#or even longer depending on how ambitious

[fideidefenswhore]

the real question is: are we ever going to get an anne of cleves biopic?

[arolesbianism]

Take some Fydd's I just realized I never posted

[nicksolemnlyswears]

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

[meanbossart]

I was wondering, what with the lovely couple aiming to cure Astarion's vampirism and all–

when the time actually comes, if ever, for Astarion to take that leap and abandon immortality, would DU!Drow have second thoughts? Perhaps, even, try stopping him? Not because he doesn't want Astarion to be happy, but because he would begin to age and has new vulnerabilities, making DU!Drow immensely paranoid/insecure.

This came to me because of the Bhaalist!AU where we see him sabotage Astarion's ascension. I mean, I'm going to assume he's much less toxic in the canon path 👀

Yes he is not as humongous of an ass canonically, LOL. Still an asshole, but he's very earnest and fairly eager to learn how to be a better person to those he cares about, not to mention the random bout of stranger's empathy here and there.

But for your actual question, it depends! There are two wolves inside the man: one who suffers whenever he has to see Astarion being hindered by his vampirism, and one who still secretly enjoys him depending on him to an extent because of it. There is also a third, secret wolf called "maybe he's trying to be okay with this vampire thing and he would be better off for it, actually" that has been trying to crawl its way to the forefront on two broken legs for months, but we ignore that one.

And, of course, DU drow is easily swayed by Astarion's will when he puts things just the right way to convince him - which he knows how to do. If becoming mortal was a snap of the fingers away, all Astarion would have to do is get the wet eyes out and he would probably get his way.

His "baby please I only wish to take one last mortal piss before I perish for good" face. (I was laughing at some screenshots on another tab and had to come up with an excuse to put this one here, sorry.)

Anyways, while DU drow is canonically and vehemently searching for a "cure" for Astarion, his actual opinions on how the outcome of such would affect them vary depending on the day you ask him about it, and just how much thought you can assuade him to put into it. Things definitely begin to fall apart when you press.

But, generally, I think spawn Astarion would be ecstatic about having his mortality back. Sure, that means foregoing things like eternal "life" and regenerative powers, but no longer having to worry about daylight, rivers, and holy artefacts would very much balance it out. Astarion's hapiness would be enough to give DU drow the necessary peace of mind when facing any of the related downsides.

Also - they are still relatively ambitious and power-hungry. When time started rolling through, DU drow would prooooobably come up with the brilliant idea to pursue some other means of immortality for themselves, which for the record I think is absolutely hysterical and says a lot about the guy's thought process (FIRST, we cure you of your vampirism, THEN, we give you immortal life - the logic is infallible).

But also this is all presupposing he wouldn't come to accept Astarion's eventual death through old age just through like, you know, personal growth. I don't have these guys' lives planned from start to finish, and anything could happen.

(As an addendum, this ask isn't about my thoughts on whether or not it is thematically better for Astarion to turn back or not - I'm just entertaining the concept.)

[ukiyowi]

People coming into your life and the kinds of people you attract!

❗Important Note❗Do Not Copy/Plagiarise, reblogs help a ton if you liked the PAC! You can check out the Masterlist for more, or get a personalised reading :)) have a lovely day!! Reblogging and paid readings help a lot! Pls DM me if you want one!

Masterlist || Paid Readings || Tip 🍯

Entering your life

People you attract

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

🪻Pile 1

Aww this is cute, the new people coming to you are going to be upbeat and light-hearted, yet quite serious. They will celebrate your every win and teach you how to enjoy yourself and take time off (hi workaholic pile😍) these people may be the foundation when it comes to being lifelong friends. They may be the kind to make an unbreakable bond with you. You could also meet them at a party or a family celebration!

They will seem talkative and jolly and you will have no problem making easy conversation with them. They may have issues regarding fear and anxiety about the future, and you may have similar problems too which you would discuss and try to heal through.

They will help you ease your thoughts and restless mind as well. They may be the type to be a little possessive and greedy, and they crave financial stability. This could be the result of past hardships where they've lost a lot and don't want to lose anything more. They may also hold on to the past tightly, carrying their hurt because they may feel they need to.

Placements: Cancer, Aries, Pisces, mars, Jupiter, 4th house, 6th house and 11th house.

Keywords: 444, guidance, instinct, trust, stability, stagnation, home, calling, great expanse, feeling seen, horror, laughter, poetry, anarchism, angel

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

Pile 2

Ths people coming into your life are going to be immensely ambitious, the kind that's a little too intense if I'm being honest. They're very fast paced and may like to go through life in an organised and calculated manner. They may seem distant or in their own world when you first meet and you may meet in a work environment. You may notice that they're strict yet sensitive, they have a heart of gold and may not like making small talk.

They may be very successful and assertive. Could get into arguments easily because they may be a bit defensive about the world they do. They'll help you grow and understand yourself better, probably bringing more structure and balance in your life.

They'll also be quite competitive so they may love playing video/board games with you as well and they'll also teach you how to stop always compromising even when you don't need to. They're mature and dependable they'll probably be like a mentor figure almost. They're the kind of person to constantly work even when they're supposed to be on vacation and they've worked hard to get where they are.

Placements: Virgo, Leo, Aquarius, 1st house, 8th house, 10th house, Mercury and mars

Keywords: 1212, finality, family, partnership, domesticity, cooking, wit, fun, tingling, moods, shining, strength, mastery, work, togetherness, vision, innovation

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

🪻Pile 3

Abundant, so elegant, this person will have an extremely regal energy. They may be a social butterfly, someone who makes connections easily and they may have a maternal vibe to them. They're going to be generous and helpful will probably be quite wealthy, and are the kind of person to donate to charities frequently. For some reason it's coming though that you may meet them while doing humanitarian work. They'll also be homebodies so as much as they like socialising they may like spending time with a small circle of friends at home.

They may teach you how to heal from abandonment, maybe they went through something similar and will help guide you. They may also teach you how to leave things you no longer need behind and turn your back on the past. They'll be very Intune with their surroundings and the energies around them and may be interested in the occult.

One thing that's coming through strongly is that they may be secretive and mysterious which is what will pull you in, however this can get tiring pretty quickly because it may seem like you keep opening up to them but they don't. They may also have very good intuition.

Placements: Scorpio, Taurus, Gemini, moon, Pluto, 2nd house, 5th house, 8th house.

Keywords: southern, 888, loops, waves, answers, forgotten, youth, fantasy, bad habits, ending, unbelievable, 7, kindred, identity, survival, opinions of others, story, listening.

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

🍀 Pile 1

Hopeless romantics, people who may be a little naïve and innocent, viewing the world through rose coloured glasses, but they're also strong willed and determined, nothing can get them down, they're independent people who, when in love, fall too fast and too deep. They are successful professionally but may be a bit immature when it comes to expressing their emotions. They may be people who don't like expressing negative emotions as it makes them feel like they're getting the mood down, they may not be comfortable with vulnerability and emotional intimacy.

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

🍀 Pile 2

Brave people, warriors at heart, they've probably been through a rough past that has left them a little jaded but even with their rough edges they are extremely soft. May be the kind of people to be there through thick or thin, a dependable friend, people who're always there to help no matter what. They may be "fixers" and feel they can fix people with their love. Calm and stable individuals who have a lot of wanderlust and usually believe in the occult, they're also very stern and may come off as a little harsh at times.

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

🍀 Pile 3

Low-key, energy vampires, they may be attracted to you because they can either get something from you, or you're an empath and are healing to be around. People who're a little self-absorbed and selfish, may not be the best at respecting boundaries, more of a talker than a listener. A little flighty, very flirty, the type of people you would want to go on a short trip because of how fun they are. May leave you speechless at times simply because of the bizarre things they say, people who may be resistant to change.

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

🍀 Pile 4

Gentle souls, wise people who give great advice but their advice may be unsolicited at times which could have a tendency to annoy people, people who're usually artistic in some way maybe they play instruments or draw or dance. They're very charming but can be manipulative if they want because of how good they are with their speech. Big emotions, people who have high highs and low lows. The kind of people who may be a bit paranoid and are natural worriers, they can also be a little superstitious. Really warm and welcoming individuals.

- ﹒⪩⪨﹒

Ukiyowi All Rights Reserved ®©

[noira-l]

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁

Summary: You are the person people turn to on exceptional situations. Your next target is a young and ambitious cult leader - Geto Suguru.

pairing: cult leader!geto suguru x assasin!reader

wc: 8,3 k

genre: dark themes/suggestive

warnings: mdni, dark themes, morally grey actions, violence, stalking, slight gore, attempt of assasination, power dynamic, sexual tension, knife play, slight body harm, death.

author's note: I wanted to write something about Geto, hopefully however I came up with a good portrait of his character. He is my favourite btw ;3

Collector.

That's what you were called.

The title had stuck, a moniker that felt both accurate and hollow. You collected, yes - but it was never just about the objects. It was about something deeper, something rarer, something alive.

Unique techniques.

Not the hereditary ones, from great clans or families. Just the ones that little is known about, not known, or the ones that haven't been made yet.

And you had a reputation for it.

Famous, or infamous, depending on who you asked. The kind of fame earned through the silent, systematic harvesting of cursed energy. You killed, it was the way you did it. The way you absorbed the very essence of what made a sorcerer powerful. The techniques you consumed left traces on your soul, each one evoking something different. Some were strong, a burst of electricity through your veins. Others, weak, barely more than a whisper of sensation.

Your obsession grew, not with the power, but with the experience of it. Each time, you could feel it, the energy unraveling and weaving itself into you, like a rare wine tasting. It wasn’t about mere survival or strength, it was about savoring. You tasted techniques like a connoisseur, dissecting every note, every pulse, analyzing the flavor of it as it coursed through you.

You might sometimes wonder what the limits of this obsession with novelty and rarity are. You could not, like another connoisseur, buy wine from the faraway provinces of some country or taste cheese from an exceptional animal.

How far would this hunger take you?

You had to get something that belonged directly to the people, and that was quite hard. Well, unless people sometimes come to you on their own with new flavours.

You were proud of your collection.

The rain drummed against the rooftops of Tokyo, creating a symphony that was familiar to a city teeming with underground life. In a cramped, smoky alley, where the light of the street lamps barely reached, stood you.

Your black cloak blended with the darkness of the night, and your hair hid a face that few had the opportunity to see. In a world where pushing the limits of human ability was an everyday occurrence, you were something of a legend. Not surprisingly, your speciality was collecting unique abilities from those, who no longer had the chance to use them.

The black market was a place where you felt somewhat at home. Years spent here had even made you a friend of the place. Here you found everything you needed for your unconventional operations - from forbidden curses to information that could tip the balance in your favour.

It was here that you were to meet your new client.

You waited for him in one of the low, barely lit bars where the ghosts of the past mingled with the smell of tobacco, alcohol and darkness. The man who entered was wearing a fancy suit, but his nervous movements betrayed that he did not feel confident in the place. Before taking a seat opposite you, he looked around as if to make sure no one was following him. His silhouette seemed so small at the large wooden table in the corner of the bar.

"Is that you?" he asked quietly, although a note of arrogance could be detected in his voice.

"To the point." you replied dispassionately, lifting your gaze "I expect you have something interesting for me."

"Geto Suguru, cult leader, very powerfull." you've heard this name before, but you don't know a lot about him.

"Do you think he's worth adding to my collection?" you drilled him with your eyes.

"He…" he gazed too much into your gloom-shrouded eyes "He knows how to make curses obey."

Oh...

Could it be

Curse Spirit Manipulation?

Interesting.

"Geto disregarded my sponsor." the guy in the suit continued "My client was willing to invest in his cause, but this kid…. rejected him as if he was worthless. Now… now he wants someone to show him where he belongs. And who better to do that than you?’" he smiled emotionlessly.

A unique technique, one you've heard of before.

From a certain assassin who met him once.

"Conditions?" you asked, folding your hands on the table. Your movements were quiet, almost hypnotic, as if your every decision had been carefully thought out rather than the result of a moment.

"Silent work, no witnesses, no connections." replied the man opposite, nervously intertwining his fingers. His voice betrayed that he was not used to such conversations. His sweaty forehead and trembling breath indicated that being in your company filled him with anxiety.

"Price?" Your gaze penetrated him as if you were looking for weaknesses in him that you could exploit. You were definitely someone who didn't need to raise your voice to control the situation.

"Isn't adding such a unique skill to the collection a price in itself?" his lips trembled in an attempt to emphasise the merits of the task, although he clearly lacked confidence.

You lifted your gaze, your eyes hidden beneath your eyelids penetrated his body thoroughly, as if you were contemplating whether you would just get bored with him. He was of little importance to you, merely a relay of an order. Uncertainty hung in the air, and the silence between you became heavier than he could bear.

"Forty milion yen." you said in a calm, composed tone. Your words were like the blade of a knife - precise and merciless.

The man almost chuckled, his eyes widening in surprise.

"B-but-" he began to protest, trying to find words to lower the stakes. His hands began to move restlessly, looking for a foothold on the table, but found no solid footing.

"Mininaly." you interrupted him by leaning forward slightly, though without changing your expression. Your voice remained calm, but now there was a note of hardness in it that was impossible to ignore. "If you don't agree, then go find someone else to do the job."

Your words had a finality about them that left no room for negotiation. The man froze, as if he felt a chill run through his body.

He knew there was no other option. In the world in which he lived, your services were of the highest calibre, and trying to seek someone else would be tantamount to failure.

"My supervisor will not be happy with this." he lowered his gaze, driving it into his palms.

