#something something greatest spectacle

[ilottthepilot]

just scrolled through the replies and quote tweets and i am laughing my ass off at the fact that only ONE person pointed out the big reason some people might want to go to indianapolis this and next weekend

[shock]

i want to hold my tongue and not share the depth of my opinions about the two-headed cow but it upsets me so much every time i see it, i really do hate the narrative of 'rooting for' an animal like this to live despite it being unable (and will be unable, for its entire life) to do the most basic of things life has to offer, even breathing, eating, moving, to prioritize the savior myth that everything can and should be saved, that every living creature should be treated this way as though its not one of the greatest mercies that we as humans have the ability to enact a quick and painless alternative to a slow and miserable life that ends in slow and miserable death on our livestock when they can't advocate for themselves, the ability we have as humans to see the research and make a prognosis and decide that the spectacle is not worth the extended misery, but this life is worth the dignity of a peaceful death we have the capacity to grant

because there is a difference between helping a baby animal in the first legs of life knowing it has a chance to have a quality of life worth fighting for, not a life doomed to be painful that we KNOW is painful knowing all that we know about animals who come with this specific type of physical abnormality, what we see on the surface is only a fraction of much more malformation and deterioration on the inside that we can't just decide is not happening because they 'look' fine, and what we see on the surface is already a life from start to finish without any experience an animal like this should have by virtue of being alive, with no life at all and no understanding of why it is going through this

the assumption that there is no suffering despite eating, breathing, moving never something that this baby will be able to do unassisted, despite knowing the longest a two-headed cow has ever survived was not even a year and a half and that record hasn't been broken in over thirty years, that's not even a quarter, an 8th, a 12th, a 15th of a cow's normal lifespan, and doubtfully much of that was pleasant or comfortable, and even if this cow does get to the point of being able to stand on its own, we can't ever know the full range of agony this animal is going through, all we know is there is and there will be agony, and we need to not see life as inherently successful or painless just because something is going in one end and coming out the other, that isn't what defines an animal's quality of life to me

the two-headed calf poem is beautiful to me because it's a miracle that something so rare (luckily) and so doomed could see one extraordinary thing before passing. the sky ceases to be beautiful when forced to live every day for the sake of social media's voyeurism, it makes me so sad that someone who raises livestock would put public attention over their duty to their animals ☹️

[okaylikeschaewon]

Jamboree

~6k words, smut kinda

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“Wonyoung, I’m not sure about this-”

“Stop thinking,” Wonyoung’s palm ripped across your cheek, leaving a mark that you would most definitely feel the next morning. “And stop wasting my fucking time.”

Tonight was going to be one for the history books, you thought to yourself silently, taking a moment to appreciate how you ended up in this position.

Your work had required you to show up at this formal event full of young adults who had more money than sense and obnoxiously rich old people. Admittedly, not that you weren’t well off by any means, you did feel incredibly out of place. Your job was to just show up and shake a few hands to make sure it was known that your company was present, other than that you were free to ‘enjoy’ the event. While most of the ambitious young people here were trying to make connections to further their careers, you found it difficult to pretend to care.

The venue was quite the spectacle, a blend of classic architecture and modern elegance, but it lacked any sort of soul. Lush velvet drapes framed the tall windows, each showcasing a view of the meticulously landscaped gardens outside. The gardens, though beautiful, appeared untouched, as if meant only for admiration rather than exploration. Overall, the venue exuded an air of extravagance, yet it felt almost too perfect - as if it were a stage made of artificial props.

Just like the atmosphere of the lavish mansion was void of allure, the people inside lacked any form of charm. Despite being impeccably dressed, they seemed to embody the very definition of tedium. Their expressions a mix of forced politeness and mild disinterest. Conversations unfolded in monotones, punctuated by the occasional polite chuckle that felt rehearsed rather than genuine.

That was, at least, until your eyes found Wonyoung. She was a princess amongst peasants - a diamond amongst coal. From the moment you saw her roaming from waiter to waiter, collecting every hors d'oeuvre she could get her hands on while impressively avoiding the dreary conversations plaguing the event, you just knew you had to talk to her.

The greatest surprise of them all? Once you finally managed to find an opening, you discovered she was actually amazing. Not just amazing, but perfect in a way. The two of you clicked instantly, it was marvelous. Never have you in your entire life felt your energy match so instantaneously with someone before. It almost - no, it definitely - made this lifeless event worth your time.

That being said, this tiny little girl had no business being this intimidating. It had to be her thanks to her confidence, something she was far from lacking, wearing a dress that barely made it to her thighs, flashing her lacy black panties to the entire world. She just had this aura, it was difficult to explain. Yet, it was even more difficult to say no to whatever she wanted, which was exactly how you found yourself in this position. Well, truthfully, her convincing nature was in part aided by the countless glasses of pretentiously priced champagne coursing through your veins.

Regardless, even if it was by pure chance, you were grateful to have been selected from the sea of Dior Sauvage that was currently downstairs, still flailing their bodies around in the name of ‘dancing’. In the seven or so minutes between your eyes finding Wonyoung and the start of your conversation with her, you had seen her reject at least four advances. But you knew. The second you made eye contact with her, you knew.

“Are you going to close the door or do you plan on standing there like an idiot all night?” she scowled as she bent down and slipped off her stilettos.

By the time you shut the door behind you - making sure to lock it - Wonyoung had walked across the room towards the dresser by the window and had begun using the mirror to adjust her hair. It was almost like you weren’t even in the room anymore, and you, evidently, weren’t nearly as important as her hair.

The long brown strands cascading delicately down her back, flowing like a river of rich chocolate. Each individual hair shimmering as the moonlight hit from countless angles. The elegance, the grace, every movement further accentuating all the reasons this girl had to be the most supercilious woman in the building. Again, this girl had every right to be as confident as she was.

After who knows how long she spent admiring herself in the mirror, she turned on her heels to face you. A subtle frown formed on her lips as she crossed her arms, giving you a concerned look. Maybe it wasn’t concern, but it was something.

“You’re bleeding.”

Not what you expected her to say, but the scarlet smear left on your finger when you wiped your cheek confirmed it was indeed true. Only now did the sound of your heart thumping calm down enough for you to notice the sharp stinging coming from the cut.

“Huh, would you look at that,” you noted, staring at your finger.

Wonyoung stared down at her hand, where the metal band of one of her rings was blatantly stained with a patch of your blood. She looked away, spinning the ring off her finger and placing it on the dresser behind her. It seemed as though she was considering an apology, but she also didn't seem to comprehend the concept. It made you think - has this princess of a girl ever offered an apology to anyone before?

After grabbing a tissue, she crossed the room and approached you. She dabbed at your cheek, cleaning the wound. She didn't even look up at you; rather, her determined expression was fixated on the cut. Once she finished, she took your hand and wiped the blood off your finger as well before she crossed the room once more, tossing the tissue in the garbage and turning back to stare at you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you replied, trying your best to hold back your smile.

“That was an accident,” she continued, stepping slowly until she was directly in front of you.

“It’s fine.”

“I wasn’t apologizing.”

“Oh.”

Words hung suspended between the two of you as the palpable silence enveloped you. Ignoring the minor inconvenience of her assault, Wonyoung brought you into this room for a reason. Unspoken desire filled the air as your eyes locked together. The speaking part was taken care of, that happened downstairs, now was time for action. Yet, for some reason, both of you stood there waiting for the other, a ridiculous game of chicken since you both knew what the other wanted.

“What are you waiting for?” Wonyoung clicked her tongue, finally conceding.

Good question. The answer, the one you just knew Wonyoung was looking for, came when you picked her up in your arms and tossed her onto the king-sized mattress. Before any more noise could follow up the high-pitched squeak of shock that escaped her lips, you took off your coat and fell on top of her body and sealed your lips against hers.

A surge of heat ignited between you and Wonyoung. The connection was overwhelming, causing the world around you to fade in and out of existence. Each subtle movement of your mouths was full of urgency, as if time itself had paused. The fact that you met this girl barely an hour ago had not an ounce of relevance in your mind.

While the pain in your cheek was a long forgotten souvenir, a new piercing sensation shot up your spine as Wonyoung’s nails dug deep into your back. You gasped into her mouth before biting down on her lip, only for her to bite yours back even harder. The raw, visceral intensity of the coppery essence hitting your taste buds made you lust for her even more - something that, a minute ago, you would not have imagined was conceivable.

Each subtle movement of your tongue was with purpose, exploring the delicate contours of hers, your tongues dancing together with intoxicating urgency. She met each of your movements with her own, even now matching your energy to a tee. The silent conversation consisting of flicks and swirls engulfed the world around you, overpowering even the thumping music downstairs where Mozart had been replaced by some generic club noise of the youth.

While Wonyoung’s hands explored every inch of your back, your own hand began roaming over her curves, tracing her body to give you a perfect image of her frame despite your eyes being closed. As your hands slid past her hips, giving them a rough but quick press with your fingers, your lips parted for the first time.

“Yes,” Wonyoung gasped, her chest heaving up and down against your body.

That was it, all she was going to give you before she reached up with her hands to cup your face, pulling you back into a kiss.

