was because you needed the space to heal. WAKE UP DAD, MOM'S CHEATING ON YOU!" she yelled out.

"SHE COULDN'T BE CHEATING ON ME BECAUSE I WAS THE ONE WHO CHEATED ON HER!" Wooyoung yelled louder, causing Dayoung to jump back in shock not just because of his volume but also because of the information Wooyoung just revealed. The moment the words left Wooyoung's mouth, it felt like cold water was splashed on him. Harshly. But he couldn't take it back, he couldn't go back from this.

"I... Cheated on your mother... And then she found out. She told me she found out that day I got hurt because..." Wooyoung paused, suddenly deciding that he shouldn't tell Dayoung that he was with his side piece when you found out. Not that it helped because Wooyoung's sudden reluctance to finish his sentence was a dead giveaway. "I was the asshole in this situation and (y/n)- your mother has been sleeping on the couch because she couldn't bear sharing a bed with me but you and Woohyun had asked me to stay so she held it in. She did what she was asked and she did it despite her own personal apprehension. She loves you so much that she'd rather suffer silently rather than disappointing you and Woohyun." The more Wooyoung spoke of your action and about your altruism, the more he realized how much he fucked up by cheating on you. He had gotten everything he wanted from you, heck you put it on a silver, golden, platinum platter stacked over one another and when it got hard for you, when you needed him the most, he took your kindness and love for granted and pursued the suddenly missing 5% from you. He hated himself. And by the look Dayoung gave, it seem like he isn't the only one.

For the first time ever, Dayoung looked at her father with such hurt and disappointment that even Wooyoung could taste the hatred on his tongue.

"So your mother doesn't deserve to be called a bitch because she is far from one. She's a saint for putting you, me, and Woohyun over her own self so you will show her the respect she deserves. The respect we all owe her," he stated firmly but his voice shook around the part about you deserving respect. Wooyoung was sure that no one could think of him lower than he already thought of himself. Though people could easily conduct a poll.

With chest heaving, Dayoung took a step back, then another, then another until she reached the door and her hand reached for the handle, "Don't talk to me like that, I am nothing like you in this equation." As if she couldn't bear another second with her father, Dayoung left the room the same way she came in, by slamming the door. Wooyoung had braced himself to receive backlash but to hear his own daughter harshly stating how she was not like her father truly hurt him. But it was all deserved and he couldn't even complain.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It would appear that the day had been kinder to you than expected because you had planned on postponing coming home late by allowing Woohyun to take his time packing his stuff or taking him out to dinner and maybe get some dinner for Wooyoung and Dayoung at another place. Maybe another city. But as it appears, Woohyun's class ran longer than expected since they had a special guest teacher who came in from another country. Hearing this, you were about to leave the premises to wait in your car or go to a convenience store when you heard Seonghwa, one of Wooyoung's former dance crew mates turned business partner and teacher of the academy, called you up.

"Hey (y/n), how's it going?" He asked, beaming with happiness. Pissed that your friend cheated on me with one of your staff, you thought, "Good, Seonghwa. How are you? How's dating life?" you teased which made him roll his eyes, "Oh shut up, I should have settled down in my late 20s like you told me to. The girls who approach me only approach me because they have daddy issues and I don't know what to do with that information." Still better than my marriage I'd guess, you snarkily added in your head. "I was just about to step out for a bit until Woohyun finished his class, so..." You trailed off, trying to give him the hint that you were trying to get away but it simply went over his head. "Actually, I have some things for Wooyoung to look over, I know he's supposed to be back soon but these are just a couple of plans, budget details, and meeting minutes he can look over to catch up. I was planning to give it myself later tonight but since you're here, would it be okay for me to ask you to give them to him?" he smiled a bit too gleefully for your taste because you were in such a bad state. But you couldn't fault his nonchalance as he was not aware of the situation happening at home. So you nodded at Seonghwa, returning his smile though it wasn't half as genuine as his, "Sure, you can give it to me." "Great, thanks! Wait here, I'll go to the office and get them for you!" Seonghwa then jogged in the direction of the joint office in the back, leaving you at the waiting area where the receptionist is and also other students with their friends and some younger ones with their parents.

"Mrs. Jung?"

That voice froze you not just because you were surprised, but also because that voice was the one voice you didn't want to hear calling for you.

"Mrs. Jung!" Harin called before she jogged over to stand next to you, "Hello, it's nice seeing you again!" she smiled cheerfully which made you want to slap her face as hard as you could but you kept your composure. Even if the inner side of your cheek took the brunt to the point of nearly bleeding. You mustered all of the patience in your body to hum in acknowledgment and gave her the most neutral, polite smile you could give. "A-are you here alone? What are you doing at the Academy?" she asked. What bitch, you were hoping that Wooyoung's here too? And this is his academy that his kids have been part of since before you came here two years ago, I'm welcomed here unlike you in my fucking marriage. "Woohyun," you simply said before you averted your gaze, purposefully turning around in hopes that she'll get the hint and leave you before you maul her like a rabid cat. "I like Woohyun, he's so nice to me," Harin chuckled a bit too innocently for your liking due to the insinuation and the situation, "He always calls me pretty and compliments me. Of course, he's just a generally nice kid because even the other dancers like him. And of course, they also like Dayoung who's just so opinionated and strong and bright. They truly are the mirror image of their dad."

That was fucking it.

"Really!?" you snapped at her with a voice so sharp it should've turned her into ceviche. Harin jumped slightly from the sharpness of your tone as she looked at you in surprise, taking in how you were squinting your eyes at her in disbelief. "I-I'm sorry, wha-" you cut her stupid mouth off, not even wanting to hear her feigning confusion as the why you would react that way considering the fact that she had just acted like she knew your kids enough on top of having the nerve to talk all intimate-like about your husband. "You think you can talk to me that way about MY kids after everything?" "w-w- what did I say? I-I was just saying that I adore them," Harin tried to defend herself but your anger had made it seem like you doubled in size and you were towering over her. "And who do you think you are to adore my children?" it was obvious that you were no longer holding back your anger and while a part of you dreaded this, another felt glad that you were finally able to stand up for yourself. "I know everything, you slut," you sneered, taking a step closer to get a better look at the way her face fell, "I know you've been screwing my husband behind my back. He confirmed it to me."

By then you had caught the attention of the people around and you were sure that they had heard you but you didn't care. You stood over her, watching as she stuttered, looking as stupid as a fish out of water. "What? Nothing to say now? Nothing about my kids being the mirror image of the man you slept with multiple times and even shamelessly claimed to be your husband at the hospital?" you taunted, "You might have skipped this lesson in whore school, but when you see the wife of the man you're screwing, you blush, avert your eyes, and you scurry away like a roach, got it?" maybe you took it a step too far by humiliating her like that but you couldn't help the satisfied look on your face when she stared at you with reddened cheeks and a very displeased look on her face. The crowd gathering around you didn't make things any better for her because they were starting to whisper among themselves and you recognized some of them as the affluent stay-at-home moms whose husbands fall under the stereotypical cheating trope. So hearing you say all of that, they immediately started to look at Harin with disgust, and a small part of you, the evil part that was created due to hurt, took that as a win.

"Mommy?"

You turned around to see Woohyun standing not too far away from you with Seonghwa standing next to him, looking more surprised than your son who just looked concerned. Before you could react, Woohyun rushed to stand in front of you, glaring at Harin who looked at him with guilt. If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed that she was finally facing another innocent person who got affected by her selfishness. But you weren't as willing to consider her to have any semblance of humanity in her.

"Mommy, can we go home now?" Woohyun asked without looking at you but still keeping his glare on Harin. It was obvious to you that he was trying to distract you, trying to get you out of the uncomfortable situation which made you wonder about how much he knew or even understand. But you didn't want to hash it out in such a public place with him so you nodded and took his hand, automatically causing his attention to shift to you. "Yeah, of course, we can go home now sweetie. Have you gotten all of your things?" you asked in a tone so sweet that it caused Harin's spine to tingle from the palpable difference. It didn't help that once Woohyun turned away, he too, sported an innocent smile, nodding along and showing you his things that he had packed.

Turning around with Woohyun in tow, you shot Harin one last glare before stepping to face Seonghwa with a polite smile, "Is that the file you want to give my son of a bitch husband?" Seonghwa felt his knees buckle from fear but he tried his best to stabilize himself and smile at you, "Y-yeah, Wooyo-" The sudden shift to anger on your face when you heard your husband's name almost made Seonghwa shit his pants but he immediately corrected himself, "I-I mean, t-that son of a-a bitch, needs to review this and get back to me a-at, uh... YOUR earliest convenience?" your curtly nodded and offered him a polite smile whilst covering Woohyun's ears, "Thank you Seonghwa, and I'm sorry to have done this confrontation so publicly. It was not ideal but I was pushed to engage and since it's both out in the open and both it and my husband are hypocritical cowards who will not bring this up themselves, can I trust you to report this case to HR and see to it both of them get disciplinary action because it does break the inappropriate relationship rule and not to mention this could open you up to lawsuits should the bitch expand her reach and screw all of you as well? Thank you." Seonghwa immediately nodded his head and he was about to say something to comfort you but you had started your journey out of the academy, leaving Harin in the middle of the room, being pointed and whispered at by the people around, moms, and random people like other dancers and staff. Some had even fished out their phones and began to type away and Harin could only imagine that it was about her.

Humiliated, Harin was about to run away when a figure stepped out from the crowd and blocked her. She looked up to see Yunho staring at her with a less-than-pleased look on his face which terrified her because he was always the mood-maker.

"I think it would be best if you come with us to HR," he said in a low voice, briefly looking at Seonghwa who was immediately on his phone, looking distressed and frantic as he tried to get HR to immediately gather in the meeting room along with the other people who might be related.

Defeated, Harin hung her head and muttered under her breath, "That fucking bitch," she exhaled shakily which was easily heard by Yunho who clenched his jaw and with a tightly closed fist, hit the wall next to him hard enough that a loud BOOM echoed, surprising the people around who immediately dispersed whilst simultaneously causing Harin to cower.