"Do I look like i care?" you asked unbothered.

He sighed, knowing that he had lost this invisible battle. He spoke after a while.

"I agree." he said quietly, although bitterness could be heard in his voice. "Forty million."

You smiled slightly, though there was not a hint of warmth in your eyes.

"Good. In that case, consider that what you wanted is already in progress."

𖤓

Was it really him?

You sat perched on the rooftop, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the city. The light fell just right, angled so that you remained invisible to him, but his figure stood clear as day before your eyes.

The photograph the client had given you was clutched in your hand, but now, comparing it to the man below, you no longer needed the image. The details had already seared into your mind.

His face was pale, flawless, as if carved from marble. The features were sharp yet elegant, each one contributing to a striking intensity that seemed to pierce through the space around him.

His eyes, those beautiful eyes - held a focus that unnerved you. Brilliant, fierce, as though the weight of the world rested behind them. They cut through the air with the same razor-sharp precision you’d seen in the photograph, but here, in person, they were alive, filled with something even the best camera couldn’t capture.

A cascade of inky black hair fell over his shoulders, shimmering slightly as it caught the light. It was long, flowing like a dark waterfall, framing the cold perfection of his face. Every movement seemed deliberate, almost regal, as if the air itself bowed to his presence.

The robes he wore were beyond extravagant. Ornate embroidery, each thread painstakingly sewn to create an image of grandeur, wrapped around him in a way that was almost otherworldly. The craftsmanship was undeniable, luxurious, every fold and crease meant to accentuate his authority. You could practically feel the texture of the fabric, sense the weight of the cloth just by watching him. Each stitch was perfect, every piece of ornamentation serving to emphasize the careful artistry that clung to him.

It has to be him.

The photograph could never truly capture the weight of his presence, but now, watching him move, you were certain.

Geto Suguru - Cult leader, Special Grade Curse User, the man your client wanted dead. The man whose cursed technique you craved to collect...

..was truly a captivating view.

𖤓

For the next few months you followed Geto Suguru from obscurity, like a shadow that never disappeared, no matter how intense the light of day was. By the third week, his patterns were etched into your mind - when he woke, when he slept, where he trained, who he trusted.

The first few weeks were standard.

Observe routines, write down habits, identify behaviors, learn about character, relationships and safety measures.

One of your techniques allowed you to dissolve into the shadows, unnoticed and unseen. It was fitting, then, that you had become exactly that - a shadow in his world, always there, always watching, never revealing yourself.

You first started with something basic, like listening to his speeches at cult headquarters, drawn by the intensity with which he spoke about his purpose.

His views were radical, even bizarre, clashing with your own sensibilities. Yet, as unsettling as they were, you couldn’t help but acknowledge that in some ways, he might be right. Not in everything, admittedly, but in enough to make you question.

He was undeniably charismatic. People hung on his every word, their eyes fixed on him like he was their savior, the one who could bring them the salvation they craved. It wasn’t surprising, pleanty of people were so lost that they belive in everything someone can say.

What did surprise you, however, was the sound of his voice. You couldn't expect this. It didn’t match the man you’d been watching from the shadows for so long. You expected something sharp, commanding—something that fit his tall, lean frame and his tilte as a leader. Instead, his voice was affable, syrupy, a smooth stroke across glazed canvas. There was a warmth to it, a richness that flowed over his audience like a soft breeze, disarming them with its elegance and making his words feel like they effortlessly slipped into their minds.

He had the ability to inspire, to reshape people’s perceptions of reality, to make his visions feel like truth. Even you, standing in the background, found yourself momentarily caught in his web of persuasion, wondering if, perhaps, there was something to his philosophy after all.

But the longer you followed him, the more you saw beyond the facade.

This elegance and smoothness hid another, far darker side. Beneath that affable demeanor and polite smile was a man who could remain utterly composed, even as chaos unfolded around him. It was unnerving to witness, how he never flinched, never lost his calm, even when the situation demanded anything but tranquility.

You saw it firsthand. There was a time when a sponsor - someone who had promised to support his cause - failed to deliver. The punishment was swift and brutal. A curse, summoned with the same grace he used in conversation, wrapped itself around the unfortunate man. It began to devour him, piece by piece, agonizingly slow. The room was filled with screams, the air thick with fear and the stench of death.

But Geto remained still. His smile never wavered, his eyes never betrayed the slightest flicker of emotion. He simply watched, as though he were observing something routine, unremarkable. His voice, when he finally spoke, was as calm and smooth as it had been during his speeches, as if he were discussing the weather, not the violent death happening before him.

That was the duality of Geto Suguru. He could shift seamlessly between the benevolent leader his followers adored and the cold, calculating figure willing to let a man be torn apart without so much as a blink. It wasn’t just cruelty - it was control. A calculated display of power, meant to remind those around him that while his voice may be velvet, there was iron beneath it.

In those moments, you saw the full depth of the man you were tracking. He wasn’t just charismatic. He was dangerous. A force that could twist both his power and his personality to fit any situation, never losing his grip on the people or curses that surrounded him. It was chilling, and yet, it was precisely this balance of charm and ruthlessness that made him so compelling.

So hard to pin down, and even harder to predict.

𖤓

When he returned from his speeches, cradling his two children in his arms, everything about him shifted. His smile, so often reserved or calculating, softened into something genuine, warm, and deeply caring. The two girls, nestled against him, wore smiles that radiated the purest joy you’d ever seen, sincere in a way that disarmed you completely. And you understood why. In those moments, they weren’t in the presence of a cult leader or a powerful sorcerer - they were simply with someone they called a father.

He cooked meals for them, simple and unpretentious. In the mornings, he walked them to school, carrying their bags and making sure they had everything they needed. He helped with their studies, patiently guiding them through lessons with the same focus he applied to anything else in his life.

He spoiled them endlessly, indulging their every whim with sweets and new toys, as if trying to make up for the darker realities surrounding their lives. Bags of candies would mysteriously appear in their hands after long days, and their rooms were filled with the latest toys, dolls, and trinkets. It was clear that nothing was off-limits when it came to their happiness.

Sometimes, you’d catch him spending entire afternoons with them, playing in their room or on the roof of the worship headquarters. Their laughter echoed through the walls, so out of place in such a grim environment, yet entirely natural in their presence. These moments seemed pulled from another life, a life that didn’t belong to a man of his power and position. In those hours, Geto wasn’t the man who summoned curses or commanded followers with radical ideals. He was just a father, a teacher, someone who valued the simplicity and joy that his children brought into his world.

It was a strange dichotomy, seeing this softer side of him. It made you question how someone who could sit calmly as a curse devoured a man could also hold so much tenderness in his hands when it came to his daughters.

Watching him with them, it was impossible not to acknowledge that, whatever else he was, he was a devoted father, a man who, in those private moments, seemed to find a kind of peace.

The perfect kind of tranquillity that you could easily disturb. They are lucky that you were commissioned to do a clean job, without additional casualties.

You would take advantage of this visible weak point, without any problem.

𖤓

You observed him daily, each training session a display of skill honed with painstaking precision. His movements were fluid, deliberate, a mastery over both body and cursed energy that left little room for error. Every gesture, every technique, was calculated down to the smallest detail. There was no wasted effort.

He began each session with strength exercises, his body moving with a kind of restrained power that spoke of years of relentless discipline. Clad in a dark, form-fitting training suit, his movements were both fluid and precise, the fabric hugging the sharp lines of his lean, muscular frame. The suit itself was simple, practical, black with subtle markings along the seams, designed for ease of movement yet offering no distraction from the task at hand. His long, dark hair was usually tied back, but occasionally a few loose strands would slip free, sticking to the nape of his neck as beads of sweat formed along his skin.

Push-ups, pull-ups, lunges - he moved through each exercise with a sense of rhythm, his body cutting through the still air like a blade. There was no excess movement, no wasted energy. His core strength was visible in the way he balanced himself, the quiet strength of his legs when he transitioned from one position to another. His breathing was steady, controlled, as if he were channeling not only physical strength but mental focus into every motion.

Everything before moving on to what fascinated you most - his control over curses.

Each curse, once summoned, was inspected with meticulous care. What surprised you was his flawless memory of each one, no matter how recently acquired. He never seemed overwhelmed by their numbers, as though he held their essence in his mind as clearly as if they were physical objects in his hands.

Often, he would stand in the middle of the square behind the base, surrounded by the dark entities he had summoned, and simply think. You could see him piecing together strategies in his mind, testing new combinations of curses. He would send projectiles flying, measuring their reach, or summon smaller curses to see how they interacted with one another. He was always refining, always pushing the boundaries of what his curses could do.

It was almost hypnotic to watch. His ability to devise new strategies and possibilities was relentless, and more than once, you caught yourself silently offering suggestions, wondering if his latest idea could be improved upon.

Even though he trained alone, there was a sense that he knew he was never truly by himself. He always seemed vaguely aware, as though he could feel your gaze, but he never let on. For him, training wasn’t just preparation for combat, it was a form of deep concentration, a space to plan, strategize, and reflect.

In the moments when he paused, resting after hours of intense focus, you could almost sense his thoughts drifting. He seemed distant then, as if his mind was wandering far beyond the physical space around him, perhaps contemplating the weight of his purpose, the future, or the fate of the world he was trying to reshape.

𖤓

There were days when you accompanied him on trivial matters—mundane errands like shopping, blending in among people as if nothing about his life was extraordinary.

It was strange, really. He always chose shops run by sorcerers, no matter how inconvenient or far they were. In these places, his demeanor softened. His face would light up with a gentle expression, his posture loosening. When speaking to fellow sorcerers, customers, salespeople, shop owners, he was almost casual, relaxed. He’d exchange words about everyday matters, asking after their lives with genuine interest, smiling as he listened to their problems or needs. It was a side of him that showed a quiet, almost paternal care for his own kind.

However, when sorcerer-run shops weren’t an option, he would settle for regular stores, those run by non-sorcerers. On the surface, his behavior didn’t change much—still polite, still composed. But after watching him for so long, you began to notice the subtle differences. There was a barrier, invisible but palpable, that separated him from everyone else. Even as he spoke to them, he remained distant, almost indifferent. His face held the same gentleness, but there was a quiet detachment beneath it, a sense that he was more than they could understand, and he made it clear in the smallest ways. It wasn’t arrogance, exactly, but an awareness of the divide that existed between him and the rest of the world. He was accessible, yet never truly one of them.

𖤓

On one occasion, you watched him as he sat at his desk in the dim light of his flat, practicing calligraphy. The black ink flowed across the paper with a precision that mirrored the discipline in every aspect of his life. Each brushstroke was planned, filled with a quiet sense of calm and inner balance. For him, this was not just art, it was a form of self-improvement, a meditative practice that demanded focus, patience, and reflection.

His face, normally composed, now carried an intensity of concentration that fascinated you. His eyes were sharp, tracing each line as though it held more significance than just its form. Every letter he wrote seemed to symbolize something deeper, every stroke a reflection of his life, carefully crafted but never without purpose. You could sense the connection between his mind and the ink, as if the act of writing was a metaphor for the control he sought in all things.

At times, his hand would pause mid-stroke, his brush hovering just above the paper. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the work before him, considering how best to proceed. His concentration was palpable, as if the next mark could determine the balance of the entire piece. He would tilt his head just so, analyzing how the ink should glide over the expensive parchment, the way it should settle, just as his long black hair cascaded down his back with an effortless elegance.

When an error occurred—a stroke too thick or too light—he never hesitated. He would calmly set the paper aside and begin again, his patience unwavering. Sometimes, he would discard entire pages, whole phrases rewritten until they reached his exacting standards. You knew that many nights, he worked late into the hours of dawn, refusing to rest until the parchment was perfect, every line a testament to his dedication.

The completed works that hung in his office were impressive—each one a masterpiece of balance and precision, filled with a quiet power that matched the man himself. They weren’t just pieces of calligraphy; they were expressions of who he was, his relentless pursuit of mastery in every facet of life. Watching him, you couldn’t help but admire the depth of his commitment to both the smallest details and the grandest designs.

𖤓

One night, you witnessed something that shattered your carefully constructed perception of him. As usual, you stood cloaked in the safety of shadows, concealed by a cursed technique that allowed you to observe Geto closely without consequence. He sat alone in his study, dressed in his night robes, hair wet and loose, falling smoothly over his shoulders. The dim lamplight cast a long, solitary shadow across the room, highlighting the stark loneliness in his posture.

In his hands was an old photograph, though the details were initially too obscured for you to make out. His shoulders were slumped, eyes fixed on the image, completely still. The sight was so unlike him, and before you could piece together why, you saw it, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, as if trying to maintain his stoic façade, but it was futile. More tears followed, staining the photograph. It was a rare, raw moment, one that you had never associated with someone like Geto Suguru.

It felt wrong, almost invasive, to witness this vulnerability, but curiosity gnawed at you. You stepped closer, using the cursed technique to remain hidden, desperate to understand what had broken the man you thought was unbreakable.

And then, you saw the photograph.

Three people stood side by side, radiating camaraderie and carefreeness. On the left was Geto, unmistakably younger, with his hair neatly tied into a bun. His expression was calm, indifferent even, yet there was a rebellious spark in his eyes, emphasized by the crude hand sign he flashed at the camera. The person in the middle had short, reddish-brown hair and a radiant smile, eyes closed in pure joy, clutching a lollipop. And on the right...

Your heart skipped a beat.

The person standing slightly taller had striking white hair, wearing round sunglasses that had slipped slightly, revealing crystalline blue eyes. He was grinning broadly, flashing a peace sign with the same carefree energy.