With newfound inspiration, you swiftly slipped your hands up Wonyoung’s dress. As your fingers snaked their way up her thigh towards the waistband of her underwear, they paused for just a second, leaving the smallest hint of timidness. A hint that evaporated into thin air as soon as Wonyoung gasped softly into your mouth, a signal of provocation that filled your hands with boldness.

As difficult as it was, you lifted yourself up away from Wonyoung’s mouth until you were holding yourself right above her. The two of you locked eyes for just a brief second before, in one swift motion, you yanked down the lacy black panties you had been getting peeks of all night.

Wonyoung gasped again, shutting her eyes tight and arching her back towards the roof. You took the opportunity, leaving her panties at her knees, and lunged forward into her neck like a moth to a flame.

Your lips pressed deeply into her skin, absolutely intoxicated by her taste. A mix of sweetness and warmth, a temptation that left you craving more. Each consecutive kiss was met with a hitch of her breath that just made you want her even more.

Inch by inch you moved lower down her body, pressing your mouth against her clavicle a few times before slipping lower into the neckline of her dress. Wonyoung’s slender fingers pressed into the back of your head, shoving your mouth deep into her chest, pressing your face against the thin fabric covering her soft breasts. Urgency began taking over, an insatiable hunger from within, and you began lowering yourself even more. You slid all the way backwards, dropping to your knees at the edge of the bed, and you finally placed your gaze on your true prize.

Just a few irrelevant inches in front of you, Wonyoung’s pussy was there for your taking. Those delicate folds radiating tantalizing allure, glistening with the essence of desires. Each curve of her skin seemed to call to you, urging you to forget everything and to just shove your face as deep up her dress as physically possible.

Then, abruptly, your view was blocked by Wonyoung’s gentle fingers.

“You okay?” you asked, looking up at her as she sat up at the edge of the bed.

All that confidence, that lust, that demand, it all turned to a facade in the span of seconds. In front of you wasn’t that same intimidating princess that you met earlier in the night. It was a vulnerable and beautiful girl. Even after the sudden change, you were still just as attracted to the girl; If anything, you were more attracted to her vulnerable side.

“Wonyoung?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she shook her head and took a deep breath. “I’m good, let’s do this.”

Something just felt a little bit off. Earlier, she was so adamant about fucking you, almost to the point where you were starting to question if she was secretly part of the party’s entertainment. If you hadn’t seen her reject those other guys, you maybe would have believed she was being paid to be here, but still something felt not right.

“If you’re having doubts-”

“No, come on,” Wonyoung interrupted you. “I want this.”

“Then lean back,” you instructed her, deciding to take it slow until you were able to shake this feeling you had.

Wonyoung listened to you and leaned back on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge. You gently spread them apart from the knees, resulting in her tiny dress riding up her body slightly. You softly grabbed her hand and moved it away, unblocking your view of her glistening pussy. As you stared at her pussy again, you helped her untangle her panties from her feet before tossing them across the room without any thought.

Your mouth began salivating uncontrollably, you just needed a taste of Wonyoung’s pussy. Showing just the slightest bit of restraint, you first grabbed both of her hands and interlocked your fingers with hers before pushing forward.

Her whole body shivered as your warm breath teased her skin, igniting the tension in the room into an inferno of heat. As soon as your lips made contact with Wonyoung’s pussy, your world flipped upside down. The subtle - yet intoxicating - taste of tangy sweetness lingered on your tongue, sending waves of warmth through your entire body.

With each exploration of Wonyoung’s pussy, your connection with her deepened. New sensations were discovered, each one hitting like a truck, overwhelming you time after time. You’ve never tasted a pussy that has had you this addicted. You wanted it all - greed began taking over.

Your lips pressed down hard against her skin, creating a seal between you and her. Electricity shot through you as Wonyoung’s breath quickened. Warmth and desire attacked both your taste and hearing now as the next lick of Wonyoung’s tantalizing mix left her moaning into the thickening air of the luxurious bedroom.

“Oh fuck,” Wonyoung moaned softly, squeezing hard against your fingers.

Her addictive sweetness was overwhelming. You were losing track of time, all you could focus on was your attempt to quench this undeniable craving for her body. Nothing could stop you, not as long as she kept responding to each touch, each lick, soft gasps escaping her lips - It was a dangerous loop.

Only a few more - or maybe it was a lot more - moments of pleasure were left for you to enjoy. Before you knew it, Wonyoung’s body seized up, quivering against your lips. A rush of exhilaration surged through you as Wonyoung’s melodic gasps of pleasure began caressing your ears.

It was as if the world had exploded in a cascade of warmth. Her fingers had this newfound strength that made you feel like she was about to snap your hand in half, and her body began to arch even more as every muscle in her body tensed up. The lovely trembling of her body kept your mouth glued to her pussy, sharing in the ecstasy of her climax.

The fulfillment you had coursing through your body as you finally lifted your mouth off her pussy was impossible to compare. You stood up, admiring the absolute mess of a girl laying on the edge of the bed before you. There was no denying it, your cock was begging to be freed, to get a chance with Wonyoung’s body. Just as you unbuckled your pants and began lowering them, the most soul-crushing sound in the universe hit your ears.

“What the hell, who locked this?”

“It shouldn’t be, guests aren’t supposed to be up here,” a second voice answered, giving the door another shake. “Maybe someone locked it earlier. Here, I have a key somewhere.”

“Shit,” you whispered to Wonyoung before quickly buckling your pants back up. “We gotta go.”

She nodded rapidly, suddenly recovering from the intensity of her orgasm just a minute ago, fear filling her pupils as she stood up and froze. You quickly grabbed your jacket and her heels before pointing to the bathroom. Wonyoung ran across the room towards the bathroom as you followed, pausing briefly to shove her ring from the dresser into your pocket - you didn’t want to leave any evidence.

If your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest, you would have loved to admire the beauty of the bathroom. It was like entering a luxurious spa retreat. The air was infused with a subtle blend of essential oils that were supposed to calm you down - unfortunately they weren’t working. The walls, creamy marble decorated with gold highlights, created a feeling of warmth and tranquility - unfortunately this also wasn’t working.

“There,” you pointed towards a massive window above the tub. “Hold these,” you handed Wonyoung her heels.

As you put on your coat quickly, you noticed again just how terrified Wonyoung was. You took a second to pause, ignoring the dire situation you had found yourself in, and leaned forward to give her a quick kiss. Her cheeks burned bright crimson as you turned back to the window, climbing onto the edge of the tub to open it.

“It’s a bit of a jump,” you admitted, looking back over your shoulder as you leaned out the window. “You trust me?”

Wonyoung nodded, still unable to speak. She stepped forward, taking your outstretched hand, and leaned over to look out the window with you.

“I changed my mind,” she gasped, dropping her heels into the tub below you in panic.

“Hey,” you wrapped your arms around her. “I don’t know that much, but I do know the host of this place isn’t one to be messed with.”

“But I’m scared,” she whispered quietly into your chest.

“I know,” you let go of her and held both of her shoulders, staring her directly in the face. “I won’t make you jump, but if you trust me, I’m telling you it’ll be fine.”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to the window before returning to you, but then she took a deep breath and nodded.

“Perfect,” you took her heels and dropped them out the window. You could see the pain in her eyes at the delay before the sound of them hitting the grass, but all you could do was smile meekly at her. “Alright, I’m going to go first and then catch you, but then you need to promise me that you’ll be able to jump alone.”

“I promise,” Wonyoung answered with conviction.

“Good girl,” you gave her another kiss before climbing up into the window. The edge was sharper than you expected, and you ended up cutting your hand. “Fuck, be careful, it’s sharp.”

“Got it,” Wonyoung replied, helping support your body as you climbed up.

As carefully and quickly as you could, you grabbed the ledge and lowered your body out the window. After taking a deep breath, looking up at Wonyoung’s face of concern above you, you let go.

All things considered, the fall went as well as it could have. It honestly wasn’t that bad as the soft grass made for a perfect landing spot. Without wasting time inspecting for any injuries, you turned your head upwards to where Wonyoung looked frozen again.

“Come on,” you whispered, knowing that you couldn’t yell. “I got you, just do it.”

Sweat began dripping from your forehead as you began losing hope. She wasn’t going to jump. She was too scared. Your heart began thumping out of your chest. Maybe you should have lowered her down first. Maybe you should have just opened the door and tried to make an excuse.

None of that mattered, though, as suddenly you saw Wonyoung’s feet come out of the window. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched her lower herself as low as she could. She looked down at you, making eye contact for a moment, a moment where time froze, before suddenly letting go.

It all happened so fast. One second you were looking up at her, the next second you heard her scream, and now you were on the grass with Wonyoung’s body on top of yours.

“Are you okay?” you quickly asked as adrenaline shot through your body.

“I think so,” she answered as she hyperventilated in your arms. “Sorry about the scream.”

She took a moment to compose herself before getting off you and standing up. Only once she held her hand to help you up did you notice how intense the pain in your side was.

It was excruciating, the worst pain you have ever felt. You almost wanted to fall back to the ground in a crying fit, but you somehow - with the power of more adrenaline most likely - ignored it and kept your head straight.