"Mind your language because as of the moment (y/n) told Seonghwa hyung to report you to HR, anything and everything you said is a testament to your character and action and from what I'm seeing, you should not be calling (y/n) a bitch," he said through gritted teeth, forcing Harin to drop her face in absolute shame and simply followed when Yunho gestured for her to walk down the hallway (in shame).

"If I were you, I'd fire up my LinkedIn again because if you think Wooyoung would fight for you to stay, you'd end up wasting your time, his time, and frankly, everyone's time."

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[empty-movement]

OLD SCHOOL ANIMATION NERDS, I SUMMON THEE TO ASSIST

Hey! Vanna here! So I recently, in a rage at the loss of the end-of-series lot of production materials, bought a cheaper lot I had been curious about, and I kinda struck animation history gold with it! Try as I might to pull the whole context together, I need y'alls help accurately naming and identifying what I have!!! There are MANY MORE of these, all from the same episode, an Utena one, a LOT of Nanami, and a group shot even, all following this similar formula. But let's be honest, Vanna and Yasha wanted that sweet Touga smugness. Analysis and questions below the cut! These aren't ALL the sheets, there are ones for the face shape and sleeve also but to demonstrate. Also, fucking amazingly, I also have the storyboards for this episode, so I can even tell you the shot number is 287 ISNT THAT COOL

So Utena fans. You may or may not know, but episodes 6 and 8 had very chaotic productions, and did end up getting swapped in the end. Per Ikuhara's directory commentary in the Nozomi Blu-ray:

He makes explicit reference here to Akemi Hayashi, credited as the animation director for the episode. I can't recall where I saw it now, but I know the difficulty of drawing Touga on model is mentioned somewhere in all the production stuff I have.

Now. Here's the problem. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT THEISIWEUGWEYGF what do I callll these. My understanding is the the douga is the final line art, transferred onto the cel, and that is the only thing that you call a douga. A douga is the 1:1 match to its cels in a sequence. With an anime like Utena, it's pretty often going to be included with the cel, if you obtain one. These are douga, the final line art that creates the animation, scans donated by JadeSabre and edited into sequence. The frames are numbered in the top right, and there are no notes or anything drawn on the sheets.

Now. That is NOT what I have above. So none of these materials are douga, they are...genga? Help? (This will get wild with Nanami, where I even have a green sketch that is clearly like, VERY FIRST draft of the shot...)

What I have are the key frames, to my understanding. Meaning these represent a point much earlier in the production process. On first glance, the white sheets are significantly cleaner, but they are also so far off model they're flying along with the Voyager probes in interstellar space. They're very capably drawn, don't get me wrong, but they're clearly done by someone who is not on the Dorito face bandwagon. This is apparently pretty common? You get your initial key frame sketches (genga??) made, and then the animation direction (Hayashi??) grades your work by making messier, but more on model versions of the shots. These are the yellow 'correction' genga?

The douga of this shot are likely with the cels. There are 11 distinct cels of Touga's face (others for the sleeve), guided by the 4 key frame sketches I have here. Looked at individually, I can even see where the filled in frames struggle a bit more to be on model than the key ones, even in the final product.

So clearly, what I have are some pretty early process materials where there was a bit of a back and forth about how to draw the characters. The others I have are similar corrections, but this is the absolute most drastic one. It's like they said 'just do it like kinda shoujo and we'll iron it out later.'

The question I have is...can I safely assume these yellow correction sheets are actually Akemi Hayashi originals? Or would there have been another person in this process doing this correction work instead? Would there be a way to know who drew the original ?genga? That may not be possible to ascertain, but it would be really cool to try, since this episode was a Chaos Production, since I have the actual storyboard for it, since I now have a neat piece of context about what the Chaos might have meant. This shot always stuck out to me in the first arc, because it's true that for a lot of the first arc, Touga and Saionji look....far more like the first drafts here. The strict adherence to the Hasegawa style gets enforced later in the series, but this is an example of the exchange that needed to occur to get folks on board with what was a pretty unique art style.

PS. This is torture, the shape of these means I actually need to make two scans of each one and stitch them together, which is nervewracking when you want them to overlap properly and also you don't want to wreck your toilet paper ass production materials pressing them into the scanner bed. Also several are fucking taped together and lemme tell you, 25 year old 'clear tape' don't stay clear and don't stay sticky.

Basically, any context or knowledge anyone can impart I would appreciate a lot! I know I've got something really cool here, but I am struggling to get much clear information about it, because Google is broken.

[mbbmz]

Long time no see, Ms. VP

꩜ Chapter 1.

꩜ Synopsis. The life of the party wasn’t really for you. An unexpected encounter happens, for the better or for the worse.

꩜ Paring. Bonten!Ran x Fem!Reader

꩜ Chapter warnings. None

꩜ WC. 2.1k

꩜ a/n. Not particularly proud of this one but it’s mostly an introduction chapter, so no smut, sorry! But wait for next chapter ;)

The sound of multiple voices echoed through the hallways, where students were waiting for class time. Some were mindlessly chatting between themselves while others were reading or studying, or whatever.

Ran, however, was attending his favorite activity of the day. The only thing that was worth him leaving his bed so early in the morning.

- "Haitani! Stop playing around and put it on!"

A feminine voice echoed in the hallway. Her uniform was neatly worn, her shirt ironed and her skirt covering her knees. The scowl on her face was the reason he still came here in the first place. Well, that and the fact he wanted to graduate from highschool.

- "Chill out, what’s the big deal? It’s just a tie…"

He almost couldn’t stop an amused smile to form on his face. It was just so funny to him, how dedicated she was for something so small.

- "It’s a dress code violation!"

She corrected, her face scrunching up even more. It was always the same with him. He’d always find a way to piss her off for God knows what reason.

A loud sigh escaped his lips, his fingers circling the edge of the glass. There were days like this. His sleep schedule was off, work was shit, traffic was bad and the bartender somehow managed to fuck up his drink the first time.

He was bored out of his mind. It wasn’t in his habits to stay on the side, but he didn’t seem to find anyone interesting.

His gaze trailed down on the first floor where a mass of people was dancing, bumping into each others. He couldn’t distinguish any any faces, not like he really cared. For some reason, his eyes landed on a girl, chatting with what seemed like her friend. She had a beautiful smile.

- "You should smile more often, suits you."

- "Stop being so stuck up for once, smile and have a good time."

- "There’s that beautiful smile~"

Those memories seemed almost foreign to him. He wasn’t expecting those particular memories to flood through his mind. What was her name?.. He didn’t remember.

- "Chill, VP. You’re gonna get all wrinkled."

He almost chuckled. It’s been a long time since the last time he thought about her. The recollection of her signature scowl felt bittersweet.

- "Huh? You didn’t hear? She moved…"

He still remembers the churning of his stomach at those words. The confusion, the disbelief, the anger.

Why didn’t she tell me?

Ah, who cares anyways.

It was years ago, he didn’t remember her face, let alone her name… No need to dwell over this.

So why did he find himself walking down the stairs of the club, his eyes fixated in her direction?

He needed another drink.

He got closer to the bar, ignoring the lingering thought to just go and see that woman, just to get the confirmation she wasn’t who he thought she was. Suddenly, he felt something, someone bump into his back.

The woman apologized, but it was all white noise to him. He shrugged it off with a gesture of his hand, before walking away.

- "Haitani ? Is that you ?"

He heard a voice, realization hitting him. Ah, he remembered her name now.

- "Haitani ! You’re late again !"

- "Why do you keep getting yourself in trouble, Haitani ?!"

- "Haitani… You again…"

He turned around, a small smile on his face. The first one of the night.

It really was her. How amusing.

- "Well, well… Isn’t it our dear student council vice president ?"

You looked around the place, a hint of nervousness in your eyes. You never really enjoyed the atmosphere in clubs. It was packed, loud and hot. But tonight wasn't about you. Tonight was your best friend bachelorette party, and what she says goes, even if it meant keeping her company in this ridiculously fancy club.

- "(Y/N) ! Why aren't you having fun ?"

You heard her crisp voice directed at you. She was a bit pouty, something you wouldn’t expect from a grown woman like her, but you were used to it by now.

- "I am having fun !"

You lied. After all, you weren’t going to tell her the truth about being bored and annoyed out of your mind at her big night. You didn’t want to ruin it.

She rolled her eyes, getting closer to you. She leaned in closer in a slight wobbly demeanor, probably to whisper something. Yeah, she was definitely tipsy.

- "Do you know why I chose this club ?"

She asked, her voice teasing and playful. It was your turn to roll your eyes.

- "Because you would take any occasion to spend your money in luxurious establishments ?"

You arched a brow, even though your tone was a bit playful as well. She scoffed, light-heartedly nudging your shoulder.

- "Because… I was thinking… if there is a chance a man took interest in you… let him at least be rich !"

She said humorously, making you roll your eyes again. You swore you’d end up cross eyed by the end of the night.

- "But seriously though, you’re thirty and still single !"

Her words made you wince slightly. You were aware that the more you waited, the harder it will get to find someone. It wasn’t your fault, you were just… not really good at flirting. You sighed, on your way to get another drink.

As you made your way to the bar through the mass of dancing people, you bumped into someone. You immediately apologized, not yet looking at the face of the lanky man you bothered. As you looked up, trying to get a better look at the stranger, you were met with a familiar pair of violet eyes.

- "S-Stop looking at me like that, Haitani!.."

- "Like what ?"

- "Like you’re coming up with an evil plan or something…"

But before you could say anything, the man turned his back at you, making his way to the bar. Panic filled you, not wanting to let him go, for some reason.

- "Haitani ? Is that you ?"

You found yourself saying, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth. You needed to know if it was him. It probably wasn’t, but the worst that can happen was an embarrassing moment. However, you saw the man stop, he had that smile on his face.

- "You know you’re creepy, Haitani…"

- "Damn, you really have no filter, do you ?"

- "It’s the way you’re smiling… like you have something on your mind."

You never wanted to admit how much you loved that smile.

- "Well, well… Isn’t it our dear student council vice president ?"