Your senses sharpened, and the realization hit you with startling clarity. Those eyes - everything about him matched the description you had once heard. You studied Geto’s face again, now buried in his hands.

He knew him. There was no doubt now.

This job, already complex, had just become far more interesting.

You were tasked with eliminating Geto Suguru, and yet, standing there, watching him fall apart in the privacy of his grief, you began to feel that he was more than just a target.

He was the gateway you had long sought to get the information you needed to find.

He was a flesh and blood man who had his own desires, hopes and secrets. Secrets that may never have been meant to be uncovered, but which were now beginning to attract you more and more.

You knew that your task was coming to an inevitable end. But as you looked at it, feeling its complexity, you began to wonder if it would really be the end.

Were you in a position to find out the information you were looking for, before he expels his last breath?

𖤓

The night outside the cult’s headquarters was still, an undisturbed blanket of silence cloaking everything - a perfect contrast to the work that lay ahead. You moved effortlessly, slipping through the darkness with a kind of elegance born from experience, your presence vanishing into the shadows like ink on black velvet. The building loomed above, riddled with traps, intricate wards designed to keep the unprepared at bay. But of course, you were different. You had planned for this, down to the smallest detail.

Time, as always, was a matter of precision. You watched, waited, not in haste but with the patience of someone who has done this before. The secretary, rarely one to leave her station, finally rose. Her footsteps, barely audible, faded as she disappeared into the depths of the hallway. It was then that you moved, an invisible force in the room.

The security system awaited you next, but it was no match for the methodical motions of your hands. The control panel’s buttons yielded to your touch, each one pressed in deliberate succession. A soft, almost imperceptible click signaled the system’s deactivation, and the silence that followed was absolute. No one would suspect. Not until it was far too late.

Geto Suguru was still in his office. You had known he’d be here - his habits were a well-worn path you had studied for weeks. He liked to linger, alone, long after the cultists had gone, the weight of his decisions pressing into the late hours. Tonight was no exception.

Your feet carried you soundlessly behind him, your cursed technique weaving a veil of invisibility over you like the thinnest layer of silk. He strode ahead, his robes flowing in the faint light as he made his way down the hall. The door to his office closed with a quiet click.

This was it.

You slipped inside just as he settled into his chair, oblivious to the disruption in the air around him. The lamplight threw a soft, golden hue across his desk, illuminating the cluttered expanse of papers, scrolls, remnants of a long day. He sighed, a sound that conveyed the heavy burden of leadership as he leaned back, readying himself for the night’s work. That’s when you stepped from the shadows, your form coalescing into view like a slow brushstroke on the canvas of his solitude.

For a split second, he froze. But then, instead of fear, amusement painted his face. His laugh was low, almost a purr, as if death itself had become an old acquaintance.

"So, death pays me a visit tonight?" his voice, smooth and unruffled, slipped easily into the quiet. "You’re not the first, you know. There have been others. All of them thought they could do what you’re here for."

Before he could even think of making a move, you acted swiftly, severing his access to his cursed techniques in a single, decisive moment. His power - so closely tied to his identity - was locked away before he could call upon a single curse. He blinked, a flash of surprise crossing his face, but his composure remained almost unnervingly intact.

"Don’t bother." you said, your voice sharp and unwavering, cutting through the quiet like a blade poised just above skin. "The katana under your desk and the dagger on your thigh - neither will help you now."

His gaze flickered toward his desk, where the concealed katana lay waiting, then down to his thigh, where the dagger’s hilt was nestled beneath the folds of his robe. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, but he didn’t reach for either weapon.

With slow, measured steps, you moved forward, taking the seat across from him, the tension in the room palpable but controlled. There was no urgency for violence—no rush to end this confrontation. You had the advantage now, and that knowledge kept you calm, steady.

"Let’s talk." you offered, your voice void of malice, almost casual, as if you were suggesting a conversation over tea.

Geto leaned back in his chair, still smiling, though you noticed the flicker of intrigue behind his eyes—he hadn’t expected this.

"A conversation, is it?" he mused, his tone light, but the undercurrent of curiosity was unmistakable. "Interesting. You have me at a disadvantage, and yet here you are, offering words instead of death."

"I wouldn't call it disadvantage, I'd call it mercy, but however you prefer."

His hand hovered over the desk, the motion slow and deliberate, no longer a threat. He knew, as well as you did, that his usual methods of escape or attack were useless. The fight was already over, and now all that remained was the question of why. You could feel his curiosity hanging in the air, thickening the tension between you, though it remained strangely civil.

"Very well." he said finally, folding his hands in front of him. "Let’s talk. But tell me, what do you hope to gain from this conversation?"

"Information." you said, leaning back in your chair, mirroring his posture, your eyes never leaving his. "Corpses don’t talk."

Geto’s amusement lingered, a faint glimmer in his dark eyes, but beneath it, you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor—he was keenly aware of the limits now imposed on him.

Without his techniques, without his weapons, the usual paths out of situations like this had been cut off. Yet, even in this vulnerable state, he wasn’t rattled. If anything, he seemed curious, his attention sharpened by the unpredictability of your approach.

You leaned back in the chair, your gaze unwavering on Geto Suguru, who still wore the faintest trace of amusement on his face. Yet, beneath that surface, the tension in his posture was unmistakable. He knew his options were narrowing—no techniques, no weapons, and certainly no room to strike back.

"Years ago.." you began, your voice calm but pointed, "you participated in the mission to protect Riko Amanai. We both know how that mission ended."

For a split second, his smile faltered. His gaze sharpened as he processed your words, but he didn’t interrupt. He was waiting, measuring you, calculating your intentions. You didn’t bother giving him the space to respond.

"Toji Fushiguro.." you continued, watching his reaction as the name slipped past your lips "... he claims he killed Satoru Gojo during that mission. But we both know Gojo is alive. Untouchable, even. So I’m curious, what did Toji use to hurt him? Was it a tool?”

The atmosphere shifted. For the first time, Geto’s eyes darkened, the mask of playful indifference slipping entirely. The name 'Toji Fushiguro' was a raw nerve, one that visibly rattled him. He shifted in his seat, and the subtle tension in his jaw told you everything, the memories, the bitterness, the unresolved pain from that mission were surfacing.

"Why do you think what he says is true?" he asked, his tone cold but steady. "Satoru is alive and well."

"Toji may be a bastard and a fraud -" you replied, leaning forward just enough to make your point clear, "-but he’d never lie about killing Six Eyes. His pride wouldn’t let him.'"

The room felt heavy with the weight of that truth. Toji Fushiguro’s reputation as the "Sorcerer Killer" had been well-earned, but something had given him the edge over someone as powerful as Gojo. Something dangerous, and you needed to know what it was.

Geto’s expression hardened. He was stone-faced, but you could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—loyalty, perhaps. He wasn’t going to betray Gojo easily. That much was clear.

"Even if I had that information.." he said slowly, his voice cool but unwavering "..why would I give it to you?"

Your patience, thin to begin with, began to fray.

And then, suddenly, Geto moved, faster than you anticipated. His hand shot out, aiming for your hair, while his other hand reached for your wrist, intending to slam you against the table. His reflexes were precise, well-practiced, and had you been anyone else, he might have succeeded.

But you weren’t anyone else.

His hands passed right through you, grasping at nothing but air, as if you were made of smoke. A faint, amused smile touched your lips as you watched him realize his mistake, his hand still extended toward you - now useless.

You let out a soft, almost mocking laugh, that echoed in the silent room.

"I told you, Geto." you said, the amusement in your voice unmistakable. "That kind of play belongs in the bedroom. And it’s not going to work here."

His eyes narrowed, frustration flickering beneath his calm exterior. His hand dropped back to his side, but his expression tightened, a clear sign that he hated this feeling of helplessness. He wasn’t in control anymore, and you had just reminded him of that fact - subtly, but unmistakably.

You leaned forward, your tone dropping to something quieter, more dangerous, your gaze locking onto his.

"So." you said, voice sharp enough to cut through the air "Will you tell me? What did Toji use? I know he wasn’t lying."

The room fell silent again, the tension now palpable as Geto weighed his next move, knowing full well you weren’t leaving without answers.

You sighed, a subtle edge of exasperation creeping into your tone as Geto maintained his stubborn silence. His loyalty to Gojo was admirable, but it was beginning to wear thin, his resolve starting to crack under the weight of your persistence. You weren’t here to exploit weaknesses, but to prevent a far greater threat—one he seemed too proud to acknowledge. The real danger wasn’t you. It was the ones hunting for the same answers you sought.

Without breaking eye contact, you stood from your chair. In one fluid motion, you teleported behind him, your movement so swift that he barely had time to react. Before he could resist, your hand gripped a fistful of his long, dark hair, pulling it back gently, yet with enough force to assert control. At the same time, chains of cursed energy materialized, wrapping around his wrists. They were meant to cause pain, enough to hold him still, preventing any further struggle.

"You’re still silent." you murmured, your voice low, close to his ear. There was no malice in your tone, but a quiet firmness that left no room for misinterpretation. "I’ve already told you. This isn’t going to work. You can resist all you want, but we both know this conversation won’t end until I get what I need."

His body tensed, muscles coiling with frustration as he tested the chains, but they held fast. His pride kept him from yielding easily, but the tension in his posture was clear. You tugged his hair back, just enough to force his eyes to meet yours, the angle sharp. His expression remained hard, but there was a flicker of something else behind the frustration. Perhaps curiosity or perhaps the first signs of understanding.

"I don’t want Gojo dead." you repeated slowly, each word measured, leaving no space for doubt.

"I need to know what can hurt him. Where his limits lie. Because someone else is looking for those answers, and when they find them, we both know what happens next. Sorcerers fighting for power, tearing each other apart. A new era of chaos, like the Heian one. And we both know how dangerous that is."

Geto’s gaze faltered for a moment, his jaw tightening as the weight of your words sank in. His silence was no longer one of refusal—it was hesitation, contemplation. You pressed forward, knowing the balance was tipping.

"Is that really what you want?" you asked, your voice softening, shifting from a demand to an appeal. "Your vision of a perfect world -will it survive if everyone’s fighting for the title of 'the strongest'? If they’re killing each other without mercy? Gojo’s absence would plunge everything into chaos. You’ve seen what happens when balance is broken."

His resistance was weakening. You could see it in the slight tremor in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw slowly easing. The room felt still, heavy with the gravity of the situation. You tighten your grip on his hair, letting him know the meaning of your words.

"I’m not your enemy." you whispered, the intensity in your voice tempered with sincerity. "But I need to know. What is the one thing that can kill him? What did Toji use?"

The room hung in silence, the tension palpable as the moment stretched between you.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Geto exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly as though the weight of the decision had finally settled on him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark but resigned, and spoke quietly, his voice barely a breath. "The Inverted Spear of Heaven." he said. "It’s the only weapon that nullifies cursed techniques. That’s what Toji used to kill Satoru, if only for a moment."

You listened intently, hanging on to Geto's every word as he spoke, and as he revealed the truth, you tightened the chains around his wrists just a little more.

"But Gojo survived," you prompted, voice steady, though tension hummed between you. "How?"

Geto's gaze met yours, calm but resolute. "Because Gojo always comes back," he said, his voice soft yet certain. "He was pushed to the brink, but in the end, he found a way. That’s what makes him different. Even when you think he’s finished, he’s not."

There was an unspoken challenge in his eyes, a tension that, despite his current position, had not broken. His breathing had steadied, but the energy in the room was thick—simmering with something unresolved. His body remained taut, muscles straining against the cursed chains, though his eyes, steady and dark, dared you to push further. That fire inside him, despite everything, still burned.

You leaned in closer, voice a soft, intimate murmur yet laced with the same unyielding control that held him. "I kinda like this," you mused, letting your words linger in the air between you, "how hopeless you are in my grasp. And I think... maybe you do too."

For a split second, something raw flickered in Geto's eyes, something dangerous and defiant. He didn’t reply, but the tension between you spoke volumes. Despite the chains binding him, despite his power being stripped away, there was a part of him that refused to submit. It was that glimmer of rebellion that made this moment all the more electric. He knew what's coming.

Unexpectedly, his voice broke the silence, soft but with a strange calmness. "If this is my end, can I at least have a last wish?"

Your brow arched, amusement curling at the edges of your lips. "I never do that, but I will make an exception." you replied, your tone indulgent, as if granting him one final luxury before the inevitable.

His lips curled into a faint, bitter smirk, laced with something darker. "Kill the one who sent you after me."

You laughed softly, dark and teasing, impressed by the audacity behind his words. "Clever." you murmured, the spark of amusement glinting in your eyes. "I agree."

He was lucky that you have developed a fondness for him.

You released your grip on his hair, though the cursed chains remained, holding him still. Reaching for the knife at your side, you pulled it free in a slow, deliberate motion. The blade gleamed in the dim light, casting a soft glow as you held it between the two of you.

Gently, you lifted his chin again, this time with the flat of the knife, and traced the sharp angles of his jawline with your fingers. His skin felt cool beneath your touch, and you could feel his breath catch momentarily, his body tensing beneath the intimate pressure of the blade.

"It’s a shame… really." you murmured, your voice quiet, almost regretful as the blade hovered dangerously close to his throat. "A huge loss to let that beautiful face wither."

Your hand grazed his cheek in a tender, almost intimate gesture that stood in sharp contrast to the violence promised by the knife. You could feel his breathing quicken at the contact, his body responding to the unexpected softness. But then, as if accepting his fate, Geto exhaled slowly, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips, his eyes softening with a sense of calm surrender.