“Grab your shoes, let’s go,” your voice far more stable than even you expected.

Without hesitation, Wonyoung followed your instructions and put her heels back on.

“Shit,” she gasped, looking down at her dress.

There was a large tear on the side, exposing a patch of skin on her hip towards her back.

“It’s fine, just stay close to me,” you held your arm out for her to nestle herself next to you. It hurt like hell when her body pressed against your side, but you kept ignoring it. “We’ll have to walk around the building, if anyone asks anything just say you’re my wife and we stepped out for some fresh air and time alone.”

“Oh, sure,” Wonyoung began flushing profusely at the plan.

WIthout giving it a second thought, you lowered your arm around her body and pressed your palm against the part of her dress that had the tear to cover up the skin before guiding her along the path. The two of you swiftly walked around the house, silently admiring once again how beautiful it was. You kept your heads down, making sure not to draw any attention from the windows.

Luckily, everyone inside was seemingly preoccupied in their own little worlds, not surprising considering the pretentious nature of the event. You made it to the front without any issue, all that was left was a cartoonishly long driveway. By the front door stood a couple who seemed to be having a very heated argument.

“Just keep going,” you muttered quietly to Wonyoung, walking past the couple as they began raising their voices.

It was only a couple of steps before Wonyoung began giggling at the slurs being launched into the night sky by the couple before taking off as fast as her heels allowed down the driveway. You chased after her, laughing as the pain in your side disappeared for a moment.

“I think we’re good,” you began panting with your hands on your knees as you caught your breath.

“That was insane,” Wonyoung laughed, falling to the ground in front of you.

“I know right? That was…” your voice trailed off as you looked up and caught a glimpse up Wonyoung’s dress. “Oh fuck.”

“What?”

“First of all, sorry, I didn’t mean to look,” you turned your head away from her. “But we definitely left something in the room.”

“What are you… Oh!” Wonyoung squealed, pulling her legs together tight. “You pervert!”

“Seriously?”

“I’m kidding,” Wonyoung giggled, standing up to her feet, making what seemed to be an obviously intentional ‘mistake’ of flashing her pussy at you again before fixing her dress. “It’s fine, no way they’ll be able to trace them back to me.”

“Good,” you held your hand out for her to take. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

As the night wore on, the two of you strolled across the waterfront town, which was fortunately in a very upscale and safe area. The velvety darkness, punctuated by the tranquil glow of the moon, brought you an otherworldly level of peace - especially after the intensity of your evening.

The streets were serene, only disturbed by the sound of Wonyoung’s heels hitting the pavement in a gentle rhythm and the occasional rustle of leaves as the nightly breeze flew past you. From time to time you’d hear the sounds of laughter coming from people on their own nightly adventures being carried by the crisp and cool air.

“Oh, I’m an idiot,” you stopped abruptly and took off your coat. “Sorry, mind was on other things.”

“I considered asking,” Wonyoung giggled as she accepted your coat and draped it around her shoulders. “But I figured you weren’t really the gentlemen type after I caught you looking up my dress.”

“Oh come on,” you protested. “First of all, accident. Secondly, you didn’t catch me, I confessed.”

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time,” Wonyoung giggled softly. “We still need to finish what we started by the way,” she added, giving you a little nudge in the ribs.

“Ah,” you gasped, inhaling sharply through your teeth.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No no, I’m good,” you lied, hiding the fact that it felt like there was a knife in your ribs right now. “You wanna sit down for a bit? It’s gorgeous out there.”

“Sure,” Wonyoung agreed, looking over at the water.

The two of you sat on the stone wall that bordered the path with your feet dangling over the edge. Now that you weren’t walking, the frigid night started to hit you. Thankfully, Wonyoung understood what you wanted when you inched closer to her, and she lay her head peacefully onto your shoulder. You followed her lead, gently resting your cheek against the top of her head.

The world seemed to fade away, leaving nothing but the soft sounds of water lapping against the shore. The moonlight shimmered across the water, leading a never-ending path deep into the night. The salty sea breeze and the floral tones coming from Wonyoung’s hair pleasantly combined into a mixture of satisfaction.

It felt nice, everything that happened tonight was irrelevant now. All that mattered was this view, and the warmth of Wonyoung leaning against you. Time stood still, yet again, as the two of you silently soaked in the beauty of the world around you. The connection you felt with her felt infinite, forever to be etched into your brain.

“I need to confess something,” Wonyoung broke the silence as she stared down at her hands as if she had never seen them before. “I’ve never actually been with a guy before.”

Carefully, you lifted your head off hers and turned to look down at her. She followed suit, lifting her head off your shoulder, turning to look up at you.

“Wonyoung,” you paused to give her hand a little squeeze. “This doesn’t change what I think about you, but I’m a little surprised.”

“Tonight was supposed to be the night,” she continued, her eyes glowing in the moonlight. “That was the whole reason I went to this party.”

“Well, it wasn’t the reason I enjoyed my time with you tonight.”

“Isn’t that why you went upstairs with me?”

“Truthfully, yes,” you admitted. “Can I ask what you meant by that being the whole reason you were there tonight?”

“Exactly what I said,” she replied. “I… felt like it’s a bit embarrassing that I haven’t done it yet.”

“I don’t think it’s something you should be embarrassed about,” you said gently. “But why at such a pretentious party filled with douchebags?”

“Um, you were also at that party,” she cocked a brow at you.

“Not by choice,” you retaliated. “You’re the only reason I even stayed as long as I did.”

“Sounds like you’re still saying you want to be my first.”

“Look, I just met you, I don’t know much about you,” you replied gently after a pause to think. “But I do know I’ve loved every second we’ve spent together. I also know that I would do it all again in a heartbeat without changing a thing, even if I knew this right here was the end and we both went our separate ways.”

“Really? You wouldn’t maybe change the height of the house?” Wonyoung giggled.

“Nope, but maybe I’d change the way you fell on me.”

“I’m really sorry, does it still hurt?” Wonyoung’s face suddenly turned to concern.

So, she did know how to apologize.

“It’s fine,” you smiled at her.

“You said you’d be fine if the night ended right here and we never spoke again,” she whispered softly. “Is there any way this didn’t have to be the end?”

“Is that what you want?” you asked while letting go of her hand.

She nodded slowly.

“Then no, it doesn’t need to end here, I’d love to see you again."

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly. “But you never answered my question.”

There was another pause for you to think about your answer.

“Whether or not I’m your first, tonight is not the night for us to make that decision,” you answered carefully.

Wonyoung lunged forward and hugged you tightly. It was so sudden, you weren’t prepared. Unfortunate, really, as her very pure-intentioned action ended up being the most painful event of the night; A very loud and visceral cry left your mouth as intense pain shot into your ribs.

“What happened?” Wonyoung gasped, immediately letting go of you in fear.

“Nothing,” you winced in pain as a second wave shot up your body.

Wonyoung, as gently as she could, grabbed your shirt and slowly lifted it up.

“Oh my God!” she screamed, covering her mouth with her hands as the moonlight illuminated a massive purple patch on the side of your body. “Why the fuck have you been hiding this from me?”

“It’s fine,” you winced as you lowered your shirt back down gingerly. “Just a bruise.”

“Just a bruise?” she repeated as tears began spilling from her eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Stop, it’s fine,” you brought your hands up to her face and carefully wiped her eyes with your thumbs. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is! I’m the one who-”

Her panic was silenced as you pressed your lips against hers again. You held your mouth to hers for a few seconds before slowly pulling back, leaving her staring at you with her mouth still slightly agape.

“Please relax,” you smiled warmly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Can I at least bring you back to my place?”

“It’s no big deal, don’t worry.”

“Please.”

“Alright,” you sighed, admittedly feeling quite touched by her concern. “My place is just up the street, how about you walk me home before I call you a cab?”

“Okay,” Wonyoung leapt to her feet and held her hands out for you. “I can live with that.”

“Thank you,” you graciously accepted her hands and stood up with her, wincing again in pain.

“Here, does that feel fine?” she asked as she placed your arm on her shoulder.

“I can still walk, my legs are fine,” you chuckled. “But yes, it’s perfect.”

The walk only took a couple of minutes, during which not a single word was uttered between the two of you. Yet, somehow, it didn’t feel awkward or strange. It actually felt incredibly comforting walking through the night with Wonyoung. Things were so different now compared to when you met her earlier in the night, it felt like you’ve known this girl all your life.

“One second,” you unwrapped your arm from Wonyoung’s shoulder to reach for your phone.

“I got it,” she quickly reached into your pocket, pulling it out for you.

“Thanks,” you smiled at her thoughtfulness before unlocking the front door to your apartment with the app.

“So fancy,” Wonyoung teased before stepping into the lobby with you, her heels tapping loudly against the marble floors. “I guess it makes sense considering where I found you.”

“It’s not that special,” you replied humbly. “Thank you again, for everything.”

“No, thank you,” Wonyoung responded. “Also, does your physical condition have any bearing on your answer earlier?”

“No,” you smiled at her. “I stand by what I said.”

“Okay, just making sure, let’s go,” she pressed the button for the elevator.

“Let me call that cab for you first.”