His words made your eyes widen. It was him. The troublemaker that managed to lighten up your high school years. You were faced with a mixture of clashing feelings. Of course, you were surprised, pleasantly so. So why didn’t you find the strength to smile at him ? Was it because it has been such a long time ? Or was it because of the gnawing guilt that crushed you ?

You left without saying goodbye.

You managed to give him an awkward smile. You didn’t really know what to do. Part of you wanted to talk to him, but the other part was calling you stupid. You knew what you were doing when you moved. You knew you wouldn’t tell him anything, you knew you wouldn’t tell him goodbye. You knew you would hurt him.

But… past was past, right?..

- "It’s been a while since the last time I’ve been called that…"

You laughed awkwardly, still trying to get your head around the fact that Ran Haitani was standing in front of you. He was… well, how could you even describe your relationship?..

You were polar opposite. You were part of the student council, and he was your worst nightmare. At first, at least.

You only saw him smile, but somehow, it didn’t hit the same as it did in high school. Maybe because it wasn’t the smile you remembered.

This wasn’t his teasing, shit eating grin. It was more like a cold, calculating smirk. Scrutinizing you, sizing you up. Almost hypocritical. It was an unpleasant feeling.

He had changed. A lot. Of course, it has been more than ten years but… you wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for those lazy violet eyes of his. You remembered the way you would lecture him on his long hair, and how it wasn’t “appropriate for school” or bullshit like that. His short hair made him look more… mature, in a way. You almost found yourself wanting to run your hand in the lilac strands. You cleared your throat, trying to find something to say. But it was hard with his studying gaze fixated on you. But before you could say anything, you saw him taking out a pack of cigarettes.

- "Care to join me for a smoke ?"

The chilly wind made you shiver slightly, but it was still better than the suffocating atmosphere inside the club. Maybe you should’ve worn a longer dress to accommodate the cold weather of November. You looked at the tall man beside you, who didn’t seem bothered by the cold. You sighed, feeling the wind blow the smoke of his cigarette in your direction. He had a somewhat distant look, one you don’t think you’ve ever seen before.

- "So, you came back, after all."

You heard him saying, still looking into the distance. You glanced at him inquisitively, not quite understanding his statement.

- "In Tokyo, I mean."

He clarified, making you hum in acknowledgment. You moved out of Tokyo when you were seventeen, in the middle of the school year. Well, it was about that time too, in November. You still remember your class already thinking about Christmas, planning winter outings with their friends, Christmas dates… You even remember planning to get a gift for him. But that was before you got the news that you would go live with your mother. This sudden change didn’t enchant you, but you didn’t really have your say on the matter.

- "Yeah… I came back to go to college."

You finally answered, not really looking at him. You didn’t want to talk about how you left without saying anything, even though you knew you would have to, eventually. What were you thinking, back then ? Maybe you just didn’t want to say goodbye, so you didn’t. If only you could remember.

You looked back at him, only to find out he was staring right at you. You felt almost small under his piercing gaze. You wish you could find that easiness and that tranquility from back then. But you couldn’t. Now the air was heavy and it felt like there was a wall between the two of you. You wish you had the strength, the right to break that wall, but you couldn’t. Nothing was like before, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

Was it wrong to want it to be like back then ? You were both adults now. You couldn’t afford that nonchalance you both had years ago. Those days, so far away yet so vivid in your memory. You remember now.

You were in love with him. Maybe that’s why you were so scared to say goodbye.

The silence felt heavy on your shoulders, and none of you were saying anything. You were just standing there while he was smoking his cigarette. Back then, he would’ve already tried to piss you off at least 3 times. But he didn’t.

- "What ?"

You asked, wanting to know why he was staring at you so much. In fact, you dreaded the question you knew was on the tip of his tongue. After the few seconds, he spoke.

- "Nothing. This dress looks nice on you."

You didn’t know how to react. Maybe it just… didn’t matter to him. You wished it did, though. You gripped the guardrail, looking at one of Tokyo’s tall buildings. The old you would’ve stammered over her words at a compliment from him. But it wasn’t the Ran you knew, you realized that. It was no use reminiscing the good ol’ time, it was all gone.

- "Thank you."

Then the silence again. You wondered why you even followed him in the first place. Perhaps you were looking for an occasion to justify yourself. It was crazy, because none of it would even matter if you hadn't landed on him tonight. All of those memories would’ve stayed locked up deep into the abyss of your mind if his eyes hadn’t met yours. Suddenly, a small vibration cut through the heavy silence. You took out your phone, looking at the text you just received.

|Bitch where r u 12:47am

|Im worried 12:49am

You sighed, knowing it was time to part ways. You would probably not see him again, maybe it was for the best.

- "I should go, my friend’s looking for me."

He didn’t say anything for a moment, silently bringing the stick to his lips.

- "Yeah."

He simply answered. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or glad he was letting you go this easily. You finally decided you shouldn’t care.

You turned away, walking back inside the building, not sparing him a last glance, the air filled with unspoken words.

Hi guys! I hope you are all doing okay. Im back with my first long fic, and i hope you'll like it! Dont hesitate to point out mistakes i might have made, english isnt my first language. If you have any questions about it, my inbox is open! Tell me if you want to be tagged.

I unfortunately didn’t manage to tag everyone, sorry about that.

Taglist. @honeygonebads-blog @thesadvampire @nahoyaandsouya @onyankaponsbae @shadowstar123

[crookedteethed]

WORLD'S sluttiest assistant | r.c.

[warning] 18+ smut (pinv), oral (m receiving) face fucking, language, abuse of power, degradation, dubcon, porn with little plot, mentions of spit, Dacryphilia

You were always told to knock before entering Mr. Cameron's office, no matter the circumstances.

You wait for his response, your body shaking, not only because of the piping hot coffee (a request from Mr. Cameron) burning your hand but also the fear you feel for whatever lies behind the door in front of you because you know you had fucked up, bad.  

"Come in." you hear him say. His tone rich in annoyance, but what else was new?

You entered his office on his command a wobbling mess.

"Y-your coffee, sir. One black coffee. No sugar or cream.”

You didn't mean to stuttter, it was just something you often found yourself doing in the presence of your boss.

It was his cold cerulean stare that always made you feel so small.

As you walked the coffee to his desk, you made sure to watch your ever step--because even the slightest thing could tick off your boss.

When you placed the coffee on his desk, Rafe was quick to take it, taking one long sip from it. He let out a pleased sigh when he was done.

Then you watched as he stood up from his desk, walked to his glass cabinets, and pulled out a thick cream folder.

Your body tensed as Rafe slowly brought himself to the edge of his desk, nearly inches away from your body.

"Look over this for me." he told you, handing you the cream folder, a condescending smile tugged on his lips.

Instantly, you recognized your work. The same work you did overtime for the night before and left on Rafe's desk.

"What is this?" Rafe asked you when you were done skimming through the folder.

"I-it's the paperwork for our client, Coldwater Creek..." you trail off, unsure whether to continue, as you couldn't tell if this was good news Rafe was hearing or the opposite.

Nonetheless, you continued.

"This paperwork finalizes their demolition process, Sir.”

Rafe hums.

"So, this is the paperwork for Coldwater Creek?" he asked you, which couldn't have been more then a trick question.

You nod anyway.

You watched as Rafe visibly gotten angry, his eyebrows furrowing and is eyes turning wild.

"The same Coldwater Creek we dropped a few weeks ago, correct?”

Rafe stood up from his desk, his tall stature hovering over you like a skyscraper; it was right then that you wanted to kick yourself in the teeth, realizing you had settled the wrong paperwork for the wrong company.

You felt yourself get teary eyed, tears piled up in your tear ducts just waiting to be released.

Rafe continued. "Do you know how pissed the President of Coldwater Creek was to find out one of his branches had gotten demolished by our wrecking crew, Y/n? He'd threaten to sue."

It was the anger in his demeanor but the lack of it in Rafe's tone that made the first tear slip down your cheek.

"Jesus Christ, what are you crying for? This affects me more than it does you." He smacks his teeth.

He sighs.

"You can stop crying because I talked Mr. Cobblestone down, luckily, and he won't sue. However, this means that Cameron Development now has to build a free property for a company that owes us money. Like, Wow, Y/n, do you know what you have done?" He sounds astonished.

"I don't mean to sound rude when I ask you this, but, what the fuck? Are you that much of an idiot, Y/n?" He asks you.

You couldn't tell if he really wanted you to answer the question, but even if you could, you couldn't as you been a standing crying mess in front of him.

"Can you stop fucking crying!" He shouted for the first time, which ironically made you cry even more.

"Shit." Rafe gritted, palming himself. "Get on your fucking knees, now." He commanded, pushing you down by your shoulders and fumbling with his belt buckle and pushing down his slacks.

Rafe doesn't let you process what is even happening before taking your face and slamming his cock down your throat--all nine inches of him, causing a gag to elicit from your mouth. 

A forceful tear escapes from your closed eyes as Rafe brings your head as close as possible to his body to where his cock is pressed deep into the back of your throat.

He stays like this for a moment, sighing and relishing in the feeling of your warm, wet, pathetic mouth taking him whole. 

You stared up at him with pleading, teary eyes--with the occasional "GAK!" that would irrupt from your mouth. 

Then suddenly, Rafe begins getting himself off with your mouth. 

"Fuck, that's it, honey." He cooed, with a fist full of your hair bobbing back and forth. 

"D-do you know how bad this makes my company look, Y/n?" Rafe continued the conversation as if you weren't gagging on his cock right now. 

"Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look?”

Nothing in life could have prepared you for this very moment--giving your boss a bj while he yells at you about how much you'd fuck up. 

You hated yourself for how much you liked this.

Your cunt was dripping by the minute. 

"This makes me and my company look unprofessional. When people think of Cameron Development, they think of me, not a bimbo slut like you." Rafe told you, each thrust growing aggressive.

"Any little fuck up you do, will always get pinned back to me." He said through gritted teeth. "Do you understand that?" 

As Rafe continues to face fuck you, your jaw begins to grow sore, and you can't help but notice the saliva that drips down your chin. 

"Dicks got your tongue? Didn't you hear me?" Rafe had gripped your head. "I said, do you understand me?"