"I didn’t think death would be so beautiful." he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, yet carrying the weight of his resignation.

You returned his smile, something sad and knowing flickering in your eyes as the knife rested lightly against his skin. His fate was sealed, and you both knew it—yet there was no fear in him, only acceptance.

𖤓

The alley was shrouded in darkness, the dim flicker of distant streetlights barely reaching the edges of where you stood, as though even the light hesitated to touch this forgotten corner. The air hung thick with the remnants of rain, a dampness that clung to the walls, slicking the pavement that gleamed faintly under the errant shimmer of passing headlights. The city buzzed in the distance, its pulse faint but steady, yet here, in this narrow, forsaken space, time seemed to slow to a whisper. Shadows stretched long, silent sentinels watching as you waited, patient and still, against the cool brick.

Your senses were sharp, attuned to every murmur of the night. It wasn’t long before the man arrived, his form out of place in the cloak of darkness. Wrapped in a cheap coat, he moved with a fragile unease, his footsteps soft but betraying the tremor beneath. The tension grew, the air thickening with each step he took toward you, until he finally came to a halt before you. His face, gaunt and pale beneath the scarce light, gleamed with the sheen of sweat, though the night was cool. His voice, shaky and uncertain, trembled as it cut through the stillness.

“Is it done?” The question, brittle as a dried leaf, hung in the air.

You let the silence linger, tasting his unease before you nodded, your voice steady, emotionless. "It’s done. No one’s seen Geto Suguru for a week now. His followers grow restless. You must have felt it."

Relief washed over him, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted. With fumbling hands, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, nondescript bag, thrusting it into your hand with the desperation of someone eager to escape the moment. "Thank you… for your services," he muttered, the words rushed and hollow, already turning to leave, his back to you before the exchange was even complete.

But something held you still, the weight of the bag wrong, off. Lighter than it should be. A frown crept across your features as you opened the clasp, the soft click echoing through the alley. Inside, the faint glimmer of money caught your eye, but it was too little—only half of what had been promised.

"Wait."

The word, simple yet edged with the weight of authority, stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly, his face twitching with forced calm, a weak smile stretched thin across his lips. "What’s the problem?" he asked, though the flicker of fear in his eyes betrayed him.

You held the bag aloft, its lightness speaking volumes. "This is only half."

The man’s face twisted, pride battling with uncertainty as he stammered a response. "My supervisor said it was a fair price. After all, you’ve gained Geto’s power, haven’t you? That’s worth more than money."

There was a false confidence in his voice, but it crumbled under the weight of the moment. His chest puffed slightly, as though pride alone could shield him from what was coming, but his eyes - nervous, darting - told another story. He stood on the edge of something sharp, something inevitable, and he knew it.

You sighed, a soft sound like the wind through withered leaves. "He said you’d do something like this."

Before he could react, his body seized, convulsing violently as his legs buckled beneath him. His neck was covered by a barely visible thread, that sunk into his neck by a single stroke of your finger. You snapped your fingers and the thread penetrated deep into his flesh, opening his throat. In an instant, he crumpled to the wet ground, eyes wide in shock, life flickering out like a candle in a storm. The shadows seemed to deepen, the silence folding in on itself as the man lay still, his fate sealed without fanfare.

From the dark, a figure stepped forward, emerging from the shadows as though he had always been part of them. His robes flowed like ink, blending into the night, his movements fluid, almost serene in their grace. His inky black hair cascaded over his shoulders, catching the faintest hint of light, while his sharp, flawless features held a cold beauty, carved from darkness itself.

"I told you he’d cause trouble." Geto said with a slight, knowing smile, amusement dancing in his eyes as he glanced down at the lifeless body.

You tossed the bag over your shoulder, unbothered, meeting Geto’s gaze with a cool, unyielding calm. "You’ve got two weeks to pay me the rest."

Geto chuckled, a sound like velvet, though there was an edge beneath it, something darker that lingered. "And how do you know I don’t have that money now?" His voice, smooth and playful, hinted at the game he enjoyed.

You raised an eyebrow, your tone steady, laced with certainty. "I know more than you think. Your funds aren’t what they used to be."

His laughter was soft, almost charming, but beneath it was the sharp glint of calculation. "Two weeks, then?" he echoed, as if testing the waters.

"Two weeks." you repeated, your voice carrying the weight of finality. "And if you try to cheat me, I’ll finish what I started."

For a moment, the alley held its breath, the world balanced on the edge of your words. Geto’s smile didn’t falter, but the spark of danger flickered in his eyes, acknowledging the truth between you.

And then, without another word, you dissolved into a swirl of black mist, your form blending into the night as though you were nothing more than a shadow yourself. The alley fell silent once more, the city’s distant hum the only sound that remained.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

[theycalledhimastar]

I demand your take on ABO 141 with a male reader PLEASE, there's never any good male stuff

Bestie do NOT give me this kind of brainrot, but also I accept the gift graciously-

Also, I had no idea what you wanted the male reader to be so there's a bit of everything so everyone's happy :) They come off a little oc-ish to me, the way I did the reader but oh well, I like it.

Forgive me for anything I got wrong, I'm not an A/B/O master guys. This was way longer than I initially planned, lol. Enjoy!

Omegaverse!141 x Male reader!!!

I'm not the most bright brained alright, I agree with literally everyone else and I think Price and Ghost would both be Alphas with Gaz and Soap being betas, it just makes sense in my mind. The two Alphas need the cool-headed inbetweens to keep them from toppling everything and/or butting heads from too much hormones going around.

They're all fairly skeptical about yet another person joining them for any given reason, four people is plenty and having yet another person in the fray, while it might be helpful sometimes, is a bit of a balancing act to fit into their already perfect schedule. Changing things to accommodate you, while not the worst thing, isn't the most easy feat for everyone. Especially depending on what you are...

☄. *.

You were an Alpha, purebred, built like a brick wall and about as stubborn as one too. Although you weren't loud about it, you weren't going to let people forget tat you were not to be messed with. Raised with a bit of an ego as most purebred Alphas were, you knew you were destined for greatness from the moment you presented. Started physical and mental training as soon as you were old enough, the goal had always been the military for you, no doubts about it. But you had never imagined, in all your wildest dreams, that you would be a part of the task force.

Most people, upon first glance, would likely assume you fit right in, but shoehorning you in with two other alphas was way harder than anticipated, seeing as you immediately began trying to prove yourself before you had gotten settled in. Which, would have been adorable if you weren't so damn stubborn about it.

Ghost is working out? You join him without a second thought, attempting to lift twice as much as what he's doing. Of course, his numbers were already nothing to scoff at, so all you truly succeeded in, was nearly dropping the weight on your foot and damaging your precious alpha pride. "You alright there tough guy?" Ghost seemed amused by your ambitious failure.

"Shut up." Was all you growled in retaliation, storming off to go sulk elsewhere.

Soap is practicing at the range with Gaz? You grab a pistol and try to show off just how capable you are with it, easy right? Not really. You fumble in a way you weren't even sure you understood, and to put it simply, you missed the target significantly and blew an entire round trying to make amends. By the time you had finished it, the sergeants were trying not to lose their composure and die laughing at your cockiness despite it all. Damnit, you could normally do this all so easy, what the hell was wrong!? You set down the weapon with a nearly frightening calmness despite the seething rage in your chest that demanded respect as an alpha. Your self-righteous upbringing had done you no good now as you stormed off to go beat the shit out of the next inanimate object that pissed you off.

"How exactly did he make it here?" "Eh, cap says he's good. Let 'im cool off, I'm sure he knows what he's doin."

There was no cooling off, of course, as you ended up nearly punching a hole in the wall as you had graciously slammed into the doorway in your blind rage, smacking yourself square in the nose and nearly toppling over in pain. That was, quite honestly, the last straw for your dignity as you snarled something ferocious. Not caring that it had been rather close to the Captain's office until you were unceremoniously yanked back by your scruff, held face-to-face with the unamused John Price. Although you were an alpha, even you couldn't quite deny the effect his scent had on you now. Not one of anger, but certainly not a playful one either. He was projecting his authority, silently telling you to quiet down a little and stop being such a loudmouth showoff. Shame and something akin to an excited fear sparked briefly in the pit of your stomach before you cleared your throat and swallowed hard.

"Captain." You nodded shortly, not missing the way his hand tightened around the back of your neck.

"Heard you've been causing a bit of a ruckus for the others, been busy?" He raised a thick brow, making you swallow back your nerves. You attempted to shoot back some of your own alpha scent, but it felt puny and overpowered entirely by his.

"Not intentionally, sir."

"Let's settle down a little, you've barely been here a week, quit causing trouble or I'll have to take care of your behavior myself. Got it?" He leans close, you could swear he was breathing on the back of your neck now and you know for a fact your heart is racing for reasons you don't think are fear.

Not wanting to find out what he means by that just yet, you give a quick nod that seems to satisfy him enough to let you go. Allowing you to scamper back to your room, the adrenaline cushioning what was going to be a very hurt ego when it settled in that you had been grabbed by the collar and scolded like a child. Damnit, you would prove yourself one way or another...

☄. *.

You were a Beta, always being told you were unremarkable, nearly always forgotten in the squabble between Alphas and Omegas. So, in an effort to at least be something impressive to yourself, you took to bulking up. Genetics and luck both seemed to favor you as you certainly bulked up. To the point where you were constantly mistaken for an Alpha by anyone that didn't truly know you. If they did, they would know that you were far more of the beta disposition in reality. Laid back, cheerful, extroverted enough to make friends, but not gratingly so. The perfect addition to the task force at first glance...

Minus the fact that you were both clumsy, and a little bit ditsy from time to time.

Sure, you weren't incapable, you could definitely hold your own in battle. But it seemed that when the adrenaline wasn't pumping through your veins, you were a tangle of long limbs and jumbled thoughts. It was obvious that you weren't trying to be a mess, but the others seemed to assume you were up to something. Surely, a mountain of a man like you, such a capable Beta on the battlefield, can't be such a... dolt in real life, right?

The same man they had witnessed absolutely nail a small squadron all by his lonesome, had momentarily forgotten how to lace his boots after unlacing them entirely to replace them. And had practically tied his feet together.

"You think he knows he's doin' it wrong?" "Oh he has to by now... right?" "Guys, did I get it? I'm so confused, why is this so weird!?"

Not to say you were entirely unaware of yourself, you knew you were scatterbrained at times. But you didn't know that they had assumed you were taking them for a fool sometimes. The sergeants decided to confront you about it, with Soap cornering you after a particularly amusing incident.

"Mate, ye know we've seen ye on the field right?" He sighed, running his fingers through his overgrown curls. "uhh, yeah?" You kind of stared between the two of them, completely confused as to where the conversation was going. Gaz snuck behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder in a friendly manner. "Right, so you don't have to act like a total numpty off the field, you aren't foolin' anyone anymore." He chuckled, nudging your head with his playfully. It would have been a comforting thing, except for the fact that you had no clue what they were on about. "What do you mean?" "Stop acting like such a hare-brained dingus. Just be yourself, mate." He shook your shoulders gently, the two staring at you so earnestly, just trying to convince you to just be yourself around them. "Oh... About that..."

Of course after that, they both felt really bad and you had to explain for over an hour that no, it wasn't on purpose, yes, you were that messy sometimes, and no, you weren't mad for their assumption. Although Ghost certainly seemed to find it hilarious that you were such a gentle giant, and a total hot mess express. Not that he told you that, truth be told, he didn't feel the need to talk to you much off of the field. Not because he didn't like you, he simply felt you fit in so well with the betas and he didn't want to throw off things. Although he did want to know how you had gotten so huge naturally.

Price thinks you're downright precious with the stark contrast between on and off duty with you. It's like you become a completely different person and he can't help but smell the scent of a content beta every time he tells you that you've done him good. He was certain that everyone could tell just how excited you were when he referred to you as "his good lad". It was a simple nickname, rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, but you nearly lit up in elation. So now not only him, but everyone else makes an attempt to give you subtle little praises like that just to see you get all giddy, and to this date you have yet to notice, or at least say anything about it.

☄. *.

You were an omega, not what any of them expected when they were told that someone would be joining them, as omega were notoriously... well... Violence avoidant to put it simply. But you were not the type that wanted to feed into stereotypes. You wanted any excuse to not become some boring old stay-at-home omega that took care of children and housework. The parts of the world you had grown up in were very traditional and expected just that of you. "Settle down with a nice Alpha, have babies, live the peaceful life." Yeah right, it was like they didn't even know what you wanted.

So, in an effort to escape that life, you decided to enlist, and it turned out that you were... actually kinda good at it despite it all. Your fight or flight chose to flee more often than not, but that meant you were quick on your feet despite the stomach churning levels of anxiety that pulsed through your veins at any given moment. Your adrenaline raced and kept you moving before you could chicken out, and that made you a damn good soldier.

Off field was a different story but that didn't really matter seeing as you liked minding your own business and having your own space more often than not.

When you first met all of them, the aura of two alphas was quite a lot, especially as it seemed at least Ghost was projecting a little bit more than he needed to, getting across the point that there was an order to the way things were and you needed to not ruin that. (He's just nervous having an omega around as he isn't used to it and he isn't sure exactly how to act around you.)

Gaz is rather quick to step in and soothe you with his beta scent, like warm coffee and vanilla and something distinct that you hadn't ever smelled before. But it soothed your racing nerves and made you feel a little less alienated. Although with a nudge from John, Ghost realized he was only successfully scaring you, and he cut it out just as quickly.