“Not yet,” Wonyoung held her hand over your phone. “Let me at least help you clean up the cut.”

“It’s late, I really don’t want to keep you up. I’ll manage.”

“Do you have a girl upstairs waiting for you?” she asked abruptly.

“What? No, of course not. I live alone.”

“Are you uncomfortable with me being in your apartment?”

“No.”

“Then let’s go,” she stepped into the elevator, arms crossed while staring at you.

“I appreciate this,” you said as you stepped in and pressed the button for your floor.

After walking down the hall towards your apartment, Wonyoung forced you to sit on your couch.

“Where’s your medicine cabinet?” she called out to you as she walked into your kitchen.

“Wonyoung I’m fine, I promise, I just need to rest,” you called back. “Just come sit with me for a bit.”

“Where is it?” Wonyoung walked back over, completely ignoring you, with an ice pack in her hands. “Take your shirt off.”

Realizing that she wasn’t going to give up, you sighed before carefully unbuttoning your shirt and opening it up. The bruise had gotten worse, and it already looked terrible compared to earlier. In front of you, Wonyoung had stopped moving and her gaze was locked on your body.

“Wonyoung?” you held your hand out for the ice pack.

“Huh? Oh, right,” she began blushing as she handed you the pack. “Hold that to the bruise. Medicine cabinet?”

“Bathroom mirror,” you replied, gasping as the cool ice pressed against your skin.

It was definitely soothing, and you immediately felt a bit of relief. You watched Wonyoung walk towards the bathroom, your eyes slowly closing as you began drifting out of consciousness. The next thing you remember is the softest of soft touches against your cheek.

“Sorry, did I press too hard?” Wonyoung apologized gently as she continued rubbing vaseline on your cheek. “I’m leaving this one uncovered so that it heals faster and doesn’t scar.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your heart rate spiking as you opened your eyes to see Wonyoung’s face right in front of yours. Once again, she was entirely focused on the wound, her gaze never faltering.

“You’re welcome, I wrapped your hand up as well. Are there any other injuries that you know of?”

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head.

“You didn’t have any…”

Those were the last few words you heard before you faded out of consciousness again. The next time your eyes opened up was when you heard the click of your front door opening.

“Still alive?” Wonyoung called out softly when she noticed your eyes were open.

“What, how long…” you paused to look at the ice pack, which had melted entirely by now, before continuing, “...have I been asleep?”

“Like thirty minutes or so,” Wonyoung answered casually as she sat down next to you and removed the pack. “Just rest, you can sleep again if you want.”

She pulled a little bottle out of a small bag and took the lid off before sticking two fingers into it and scooping out some of the cream.

“What’s that?” you mumbled.

“It’s just an anti-inflammatory,” she answered warmly before very gently rubbing her fingers against the bruise. “Does it hurt?” she asked as you let out a little gasp.

“No, it feels good.”

“Good, it’s supposed to,” she smiled as she continued to rub the ointment into your skin. “I’m convinced there’s no girl living here, by the way. After seeing the state of your medicine cabinet, it’s definitely just a man here.”

“Why would I lie…” you mumbled back, slowly fading out of consciousness again. “I really like you…”

Wonyoung paused, her cheeks turning rosy again, before closing the lid of the bottle.

“That should be enough, try not to wipe it off,” Wonyoung said casually before standing up. “Does it hurt when you breathe in?”

“No,” you groaned, sitting up slightly.

“That’s good, you don’t have a fever either,” she noted while pressing the back of her hand against your forehead. “I think you’re right and that it’s just bruising, but I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow to get x-rays.”

“It’s fine,” you smiled before wincing in pain again.

“I should really be taking you right now to be honest,” she said while staring at your bare chest. “It could be a fractured rib.”

“Tomorrow then, I’ll go.”

“You’re saying it like you have a choice.”

“Also, wait a minute, are those my clothes?” you just now noticed what she was wearing. “When did you put those on?”

“I wasn’t going to walk into a store with a ripped dress and no panties, you idiot,” Wonyoung shook her head in disbelief. “Get some sleep, as soon as you wake up we’re going to see a physician.”

“Thank you…” you mumbled quietly, slouching back down into the couch and closing your eyes. “Goodnight.”

After a small pause where you heard a couple of footsteps, you felt Wonyoung place a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Goodnight.”

---

A/N:

I don't think I have too much to say about this one. I wrote it because @writerpeach made me horny for Wonyoung. I know it's not the smuttiest of my works, but frankly I was more focused on other aspects of my writing for this one. I've left it open for future parts, no idea when I'll be writing them but I do already have the plot.

Wrote and edited this whole thing in essentially one weekend, so forgive any mistakes. This one really was more of a test for my own writing capability. A small side project if you will. Feel free to let me know what you guys think, and if you have any sort of interesting requests I'm not opposed to taking them for more practice.

[sanarsi]

Victory’s your only payment

lover!Marcus Acacius x f!Reader

Summary: Your general has betrayed you. Your anger is greater than the love you have for him, so you send him to the arena to fight for his last breath. Warnings: +18, MDNI, angst, smut, unprotected PIV, creampie, dom!Marcus, deaths, mention of cheating, killing, violence, slavery Wordcount: 3,1k An: I finally convinced myself to write something with our wonderful general. Even though I resisted it for a long time!! I hope you like it because it's not something I usually write xx Music I worked with: Gladiator - Jann

Masterlist

Your love was great.

Of the two of you, you were always the merciful one.

You were the one people loved.

You were better than your tyrant brother.

You were above the desire for bloodshed.

So how on earth did you stand there giving a speech in front of thousands of people? How on earth did your brother stand in the shadows looking at you in adoration? How on earth did you become like him?

Because your anger was greater than your mercy.

"The great General Acacius!" you said loudly with a wide smile looking around the Colosseum. "He brought our Empire to the other end of the world!"

The crowd began to shout with joy at your words. At words of adoration for the best of the best.

For your illustrious lover.

For the man who betrayed you.

"Today you will see him fight for victory on his native soil!" you continued, sickening feeling of power seeping through you. Your brother laughed sincerely delighted with your words and what you had led to.

In the end, it turned out that you were not so different after all...

"For your entertainment, the great General Marcus Acacius!" you shouted and the crowd seethed with emotion. You laughed and clapped your hands as your heart blossomed with increasing cruelty for the aforementioned man.

You gracefully sat down in your seat next to your brother who looked at you with love. But you only stared at the men who began to enter the arena. Wild beasts dressed in various pieces of armor and various weapons. All to provide the greatest entertainment.

You smiled with satisfaction, assessing the chances of all the slaves in the fight that was to go down in history.

Acacius' death had to be a spectacle.

You had to see him fight for his life. You had to see him pay for what he had done to you. He had to suffer for his sins.

Your brother handed you a cup of wine and looked at you piercingly.

"Sister, I am beyond delighted with your transformation," he finally commented on something that had been on his mind for the past hour. You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him because you had a feeling that this wasn't all he wanted to say.

You were not wrong, as always.

"But I have to ask..." he said with a wide smile and leaned closer to you. Excitement danced in his eyes. "What did our faithful General do that you sent him to certain death?"

You licked your lips from the sweet, tart taste of wine and leaned back comfortably in your chair, lifting your chin proudly. You looked towards the arena, hearing the crowd narrowing louder.

The show had begun.

"He sinned through pride."

Your brother smiled devilishly and began to laugh like a madman.

The screams of the crowd and their laughter became a distant background for the man who had just proudly entered the arena. Alone against a group of gladiators armed to the teeth.

You watched as he stopped a few meters away from them, bowing in respect only for a moment for the bloody slaughter to begin.

You were silent as your brother commented with fascination on every blow and body that fell to the sand.

"He's good," he hissed then laughed seeing the general with a scream plunge his sword into his opponent's stomach and let him fall limply to the ground.

He was panting heavily and you saw even from a distance how his animal side took control of his body. Blood and sweat ran down his face and the instinct of a predator lurked in his eyes. And even though you didn't want to, you weren't surprised that he was the only one left alive.

You cursed him in your thoughts first and then yourself.

Marcus raised his hands to the sides walking around, causing the crowd to cheer. You clenched your jaw tighter as you watched him bask in the adoration of the people. But when his gaze fell on your balcony, his pride disappeared.

You stared at him and noticed a shadow of… guilt?

That only enraged you more.

You looked at your brother with darkness in your eyes. It may have been the first time he had seen you like this, but he immediately understood what you wanted. He looked towards the guard, motioning for him to come over.

“Lions,” he commanded.

One word that made your insides clench painfully. Your gaze fell on the General again, who already seemed to know what awaited him. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, not taking his eyes off you. You were proud to finally reach the power that you always had at your fingertips.

It was enough that you felt wronged.

It was enough that he hit your soft spot and your tyranny seemed to be just beginning.

The gates on his left opened and the familiar roar of wild animals reached his ears immediately. He nodded, giving you a sign that he understood your decision and accepted his punishment. And you only lifted your chin higher, showing him your superiority.

He sighed deeply one last time before turning towards the two lions approaching him. He prepared himself, but both males began to circle him from two different sides.