Why did he have to make it so hard on you? 

Pathetically, you nod, hoping he will give you a break. But to your dismay, Rafe said:

"I don't think you do understand me, Y/n. I guess I'll have to show you." 

And before you knew it, Rafe was lifting and bending you over the edge of his glass desk. 

The cool touch of the glass against your skin sent shivers down your spine as he tore through your tights with an almost animalistic urgency.

You could feel the adrenaline building as you surrendered to the moment.

It wasn't long until Rafe was shoving you to the brim with his cock.

Rafe's movements were primal and his grip on your hips were firm, yet possessive, as he held you in place.

Skin-on-skin slapping and quick breaths filled the room.

The sensation of the deep drag of Rafe's thick cock penetrating inside of your cunt had you blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy. 

You could feel the tension building, a delicious pressure that threatened to overwhelm you.

Now and then, Rafe would either degrade you about how much of a dumb slut you were or praise you for having such a tight cunt--which would only add to the tension building in your core. 

It was when you began meeting Rafe with his thrust did he stop insulting you and started focusing on one thing: his sweet release in your cunt. 

With each meeting of your hips, the intensity grew, and Rafe's focus sharpened. His breaths became ragged, and the primal urgency in his movements spoke volumes more than words ever could.

The heat was building up inside of you.

Rafe's grip tightened around your waist, guiding you to match his pace, urging you to meet him thrust for thrust.

With each thrust, Rafe's focus deepened, his eyes locked onto your heart shaped ass with intensity.

As the tension reached its peak, you felt yourself teetering on the brink, the world around you blurring into a whirlwind of pleasure.

Rafe's movements became more urgent, his breaths more frantic, and you knew he was close and the thought of his release sent a thrill through you, pushing you closer to your own climax.

In that moment, nothing else mattered as both you and Rafe came undone.

Rafe's urgent thrusts drove you both to the edge, and as he lost himself in the depths of pleasure, you felt the wave of your climax crashing over you.

It was a powerful release, a culmination of desire that left you breathless and trembling.

And like every time after you had fucked, Rafe was in such a hurry to act like nothing had happened. 

By the time you could strengthen yourself and fix your tattered and bunched clothing, Rafe had already been at his desk and typing away on his laptop, finishing up his coffee. 

And just as you were leaving his office, Mr. Cameron told you: 

"I've seen enough of you today; take the rest of the day off, and come back with your head screwed on right tomorrow."

[ballroamblitz]

caramel pie | J.P

summary: james smells caramel pie on the amortentia potion

james potter x fem!reader

word count: 3.750 content: teeth rotting fluff, angst warnings: crying, reader blushes notes: one thing about me is i love me some amortentia fic with a side of james fluff ughh also i listened to glue song by beabadoobee while writing this :) p.s i accidentally posted this on my side acc so if anyone wanna be mutuals my main blog is @beastofbrden :)

- Someone please, kindly remind me why I decided that continuing Herbology after the O.W.Ls was a good idea? - Y/N huffed out, sitting at the Gryffindor table for lunch.

The four boys sitting around her laughed. 

- Learned a lot today, uh? - Sirius asked, ironically. 

- Oh yeah, loads! We had to feed toad flesh to those terrible toad-eating plants. For some reason, mine just didn't feel like eating it without regurgitating it all back on me! 

The boys went hysterics, and even the girl couldn't help but laugh along. 

- There's still a little piece there - James pointed. - Here, let me take it out for you.

He took out a small chunk of toad flesh off her hair. 

- Well, may I remind you, Y/N, that no one told you to keep up with Herbology. We all dipped from it while we could and no one else has pieces of toad on our hair - Sirius noted, clearly getting a good laugh out of the girl's toad disaster.

- I just didn't want to hurt Sprout's feelings! 

She sighed and brushed her hair with her fingers, only then looking at the food in front of her.

- Merlin, I'm starving! Could eat anything right now.

- Even toad? - Remus joked, sending the group on another laughing crisis.

By the time of dessert, Y/N started scanning the table for something. Clearly not finding it, her panic started showing. 

- Oh no. Where's the caramel pie? 

- They didn't serve any today - James replied, needing all the strength on his body to stay deadpanned. The other three boys were deep in conversation, and him being the one sitting closer to Y/N (as always) only he noticed the girl's agitation. 

- What??? What do you mean they didn't serve any? In the six years I've been here they never not served it and I can't believe they chose today to…

- I'm just joking - James pulled a plate that was hidden behind the steak pudding, smiling playfully at the girl - Saved it for ya.

- James! I would go mad if they stopped serving this pie, y'know! - she let out a relieved breath. 

- Nah, don't worry. They will keep serving it, or I would fight the elfs for ya. 

- One day I’ll hide your figgy pudding, then we’ll see.

- You wouldn’t dare, missy.

James watched with a soft look on his eyes as the girl took the first bite of her favorite dessert.

- Thank you for saving me a piece, Jamie - she leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment to show gratitude. When she got closer, he smelled the vanilla scent of her hair and the caramel pie on her lips.

After lunch, the five went straight to Slughorn's classroom. 

- Good evening, dears, good evening! Now if you could get up and get closer, I want to show you something!

The whole class shifted near the table Slughorn was sitting behind. 

- Here, we have a very special potion. - He pointed towards a bubbling caldron full of a crystal clear liquid - Very tricky to make, very characteristic and perhaps one of the most dangerous we can brew. Can anyone tell me it's name?

Y/N's hand rose in the air.

- Yes, ms. Y/L/N. 

- It's Amortentia, or simply the love potion. Since true love can't really be produced by any sort of magic, it causes more of a crush or an obsession. 

- Correct. Ten points to Gryffindor! - Slughorn smiled.

- Nerd - James whispered,  messing up Y/N’s hair.

- Sod off, Potter.

- You see, one of the most intriguing things about Amortentia is its scent. Everyone smells something different, because its scent is completely dependent on what each person feels personally attracted to. Now, who wants to come forward and tell me what it smells like? 

No one volunteered. No wonder, since it's a very particular thing to simply say in front of a whole classroom.

- No one? I'll pick someone then. Let me think... - Slughorn scanned the faces around. - Ah! Mr. Potter, you will do. 

James was caught by surprise. He had been distracted by the warmth radiating off Y/N, that was almost resting her head on his chest. 

- Me? - he asked and pointed towards himself.

- Of course you! Is there any other Mr. Potter?

The whole class laughed as James stepped closer, his signature boyish grin splashed on his face. 

- Now Mr. Potter, lean in and smell the potion.

James ran his hands through his hair and did as told. One single sniff and his smile fell off his face completely. The scent was unmistakable: vanilla and caramel pie. Vanilla body cream, caramel pie for dessert, everyday. He had the urge to see if Y/N wasn't standing next to him, but he knew she hadn't moved from across the table. He knew he had to lie. If he said what it smelled like to him, everyone would know it was Y/N's smell.  

- So, Mr. Potter. Whenever you are ready to share. 

He looked at where Y/N was. She was looking at him, just as well as everyone else. She looked relaxed, the potion's glow making her look specially pretty, angel-like. Think of something, fast. Something not at all related to what you are really smelling, something like...

- It’s wood and broomstick polisher.

- Very well then Mr. Potter. Looks like you've got a thing for Quidditch, uh?

The class laughed, and everyone looked convinced. James Potter, Quidditch captain, smelling broomstick polisher and wood? Fitting. James high-fived himself for his quick thinking, and let out a relieved sight. Now, no one would go around thinking the wrong things. 

Later that night, in the common room, however, the potions class was almost burning a hole through James' head. Slughorn said Amortentia smelled of what attracted each person the most.  Attraction was romantic, sexual attraction. But Slughorn had been pretty vague, hadn't he? He could've meant attraction in any context. It could mean anything. It could mean platonic love, right? If Slughorn didn't think much of James smelling Quidditch, it probably meant it could smell of anything the person liked a lot, right? But it was a love potion. That caused passion. And Slughorn said he had a thing for Quidditch. A thing. But he didn't have a thing for Y/N! He loved her, of course. Everyone knew she was his best friend, they did everything together and she was probably his favorite person in the world. Yeah, maybe he went to extreme lengths to see her happy, and yeah, maybe he was a bit too affectionate with her, but she was his best friend.

- Can't do homework anymore. - James was ripped off his thoughts by Y/N's presence. She threw her backpack at the ground in front of the sofa he was in and layed down - My brain feels like mush.

James looked at her. Her head was resting on his lap, and she looked extremely comfortable. That was obvious, since they always had been this affectionate towards each other. They both were very touchy people, and it felt natural to be in constant physical contact. James was always happy, eager even, to be like this with her. In a platonic way. Obviously. Today, however, her skin on his felt like it burned. 

- How was it? - James asked, coughing to conceal the way his voice failed a bit in the first word.

- Homework? Awful. It's not that difficult, but it's too much. And it just seems pointless, you know? What will I actually learn from writing 19 inches about toad eating plants? Nothing, I tell you what! - The girl sighed and closed her eyes again - Just wanna go to sleep, really.

He didn't know what to answer. He normally would have made a joke about the plants, added more criticism about essays or something. But he didn’t even do his homework, with how paranoid he was. For the first time ever, he was completely speechless in her presence. Her eyelashes were resting peacefully on her pink cheeks. The light from the fireplace made her skin look more flushed, and her hair had a golden glow to it. She looked awfully pretty. James knew that, of course. She had always been pretty. But tonight.. when she moved her head a little bit, he smelled the amortentia smell. Vanilla and caramel pie, just as strong as it was that afternoon. 

- You are way too quiet today, Jamie. - She opened her eyes and he felt something weird in the pit of his stomach  - Ate too much pudding? 

- Yeah, probably. 

She stretched and yawned, sending another wave of vanilla and caramel pie to James' nostrils. 

- Going to bed - she got up. Her hair was messy and the light from the fireplace behind her looked like a halo. - Night, Jamie.

She lowered herself and pecked his cheek lightly. 

- Sleep well - her soft voice was way too close to his ear, turning James' legs into jelly. 

He watched her going up the stairs to the dormitory, and the place she had kissed burned long after she was gone. 