Johnny is excited to have an omega around, although he doesn't really treat you any different than Gaz. It's the equivalent of short people acting different when they're around someone shorter than them, yknow? Like he doesn't see you as beneath him, he just knows you're different than anything he's been around and he's nosey about absolutely everything.

"Do all Alphas scare you?" "No... why would they?" "I dunno, it seemed like every omega I met before was either addicted to Alphas or terrified of em." "Uh, no, I think you just knew weird people before."

Another thing, is that Price seems to view you as a sort of stray cat. Skittish if anyone approached you a little too loudly or excitedly, but plenty sweet if they got to know you. At least, that was how it was in his head. In reality, you were just an introverted guy who wanted to at least get along with his teammates and they thought you were the cutest thing ever. Sometimes, John would call you into his office just to tell you that he noticed your hard work and he was proud of you. He loved the way your cheeks flushed whenever he got close or projected his scent a little extra, filling the room with the scent of expensive cigars and warm, woody cologne. It made you a little fuzzy int eh head and he could tell, so he avoided using it. But the face you made when you got all spacey and distracted during meetings because you were sandwiched between him and Ghost, it was just too good to resist.

"You alright there sergeant?" "Yes sir, all-all good." "You look a little flushed, you sure you're not coming down with something?" He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, trying not to smile wider when your eyes widened just slightly. "Positive, Captain..." You squeaked.

[helslastangel]

Hey, what do you think of Juno in Virgo? I never hear anyone talk about it much.

I don't know for sure, but a part of me thinks that it's a less common Juno placement in general. I meet and hear about Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces Junos quite a bit more.

That being said, I have had a few friends with Juno in Virgo and it's pretty interesting. I was particularly close with one and got to see how it played out over a period of time.

Juno In Virgo ♍️

So a few years back, I met this Libra sun woman with Juno in Virgo. She was deeply in love with a rather stoic Taurus stellium guy that I didn't understand at first, but it made a lot of sense after I read her chart. She had Eros in Cancer. So before meeting this guy, she had been drawn to guys who were soft-spoken or had softer or more emotional personalities. However, I think she always subconsciously knew that being this way herself, she needed someone to balance her out.

She came alive when she finally met someone (the Taurus) who had qualities and characteristics that a person with Juno in Virgo would need to feel at ease and fulfilled in a relationship.

Here are some of those qualities that people with this Juno placement often find themselves drawn to when ready to settle down into a longer-term relationship:

🌾 Juno in Virgo can lead someone to be highly attracted to practical people, whether they consciously like it or not. They may go out with other types but end up being drawn to people who seem to have their shit together.

🌾 This is not the same kind of pull that Capricorn Juno experiences towards people who are ambitious and have a head for business or strategic planning. Virgo Juno ends up being drawn to the people who have routines, rules, and rituals for themselves that they follow religiously and quite happily.

🌾 People with their Juno in Virgo are often deeply attracted to minimalists, or they are that way themselves.

🌾 Not to be cliché, but perfectionism follows Virgo placements around like a toddler who knows you have candy-Juno in Virgo is no different. These folks will often be single for many many years waiting for the ideal partner or persist with the one person they consider "perfect" for them for a very long time. Usually waiting for them to feel the same way, or actively trying to improve a partner they already have (occasionally against their will lol "for their own good").

🌾 Virgo Juno women/feminine people especially can give off "ideal wife" vibes to the majority of men. Whether she is one or not (and whether she even wants this image) depends on the rest of her chart and her synastry with various people, but she will come across that way to many. Unless there are fire or water placements, she can seem a bit distant or even cold (though attentive and responsible) under most circumstances.

🌾 Virgo Juno men/masculine people are similarly cool, calm, collected types who might lack passion or warmth without placements that balance this out. However, they also might not be particularly attentive either, especially to love-related matters. They may enjoy being around coworkers or casual friends more than romantic partners and interests. They are responsible though and if they do get into a relationship, they will take care of their partner and ensure that life is as comfortable as possible.

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾

Hope you found this insightful! 😘

[chantiying]

Full moon reading 🌕

Before to start, sorry for any mistakes or grammar error. English is not my first language. How to choose? Take a deep breath, close your eyes, then open them and choose the image that drawn to you. Remember tarot is not set on stone and you can change your path whenever you want. This is for entertainment purposesThis reading is general so if it doesn't resonate with you just let it go

1 2 3

Let's start!

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Pile 1

I think you guys are most likely to be introverts and really enjoy your time alone. Your are the type of person who listens to others carefully, who sees and analyzes everything around you, you can read so well the room and people look for your advice. For some of you, you might think you're "boring" or you perceive yourselves as someone who is better when it's isolated and people don't understand that.

You know how to act and move forward in situations that are no longer for you. You can look really calm when taking the wheel, and that's one of your best qualities. I can picture you as someone who is always calm and looks really confident, but at the same time dreamy? People just love your aura, and the way you manage the problems and know how to balance all the stuff that's going on is a gift to all the people around you. They trust in you and count on your wisdom to give the best advice.

I feel that even if you just can't admit it out loud, you love taking care of others, you like serving to others and you like being in an environment where you can bring calmness and kindness to everyone. Maybe you don't know this, but the way you can make quick and wit decisions, your words and the way you act are your best qualities and can help you to be a great leader.

Idk guys, you all have a lovely energy.

I feel like people want to be your friends but at the same time you low-key scare them

Siren energy

I picture you like a shadow in the mist being caressed by the brightest and calmest moonlight

"I thought you were rude the first time I met you"

You're protected and a light of love shines on you

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Pile 2

The first word that came to mind while reading this pile was "hardworking." You guys probably see themselves as someone who is consistent, ambitious and efficient, someone who always does their job perfectly, and you shine because of that. Perseverance is one of your best qualities, you can be light or dark depending on your mood or the situation. Guys, you are duality; you are the moon and the sun, whichever you decide to be and you're always slaying, no matter what.

You're so smart, and people can rely on you. You're responsible but sensitive at the same time, and that's why people trust you so much.

Even tough, when you like a job well done, you're not the type of person who follows the rules actually. You like doing things your way. You're kinda rebellious and you find it funny to break some rules and traditions. You like the freedom of doing things by yourselves.

I think even when you all like you're freedom and doing things by your own, you have to start learning to work on team.

I feel like you guys are hot af and you know it

Your charisma is off this planet

You have a mysterious aura

People feel attracted to you

Maybe you're feeling confused??? Or betrayed???? The moon is there to calm you down and to embrace you with her light

Just tell your worries to the moon she's always willing to listen to someone as interesting as you

You're magnetic and bewitching like the moon and powerful and confident like the sun

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Pile 3

I feel like you guys are my generous pile. You might give more than people ask, and because of that, some people've taken advantage of you. I feel like you guys don't feel the shining of the full moon on you. You might feel like all the rays of the moon bathe everyone here but you. Do you feel like drowning in the deep ocean? Do you feel like there's no light at the end of the tunnel? Did they tell you that you were not enough? Enough brave? Enough loved? Enough awesome? Did someone steal your ray of the full moon? You, my dears, have a strong connection with the moon. You understand her and she understands you. Reclaim your power back, guys. Reclaim your abundance, your happiness and your beauty. And let me tell you that, for some of you, no one stole your bright, but you by yourselves hid it so no one would see it, indeed.

Some of you might be "classy" old money style or you like clean, vanilla or natural make up.

You have purity, and you're projecting it to others.

Please take a rest guys. I know it's important to do homework, projects or work but it is really importan to take a rest and have fun too.

I don't know, this pile feels like an old soul but at the same time like young people, like students.

Why don't you want the moon to shine on you?

Enough of being hidden behind the clouds, it's time to see the beauty that you're, it's time to people to fall in love with you, it's time to see your graceful persona reflected in the mirror, just like the enchanting moon is reflected in the clear water

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Guys I just hope this resonate with someone. I wish you all a pretty life

Alic (Chanty) 🪽

[animentality]

bashing my head into the wall until it's bloody thinking about how Gortash learned at a very young age that the people you love most, whom you trust, and depend on, will use you and throw you away if it suits their own interests.

he then spent his childhood in the house of hope, where Raphael teaches him that other people WILL sell their souls and the souls of others to serve their own interests. he also saw that these people don't appreciate what they have.

which is freedom.

he never asked to be in the house of hope, but to him, these other people DID. and it infuriates him.

they gladly exchange their freedom for power.

but the worst part of it is, they're not trying to become the ones with power. they just want to borrow it.

and when he escapes, he swears he won't have borrowed power. he'll have real power.

he'll become a god, and then he'll be free, and no one will ever take freedom away from him ever again.

so he lives his life, avoiding attachments, using people, throwing them away when he no longer needs them, seeking power above all else, and maybe that's a warped sort of freedom to him too.

to love someone is to bind yourself to them, after all.

but then he meets someone interesting. someone he can't use and throw away, or perhaps, someone he actually might find more than one use for.

the dark urge, literally made from the flesh of an actual god.

and they're naturally appealing to him, because they are a storm sorceror of terrifying magical prowess AND a paladin, and they have the charisma and intelligence required to bring back the cult of Bhaal.

but to him, they're something more than a demigod and leader of their faith, even more than a representation of the power that he yearns to one day possess.

they're not like anyone else on the mortal plane. they're as ruthless and ambitious as he is, they're as cold and detached, they have no mercy and no time for games.

they also know how lonely it is, to be what they are.

he can try to reject his own human nature, but it's insidious, that need to be understood. and not just admired, but truly known.

he thinks he can get attached to this one, because they have the same goal as him. they're just as pragmatic, and determined. they would never ever abandon their mission.

or him.

which is why it was so crushing when they did.

and he can like... try to play it off and pretend it doesn't matter, it's fine. Orin will just step in.

it could've been anyone ruling at his side. he was going to betray them in the end anyway.

only, he's lying.

and you know he's lying, because when the dark urge comes back, he actually says...

"after you abandoned us."

not left or disappeared. abandoned.

there's like... anger in that phrasing.

but it's combined with relief too.

like how dare you abandon us... how dare you come back, because if you have to leave me, it'd better be because you died... but it's good to see you.

but I'm glad you're back.

(but you'd better not leave again. don't betray me a second time.)

[atlasofthestaars]

[MK X READER] New Era - Chapter .006

first part | previous part | next part

NOTE: Not sure if the beginning needs any warnings and what to label it? But it is a little more dreary than the rest of the story has been previously, so take note of that.

Originally was going to be a bit of a faster paced chapter, but I started writing in like, the complete opposite way, and I kinda liked where it went so I just rolled with it. So it’s a little bit slower of a chapter this time, but I hope the fluff makes up for it since it has moments with the champion squad.

Hopefully, according to my plans, we should only have a few more chapters left in the pre-outworld arc? I think about chapter 11 is where we will hop back to it with the mini tournament for Earthrealm’s champion, but that estimate may change depending on the ideas I have. I just want to make sure we have plenty of time with all the Earthrealm men before we head back into more of the plot.

Looks like Shang Tsung is part of the official love interest line up! This actually quite heavily affects the story, so hopefully you all will be pleased by how it turns out when that part rolls around! Reiko did not make the cut, sorry to all those who wanted him! He will get screentime, but the reader will have a different type of dynamic with him due to this. 

Also double whammy poll! While we have a lot of lovely men to fall for, someone asked about Kitana and Mileena! So here’s your time to let me know your thoughts on them! (Especially Mileena, because it WILL change whether I portray Mileena x Tanya in this fic or if Mileena is not with her so she can be romanceable).

I LIED I JUST REALIZED I CAN ONLY DO ONE POLL AT A TIME. KITANA WILL BE NEXT CHAPTER, THEN HAVIK WILL BE AFTER THAT.

FROM THE EYES OF ONE WHO HAS STRUGGLES RELAXING

Turns out, you struggle with forcing yourself to relax.

It was odd, you had been content before with a life of a simple routine. All you had to do before was train yourself and be at Liu Kang’s side as your duties, you could do whatever else you wished for the rest of the day. Most times that meant going on long walks and trying to decipher your memories. 

It was a routine you settled on after many had decided you needed no further routine training, and after a certain incident. Of course, you pushed yourself to train with others occasionally nowadays, but you were a student no longer.

It was a routine most were happy you had, for before that simple routine, you had found yourself often run ragged. You often went from place to place, too ambitious to train, too ambitious to strive for more. In between those training sessions, you found yourself often running around doing too many tasks that others had given you upon your request. You sometimes skipped meals, and sometimes cut hours of sleep to try and cram everything into your schedule.

It wasn’t like no one noticed the way you were slowly ruining yourself, they did, you just ignored their concerns. You waved it off, saying you were fine. You found yourself saying that line to Liu Kang the most, who always seemed to want to stop you.

It got so bad even Bi-Han had to sit you down and scold you for how exhausted you had become.

“Fool, don’t you know you’re inconveniencing everyone else when you destroy yourself like this!?” He had told you, pinning you with a harsh glare. He had slammed his hands on the desk, ice spreading from his hands onto the desk from his frustration. 

You had, of course, defended yourself in every which way back then. Who cares if you were tired? You had to get things done so others could relax. Why did he insinuate that you were a burden when clearly everyone else was benefitting from this? Those points and many more were tossed between you two, and that had caused a large argument between you two for a long time.

That grudge between you two carried for a while. You had been too stubborn to admit Bi-Han was right. How could you? That’d be admitting defeat.

And you loathed defeat.