The Emperor laughed maniacally at the wonderful spectacle. Even you did not despise the satisfied smile when the first lion jumped on the man's back, knocking him to the ground. The crowd erupted as the general fought the beast to stay alive. And something dark woke up in you as you saw him on the brink of death. But the animal roared in pain as Marcus pierced his insides.

Shouts of joy echoed around and you growled angrily, jumping up from your seat. You walked closer to the barriers, looking at everything with greater attention. Blood stained the sand red as he pulled the sword out of the beast. You clenched your hands tighter on the cold stone as the second lion attacked him by surprise.

Excitement woke up in your lower abdomen as a cry of pain left the man's lips.

So close.

He was so close to paying for what he did to you.

But then a sword pierced the beast’s neck. You screamed in anger, slamming your hands against the barrier. Marcus quickly got out from under the dead body and limped, standing on his own.

"Fuckin’ die!" Your scream pierced the crowd's cheers.

General looked in your direction seeing the hatred you were looking at him with. He winced from the pain of his thigh where the claws of the big cat had dug into it. Limping, he moved closer to the balcony to experience the emperor's decision.

You were warming yourself with rage at the sight of his still living body. Silence reigned as your brother made his decision. But he was waiting for your consent. This was your show. You glanced at him as he continued to hold his thumb in a neutral position.

"Sister?" he raised his eyebrows with a smile hoping, that your desire to kill was so great that he would be able to issue the death penalty on him.

But that would not be enough.

Now that your hatred for him had only increased, watching him die was not enough.

"I'll kill him myself," you said seriously. For a moment you stared at each other in silence. Until his smile turned into a devilish grin when he raised his thumb up, sparing him the life you were supposed to take from him later.

The crowd was seething at the emperor's decision. You met Marcus' gaze again.

And that one look was enough for him to know that it wasn't over.

The moment night fell, your feet led you to the gladiator cells.

A dark robe hid your identity as you followed a single guard. Silence reigned all around, broken only by your footsteps and the jingle of keys.

Marcus jumped out of bed when he saw the guard at his cell. Their eyes met before he opened the bars and the hooded figure immediately squeezed through, entering. The bars closed and your hood fell over your shoulders with the sound of the lock closing.

Marcus clenched his jaw as your eyes met. He had never had the honor of seeing so much hatred in your eyes as he had in the past few dozen hours.

Eyes that once sparkled, now boiled with fire.

It was amazing how your love for him disappeared in a split second when you found out he had fucked another woman. While you faithfully waited for him.

Stupid girl.

"If the lions couldn't kill you, I will," you said, getting straight to the heart of the situation that had forced you to come here.

The sound of the blade being pulled out cut through the silence as you pulled the knife from behind your back. It was miserable.

Just like his life.

He didn't deserve the ornate blade from the imperial forges.

You quickly covered the few steps that separated you and put the knife to his throat. But he didn't move. And his eyes didn't leave yours for a moment. He was as unmoved as a stone. He looked at you even with slight regret.

Your heated eyes stared into his gentle ones.

"You should have died on the arena. You would have spared yourself my hateful gaze before you died," you hissed, pressing the blade harder against his throat until a few drops of blood ran down his skin.

And he remained silent.

You felt another surge of anger at his stoic calmness.

"Say something," you growled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. Your heart clenched painfully and the feeling of resentment you felt for him spread through your chest.

"Then you better not say anything anymore," you hissed, barely holding back your breaking voice.

"Dearest..." he began gently, almost pleadingly.

"No," you interrupted him sharply and tears of hatred appeared in your eyes. "Don't call me that. Never again," you said, starting to tremble from the emotions that were starting to overwhelm you.

Marcus stared at you with pain in his eyes. You had every right to stab him in the heart. His betrayal was completely unnecessary and a stupid decision.

But time couldn't be turned back.

That's why he wasn't going to stop the blade that was cutting his skin more and more. It was so blunt that it was starting to strangle him more, but he remained unmoved.

Your chin trembled from holding back tears so you had to look away from him, catching a shaky breath.

"I was fucking waiting for you," you said with a broken voice. Your body began to be taken over by conflicting emotions.

You wanted to cut his throat while listening to his delicate whispers.

"I was waiting for you every day." You looked at him and the first tear ran down your cheek. "And you took the first whore that came your way," you hissed with venom.

You took the knife away, cutting his skin more and you took a few steps back, starting to walk in circles. There was a war in your head. Watching him die in the arena turned out to be an easier option than killing him with your own hands.

Not when he looked at you with the eyes you loved.

The ones you had missed for a few years.

You rubbed your forehead with your hand, feeling how you were shaking inside.

"Oh gods," you whispered overwhelmed.

Marcus immediately took advantage of the fact that you were standing with your back to him. He grabbed your elbow tightly and turned you towards him.

"Leave me alone!" you screamed but it was too late because you leaned into his arms that tightly embraced you. You started to struggle trying to push yourself away from his chest.

"Shhh," he whispered when you cried and your movements became weaker. His arms held you tightly not letting you move even an inch away.

You gave up starting to cry against his heated skin. He rested his cheek on your head starting to stroke your hair.

"I hate you," you moaned through your tears and hit him in the chest once more.

"I know. I'm sorry, my dearest," he whispered soothingly.

You cried louder at the name that only in his mouth sounded like an aphrodisiac.

"You should die."

Another helpless hit on his chest.

Marcus was silent holding your delicate body against his. He let you cry out all the regrets that were inside you.

Your hatred turned into despair.

And he really wanted the despair to turn into forgiveness.

"Kill me if you want, I won't stop you," he began confidently. "But let me make amends first," he added gently.

You calmed your shallow breathing and blinked a few times, getting rid of the tears that blurred your vision. You moved away from him as much as he allowed you to and looked up at him. His eyes were tired from the wars he had lived through and there were a lot of wounds and scars on his face.

"I can't even look at you," you said with venom.

And yet he still looked at you with love.

"So don't look," he said as if it was an answer to everything and a second later his lips were on yours. You squeezed your eyes shut, refraining from kissing him back.

He was kissing another woman with those lips.

"Please, darling," he whispered against your lips and his hand tangled in your hair, not letting you pull away. "After we’re done, you’ll stab me in the heart."

You shivered at his warm breath.

"It belongs to you anyway," he whispered and pressed his lips to yours again.

This time, you reluctantly gave in to his will and began to kiss him back. He immediately moaned, pulling you closer and crept into your mouth, deepening the caress. You moaned at the strength and passion with which his tongue dominated yours. His lips were enough for you to start to melt in his arms.

His movements were confident and deliberate as he pressed you against the wall with his body. The cold stone against your hot skin sent shivers down your spine. But it was his hands sliding down that made you moan.

"I fuckin’ missed you," he gasped into your mouth before kissing your neck.

His fingers immediately began to gather the material of your dress that covered your legs. You closed your eyes, tilting your head as he bit into your skin. You wrapped your hands around his neck and your fingers automatically found their way to his silver curls.

The moment his rough hands touched your thighs, he grabbed them tightly and in one move he lifted you up. You hugged him tightly around the waist, letting him press you harder against the wall. His beard teased your delicate skin as he slowly left traces of his teeth down to your cleavage.

He reached down with one hand to pull out his hard cock and immediately positioned it at your hole. You moaned as he ran the tip along the length of your slit to collect the arousal that had leaked out of you.

Then you screamed as he entered you in one hard movement. He groaned in relief when he was fully inside you and buried his face in your neck, reveling in the feeling of your pussy clenching around him in shock.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, digging his fingers under your thighs and began to thrust into you. You shivered, moaning loudly every time his reminded you of how long you had been celibate. "Tell me you missed me," he repeated more confidently and sped up the movements of his hips. He thrust into you fast and hard, with the desire to mark your body as his once again.

"No," you choked out, digging your nails into his neck at the pain and pleasure that spread through your insides.

"Then lie," he growled and thrust into you harder until you whimpered in pain. He slowed his movements for a moment to straighten up and look at your face twisted in pleasure. "Lie," he repeated, panting against your lips. You looked at him with a misty gaze and whimpered, feeling the approaching fulfillment.

"I missed you," you moaned, getting closer, and your lips died halfway. “I missed you so fuckin’ much,” you repeated against his lips, kissing him clumsily as he once again sped up his thrusts into your leaking cunt. His cock was rock hard from being inside you after so many months of being apart.

You didn't have to wait long before your orgasm hit your body. You screamed, pressing harder into his mouth and he growled at how hard you were clenching around him.

"That's it..." he groaned, thrusting into you harder until you couldn't kiss him anymore.

You squealed every time his cock slammed into you hard until your juices started to drip down his balls.

Finally, he too felt his orgasm approaching.

"I'll leave my son inside you," he said, parting his lips with pleasure. "He'll take care of you when I'm gone," he whispered against your lips and pressed himself against them so hard that you cried.

He growled throatily, cumming inside you, and he thrust into you several times until he was empty.

He stopped, panting heavily, and rested his head on your shoulder. You groaned, trying to calm your body's reactions after the shock. You stayed silent until his lips began to place lazy kisses on your neck again.

You hummed, not expecting his touch. And then he slowly pulled out of you, making you both moan at the loss. He carefully put you down on the ground and immediately pressed his lips to yours.