He had no reason to be this nervous for the potions class the next morning. Slughorn had already moved on from amortentia, since it was a difficult, dangerous and time-consuming potion to make, but James was half hoping the potion would be brought up again, and half hoping everyone would collectively forget about it completely. Slughorn didn't mention the potion again, moving on directly to Felix Felicis. He watched the whole class on the edge of his seat. He had decided he would ask the teacher about the potion just to calm himself down. Just to make sure. Everyone had been really concentrating on making the best draught of living death the whole period, but James just wanted the class to end so he could ask Slughorn and stop eating himself alive.  

- Alright, alright. Congratulations mr. Snape on your draught. Truly outstanding! - Slughorn said, raising a round of applause - Class dismissed!

Everyone started to gather their backpacks and leave, but James made sure to stay back. He pretended to be very interested in a weird type of algae that Slughorn kept in a little ampoule. Just a few more moments and then he'll say that no, I don't have romantic feelings for Y/N and that i just really like caramel pie or something, and then i'll stop going mental... 

- Gillyweed. - Slughorn’s voice dragged James off of his daydreams 

- Uh? - James frowned in confusion, wondering what the teacher was talking about.

- The algae you're looking at, Mr. Potter. Gillyweed. Helps the person breathe underwater. 

- Oh, yeah, right. Professor Slughorn, I was wondering if I could ask you something.

- Sure, my boy, ask away - Slughorn encouraged while distractingly stacking some parchments.

- I was wondering… about the Amortentia potion.

Slughorn stopped his movements and lifted his eyes directly to James. 

- Oh, I see - He looked very amused, for some reason. - What were you wondering?

- Let's just say a friend of mine smells it and it reminds him of someone. It could smell like someone he just truly cares about, couldn't it? Like, it doesn't necessarily mean he's in love with the person that the scent reminds him of, right? 

Slughorn's lopsided smile grew bigger.

- I'm afraid, no, my boy. 

- What? - James felt like the classroom got three times smaller and hotter by the minute - But I smelled wood and polishing oil, and I'm not in love with a broom, am i? 

- Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter... - Slughorn chuckled. - I think we both know you didn't smell any of that. 

James felt his face getting warm and red. 

- But, if you did, that would mean you have a crush on a Quidditch player, let's just put it like that. Amortentia is a very strong love potion, and we can only smell things in it that romantically attract us very deeply. Those of us that aren't in love with anyone would smell something quite abstract. But if this friend of yours smelled amortentia and recognized the scent as someone's, then boy do I have news for him. Does this answer your question? 

      - Hm, yeah, sure. - James agreed. He felt like he was gonna fall down from the absurd speed at which his mind was racing. - Thank you, Professor.

- Anytime. - James began to leave, completely out of it. - Oh, and Mr. Potter?

- Yes? - James turned around, hopeful that Slughorn would start laughing and admit he was joking.

- Tell your friend I wish him the best of luck with this new, blossoming love. 

As James went out of the classroom and up into the common room, he deeply regretted not stealing that ampoule of gillyweed and swallowing it whole. That way, he could spend the rest of his days in the black lake with the merpeople. I bet amortentia wouldn't smell like anything down there, he thought. 

For the rest of the week, James spent every waking hour trying to not think about what Slughorn said and what it meant, and he was succeeding. He kept himself busy with classes, Quidditch and even homework. He also did his absolute best to avoid everyone. He ate before anyone else and made sure he was far away from the great hall by the time he knew Y/N and the rest of the Marauders would go down to eat. In classes, he sat very distant and left early. He even pulled some pranks he didn't even feel like pulling on Filch to get detention in the nights he couldn't schedule Quidditch practices. He walked the halls in the invisibility cloak. Anything to keep his thoughts away from the big fire alarm going off inside his head. The only problem was that he missed Y/N in all of those moments. When he was doing homework, he missed the sound of Y/N's pen scratching the parchment next to him. While he ate, he missed the warmth of her body next to his, the satisfaction humming while she ate her pie . He missed laying down together after homework. He missed seeing her on the stands at practice. He even realized that the real fun in pranks wasn't the actual thing, but to see Y/N laughing hysterically afterwards. To put it quite simply, it felt like he was sleep walking all the time. He couldn’t go on avoiding her forever, but what he was gonna do, he had positively no idea.

Until Friday night.

It was late, and he had been in detention. Filch had made him write “I shall not turn the school’s trophies into pigeons” a hundred times, and his hand was hurting from all the repetitive writing. Normally, he would have complained, but this time, he was glad for the distraction. Enjoying detention, he thought bitterly while crossing the fat lady, I must be really going mad. His grouchy thoughts were interrupted by a sound. It sounded like.. crying. Or better yet, it sounded like someone was sobbing their heart out. He looked around the empty common room, but didn’t see anyone. He followed the sound to the sofa near the fireplace, where he and Y/N always rest after studying. Before you turned into a chicken. 

Y/N was laid on the sofa, her face buried in a cushion, her whole body shaking with her sobs. James was flooded with panic.

- Y/N, baby, what happened? - he cooed, his voice altered with anxiety. Y/N never cried, except when something very serious happened.

Y/N looked up like she thought she was seeing visions. 

- Jamie? - her voice was soft and shaky, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot red, like she had been crying for multiple hours. The hurt on her eyes broke James’ heart in a thousand pieces. 

His mind raced with possibilities: maybe someone was mean to her? Maybe someone died? Maybe she was hurt? The thought of her being in pain panicked him even further. He sat down and pushed her into his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. 

- Are you hurt, baby? Where does it hurt? Please, tell me. 

She cried violently on his shoulder. He inspected her legs for bruises, but she seemed well physically. 

- Y/N, tell me what’s wrong, I can’t stand to see you like this - he begged. -  Did someone hurt you?

The question seemed to trigger something on the girl, because suddenly she was on her feet, out of his arms. 

- Did someone hurt me? Seriously? - the tears streamed down her face, but her eyes glimmered with something new: anger.

James was confused, to say the least. He noticed that she was wearing one of his old sweaters, one that had vanished from his suitcase a few weeks ago. 

- Baby...- he begged some more.

She looked as if he had twisted a knife on her wound.

- Don’t you dare “baby” me, James. Not after ignoring me like the plague for a whole week! 

Oh. Oh. James had been so involved with his own confusion regarding the amortentia incident that he forgot almost completely that Y/N didn’t know what he was doing, or why. She was crying because he hurt her feelings. That was a lot worse than if she was crying because of another person: he could’ve gone out to kick said jerk’s ass. But if he hurt her, what was he supposed to do? Punch himself? 

-Y/N - he cooed, apologetically. - Y/N, I…

She showed him her palm, urging him to stop talking.

- You don’t have to explain wanting to be away from me. I’m sure you had your reasons. But you could have at least told me that you wanted some space from me, or something, because I’ve been miserable, and…

She thought he wanted space from her. The sorrowful shaky breath that escaped her lips mid-sentence threw him over the edge. 

- No, no, no… - he repeated while pushing her back into his lap - Oh my god, Y/N, no…

He caressed her hair while she sobbed violently on his shoulder. Her fists were closed tightly on his shirt, her tears dampened his neck, and he couldn’t recall the last time his heart ached this badly.

- Did I do something? Did I bother you? I’m so sorry.. - she whispered softly, like she was voicing what had been repeating in her head over and over again during the last few days. Her words were laced with anger, resentment, but, above all, hurt. He wanted to double over in pain.

- Listen - James lifted her chin up gently, forcing her to look into his eyes. - I’m the one who’s sorry. 

The tears kept coming, but she was listening.

- I shouldn’t have avoided you last week, and it’s not your fault, okay? It’s my fault. I’m the one who got scared. 

She looked confused.

- Scared? Of me? 

James would have to confess what happened at Slughorn’s class. He had given zero thought about his messy feelings, and even though unraveling them in front of Y/N scared him endlessly, he would have to do it, because he could never let her think that he wanted space from her. That he wanted anything but to be close to her, at all times, if he could. 

- Please - she asked, incisively, noticing his wariness. - Tell me.

He took a deep breath, feeling vulnerable, raw. As if he would undress himself fully in front of her.

- Remember Slughorn’s class about amortentia? - Y/N nodded, encouraging him to move on - He asked me to smell it, right, and I…

- You said it smelled like broom polisher. 

- Well, yes. But I lied. - he decided to avert his gaze to the ceiling, or else he would never talk. - It was caramel pie and vanilla cream. So, I smelled… you.

Silence. A moment, two. He couldn’t muster the courage to look at the girl. He felt her hand grazing his cheek, urging him to look at her.. 

- Jamie… - She looked wonderstruck, and his heart seemed like it wanted out of his chest - Really?

- Really.

James was sure he’d never seen something as beautiful as Y/N after his response. She was smiling the biggest, most shiny smile he had ever seen on her face. Her eyes shined like gemstones at him, so soft he wanted to cry.

- Do you want to know what I smelled? - she asked, soft as a feather. 

His heart somersaulted when she brought her face closer to the side of his neck. She whispered on his ear:

- I smelled… - She sniffed his neck once - Sandalwood - another sniff, followed by a chuckle  - Broomstick polisher…

She distanced herself, looking deep into his eyes.

- And homework parchment. And fireplace naps. And figgy pudding.

His heart was hammering against his ribcage. Y/N smelled him. On the amortentia potion. Him.

- Y/N - James whispered, all warm and fuzzy on the inside. - Really?

She didn’t answer, just grabbed his hand, the warmth and softness of her skin overwhelming his senses. Placed his hand on top of the point of her chest where her heart was. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel her heart beating faster than a hummingbird's. She never unglued her soft eyes from his. 

She likes him. Suddenly, all the thoughts he had been avoiding throughout the week came crashing down on him, like a dam.

James was an affectionate friend. He liked physical touch. But he never liked it half as much as he did with her. James was a thoughtful friend. He remembered things about his friends. But he remembered every single thing about her. He was a sensitive friend. He hated to see his friends suffering. But every time he saw her cry, it was like his heart was being crushed. James was an attentive friend. He loved spending time with friends. But when he was away from her, he couldn’t even function properly, like he was missing one half of him. Y/N is his best friend. But she is more, too. He loves her. But there’s something else: he is in love.  Amortentia never lies, after all.