Furthermore, that meant that you had to stop doing stuff for people. Certainly you could not stop your training, that would lead to you weakening. You had to get stronger! People were counting on you, and you had a feeling that you just had to get stronger, even without thinking of others. The tiny voice in your head was screaming that you had to.

And if you didn’t cut down on training, you had to stop doing tasks. And how could you tell someone that you couldn’t do something for them? The idea of the look of disappointment followed by a pitiful “it’s alright” scared you. You already promised so many people many things, you couldn’t just go around and tell them that you couldn’t all of a sudden.

You’d be a disappointment.

So you deluded yourself that you were doing the right thing, letting yourself get carried away. It was a harsh, dark part of your life. It was a part of your life you were not proud of. You pushed many people away. Kuai Liang, Tomas, Madam Bo, Master Kai…so many people that kept on telling you to end this foolish pursuit.

You didn’t listen.

You carried on with your destructive lifestyle, aiming to try and do anything and everything all at once. If you could do it all, everyone else would be happy, and that’s all you wanted. You lied often, saying that you were okay, and tried to cover it up with a weary smile

It wasn’t until you had collapsed during training and gone unconscious for nearly a day that Liu Kang stepped in.

“I have been a fool.” Liu Kang had murmured when you had awoken that day, You felt faint, nauseous, and so many things all at once. He had reached a hand to touch your forehead, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “I should have realized earlier that you had been running yourself into the ground, I should have trusted my own instincts and never let you go this far.” 

“I’m fine.” You had insisted, trying to sit up. The god had to force you down, which was easy in your weakened state. He had instructed you to take a break until you were better. “How long?” You had asked, your voice hoarse as you asked desperately, feeling the grip of fear at the idea of becoming useless for the people that meant so much for you.

“As long as it takes.” Liu Kang replied, with a tone of finality. Back then, those words were like a death sentence. Nowadays, you realized it had been a blessing in disguise. You try not to think of how long those days felt, constantly being shadowed by one of the Lin Kuei brothers or even Madam Bo. It was painful to think of, some days. But then again, it wasn’t all bad.

After all, that’s the main reason you had gotten closer with all of them. 

Kuai Liang had been helpful, giving you advice and being there at your aid any time you needed. He had been a good person to confide in, for he never shamed you for the worries you carried. He was a gentle flame, providing the warmth you did not know you needed in your life.

Tomas had been a welcoming presence, giving you laughs and joy in a situation where you struggled. He was much more playful than his brothers, and the dreary days were always made a bit bright with him around. He had been encouraging too in his own ways, telling you that being vulnerable was okay. You were okay.

The other two were a bit more harsh. Madam Bo had given you harsh lectures, but in a loving way. You could tell you had terrified her with your decline in health. Those days she had given you so much food you felt often full. You were happy though, her cooking really was the best. Eventually you had learned some cooking from her to pass the time.

You still had to learn how to perfect her recipes.

Bi-Han’s shadowing at first was easily the worst. Days that felt like were filled with tension, some days you felt like you could not breathe. Then, some other days it felt like you would rather be asleep with the rants he had given you, telling you on how you should have listened to him. Eventually, the frost around the situation melted, and the days went from tense and dreadful with him, to more comforting.

Eventually he became a person you learned the world through, as begrudging as it was, he answered your many questions. And when your questions ceased, the two of you could turn to occasional conversation, ones where you both were a little more open with each other, a bit more honest. Even the silences began to feel comforting.

Occasionally, Liu Kang would take over shadowing you. It wasn’t as common as the other four, but it happened often enough. At first, you were filled with guilt whenever you were around him. You had failed the fire god, but he had told you that you did no such thing.

“I have failed you, instead.”

It mystified you, but you chose not to question it. You weren’t certain what you’d do with the answers to the questions you had about that statement. You ended up developing most of your healthy habits with Liu Kang, falling into a simple routine. You ended up developing the habit of watching the sunrise with him during these times.

Days had blended into weeks, and weeks into months, and you slowly were allowed your responsibilities again. You had been allowed to train much earlier than your responsibilities so your body would not weaken, but the responsibilities felt much more significant.

Slowly, you were given room to breathe and develop your own routine. One that was…less rigorous, one that everyone agreed that was healthy and safe for you.

You guessed your inability to relax was still a remnant of the insatiable workaholic from back then. Your mind was filled once again with responsibilities, plans, and schedules. Training the champions, the tournament…so many big things to worry about.

You worried that you didn’t have time to do everything if you relaxed, and you knew how important these tasks that were ahead of you were.

It was almost instinct to dive into everything, try to take the burden of everyone and force it upon yourself.

You were really trying though, to relax. You couldn’t bear to see the concerned looks on their faces again.

“You know, you’re doing an awful job at taking a break.” Johnny pointed out as he pulled up next to you, snapping you out of your reverie. You watched with curiosity as he pulled out his phone. You had vague memories of technology from what you presumed to be your past life, but you haven’t really used it in this life.

“I’m just watching, is that so wrong?” You inquired, trying and failing to fend off the defensive side that tried to come out. You sent him a raised eyebrow, looking at him. He sent you the sassiest look, peering at you. 

“No.” He said, shrugging as he returned his attention back to his phone. “But I can see that calculating look in your eye, teach.” Johnny said, tapping the side of his head with his two fingers. “You’re not just idly watching, you’re thinking. That’s the same look my directors get when they’re reviewing a scene, and trust me, that’s anything but relaxing.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. As much as others thought otherwise, Johnny Cage was smart and observant.

“Plus, when people usually say they’re taking a break they’re usually off doing their, like, hobbies or something.” Johnny continued, pausing for a moment before looking back at you. “You do have hobbies right?”

“I refuse to elaborate.” You said after a few moments of contemplation. You really couldn’t think of anything that was a hobby of yours. Sure, you liked to cook, but that wasn’t a hobby you found yourself doing all too often outside of meal times. 

The only other thing you could think of that you did often was try and make sense of your memories. And that was something you could do for hours on end. But it was all too confusing, and it gave you a major headache. Aside from the fact that you didn’t exactly want to think of those memories right now, you had a feeling that also didn’t count as relaxing.

So your next best bet at doing something to relax was watching the students of the Wu Shi academy train.

Were you really that boring?

“You…don’t have hobbies?” Johnny asked, pulling a face that made you frown. “No wonder you’re struggling to relax.” He said, scratching the back of his neck. You had an urge to defend yourself, but you averted your eyes instead, knowing that trying to defend yourself was fruitless. You really didn’t have anything to defend yourself with in the first place.

“Living a life like mine leaves little time for hobbies.” You said, which was partially a lie. You had time, and lots of it before you were entrusted with training the four of them. So you certainly could have picked up some hobbies. 

But you never knew what to do. There weren’t many people in the Fire Temple who had hobbies you could indulge in, and it wasn’t like you were too close with them either. And, oddly enough, you were a bit embarrassed to ask the Lin Kuei brothers for any ideas on hobbies.

Plus, it was annoying trekking through the snow just to ask for something small like that.

“Okay, so hobbies are out of the question, got it.” Johnny said, before humming and looking up, contemplating over things. “Don’t you have anything else to do, like reading, or watching movies?” He suggested.

“I’ve read all the books they have in the Fire Temple, they’re pretty boring and not worth a reread.” You said, sighing as you remembered the lack of interesting literature. You’ve thought about asking Liu Kang for the chance to get better reading material, but you didn’t want to sound…rude. “And I’ve never watched a movie.”

That wasn’t totally true, you’ve probably watched a movie in your past life, but you’ve never done that in this life.

“You’ve never…what?” Johnny Cage said, seeming to be caught off guard by the confession. You’ve never seen such a look on his face before, one that was both shocked and almost…offended? You supposed it only made sense that he out of everyone reacted this way. Acting was his lifeblood. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.” You said, raising your hands up trying to show no offense. You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at the look Johnny was sending you. He was so,,,expressive. It was really entertaining. Is that why people liked watching him so much?

“We’ve got to right that wrong immediately.” Johnny said, a determined look on his face. He shoved his phone into his pocket. “We’re going to have a movie marathon. You get to relax and see a bunch of great movies, win-win.” The actor declared.

“A bunch of great movies, huh?” Kenshi said, approaching the two of you as he sheathed his sword. He looked between the two of you, sending a pointed look towards Johnny Cage. “I’m guessing you’re going to try and show our instructor a bunch of your movies, Cage?”

“You know it, tattoo.” Johnny confirmed with a self confident smirk. You nodded towards Kenshi, who acknowledged it back with a nod of his own. “Don’t look so prissy, you and the farmer boys are invited too if you want.” You glanced towards Kenshi, raising an eyebrow out of curiosity. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Kenshi conceded, much to your surprise. “I get to help pick the movies, though. We’re not watching a marathon of the Ninja Priest movies, they’re all the same.” You watched as Johnny groaned, clearly disagreeing with the swordsman.

“Whatever, you just have bad taste.” The actor huffed, rolling his eyes. He took out a paper and pen from gods knew where, and tossed it towards Kenshi who sent him a puzzled look. “Go design whatever list you want, just know I’ll be blaming you if teach over here,” He gestured towards you, “thinks movies suck.” He stretched before pointing his thumb away from the courtyard. “Now I gotta bounce, gotta make arrangements to make this whole shebang work.” He turned towards you. “You go figure out how to relax, or whatever, meet here tomorrow night.”

And without much more explanation, the actor jogged off, leaving both you and Kenshi behind.

“What did I just get myself into?”

“I’m surprised you’ve never seen a movie.” Raiden commented after he and Kung Lao met you at the entrance of the Wu Shi academy. He and Kung Lao walked beside you as you traversed down the hall, dressed in more casual clothes as opposed to the uniforms they usually wore. With amusement, you noticed how they were not wearing the hats for once. The clothes they wore reminded you of the clothes they donned during the exams.

“In the Fire Temple, we don’t have much, if any, technology.” You explained, not elaborating much further. After all, it’d be hard to explain the whole ‘you might have watched one in a past life, but you barely remembered anything about it’ ordeal. “Johnny seemed very offended that I’ve never watched one, it was a sight to behold.”

“It makes sense, that is what he is known for.” Kung Lao pointed out, shrugging. 

“Have either of you seen Johnny Cage’s works?” You inquired, looking between the Fengjian men. You were a bit surprised that they knew about movies, knowing that they both hailed from a simple village. Then again, you supposed you were being hasty in assuming their area was as technology deprived as the Fire Temple was.

“A few.” Kung Lao answered, thinking a bit before grinning. “Their techniques were totally wrong, but they sure do know how to make something entertaining.” He admitted before cockily laughing and pressing a hand to his chest. “Of course, I think if I were there to help them, they would be much better.”

“I saw a few as well.” Raiden piped up, smiling towards you. “They were flashy, and like Kung Lao said, very inaccurate, but I actually enjoyed watching them.” He put on a thoughtful look. “I think you’ll like them too, as long as you look past the technicalities.”

“I hope so too.” You said, humming. “Otherwise this would be a rather bad introduction to movies.” You joked, knowing that you could probably look past the most egregious techniques. All you wanted was a chance to relax, and you hoped to the gods that this was going to work.

“Fret not, teach, I made sure to look through Ken-bro’s list.” Johnny said as he turned the corner, a grand grin on his face. “He chose a few decent ones, but I made sure to add the best of my works in there too.” In his arms he held a large of what you believed to be popcorn. You inhaled, and you felt a bit nostalgic for a reason you weren’t quite sure.

“I tried to keep the list decent, so don’t blame me if Cage ruined it.” Kenshi quipped as he also rounded the corner, holding another big bowl of popcorn. You looked between them, noting how this was the first time you’ve seen both Johnny and Kenshi were something more casual. It wasn’t too bad of a look.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You said, grinning as you crossed your arms. The actor led all of you to a room you knew had not been previously used much. “You’ve all brought up my expectations, are films really that good?”

“Oh trust me, films can get good, especially action films I’ve been in.” Johnny cackled, and you stifled a laugh as you noticed how the group had all collectively rolled their eyes. He opened the door for you all. You marveled at the projector that had been set up, along with a basic couch that seemed big enough for you all to lounge on, more or less. “Hollywood magic will astound you, trust me.”

“I’m already astounded by all of this.” You admit, walking over to the projector. Seeing technology sent a wave of nostalgia through you, and you smiled. Something about this all brought a hazy vision of you and Johnny sitting in a room doing something similar to this, but there had been four other younger people with you instead.

How odd.

“Where did you get all of this?” Raiden asked, looking at the set up of the room. “I don’t think the monks normally have any of this stuff,” He observed as he made his way to the couch. “Well, maybe the couch makes sense.” He said, before sitting on it carefully.

“It’s a secret, my friend.” The actor replied, and you all sent him a look. He groaned and sighed. “You’re all no fun. I asked the big boss, Lord Liu Kang.” He said, shrugging as he also took his place on the couch, on the other end of the couch. “I explained how our instructor was struggling to relax and how I pitched a movie night to you. He seemed pleased by the idea, and was willing to give me all of this stuff.” 

You were surprised. Liu Kang was the one who helped Johnny out? The idea of it made you feel warm.

“Lord Liu Kang did all of this?” Kung Lao echoed your thoughts, nodding slowly as he looked around. He put on a face that told you he seemed to approve, and plopped down right next to Raiden. You found yourself not knowing where to sit, before Kenshi stepped beside you and tilted his head to indicate the spot where you should go.

Right between where he would go and Johnny Cage.

You supposed that wasn’t too bad. 