The passionate kiss was interrupted by him placing the knife you brought with you in your hand. You didn't even notice when he took it from you.

He pulled away from you, looking at you with a warm gaze and stroked your cheek with his fingers. His hand tightened on yours and he directed the blade straight at his chest. You blinked a few times when the red broke through the material of his shirt. You looked into his eyes, lost, but he only smiled gently and nodded encouragingly.

"Push," he whispered.

So you pushed.

[eeldritchblast]

Ethel's Vicious Mockery Analysis

(Major thanks to Aloija for the Dialog Parser and Roksik for doing the parsing, from the Down by the River Discord Server!)

I love when Ethel uses vicious mockery in the game, because I feel like it gives insight into the character’s insecurities, you know? So let’s further dissect that mockery.

WYLL

“Oh, look! It's daddy's regret.”

“Fraud of the Frontiers!”

“Do you think losing that eye made you a hero?”

Wyll wants to be seen as a hero so badly… and I’m starting to think that has a little something to do with daddy issues. This “daddy’s regret” line from Ethel, matched with one of Wyll’s desires when confronted by the secret laboratory mirror being his father’s forgiveness, certainly says there is something unresolved there…

GALE

“I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin.”

“Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.”

“Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?”

The first two aren’t anything new—we’re already aware of Gale’s condition after all. But why would Ethel call him an apprentice? Is he lying about how great a wizard he once was? Or maybe it’s just because he’s lost all his powers, and she’s teasing him about that.

SHADOWHEART

“You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight.”

“Why would Shar love you when no one else does?”

“You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.”

These to me, at least, speak of an undiscussed bubbling crisis of faith Shadowheart may be undergoing. And I am very interested in the second line above. Shadowheart is the type of person to keep everyone at arm’s length, and yet at the same time, it seems from this, desperately wants to be loved? That matches up with her “she took me in when no one else would” answer when asked why she became a worshipper of Shar in the first place. So it seems to me, like Shadowheart experiencing compassion from another person, possibly for the first time in her memory, is leading her to question her faith in Shar.

LAE’ZEL

“A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.”

“Your people will never take you back - illithid scum.”

“Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith?”

Lae’zel’s biggest desire is to become kith’rak – we know this. But more to that, I think her biggest desire is to be accepted and revered by her people. Ethel saying that she will never achieve this is probably Lae’zel’s greatest fear.

ASTARION

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

“Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you?”

“You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone.”

Okay, okay, okay… the first two? Ethel just being a top tier bitch. But the last one… The last one suggests that Astarion actually does have some care for his travelling companions, if he’s concerned about hurting them. I think that brings a lot out of his character, because it confirms he’s not just a one-dimensional jerk. The glimpses of his nice side are just as genuine.

KARLACH

“Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet.”

“Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you?”

“When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.”

We don’t know a lot about Karlach, because she isn’t available as a companion in Early Access. But what little we do know, adds up with what Ethel says here. We know she was caught up in the Blood War as essentially a slave to Zariel. And judging from this mockery, it seems that’s left her with questioning self-worth.

[burst-of-iridescent]

i’m never getting over how absolutely brilliant lucy gray’s ending is.

by the end of the book, it’s clear that snow thinks he’s won. he’s taken her name, her face, her victory. he’s erased all record of her, and he’s sure that time will remove what little remains. but what he doesn’t realize is that he can’t take what truly matters. he can’t take her songs or her freedom or her impact; her legacy lives on in district 12 through her music, eventually becoming the melody of the rebellion itself. like she said in the very first song he heard her sing, nothing he could take from her was ever worth keeping. you can’t claim a victory that’s freely given away, and so it’s lucy gray who emerges triumphant, not snow.

but beyond that, it’s also the perfect ending for a girl who’s never been allowed to have a finale. the hunger games books have always been a bit of a meta-commentary on the voyeuristic nature of the games and how we, the readers, turn suffering into entertainment just as the capitol does — and no one embodies entertainment more than lucy gray. from the very first page we’re introduced to her, she’s forced to turn herself into a spectacle over and over again in order to survive. we don’t even get to follow her through the games as we did katniss, instead seeing her only through snow’s eyes, the watchers within the watcher. lucy gray is never able to stop performing, not if she wants to live… until she does.

while it would’ve been easy to include an epilogue from her perspective, and where weaker writers may well have done so, collins doesn’t. when lucy gray takes her bow and the curtain falls and she leaves the stage forever, it’s not just for snow or the capitol, but the readers too — all of us culpable in putting her on display, all of us part of the gawking spectators in the stands, an audience she never asked for or desired.

in the end, her greatest wish is granted. she will never again be forced to make a spectacle of herself, never again have to sing when she doesn’t have something to say. in becoming a mystery, lucy gray belongs entirely and solely to herself, released at last from her eternal performance.

through her narrative silence, she’s finally free to reclaim what mattered most to her all along: her voice.

[gothamite-rambler]

Bruce Wayne: So... This is the new Robin.

Hal Jordan: That is... Another child.

Damian: Nice to meet you.

Hal: He's polite.

Bruce: Uh huh.

Clark Kent: It's not a good luck you kidnapped a little brown boy.

Bruce: He's my... Blood child?

Clark: Blood child... Did you join the court of owls and this is part of that?

Bruce sighs closing his eyes unable to explain things.

Hal: He's saying that DNA wise that is his son. That is your son! Hahahahaha!

Hal falls down on laughter.

Bruce sighs, covering his eyes.

Bruce: It's a complicated story. Damian can you go sit somewhere while I talk to them?

Damian: All right, I will go cut a tree with my sword and see if it falls.

Damian hums carrying his sword and leaves the adults.

Clark: Cute kid. He has a sword?!

Bruce: He came with the sword.

Clark: He's not a toy!

Bruce: You want to take it out of his hands, because I'm not doing that.

Clark and Hal don't leaving, agreeing with him.

Bruce: Yeah, I may have trained to become the world's best detective and fighter but I'm not about to take a sword from an 8-year-old who was raised by... I'll get to that in a moment.

Clark: Explain.

Hal (standing up and laughing): Yes... Please, give us all the details.

Bruce: I was not feeling in the best of spirits, Talia and I were together and getting along one night and... She swore the condom never broke!

Hal: Master detective! Hahahaha! Oh my God! This is the greatest day... Of my life! You believed that?!

Clark: You had a baby with Talia Al Ghul and you're alive?

Bruce: It seems when Ra found out that the kid was mine he was elated... that he could train Damian to... kill me.

Hal laughs walking away.

Clark: You consented to sleeping with her, correct? Because if not I can handle them.

Bruce: Yes... She was there and I was there and-

Clark, puts his hand up to stop Bruce: I don't need the sordid details. Well... You have three adopted kids that I still question if you kidnapped them or not and now one by your own DNA that you, for the love of God, tell me you got custody of through legal means. Good... Good for you.

Bruce (monotone): He was being raised around Ra Al Ghul, Talia gave him to me especially after I told her that would be the day the Lazarus pit would revive both of them for having a young boy around Ra.

Clark (relieved): Oh, that's wholesome for you. He just lives here now?

Bruce: Yeah and he's the new Robin.

Clark: What happened to Tim... Did he die?!

Bruce: No, he's alive, um, he will be a Robin and then Damian will be a Robin when Tim is busy or something. It's not weird!

Hal: It's so fucking weird! I love it!

Bruce: I want my son to be a hero that I know he can be. Not an assassin. I... care about him. He is my son and all... God I feel so new to this. I've never had to... Like this is my blood son and I'm freaking out!

Clark: Since we're best buddies I'm just going to pretend that it's not effing weird.

Bruce sits down on the floor and then lays down. Clark pouts and shakes his head.

Clark: Hal, stop laughing and help me talk to him.

Hal slowly stops laughing and walks back over.

Hal: He's actually on edge? Hahahaha! I'm sorry, I'm done. Poor, poor Batman. Never thought I'd see the day. You'll be okay, dude. You did well with most of the bat kids and Jason eventually plus you're rich.

Bruce: I know but he's just like me... Whhy!

Bruce sobs. Hal pulls out his phone, recording the spectacle. Clark takes it and crushes it in his hands.

Clark: Get up best buddy. I'll talk you through this.

Clark helps up Bruce and leads him to the Wayne kitchen.

[sl33paholics]

Why Can't You Love Me Back?

Yan!Ali Jr x black!fem!reader

Warning(s): General yandere behavior, stalking, harassment

"Leave me the fuck alone."

Was something you said to the man you were once a fan of weeks ago, but how did it get to this point?

The famous Ali Jr., the son of the world's greatest boxers of all time, Muhammad Ali, was hitting on you. You always attended the boxing events where he was the main star fighting with someone else in the ring. Amidst the roar of the crowd and the energy of the fights, Ali Jr.'s charismatic approach caught you off guard. His attempts at flirtation carried a unique intensity, a blend of confidence inherited from his legendary father and a genuine interest that hinted at more than just a passing connection.