When his hands tangled on Y/N’s hair, he smelled vanilla cream. When he kissed Y/N’s lips, he tasted caramel pie.

[two-white-butterflies]

how can beauty that is living, be anything but true?

Description: Daemon being adored and treated well by his loving wife while they talk about war and its aftermath.

Pairing: daemon targaryen/reader

A/N: quite short.

"I feared the worst when the King sent his letter," you say.

Daemon has always been unpredictable. He did as he pleased, took and took until the entire realm inevitably bent to his desires. "- three years away in war, and not a single word." You glared, seeing him take a step inside of your shared chambers.

Your handmaidens tell you that he returned during the night, and slept in a separate chamber lest he interrupt your sleep.

"I tried to write, my lady, but the enemy would strike our ravens down." He replies, amused. "You should've marched here on foot," you snapped, accepting his reason, but not letting him know.

"Targaryen princes have been taken by fickler things than war." You provided a reminder, but he silences you with a kiss to your forehead. Followed by a silent stare, a reminder that there is nothing in this world that would keep you from him.

"Yet, I am alive." He responds, though there were many nights he spent wishing otherwise. "Barely alive," you corrected. "I've heard rumors." You added with a prolonged sigh. There were at least five different rumors of his death, some say that he was impaled by arrows, hit by dozens of swords, or drowned, never to be seen again.

His expression changes for a second, but he composes himself before you even notice. "Rumors are skewed versions of the truth." He wraps his arms around your body, inhaling your scent that he has forgotten after three years smelling only sea and sand. "- but they still hold somewhat of a truth." You hiss.

"You promised me that if anything were to happen to you, that you'd return immediately." You held that promise above his head.

"Dragons don't run with their tails in between of their legs," he argues. "So, you were hurt in battle?" You raised an eyebrow.

You were aware of his duties, that he couldn't abandon them easily, but he could've at least whispered information about his welfare. "A scratch compared to the soldiers who will never return to their families," he answered the question without answering the question.

"What happened, Daemon?" your voice turns sweet at the utterance of his name. "Arrows, fire, swords, and a couple wounds to remember them by." He still refuses to tell you the whole truth. "Show me," you plead. Something behind his eyes shifts. His pupils become watery, almost leaking tears - but your husband does not cry.

He'd rather hide his sorrows behind a mask of cold callousness.

He does not take his eyes away from yours. He focuses on your features, your eyes, your lips, your nose - features that he's engraved in the back of his head to save him from the brutal pictures that unfolded in front of him during battle.

He gently unbuttons his tunic. He takes your hand and places it on the healed skin. A wound that spanned from his shoulder down to his stomach diagonally. "All I could think about while fighting that battle was how stupid my brother and his hand are for believing that I want to supplant Rhaenyra and claim his throne as mine." Daemon laughs.

"Men like that, my lady, those who sit on iron thrones know nothing about war. Soldiers die on the battlefield to ensure our safety, to ensure that our stone castles remain fortified against invaders. They know nothing of the mothers and wives that have lost their sons and husbands. I scorn my brother, I really do." He whispers, lest anyone except you hears his confession.

"I cannot even imagine the depths of your sorrow, lord husband." Your eyebrows merged together, wrapping him in a warm embrace. "I made it mine advocacy to return home. I could not bear to think of your sadness. Young, very beautiful and widowed." He breathes.

"I love you, Daemon."

"Likewise, my lady."

[vaokses]

Anger, a daughter (Pirtir, Ch.1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: You return to Dragonstone after nearly two years away, having done what was expected of you and secured your mother's standing with the Great Houses. The safety that you felt after once again doing what was expected of you is taken once you learn that in your absence, your family arranged for you to marry Aegon.

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Threats of violence. The usual Targaryen incest stuff.

Some AU/Setting stuff: Reader is a bastard of Daemyra (claimed by Laenor of course), firstborn child of Rhaenyra and heir to her mother’s claim. It is mentioned she has Valyrian features (the hair). She rides Vermithor. She and Aegon had a thing when she was still in King’s Landing. How relevant or impactful that ‘thing’ was depends on who of the two you ask. I’ve stretched the timeline a bit. Rhaenyra spent a few years more in King’s Landing (making Aegon around 16/7 when she leaves, and the Reader, the eldest of the Velaryons, around 14/5). Instead of six years in Dragonstone, the Blacks have spent around three there in this story. Viserys still lives (and is rotting slightly slower), Aegon and Helaena did not marry. Mysaria left for Dragonstone with Rhaenyra, but is still the information broker of the first season, just working from afar. The Reader has spent nearly two years touring Westeros, as her mother did, in search of a husband.

A/N: No Aegon or any of the greens yet, but I wanted to set up some things, so this can be considered a prologue of sorts. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

Title is from the "anger, a daughter" by volatilepoetry (link to the piece here, I couldn't find the author's socials)

“Cousin.” You greet with a wide smile, taking the riding gloves off as she comes closer, a mirror of your own smile on her lips. 

“Sister,” Baela greets in kind in well-practiced Valyrian, at your reprimanding glare answering with a defiant one of her own. She grabs your hands in hers, smile wide and mirrored in your own face. “I thought you would return to Dragonstone, at the end of your…tour.” 

“Even I tire of politics, of playing,” You admit, linking your arm with hers and letting her guide you towards the Driftmark castle. “I wish to rest for a while, before I am to report back to f-…to Daemon. I hoped our grandmother would grant me a few days here?” 

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible,” She tells you, pulling from her belt a rolled up message and offering it to you. “A raven brought this shortly after dawn.” 

You immediately recognize Daemon’s handwriting, as well as the parting message he directs at his daughters and you in place for a goodbye. Fly, daughter. 

Your sister is needed at home, tell her to return to us at once. You must ready yourself to fly to Dragonstone at my command. I’ll send word. Sōvēs, tala. 

“So, who did you choose? Whoever it is, you made father angry.” 

“Your father.” You correct, but she pays it no mind, as she always does. 

“So, who will be the lucky man?” 

You turn to face her as you both stand in the base of Driftmark’s stairs. 

“I didn’t choose anyone.”  

Of course, a Tyrell knight caught your eye and your attention for a while, and you could use the strength of the alliance marrying Vaemond Velaryon’s son would bring, or Rickon Stark’s. You even considered the proposal of Hobert Hightower’s grandson, if only to see your mother breathe fire at the mere idea of it, were you to propose such a union. 

But the tour was never organized for the purpose of finding you a husband, this you knew from the beginning. It is the reason you agreed to such a circus in the first place. As Rhaenyra’s first-born child, heir to the Iron Throne and future Princess of Dragonstone, you were sent throughout Westeros to remind the noble Houses of the pledges they made, of where their allegiance is to lie if they hope to remain on the Crown’s good side. 

What foolish Lord you couldn’t charm with a well-placed smile or compliment, Vermithor’s presence in their city would remind promptly of the risk of turning on your House, of undermining your mother’s claim. What wouldn’t bend to your will, you would remind how quickly you could break. Such was your task, what was demanded from you, and you played your part as you have always done. 

It matters not if by the end of this tour, after twenty months away from home -though a part of you reminds you it has been much longer than that, it has been over three years-, donning whatever face was deemed ideal to realize your objective; you cannot really remember who it is you were before it all. It matters not if it has been months since you’ve been able to meet your own gaze in a mirror, in fear of seeing a stranger -or worse, a familiar face, your mother’s, your father’s, Lady Mysaria’s- looking back. 

Your eyes meet Baela’s, and you whisper, “Have you heard I am to marry?” 

She hesitates, and that is enough of an answer. You shake your head, step away, stumble over your own feet. 

___ 

You almost feel a young girl again, in the worst possible way, dragged like a dog on a leash after your mother as she departed King’s Landing, gritting her teeth at your cries and answering with soft caresses of your silver hair to your promise that you would never forgive her for taking you from your home. 

Now, over three years later, you are to be dragged back to the city that saw you be born, away from your mother’s side, from your brothers’ and stepsister’s sides. And the people responsible for arranging for such a thing are set on hiding, on ignoring you since your return to Dragonstone. 

For a time, especially since your aunt’s death and Aemond’s claiming of Vhagar, you believed your mother and Daemon kept you unmarried, kept you here, so that if war were to break out, they would have you and Vermithor to send to battle, to which he is no stranger. You believed if you would one day have to marry, it would be to defend your own claim, offering your hand in exchange for an army, to a man that would know to bend the knee before his queen and before his wife alike. 

You believed they kept you near, they let you remain unbound and unmarried, because you served a purpose while free. You believed by playing your part as was demanded from you, twisting and turning to fit into whatever face you were expected to wear, you would have some control over any of it, you would be safe. How foolish, childish, those notions were. 

Since Vermithor flew you into Dragonstone, your mother has secluded herself in her rooms, and you have only Daemon to ask for answers to the madness that brews past the safety of the island. 

“I do not wish to leave. I will not leave, unless you tell me what awaits me in King’s Landing.” 

But you know, some part of you knows, and that part of you is gnawing at you, at your composure, at your resolve. 

Daemon shrugs one shoulder, “Why? It was once your home. That shithole of a city saw you be born, after all.” 

“My home is, as has always been, Dragonstone.” Lie, lie, lie. You remember the halls of the Red Keep better than you know the halls of this very castle. 

“Then you must be used to homesickness by now. Five and ten years raised in King’s Landing, nearly two years touring Westeros. You have spent…what? A year settled here?” 

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t much care, walking past you to pour himself a cup of wine. He lifts an empty cup your way to offer a drink, but you hold your ground, and insist, 

“I detest games, Daemon.” 

“You sound like your mother when you talk like that,” He quips, with cruel humor, chuckling at a joke that only amuses him. You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes and jaw set tight, and he lets out another mad little chuckle, “You also look like her when you glare like that.” 

“I only ask that-…” 

“When in your life have you asked for only one thing?” 