Taking the advice, you walked over to the spot he suggested and sat yourself carefully, making sure to leave room for Kenshi, while making sure you didn’t intrude on Johnny’s. 

“Popcorn?” Johnny offered, holding the bowl out to you. As he did so, you noticed as he turned on the movie, it starting the movie which seemed to be labeled “Ninja Mime”. Shrugging, you took a small handful, popping the food into your mouth.

This was going to be interesting, wasn’t it?

“Wow, that was…amazing.” 

“See! I told you, Hollywood magic.” Johnny Cage said, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he looked over to you. You rolled your eyes but nodded, conceding to the fact that you had honestly enjoyed seeing the film. It was goofy, wacky, and just the thing you needed.

“If you think that’s good, you should watch other types of movies.” Kung Lao piped up, before shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. He had stolen the bowl from Kenshi shortly after the movie started, taking most of the buttery goodness for himself. You watched with silent amusement as Raiden sneakily stole a handful. “Comedies, romances, there’s more than just Johnny’s actions.”

“Why would anyone need to watch anything but my movies?” Johnny bragged, earning silence and stares from the group, mostly from Kenshi. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever, but other types of movies are for another night.” He said, waving off the silent complaints.

“We’ll have another night?” You inquired, peering at the actor with a curious look. He grinned and shrugged.

“As long as you let us, teach.” The American said, before gesturing to the projector. “First, we gotta go through the list we made first.” You watched as Johnny got up to set up the next movie. Kenshi leaned over, looking at you with a small smile.

“The next movie is going to be better, trust me.” The swordsman told you, a slight tone of playfulness in his voice. “I made sure to also introduce you to some of Cage’s better works.” You raised an eyebrow, surprised at the fact that the man was even a fan of Johnny’s works in the first place.

“I’ll be sure to hold my expectations high then.” You replied back. sending the man a small smile as you took yet another handful of popcorn. It was almost addicting to eat alongside the movie. “How many movies are we watching?” You asked, suddenly aware of the time that had passed as you spied the clock that hung on the wall.

An hour and a half passed? That movie felt like mere minutes!

“I believe we’re watching two more, including the next one.” Raiden informed you, leaning forward to look at you. “Johnny wanted to do a bigger marathon, but Kenshi and I advocated that we only do three since you haven’t watched many and we weren’t sure if you would like them all.”

“Next time, let Raiden and I pick some movies, too.” Kung Lao also mentioned, looking back to the actor who had just finished swapping the movies. 

“As long as your choices don’t suck.” Johnny said before plopping down next to you. He spread out, his thigh touching yours, but you didn’t quite mind. “Alright, buckle up, time to start the next one.” 

That night was the first time in a long time you remembered drifting off to sleep on accident. 

You felt something shift, and you were pulled out of the arms of sleep. Yawning, you covered your mouth as you looked around. The projector was running the last bits of a movie you had no recollection of. You blinked as you also registered how you were leaning on someone. 

Looking up, you were surprised to see Kenshi sleeping peacefully, allowing you to have rest on him. Or had he fallen asleep first? Your memory was hazy. Either way, you felt oddly embarrassed that you had fallen asleep during the event the men had created for you, but also grateful they had let you rest. You leaned forward, and you saw Kung Lao and Raiden who had also fallen asleep.

Oddly enough, Johnny was nowhere to be seen. 

Carefully moving so you did not disturb the sleeping men, you stood up, trying to catch your bearings. You looked up, noting the clock you had seen earlier. 

It was an hour before sunrise.

You stretched, letting out another yawn before you looked around once more. The popcorn bowls were gone, and the room seemed generally clean. You walked towards the door of the room, before it swung open to reveal Johnny Cage.

In his arms were blankets and some pillows. You blinked in surprise, and so did he before he let out a small chuckle.

“Finally woke up?” He asked, a slight teasing tone in his voice. “You know, you fell asleep during the best one.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You apologized, crossing your arms as you tried to cover up your embarrassment. It was odd, this type of thing never happened. It was weird to have slept so easily, and on accident. “I usually don’t fall asleep that easily, it’s odd.” 

“Nah, I’m just kidding. You actually stayed up to watch all of the movies we had planned, then you knocked out.” The actor informed you as he walked over to set down the blankets on the couch. “We just decided to make a bet of who could stay up the longest, and I won.” The man bragged smugly, “I was just getting some blankets and pillows for you, actually.” He explained, gesturing to the items he brought. “But judging how you’re awake now, you don’t need them.”

“I thank you for the pillows and blankets, but you’re right, I don’t need them now.” You said, chuckling. “I’ll be going back to the Fire Temple.” You informed him. You gestured to the others. “What about them?”

“Eh, I’ll just wake them up and send them back to their rooms.” Johnny said, shrugging. “So, what’d you think of movies? Still amazing, right?” He asked, confidence dripping from his tone. And while you were tempted to lie to knock down his ego, you knew better than that.

“They were all lovely.” You admitted, and paused for a few moments, staring at the projection as the credits scrolled by. “Thank you, Johnny. I really needed this.” You told him, a tone of sincerity in your voice. You were really grateful. “It was fun.”

“Anytime, wildstyle.” The actor brushed off your thanks with a wide grin. You raised an eyebrow at the new nickname, thinking it was probably linked to your shapeshifting powers. He had such an interesting imagination. “Just remember this when I talk to you next time about acting, yeah?” 

“I will.” You promised. You looked back at the sleeping men for another moment, taking note to thank them for also helping to make this wonderful night happen next time you saw them. “Goodnight, Johnny.” You said as you exited the room, and you heard with simple satisfaction as Johnny bid you goodnight too. 

Obnoxious as the actor could be sometimes, he had an honest heart.  You understood a bit more why Johnny was chosen to be a champion. You’d have to repay his kindness.

The air was crisp and cool, and as you made your way to the Fire Temple, you could not help but think back to the movies you had seen. What entertaining bits of work! You chuckled to yourself as you mentally commended Johnny on his acting too.

You’d never let him know that you actually thought he was an excellent actor, though.

As you crossed the bridge to the Fire Temple, you blinked in surprise as you saw Liu Kang idly waiting by, seeming to have expected you. You walked towards him, a bit uncertain whether he needed you urgently or not.

“How was your movie night?” The fire god asked, after greeting you with your name. You smiled. Ah, he was just curious about how it went. You went on to ramble about the movies you had seen, talking for a while about them and your newfound fascination with them. Liu Kang listened diligently, a warm smile on his face as he nodded and acknowledged your words. “I’m glad to hear it went well.”

Liu Kang was a good listener.

“Yeah, I think I really needed it.” You admitted, looking up to the sky which was losing its dark color, the beginnings of the sunrise appearing. You two stayed there in silence, basking in the comfortable atmosphere. “Thank you, by the way. I heard from Johnny that you helped get everything for him.” 

“It’s no issue.” The protector of Earthrealm told you warmly, looking at you with fondness. “I would do anything for you.”

The way Liu Kang said those words, there felt like there was a hint of something else within his words that made you feel warm, much like the fire he wielded.

“Thank you.” You said, not knowing how to follow up his heartfelt words. You looked up to the sky for a few more moments, before sighing. You felt oddly tired. “I’m going to go and sleep in today, I think.” You told the god, who simply nodded in return. He seemed to approve of your decision, if the smile on his face indicated anything. “Goodnight, Liu Kang.”

“Goodnight. Sleep well.”

part seven

[al3zthecat-blog]

Thinking about when talking about Shang Quinghua and the original Shang Quinghua I've usually seen that the original is portrayed as the evil twin or the dumber twin.

In the case of the second, I've read theories(?) I guess that say that Airplane was a better Peak Lord (in part because in his past life he had access to higher education) and a better spy because he had inside knowledge as the author.

This one I can get behind, Airplane having an advantage by knowing the plot would make him seem to be more capable to outsiders.

In the case of the first one I actually like to think that if they were twins Airplane would be the "evil one".

While I totally think that the reason Airplane is so comfortable doing all the shit he did is because he doesn't think of anyone (besides maybe MBJ and SY) as real people, from an outsider perspective it doesn't look like that. And while I know that the argument could be said that this would make the original SQH more devious/evil/whatever, as he would be operating with the belief that his world is real, I think that this depends on whatever original SQH was a good spy and how many and what type of atrocities he committed. Because we don't really know.

So, let's say that Airplane was a better servant/spy to MBJ in part because of his insider knowledge and past life. But that the other part is that he lacks the "morals" that would have held back the original because he doesn't see as anyone as real people.

Maybe the original had some morals. Maybe the reason MBJ fell in love with Airplane is that he was attracted not only to his loyalty but by how ruthless he is (something that for demons I bet would be attractive). From MBJ'S perspective, Airplane is, yes weak and cowardly, but also completely loyal and devoted to MBJ while at the same time kind of ruthless to anyone else.

In the case of the original SQH maybe he was not as willing to betray his sect. Like, maybe he was ambitious enough that he thought he could eventually make it so there was a treaty between CQM and the North and from his perspective he wasn't really betraying his sect. Getting rid of HHP was whatever since it was another sect and he could get behind that as long as CQM remained safe. Maybe he thought he and MBJ had an understanding of working together.

Except of course that they didn't and MBJ always planned on killing him.

Like, say MBJ knew about what was SQH'S ambitious and he was either thinking SQH would eventually betray him or that he didn't believe SQH would be capable of convincing his sect of an alliance and was just playing around while taking advantage of SQH. Either way a win for MBJ.

Then of course LBH happens and MBJ no longer has time for games, LBH wants CQM obliterated so CQM has to go and with it gone he no longer has reason to keep playing games with SQH so he kills him.

To make it more sad I like to imagine that original SQH was also fond of MBJ (maybe even in love with him) and that he did not see this happening at all.

[darkkitty1208]

on fic writing and fandom: where am i going forward?

So. It's a bloody dull Friday and I'm writing this post--have been meaning to, for a while--because I can't stop thinking about it. It's just a few (a lot, actually) thoughts I've had in my mind the past few days that I've decided to spill into a single post, which turned out far longer than it needed to be, but nothing too important. Under the cut.

I've been a fanfic writer for a while now. Not a long time by any means, but a while nonetheless. My first fic--which is now orphaned like a few of its brothers for undisclosed reasons, though if you're an og you might be able to guess why--was dated back to the 18th of November 2021. 3 years later and I've got a humble 89 works and counting (the orphaned works and unposted wips unincluded). I can safely say I've improved quite a lot since then.

Where are you going with this, then, Kitty? Surely you aren't here just to brag about your writing progress?

Well. Not exactly. But I'll start with this: I guess what I'm trying to say is I've lost the spark.

You know. The old feeling. That boost of serotonin you get after you finish a piece you're proud of, or when you get lovely reviews on ao3, or when you get a kudos email, or a new mutual, or some wild tags under your silly post. The spark. I haven't felt it in a long time, now. The last time it's been so palpable was... I'm not sure. Probably last year's October. That was a lot of fun. I was most prolific in fic writing, that year. It shouldn't feel like a long time ago. Because it wasn't.

Don't get me wrong. I love all this. All that's going on right now. The comments I'm getting--even if fewer than I had before--and all the other interactions, I appreciate and enjoy and love them so, so much. And writing my newer fic projects are well exciting. But it just isn't the same anymore. I'm afraid it never will be.

(Maybe it has something to do with the lack of interactions lately. Maybe? I don't really know, either. I'm sure we're all well aware the fandom is past its peak, and with the current developments in the MCU I am frankly unsurprised, but I dunno.)

I guess that's part of the reason I've been less active lately. I've been inactive as a whole this year, admittedly, and disappearing far too often for far too long (and I notice some of my friends are, too). I just didn't get the same joy from being in a fandom like I had when I first started this blog, or my ao3 account.

In hindsight, I've probably been a little too dependent on fandom to provide me serotonin. The past few years have been hard, the years before that, too. Life just keeps kicking me in the arse time and time again. I guess I've been using fandom and fic writing as a coping mechanism, and once I've had my fill, the joy dies off to something a little more dull. Like a gum I've been chewing for too long that the sweetness has since worn off.

Honestly? I don't want it to be this way. I want to live without being so dependent on my presence online. I want to live without only knowing joy through internet interactions. I've got to learn to. It sounds silly, but it's true. (I think I may be slightly chronically online, oh no. x'D)

So naturally my first instinct is to distance myself a little. I contemplated quitting, but I can't do that. I don't see myself ever doing that, no matter how many times my brain convinces me that I might.

When this year started, I had set some goals for writing. One of them was to write for more whumptober prompts than I did last year or complete them all. I did like 21 prompts or something last year. Of 31. Within a little more than a month. While still balancing all the life stuff I had going on. This is, if not obvious, an extremely ambitious goal. I am not insane. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't possibly do that now, can I? Not with all the stuff that's been happening.

...

Can I?

...

Yeah, no. Definitely not.

See, that's another thing: writing. Probably the thing I'm trying to get at in this post but otherwise derailed completely from. Fuck my brain.

I'm sure many of you have noticed that I've been writing significantly less. I still post, obviously, but not as much as like, last year when the number of works I had went from a few to far too much. That had helped me improve quite a lot, actually, but those days I barely slept because I just insisted to replace my sleep time with Writing Shit For The Gays. It was pretty unhealthy now that I look back at it. My sleep schedule is still shit now but, yk. Some things just never change.