In the afterglow of the boxing spectacle, the buzzing excitement persisted as you finally found yourself face-to-face with Ali Jr. out of all the eager fans getting pictures and autographs. His attention shifted toward you, his gaze holding a certain recognition. To Jr., it was love at first sight. Your beauty seemed to have cast a spell, making that moment more than just a fleeting exchange in the afterglow of fame. With autograph and picture in hand, you left the buzzing scene, hyped up, and pumped that you got to meet the man you always wanted to see. However, unaware that this seemingly ordinary encounter would soon be one that you regret.

On his way back to the hotel, in the dimly lit interior of the limo, Ali Jr. couldn't help but replay the encounter in his mind. The city lights blurred outside the tinted windows as the hum of the engine provided a backdrop to his thoughts. "You seem to be deep in thought, sir," his driver would say, making a casual observation. Breaking from his thoughts, Ali Jr. met the driver's gaze with a thoughtful smile. "Yeah, I met this pretty lady at the after show, I hope to see her again." He'd simply say, looking out the window.

As more events happened, he'd see you in the crowd cheering him on. Your crop top hugging your breasts as you held up a large sign with his name on it, your presence alone made him want to win the fight just for you, and you only. It encouraged Ali Jr. to throw another harsh jab at his opponent just to show off how strong he was to you.

So when he asked you for your socials and phone number when the event ended, it caught you off guard, but of course, you couldn't deny the offer. He was your favorite!

It started off with a few compliments and replies to his Instagram story until it turned into full-blown conversations. Now, you could tell he was flirting with you through these messages, but you didn't give that same energy to him. Which he noticed, but Ali Jr. brushed it off and believed you were too oblivious to notice it via text.

On days free from the whirlwind of boxing events, Ali Jr. found solace in spending time with you. He'd whisk you away on rides, the city's pulse blending with the engine's hum as you explored streets together. You watched him spar at the gym with other inspiring and upcoming boxers. Ali Jr. would tell you stories of his childhood and his famous father.

To you, you only saw him as a man who wanted to become close with one of his dearest fans turned friend. Although, to Ali Jr., he saw this as an opportunity to court you and potentially ask you to become his girlfriend.

When the moment arrived, you surprised the boxer with a straightforward rejection. "I appreciate the time we've spent, but I gotta boyfriend, and I'm committed to our relationship. Let's keep things friendly," you conveyed. The honesty in your words made his mind go blank. Was it shock? Was it anger? He couldn't tell. Jr. stared at you with a terrified look. "Did I do something wrong?" Ali would ask. "No! Not at all, it's just that I'm not interested in you like that. At all. You're a cool guy with tons of skills, I just don't see myself being with you. Let's stay platonic."

Since then, he's been out of his mind. Those texts stopped for a while, and then it started to get excessive out of nowhere. Just leaving your phone down for a short time can have this man sending you over 50 messages. You no longer answer his calls. You told everyone around you of your encounter and called him "a weirdo." It was exhausting.

So many voicemails from this guy alone. Over a hundred messages, most of them are Ali asking why you aren't picking up his calls or not responding. The guy's voice ranges from pleading to frustration, and the tone is unmistakably hurt. Each message seems to carry a weight of its own, painting a portrait of a man grappling with the realization that his feelings are not reciprocated as he had hoped.

You can't even walk peacefully around the city without this man somehow finding you. It's as if he's always just around the corner, his eyes scanning the crowds for a glimpse of you. The encounters are awkward, filled with a mix of longing and resentment as Ali Jr. struggles to come to terms with your decision.

Now, you don't know how he found your address, but he's been sending you a ton of gifts lately. Surprisingly, they're things you always wanted, each one arriving with a little note attached. The notes are heartfelt, expressing his regrets and other times it's obvious flirtation. It's as if each gift is an attempt to bridge the gap created by your rejection, a silent plea for another chance. Sometimes, Ali isn't so heartfelt in those messages whenever your boyfriend comes to receive them at your front door.

Ali's messages become less heartfelt in those instances, almost passive-aggressive, hinting at a desire to undermine your current relationship. The gifts, once symbols of his remorse, now carry an undertone of possessiveness and jealousy, as if he's trying to assert his presence in your life despite your clear boundaries. The situation grows increasingly uncomfortable as the boundary between genuine remorse and manipulation blurs. It came to a point where your boyfriend begged you to go talk to the man after seemingly being followed by some of his men at one point nearby the residence.

Ali was so giddy to get a text from you agreeing to meet him late into the evening. His excitement was palpable as he hastily made his way to the rendezvous point. The night air was charged with anticipation, and every passing moment seemed to stretch into eternity as he waited for your arrival. It was a chance for him to express his feelings and plead his case once more, hoping that this meeting would be the turning point in your relationship. When he saw you approaching, he was going in for a hug only for you to move him away with your hand.

"(Y/N), I'm so happy to see you! I-I thought you hated me, so I sent you the gifts, and it seems like they worked," Ali exclaimed as he approached you, a mix of relief and excitement in his voice. His words tumbled out in a rush, betraying his nervousness. The gifts, once a gesture of his longing and remorse, now seemed to have shifted the dynamic between you. As he stood before you, his eyes searched yours, hoping to find a spark of forgiveness or understanding in your gaze. "Listen, Ali, what can't you understand?" You sighed, scratching your elbows. "I'm not interested in you at all." The words hung heavy in the air, punctuating the tension between you. Ali's expression shifted from excitement to disappointment, his features contorting in a mix of hurt and disbelief. The reality of your rejection seemed to sink in, casting a shadow over the hopeful anticipation that had fueled his eagerness to meet you.

"I won't accept that for an answer." Ali would say, making you raise a brow. "I spent my die-hard money on those gifts to make you happy. We went out together, called each other, and we texted each other every day!" Ali grabbed your shoulders, giving them a firm grip. "And you suddenly stop replying to me? You had me sick and worried. No texts back, no calls back, NOTHING! Why did I have to resort to shit like this?!"

"You stupid ass! You harassed me after I rejected you to be your girlfriend. I told you I have a boyfriend. Sorry to hurt your feelings, but that doesn't mean you have to blow up my PHONE!" you exclaimed, your frustration boiling over. Pointing your index finger at Ali, you made your feelings clear, leaving him looking at you in shock. "Somehow getting my address and sending stuff I didn't ask for? Your men following (B/N)?" The accusations hung in the air, the intensity of your words reflecting the depth of your exasperation. The two of you went back and forth, of course people around the area watched you two bicker at one another, some even recording.

"I'll say this once, leave me the fuck alone. I don't want you near me again," you stated firmly, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. The weight of your words hung in the air, a final declaration of your boundaries and a stark reminder of the consequences of crossing them. Ali stood before you, his expression a mix of shock, hurt, and realization. He watched you stomp off to your car while standing there.

As much as your words hurt, Ali couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He was happy that he got to meet you face to face after weeks of being ignored and unanswered. To see you in person instead of through a photo and video made Ali excited, as if he's meeting you for the first time again like he did that faithful day.

Ali wasn't going to back down. No matter what. The man was determined to find a way to win you over, to change your mind about him.

[cherriecove]

A Courtship of Politics and Passion (Part 5)

Jacaerys Velaryon x Hightower!Reader

Summary: Cannon divergence, Rhaenyra Targaryen is queen after the Dance of The Dragons. In order to secure peace and ensure her son is able to take his rightful place on the throne after her she decides to make allies out of previous enemies. Cherrie's Note: Masterlist | Previous Part |

Their wedding had been nothing short of a spectacle, the likes of which the Red Keep hadn’t witnessed in years. The grand hall glittered with gold and crimson banners, bathed in the warm glow of countless candles. Lords and ladies from every corner of Westeros gathered to witness the union of House Targaryen and House Hightower. Their silver dragons and green towers hung side by side, a fragile symbol of peace after generations of bloodshed.

Queen Rhaenyra sat at the head of the hall, her face impassive as she watched her son, Jacaerys, take his vows. This marriage, her careful strategy, was more than a mere joining of two houses; it was a lifeline for a realm still reeling from civil war. Her son’s marriage to Y/N Hightower, a descendant of their greatest enemies, was a gamble—one that could either bring lasting peace or unravel everything she had fought for.

Jacaerys stood beside Y/N, reciting his vows with practised solemnity. Yet, even as he spoke the sacred words, his thoughts were scattered. The murmurs of the court had plagued him for weeks—whispers about his bride’s true loyalties, questions about whether the old grudges could ever truly be buried. He scanned the crowd, catching sight of both smiling faces and hidden frowns behind masks of feigned courtesy. Was this the beginning of peace, or merely a brief respite before more bloodshed?

Y/N, clad in a gown of shimmering silver and green, wore her duty well. She was poised, regal, every inch the noble bride expected of her. But beneath her composed exterior, she felt the weight of a thousand eyes. They were watching her closely, some hopeful for peace, others eager for her to slip and reveal her true allegiance. Could this marriage really heal the wounds between their families? Or would she forever be viewed as a foreigner, a Hightower in the den of dragons?

When the vows were spoken, and the Septon declared them husband and wife, the hall erupted in applause. The realm celebrated, but for the couple at the heart of it all, the true challenges were just beginning.