“And yet you have always indulged me. Indulge me now,” You ask, walking to him, forcing the tension in your shoulders to loosen and your face to reflect the softness of the child he has always had a weakness for. What is expected, what is needed, if you are to win this particular battle. Your mother, your brothers, they are to be faced with callous strength, with a temper and a certainty you inherited from the man who made you who you are; but the man himself is to be faced with the pleading eyes of his daughter, with the docile manners of a maiden who needs his guidance, his protection. And so, you show the face required to get the upper hand. Quietly, softly, you plead, “Do not insult me or my intelligence by acting as if I cannot understand whatever game is being played.” 

“You wield lies effortlessly,” He concedes, head lolled to the side as he considers you, “But you should know better than to try with me.” 

You allow yourself a smile, despite yourself, and let go of pretenses. Even so, you aren’t sure if the face you show Daemon now is an honest one, or merely yet another mask to try and gain his favor. 

Shrugging one shoulder as you lean against one of the stone pillars, you admit, 

“It was worth a try.” 

“It is more of an instinct than a choice by now, I’d say,” Daemon corrects, taking a few steps in your direction. You don’t miss the fact that he has positioned himself between you and the door, a physical reminder that whatever he is about to say is as inescapable as this room. “A useful instinct, now that you are to marry.” 

Your refusal is immediate, “No, I’m not.” 

At his answering look, halfway between surprise and anger, you wonder absently if this is the first time you’ve denied him since he married your mother. 

“You are aware this is not a request.” 

“I’ll feed to Vermithor whatever man you try chaining me to. You are aware this is not an empty threat,” You tell him. It feels good, to admit such a thing, to promise such a thing, because it feels true. “I told you I wouldn’t marry unless the war demanded it.” 

“It does. You are to avoid war, and marry my brother’s son, Aegon,” He promises, and he knows it, you see it in his eyes, that at the uttering of a single name your threat is made null. You realize then why it is your mother hides from you. “It is done, a deal has been brokered with my brother and his wife, y-…” 

“You have no right to make arrangements in my name.” You blurt out, a desperate attempt, not unlike a cornered beast lashing out and wounding its own maws as it bites the approaching spear. Now this, shamefully, terribly, this feels yours. This anger, this desire to hurt. With all the venom of a lifetime of wasted deference, of useless loyalty, you ready yourself to speak a lie once again, “You are not my father. Whore out your sons to the Hightowers if you wish, but you have no right t-…” 

Your words die in a gasp as Daemon hurls the cup in his hand at a wall and advances towards you, quick strides until he stands before you, towering over you with quickened breath. He doesn’t strike you, never has. But it is no less of a threat. A warning not to step out of line, a reminder of what your lies protect you from. 

A twitch in his expression, a glimpse of a snarl, before he warns, 

“Careful now.” 

“We both know there are things my mother won’t forgive,” You answer, “It is you who ought to be careful.” 

“She has approved of this union.” 

You doubt it. You want to doubt it, need to. It is one thing to try and link the warring branches of the House of the Dragon by joining Jacaerys, kind and gentle Jacaerys, and your sweet aunt Helaena. 

It is another to send her only daughter, her heir, to one of Alicent’s sons. 

Still, because some part of you, small and still in the carriage as it drives away from King’s Landing, grasping your mother’s hand in yours even as you curse her and her choices, cannot stand the thought of standing corrected, of being made to face that for the security of her claim Rhaenyra would give you away to a man on the far end of the Crownlands; you do not voice an argument, and instead clarify,  

“I was speaking of what you are threatening to do with your hands,” Daemon leans back with a thoughtful hm that does nothing to hide the way he still bristles at the faintest reminder of powerlessness. Careless, you push forward, insist, “Let us wait, let me stay, and…” 

“And what, hm? Let war come to us? Let those vipers continue to undermine your mother’s claim? Let them put Otto Hightower’s pawn on the throne our forebears forged?” 

You are shaking your head before he is even done speaking, and you can only offer a sigh as an answer, a plea as a retort, 

“Let me fight.” 

“You will fight as I see fit that you do,” He answers, simply, carelessly. “You will play your part, as is your privilege, your duty.” 

“If I had been a son, y-…” 

“I have had a lifetime of hearing your mother speak the same nonsense. I will not hear it,” Daemon interrupts, before leaning closer and reminding you, cruel, mocking, “You are not a son.” 

“I ride the second largest dragon in the world, I-…” 

“Then you should find it easy to tame a smaller one,” Daemon promises, not without cruelty. “We will depart in a month. The betrothal will be officially announced then, with us all in King’s Landing. Plenty of time to say your goodbyes.” 

“There have been…whispers of a royal event for months now. I didn’t know, I-…” 

“Did you think they were setting up a tourney for one of those shits? Or that my brother had somehow managed to sire another child?” 

You shake your head, but your heart races and your breath quickens, because how could you not see it before? 

You served your purpose, without faltering, without question. You amended the bonds your mother’s carelessness and her husband’s viciousness had broken, you strengthened the claim her mistakes had weakened, you lied and charmed to protect your brothers from the fate she imposed upon them. And now your use is through. 

The reward for your deference is a noose around your neck. 

“You had me travel the entire continent, entertaining countless proposals from the most insufferable of men and breaking bread with the most boring fucks alive, while you planned on giving me away.” 

“The tour was never meant to find you a husband, you knew that. A future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, birthing children for a…a…Tyrell? Or a Stark?” Daemon asks, as if the mere idea is unfeasible, ridiculous. “You are the blood of Old Valyria, and as wretched as that little cunt is, Aegon is my brother’s. A Targaryen.” 

You do not care for his tales of superiority, you do not care for those fantasies. Instead, you merely insist, “You plotted against me, while I was far from home.” 

“No. There is a plot, but it was not against you. If anything, this was done in your name, for your benefit,” He argues, pragmatically. Daemon leans closer, head bowed to meet your eyes. “Everything I’ve done has been to secure your claim, to ensure your ascension after your mother’s.” 

“To ensure your blood sits the Iron Throne.” 

He doesn’t deny it, and you don’t expect him to. The faintest of gestures of his head towards the door orders you to walk. You follow the unspoken command, for what else can you do but obey, and walk towards the door. 

“It is settled.” He calls out after you. At the absence of your answer, of your compliance, Daemon barks a call of your name. An order, a threat, even if it isn’t voiced as one, making you stop in your tracks. “You are a loyal daughter, and you know better than to forsake your duties to your mother. You won’t betray her.” 

“What you are asking of me is betrayal,” You argue, turning to look at him over your shoulder. “To marry our enemy, to lay with him, what is that if not a betrayal of my mother, of her claim?” 

“It is a sacrifice,” He corrects, but such appeasements, such manipulations, better suit Lady Mysaria. He has too much pride for the deceit to work, and so the lie stumbles in his tongue, rushing forward a truer sentence, “And I don’t ask.” 

___ 

Lady Mysaria finds you in the eastern balcony overlooking the sea, welcomes herself into the room and walks towards you, stopping only a few steps behind you She doesn’t announce herself nor ask for permission to speak, and you know better than to expect her to do either, after years of knowing her as your parents’ advisor. 

“I’m guessing you do not come here bearing good news.” 

“What would be good news to you, Princess?” 

“A freak dragon-riding accident leaving my future betrothed somewhere in the depths of the Narrow Sea?” You ask, rueful smile curving at your lips. 

“You speak as if you wouldn’t grieve for him.” 

“I would not grieve Aegon, or any of them, for I do not know the people they have become in these passing years.” 

“Is that why you ask my spies about him when they reveal themselves to you in your travels? To know the man he has become?” 

You sometimes wonder why you bother arguing with her. Not once have you been able to hold the upper hand for more than a breath. 

“I asked once.” 

You were wary, and far from home, and the flutter in your chest when Alasdair Tyrell laid a crown of Dragon’s breath on your lap -after his victory in the tourney organized to welcome you into the Reach- had felt familiar but wrong. Nostalgia and something else, something far more stupid, overwhelmed you, and you summoned one of Lady Mysaria’s spies, sent with you as a handmaiden, and asked her to tell you what she knew about how Aegon fared, who he had become in these passing years. 

You told yourself that while you knew better than to reach for a past and a bond long gone, neither could hurt you, so many years removed from the girl you were, so many miles away from what you once called home. And it didn’t, the past didn’t hurt you. What could have been did, however. 

“I will concede that you have learned to request information more subtly, but it does not mean you don’t ask, Princess.” 

“No, your spies offer information freely. Information I do not ask for,” You argue, but she breathes a short little laugh in response. It irks you, unsettles you, and you find yourself arguing further, explaining further, “I wanted to know if he was well, long ago, a-…” 

“And my spies told you he wasn’t.” 

“And so I never asked again.”

“It is a smart choice, to feign ignorance, but you should know better than to attempt to hide something from me.” 

“I have hidden nothing, for there is nothing to hide.” 

She hums lowly, considering her words with a sly smile on her lips. 

“You must refrain from defensiveness if you are to lie efficiently, Princess.” 

You grit your teeth but refuse her the satisfaction of knowing she prodded at a still-unarmored part of you. Instead, you bow your head as you did when you were barely five-and-ten and she had issued her first lesson on how to survive a world such as this. 

“Of course, Lady Mysaria.” 

“I would have expected you to be relieved, if nothing else, at the revelation of who you are to marry,” She muses. If she understands the threat written in your eyes when you turn to look at her, she cares not for it, and presses on, “You were quite close when you were younger.” 

“I was close to all of them.” 

“I mislike repeating myself. You cannot hide things from me, Princess.” 

You take a breath that feels a tad too shallow, you grit your teeth until you hold yourself under control, you hold your tongue until you’re certain it won’t betray anger, sorrow, something else. It feels invasive, unbearable, like fingers prodding at a well-hidden wound. 

“It was nothing. A passing infatuation of youth.” 

“Passing fancy,” She corrects. “The words the Queen used were passing fancy. If you are to shield yourself with the words of others, do so properly.” 

The troubling and annoying thing about sharing a home with someone that trades secrets is that none can be kept from her, and the frustrating thing about counting amongst those closest to you the person that taught you to lie and deceive is that you find it impossible to fool her. And with no secrets, with no lies, there is no fun in playing the game anymore. 