I was really, really caught up on wanting to be good at writing. Like, really good. I wanted to make awesome things. I wanted to write like a real fucking pro. Like all the more popular fandom authors I look up to. I want to be like the big dogs in fandom. It sounds so silly. I did everything; sprinting daily, setting a minimum of 500 words writing sessions every day, trying new writing styles, churning out works after works, writing for prompts and events and gifts and the like. I was enjoying it, yes, but was it really something I did for myself? Or was it because I wanted to please other people or impress other people for their validation, which is something I'm entirely too dependent of? Was it for the numbers?

Well. It was more for that than for me, I realised a little too late.

So yeah. Fuck wanting to be good. I want to write for the hell of it. I want to write something that's for me. Not what the majority of the fandom or other people want to read, but for me. Which is why I absolutely loved writing works like just a matter of time, how to kill a god, or how to become a god, because they're not meant for other people but myself. (Ironically that last work is a gift but, yk. I still liked it.) I know I joke about self-projecting a lot, but it's been seriously helping me rediscover the joy of writing that doesn't come from the incessant need to be good or perfect or focus on producing more and more and more. It makes me feel like a kid again. Also, I'm only realising this now but I'd rather get like 5 people who enjoy reading my works so much and express them to me rather than 100 people who silently thumbs up at me and then go away to consume another fic or demand more. (All this to say I still love interactions, it just shouldn't be my no. 1 priority to get them when writing fanfics.)

But yeah. None of those works are perfect. They're not meant to be. But they're mine. They're me. They represent me. And it's so, so great to feel that in writing. I've been so stuck up on being some sort of content machine. I'm doing this for myself, how could I forget? I've been saying this since the beginning, I don't know why I'm still struggling to do it. God. It's ridiculous.

Anyway. That's that. This has become a very long ramble. Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk. And for letting me waste your time, if you make it to the end of this post.

[intoloopin-archive]

💎 for the headcanons!!

LOOPiN NEVER HAPPENED! DEBUT IF YOU CAN!

TREASURE's J.J.

I don't remember how fresh this information is because I don't know if I've mentioned it enough and in detail in this blog, but Jiahang was actually an YG trainee from age 14 to 16. He spend most of that time under KPlus, their model division, learning absolutely nothing because he's really hard to teach anything music related, God bless his heart. He got transferred last minute to active trainee because his millionaire dad paid the Hell out of everyone in charge to get him into the possible lineup for the at the time rumored YG Treasure Box. As a response to that, this man got BULLIED TO SHREDS by EVERYONE AROUND, and I'm talking SOUTH KOREAN ACCURATE BULLYING. Like, there's a reason why when he joined Boy Of The Week, a whole year after quitting YG, mind you!, that he had the shortest hair he ever had in his life and was desperate to not stand out.

But! Let's imagine a world in which he endured all that or some sort of interference happened so things didn't escalate to the point they had. If he never quitted YG, he would be put on Treasure Box, receive the most majestic and appealing cut in the history of reality television, and make it at the 11th to 13th cut, max. Debuting would make him the first chinese Idol under YG Entertainment, and although that would possibly skyrocket his fanbase in mainland China and a lot of SEA countries - specially because he lived in the Philippines! His tagalog is atrocious but hey! - it would also put an immense target on his back over How That Happened, despite the involvement of his father being very minimal in this canon compared to how tangled he had to get with New Wave Music to give Jiahang a spot in LOOPiN.

Really, I don't think he would stay long as a Treasure member by an infinity of reasons, in fact, I see him exiting the group alongside Mashiho and Yedam in late 2022, or maybe even earlier. I think he could make himself into an Idol archetype that worked for him in Treasure, but without anyone putting on the Produce Line pants and actually training him and making him drop the non ambitious act, as happened here, Idol life would get very boring and unfulfilling to Jiahang very fast.

After quitting Treasure, he would definely go back to the mainland, or maybe Taiwan or Hong Kong if he felt more like depending on his dad's influence, and stablish himself there. Do a ton of CFs, act a bit, model a little, regret back to ulzzang mostly, release one song once in a blue moon... And that's that!

ATEEZ's MINWOO.

Oh boy... So, Minwoo was the second ever trainee under KQ Entertainment, arriving at the company right after Hongjoong, and was immediately cut into the debut team. That ended up not lasting because of his constant fights with superiors and trainers, his push to be made the head of a fully self producing group - sounds familiar? Lmao -, as well as the fact that he couldn't get along with the forming trainee team in any way. Like, the Ateez members in LOOPiN canon hate him, just absolutely hate him, and they only had to deal with him for 8 months. Yet they have great reasons for that because MINWOO USED TO SUCK ASS!

That hatred would not digress all that much if he ended up debuting in Ateez, because he would debut extremely unsatisfied. There's also no reality in which he stays in the group longer than 2 years before getting the boot. Minwoo is not an Idol that can function anywhere outside of LOOPiN with all its particularities and the power that he was granted inside New Wave Music, that is like, almost unheard of for a trainee - the one thing I can compare it to, if I'm not mistaken, would be Bang Chan with Stray Kids, kind of, or Kahi with Afterschool, but even they didn't get that producer-ish status until they were already a) under the company for ages or b) already debuted and successful.

After being excused from Ateez, I don't think he would go down quietly; he would probably Say Too Much and tarnish his reputation in the process, making coming back in a group or even a soloist very hard, close to impossible, I would even say. That wouldn't discourage him from making music, and he would stay in the industry as a music producer, and maybe find career redemption there. And he would be extremely unhappy in a lifetime like that, by the way! Forever bitter his Idol dream didn't work! When I say Minwoo without LOOPiN would have turned out a miserable person, I mean it.

OOO's HANJAE.

Enough with the failures! Let's talk something that would work! Before being added to LOOPiN next minute to fill in Dongwook getting the chop, Hanjae was already under BBC and he was training with the guys that ended up becoming OnlyOneOf. If he hadn't made it as a replacement, he would get integrated into the lineup with ease, and get transferred to 8D with everyone and eventually debut in OOO.

I honestly think there's a lot of room for success for Hanjae in this version of canon, and much like will happen to him in LOOPiN eventually duo to both group's acting heavy concept - a concept that I find it so hard for Hanjae to execute without combusting, but I digress! - I see him getting a Rowoon/Eunwoo sort of deal and reaching popular actor status, as he's always intended to reach, and excel at it. Maybe because of OOO's nuguness, if you will, it would take him longer to get the sort of roles he's gotten up until now, but that would not frustrate Hanjae. He's definely someone that can be happy with moderate success, and that wouldn't fully succumb to the actor disease and ever leave the group - which might limited him more, too... But he isn't in it for glory and recognition, and honestly? That's a good mentality to have.

The only big loss I see in this version is his producing talents going by undiscovered, but he can live without them.

CRAVITY's HAEGON.

Okay, hear me out, I always had a clear vision of Cravity's Haegon. Just picture this: Kim Haegon, who spent most of his formative years as a Pledis trainee up until his favorite hyung Beomseok was dismissed from the company for 'being too old', which Haegon didn't take well back when he was 16, given their growing codependent sibling-ish deal. Now, if Beomseok had been firmer with him at that point in time and abandoned him for good - LIKE HE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO, ANYWAYS! BUT ANYWAYS! - instead of going along with his plan to hunt a place for them to debut and landing in Boy Of The Week, everything would be so different for him.

Would Haegon go apeshit then? Yes. In the same way he's gone apeshit at 22 when Beomseok left the group without discussing it with him? No. It would be so much healthier for them to have gone their separate ways when Haegon was still a teenager. Like, his way of getting 'revenge' at Beomseok would be to get into his former company, Starship Entertainment - the one that really fucked him up - and grind his way to debut there no matter what, literally, no matter what, because he still had a bigger goal. LOOPiN Haegon in 2022 had all his dreams 'fulfilled', in his perspective, and had nothing else to focus his energy on except for the fact that Beomseok was missing - and that Gyujin was taking his place.

A lot of things would happen to him as consequence of him going to Starship, like A LOT, too many to get into here, but most of them would be good development things. I also think his bound with the Cravity members would be way less chaotic than with LOOPiN, that was fucked by Beomseok being his ultimate priority - unless Cravity has members creating vicious circles of codependency between each other and I'm not familiar with that!

Anyways, he would SHINE in Cravity after debut, but I honestly think a Haegon that got separated from Beomseok much earlier and had responsible enough people around him would shine anywhere. Suck that's not his canon, though! It actually really sucks that's not who he is or will ever be, now! It hurts me! It really does!

AND THE OTHERS...?

Without LOOPiN on their way, Taesong, Seungsoo, Haruki, Dylan, O.z and Gyujin would all end up as regular citizens, or at the very least non Idol celebrities! But that would be a whole other post...

[hydrxnessa]

chronos, aspect of the timeless (+trojan doodles)

back on that 'reviving long abandoned ocs' phase lets go

chronos was an oc i drew a LOT back in like 2019. used to be who i roleplayed with a bunch with friends back then (miss that era tbh). though he was a generic edgy wolf thing, but we move on from that

he also got his own animation meme (actually several) but ofc, no longer canon

changed his lore, he's still edgy, but got promoted to demigod (good for him). also responsible as a catalyst for trojan's descent into insanity.

anyways time to dump lore vv

Chronos, Aspect of the Timeless. a Stargazer (demigod) of Akr'byx, belonging to the Maelstrom's gaze (which basically just means he serves under Vortex's rule).

they have seen the state of Akr'byx since its beginning, and continues to watch over the sector as time passes on. he has witnessed the rise and fall of many Lights, the many revolutions the sector has undergone, and its continuously evolving planets. Its sector was known for its heavy focus on technology and its automated processes integrated into everyday life.

he had caught wind of a young trailblazer within one of the capitals of Akr'byx - the city known for its steampunk-esque society. he was aiming to transform Akr'byx with his revolutionary technology, no longer dependent on steam-power and instead with other sources. none other than Trojan himself, who set the city on the path to evolving into a newly transformed cyberpunk-like city.

Trojan was known for his insurgent technology that broke through the existing industries, changing and renovating his planet almost entirely. his main aim was to remove the sector of its known planned obsolescence, and of course the higher ups would disapprove. it was hard for Chronos to believe a little yet ambitious Light could change an entire planet with one idea in mind.

which is why he found it hard to believe that the little trailblazer would snap and kill his own father, repurposing his body into a machine more powerful than any other mechs he had created. and why he began to disdain the Stars so heavily.

Chronos never intervened with the Lights. he deemed it unnecessary, as his purpose was to see the Lights find their own path through life, not depend on the Stars to pave it for them. but he saw how dangerous the trailblazer could be given his large influence on the sector, and feared for how further down the spiral he was currently descending he could go.

and so Chronos confronted Trojan, initially trying to reason with him. but once realising he's so far gone, he decided to put an end to his journey.

paralysed his left side. shot off his left arm. a shot through his chest. and left his body to rot in the wasteland. Chronos decided it was enough to let his body return to the dust, like all obsolete machines that were far beyond repair.

but even obsolete parts could be repurposed with new intentions.

[snakebites-and-ink]

Working Normally

I’m feeling ready to try my hand at posting whump series made of several chapters! I’m starting with one of the probably less-ambitious of my planned multi-part WIPs so I can smoothly ease myself into writing longer series.

Meet Asher, a pet who (with his master’s permission) holds a job as an IT guy. Set in the box boy universe.

The current plan is for me to post a new chapter about every two weeks, but whether I’m able to maintain this will be dependent on how much of a writing stockpile I can create during winter break ^^'

Masterlist - Chapter 2

CW: BBU, pet whump, dehumanization

“Did you try powering it off and turning it back on?

That was a question Asher always had to ask. At least half the time that was all it took to fix something, yet surprisingly few people tried it before calling for him.

“Do I look stupid to you?” The man asked.

Asher swallowed back a sigh. “Of course not. I just have to ask so I know what you’ve already tried.”

The answer seemed to mollify the man. “Yeah, I turned it off and back on. It’s still broken.”

Asher nodded and sat in front of the computer. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It was often a delicate balance, fixing people’s issues without offending them. Most people didn’t like the idea of a pet knowing better than them—at least when it came to anything beyond trained positions and how to beg nicely. Even when they had a totally different area of expertise than him.

Asher, at least, was good enough at staying polite and respectful that he could usually keep them appeased. Sometimes people were completely happy with him the whole time. More often, there was a subtle tension as they decided whether they thought he was being too presumptuous or not, which he was usually able to defuse with deference.

There was occasionally also a case where someone decided to escalate things, which could become quite unpleasant for Asher. As a pet, he simply wasn’t entitled to the same rights or the same basic decency as a human being. And if he fought back, he would face much larger consequences than they would. At least they couldn’t physically hurt him, though, without having to face his master’s wrath for damaging his property. Asher’s punishments were his master’s alone to dish out.

After spending a while troubleshooting, Asher was able to get the computer working normally again. The guy said “thank you,” which was more than some people did when Asher solved their problem. Asher responded with the obligatory “You’re welcome,” in the friendly voice that said he was always happy to help, and bade the man have a nice afternoon.

Only when he was in the hallway, out of earshot, did Asher let out a sigh. Being a pet who had a place in the world of people had its perks, but ease certainly wasn’t one of them. His collar marked him out as different, lesser even, and once someone saw that, he was treated as such. And being a pet did make him different in some ways, but it didn’t make him as far beneath everyone as most people seemed to think. Others cared less about what he was actually capable of than about the role they thought he ought to fill.

At least his owner was more open-minded. Asher didn’t know how he would have handled it if he’d ended up with someone who wasn’t willing to give him any amount of power over his own life. Asher was glad he belonged to someone who allowed him a fair level of independence, even if that did come with its difficulties.