“What is it you mean to ask, Lady Mysaria?” 

“Aren’t you at the very least relieved? Contented?” 

You shake your head. 

“I do not know who Aegon is any longer. Who I-…” The revelation stumbles in your tongue, remains sealed past closed lips. The admission that you have forsaken yourself somewhere in the road to this day is something she might know already, but you refuse to admit aloud. “I have spent the last two years on lands foreign to me, many of them hostile to me. I am…I am wary, and I do not wish to do so again. I am tired of feeling…defenseless.” 

Mysaria lets silence linger for a few moments as you both watch your brothers’ dragons at flight in the skies above you. 

“You want war,” She states, “You deem fire and blood the only future in which you are safe.” 

It is a truly horrifying talent that she possesses, that uncanny ability of hers of digging under your skin until she finds the truer face out of all you wear and brings it to light in all its ugliness and its monstrousness. 

But perhaps that is why you can allow yourself to speak in honesty now, for the first time since you left Dragonstone for a royal tour, or perhaps for the first time since you left King’s Landing. 

“In war, me and my dragon are useful here, defending my claim. In war, I remain unbound, able to fight back,” You tell her, not caring about considering your words, about guarding your back. Turning your head to look at her, you argue, “In times of peace, I am sent away. Twice over, I have lost my home for the sake of peace.” 

“Hm,” Mysaria muses, and when she walks past you towards the balcony, you cannot help but follow. Your eyes seek the horizon, while the White Worm’s linger on Arrax and Vermax playing in the clouds above you. “You will not find yourself without allies, Princess. A spider can spin a web anywhere in the world, it needs only time.” 

“Speaking of time,” You start, straightening yourself and turning on your side to face her. You bow your head, in goodbye and in something else, something closer to gratitude than your hurt and your pride let you admit right now. “I fear our time together has come to a close.” 

“Your family isn’t leaving for King’s Landing for another two days.” She argues, but she knows, you are certain she does. It is no coincidence, that she has come to find you now, that she has come to say goodbye. 

Because honesty comes easy with her, you admit, “I dislike feeling like prey.” 

You could swear there is the beginning of a smile curving softly at her lips, but Mysaria merely bows her head and whispers a wish of, safe travels, Princess. 

___ 

Daemon approaches, you know him by the cadence of his footsteps by now, as you stand on one of the cliffs near the castle. He says nothing, joins you in watching as Vermithor stands before you, proud and stubborn, head held high despite your request that he bow it to allow you to climb onto his saddle. 

“Are you two having a fight?” 

“The old brat doesn’t want to leave the Dragonmont, and thinks we have a choice in the matter!” Your last words, hissed in Valyrian as you argue with the old dragon, make Daemon chuckle. “If I ask that Silverwing fly with us, y-…” 

“You know better than to ask that from us.” 

“He doesn’t want to leave her side. Vermithor, sweet thing, I feel for your broken heart, I truly do. But I won’t go by boat, much less carriage,” Vermithor answers with a huff of steam, and flaps his wings slightly, a warning that he will shake you off like he would a bothersome fly if you attempt to mount him regardless. You heave a sigh, “Stubborn fuck.” 

Vermithor understands the Common Tongue, you are certain he does, for he lowers his head for a moment as if to taunt you to try, and the call that echoes from deep in his chest truly sounds mocking. 

“It is your own restlessness, your own fear, that make him refuse you. You do not wish to leave, and so he doesn’t want to take you there.” 

“I did not want to visit half the places we did during my tour, and yet he took me anyways.” You argue, and though for a moment you think to ask him if he will try to stop you, you refrain.  

Daemon somehow knows that you have decided to take flight to King’s Landing tonight, and he has chosen not to stop you. Perhaps he understands the restlessness that has only grown in you since you were told of your betrothal, as perhaps that same restlessness consumed him once, when he was also young and sent off to marry for duty. 

“You weren’t afraid during your tour.” Daemon argues, but you shake your head. 

“Of course I was afraid. I did it anyways, because…because it was what you and mother demanded from me, but I was terrified,” You admit. Perhaps it is the darkness and quiet of a night in the vast openness of the Dragonmont, perhaps it is the defeat that clings to your very bones like the most bitter cold, but you do not care for lies, for masks, right now. “I haven’t stopped being afraid since we left King’s Landing.” 

Daemon turns to you, but you cannot look at him. You dread to look into your father’s eyes and see disappointment at your admission; you dread to see anger at your weakness. Most of all, however, you dread to see a shadow of regret, at what he’s done, at what he has failed to do. 

For it wouldn’t change a thing. You would still be sent off, you would still be given away, you would still be left with no control over any of this. 

At your silence, Daemon turns back to look upon the Bronze Fury. 

“And yet you do not want to return. And your dragon defies you because of it.” 

“He took me there once already, you know. A month or so before the tour began,” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at your lips as you share the memory. “It was…the worst storm I can remember, and he had us fly right through it. I cursed his name until I was hoarse and once it was over, I demanded he take me home at once. He took me to King’s Landing.”

"Did you land?"

"Of course not. It is hostile territory."

“It is your birthright,” Daemon promises. It used to feel liberating to hear him reaffirm your claim and your mother’s. Now it feels heavy. The weight of a crown you do not yet wear is entirely too great, and you bow your head. Daemon continues, “It was Vermithor who called to you, who allowed you to claim him. Vermithor, a dragon who only ever bonded with Kings.” 

“But I am no King,” You argue, returning your gaze to him. “For I am not a son.” 

Thank you for reading, i hoped you liked it! I would love to hear your thoughts on this!

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[littleplantfreak]

Grocery Shopping Headcanons 1

I said I'd do these a while back and someone requested I do them when I was taking requests for my 100 followers event so uwu)/ one request fulfilled!! There will be a part two with the others coming eventually...Once I get through the rest of my requests.

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Umemiya Hajime

-One of the funnest people to go grocery shopping with tbh.

He's talking you into buying a few extra snacks/food by holding them up in front of you and puppeting them at you, asking in a silly high pitched voice if you'll please buy them because they've heard your pantry is the best vacation spot in town! He gets so silly with it.

-The older people in town tell him when and where the best sales are, which makes budgeting a lot easier. Don't tell anyone, but sometimes if one of them is in front of you in line, they'll have the cashier use their senior discount for your stuff as well. Don't try to fight them on it, though; they'll insist the only thing they need is for you both to visit them every once in a while, which you planned to do regardless.

-Gets upset if he hasn't found you in the store for a while after leaving to pick some things up. Once he does see you, he acts like it's been weeks and refuses to leave your side for the rest of the shopping trip. He's quite literally stuck to you like glue.

-The type to have really funky or cute looking reusable bags.

Choji Tomiyama

-Can't stay on task to save his life. If you're pushing the cart, he will stand on the other side of it being pushed around. He insists he'll take turns, but he gets a bit too enthusiastic with how fast he should be going through the aisles. Nearly runs a few people over before you decide maybe just pushing it normally works best.

-Do not let him disappear on you; he'll end up at some other grocery store two miles down the street.

-Sometimes he knows your tastes better than you do. If you're deliberating over trying something new, 9/10 times he's correct about how you'll like it. He actually pays a lot of attention to what you like to eat and drink.

-Calls Togame and not only asks him what he wants from the store, but tells him to come down by the time you guys are done to help carry your stuff. He hasn't said no to Choji yet.

-He's feeding you both all the samples he can find until you realize you snacked so much you're not even hungry for dinner anymore.

Suo Hayato

-He's pretty relaxed compared to the other two. He'll let you take the reins for the most part since he's got all the stuff written down and knows each aisle it's in. He doesn't often stray from his normal foods so it's almost muscle memory now.

-When he does try something new, it's weird stuff. Like you didn't know this was in the store weird, what aisle does that even go in? You look around to see, and find nothing. He either took the last one or he was in the forbidden part of the grocery store.

-Sometimes, if he knows you're getting a lot, he brings the collapsible grocery wagon. (don't even play with me, this is the hottest thing someone could do for grocery shopping.)

-Watch out if you lose sight of him or he goes to grab something without you, because he WILL jumpscare you and you WILL have to try to smother your yelp.

Nirei Akihiko

-Extreme couponing Nirei edition tbh he's got it down to a science

-Knows a surprising amount of recipes by heart, so if you're trying hard to remember what you need for what you wanna make? Don't even get out your phone to struggle with finding enough bars (because for some reason grocery stores are iron fortresses that don't have cell service?) Nirei has it all up there in his beautiful brain.

-He's never in a rush and doesn't really separate from you (why would he want to?) He's just thrilled to spend time with you.

-Also one to have a bunch of different reusable bags.

-If you have a certain diet or need a certain ingredient, he knows all the specialty food stores around and is more than okay with making the extra stop with you.

-He has a certain type and brand of ice cream he likes to get as a treat every time, and although he tells you he doesn't need it, if they happen to be out of stock, he deflates a little.

Sakura Haruka

-You wouldn't think someone could be bad at grocery shopping, but....he's bad at it. An excess of meats and carbs is what comes home if you send him by himself, so it's best just to go together.

-Also you could swear he's giving a nasty look to the vegetable section hoping you don't pick any terrible ones up (though what's terrible to him is most of them)

-You catch him trying to hide if he sees someone he knows because to him, it'll just make it a longer grocery trip, and honestly, he just wants to go home with you. Point out who he's hiding from and say hi and watch the look of betrayal as he's turning red and grumbling.

-It takes him a bit, but after a few trips he starts to get the hang of things. He can tell the better meat cuts, and now knows to check the eggs to make sure they're not cracked. Sometimes, he texts you a picture of the vegetables you're looking for to make sure they're the right ones or to make sure they're your preferred ripeness if you're not there

The self checkout becomes his best friend, that way he doesn't have to worry about making small talk. He's screwed when he picks up meats, though, because the scale never picks up the weight properly, and then he's sweating waiting for one of the workers to come help him out.

-Refuses to let you carry the bags in, and is also one of those people who insist on loading up all the groceries on his arms at once. There will be no second trips to the car.