Later that evening, as the festivities carried on below—laughter, dancing, and toasts in their honour—Jacaerys and Y/N slipped away to a quiet balcony high above the bustling streets of King’s Landing. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the heat of the crowded hall. The sky stretched above them, dark and clear, the occasional silhouette of a dragon cutting through the stars.

Jacaerys leaned against the stone railing, his hand brushing lightly against Y/N’s, though his gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "Do you think this marriage will truly bring peace?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with the weight of uncertainty. "Or have we merely delayed the inevitable?"

Y/N turned to him, her expression thoughtful. “I think it’s the only path forward,” she said softly. “But peace isn’t something that just happens with vows. We’ll have to fight for it. Every day.”

Before Jacaerys could respond, a distant commotion from the courtyard below caught their attention. Shouts, growing louder, broke the quiet of the evening. The flicker of torchlight illuminated a small crowd that had gathered, and two men—dressed in the colours of their respective houses—were at the centre of it. 

Jacaerys’ eyes narrowed. “What now?” he muttered, already moving toward the source of the disturbance.

Y/N followed quickly, the skirts of her gown sweeping behind her as they descended into the courtyard. By the time they arrived, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. The two men—minor nobles, likely too far into their cups—stood nose to nose, shouting over each other. The air was thick with tension, and it was clear the situation was moments away from turning violent.

“He insulted Lady Y/N!” the first man, clad in green, a distant cousin perhaps, his face red with anger. “Called her a traitor—said she should be sent back to Oldtown!”

The Targaryen soldier, just as enraged, barked back, “He threatened me first! Your kind should know their place—this is Targaryen land!”

Jacaerys strode forward, his voice cutting through the noise. “Enough!”

Both men turned to him, suddenly sober in the presence of the prince. The crowd fell silent, eyes wide as they watched the scene unfold.

“What is this?” Jacaerys demanded, his tone sharp and commanding. “This is a wedding, a celebration of peace. And yet here you are, ready to spill blood over petty words?”

Y/N stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “You disgrace yourselves and your houses with this behaviour,” she said, her gaze hardening as she looked between them. “We are here to unite, not to tear each other apart. If you cannot hold your tongues, perhaps you should leave.”

The men exchanged glances, their anger deflating under the weight of their prince and princess’s disapproval. Slowly, they bowed their heads, muttering apologies.

Jacaerys sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the crowd began to disperse. He turned to Y/N, shaking his head. “Even at our wedding feast, there are still those eager for conflict.”

She smiled, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. “It’s only the beginning, Jacaerys. We’ll face this again. And again. But we’ll face it together.”

Her words hung in the air, a quiet promise that resonated deeper than any vow spoken earlier that day. They stood there for a moment, watching as the last of the crowd melted back into the night.

Jacaerys turned to her, his expression softening. “You handled that well,” he said quietly, admiration lacing his words.

Y/N gave a small smile. “We’re going to have to handle a lot more than drunk nobles if we’re going to keep this peace.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers once more, though this time with intent. His gaze lingered on her, and for a moment, the weight of politics and expectation seemed to fade. “Then we’ll do it together,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

Her eyes met his, and in the stillness of the night, with the distant hum of the city beneath them, something shifted between them. It was no longer about the marriage their houses had demanded or the fragile peace they were trying to maintain. It was just them—two people standing at the edge of an uncertain future, bound by more than duty.

Y/N took a step closer, her breath catching as Jacaerys’s hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her gently toward him. “Together,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she lifted her gaze to his.

Without another word, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was tender but filled with the promise of something more. It wasn’t just a kiss born of obligation or expectation—it was a quiet declaration that, whatever lay ahead, they would face it side by side.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against one another, the world felt just a little bit smaller, the weight of their responsibilities just a little bit lighter.

Jacaerys smiled softly, his hand still on her back. “Come,” he said, his voice filled with warmth as he pulled away slightly, offering her his hand. “Let’s return to the feast.”

Y/N took his hand, allowing him to lead her back inside. As they re-entered the grand hall, the music and laughter of the celebration enveloped them once more. But this time, as they stepped onto the dance floor, the eyes of the court no longer felt like a burden. Instead, they danced together, not just as husband and wife, but as partners—ready to face whatever came next, together.

Taglist: @rafslytherin

[littlejuicebox]

A Midwinter Carol / The OneShot

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Story navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Summary/Setting: Fifteen years post BG3 / You turned down Astarion's offer and went your own way after the ending of the game and you've just returned to BG. Astarion sees you again for the first time in 15 years and then has a surprise visitor that changes everything for him.

Rating/Warnings: M+ / Gore and Sexual Scenes / Spoilers for the game / Prob OOC Ascended Astarion

Word Count: 3K

Notes: This is 2/5 "Days of Star-mas!" "A Christmas Carol" but make it BG3 Ascended Astarion, of course!

I'm also entering this into the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 challenge under the prompt "new beginnings."

Click here to see my master list.

-----

Fifteen years. The Vampire Ascendent hadn’t seen you in fifteen years, since you’d rejected his offer to become his loyal consort for the final time.

You two couldn’t reconcile your differences. You’d wanted him to trust you, to believe that your love was stronger than any desire for power, that you could remain a mortal or become a true vampire like him and still remain loyal. You didn’t want to be a spawn. You’d considered his offer a great disrespect, and ultimately, his changed behavior had driven you away.

“You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with anymore. I don’t know who you are.”

Your words had stung, though he’d never admit it.

It had been an awful, messy, seething breakup, to be sure… and the Vampire Lord almost turned you against your will anyway. But at the time, Astarion’s soft spot for you had reigned supreme, and he still thought himself better than Cazador and above such things. So, against his own wishes, he’d let you go.

Last the Vampire Ascendent heard of your movements, you were somewhere along the Sword Coast, playing valiant hero once again. So, when he walked into Duke Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala with some pretty little thing on his arm that he’d picked up for the occasion and would likely drain of blood and dispose of later, he was flabbergasted to see you sitting at the high table. Right. Next. To. Wyll.

Fifteen years and it still felt like the greatest betrayal, as if you’d staked him through the heart in that moment. It took every ounce of The Vampire Lord’s control to not to turn into a cloud of smoke and break The Duke’s neck then and there. Oh, but how desperately he wanted to.

But he couldn’t risk such a spectacle… many of his dealings were hanging tenuously as it was, and creating a power vacuum in the city was just as bad for him as it would be for those against him. No, Wyll helped to maintain the balance… and generally tolerated Astarion with some level of old-ties respect. They had an agreement: the pale elf would keep his business private and primarily drink from criminals, and Wyll would turn a relatively blind eye. So no, as much as he wanted to, Astarion couldn’t afford such a loss of control.

The Vampire Ascendent watched as you walked about the room with Duke Ravengard, hanging on his arm like a prize and chatting with nobles and old contacts. Astarion’s date — what was their name again? — tried more than once to steal his attentions away, but resigned themselves to drinking heavily and dancing with several other guests. The Vampire Ascendant watched you join the dance floor with The Duke and his blood boiled at the sight; he even bent the stem of his golden goblet while witnessing the vile scene.

No. Absolutely not. This wouldn’t do. Astarion had to do something, had to interrupt whatever game this was. How dare you and Wyll disrespect him like this! So, he stood and abruptly crossed the dance floor, the other guests parting like the Red Sea before him in their shock. Lord Ancunin never made his way to the dance floor for anyone.

“May I interrupt and have this next dance?” The Vampire Ascendent’s voice is honeyed and saccharine as the music pauses and the band readies for their next ballad. Everyone around the room is clapping politely. A gentleman’s smile is plastered across the elf’s lips, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, as he extends his pale hand to you.

Wyll bristles and turns to look at you, and there’s a moment of silent communication between two sets of eyes that must know one another quite well, because Astarion cannot read their nearly-imperceptible movements. Finally, the Duke relents and passes your hand to the Vampire Lord.

“No funny business, Astarion. My men and I will be watching your every move.” The Duke warns through a benevolent-appearing smile, a warning hand clasped on the vampire’s tensed back, before locking eyes with you once more and then turning and walking toward the high table.

You smile at Astarion, as if it’s just the two of you back in the center of that clearing, draped in moonlight and barren to one another, all those years ago. “It’s good to see you, my old friend.”

Old friend? Old friend? The words make the Vampire Ascendent’s mouth practically fill with bile as he spins you about the room. He can feel the steady beating of your heart and smell that intoxicating, tempting bouquet of blood brimming beneath your skin that he’d never quite forgotten.

You two catch up, to some small extent, as you tell the Vampire Lord about your journeys along the Sword Coast and he tries to impress you with his growing influence and wealth, but before long the song is over and The Duke is, annoyingly, coming back to retrieve his prize. You smile so sweetly at Astarion before you depart that it almost hurts; no one else looks at him with that level of love and kindness… all he ever sees anymore are eyes filled with fear, mistrust, or hate.

“I hope you’re happy, Astarion. Truly. I’m glad to see you looking so well. Now go find the date you came with… they’re owed a dance, I believe.” You press a chaste kiss to his cheek, sending an electric shock through his numb heart. He almost gives into his urges and bites you right there, in front of everyone, claiming his love and his prize. But again, he lets you go, slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass as you meander back toward Wyll and continue the festivities.

Astarion can’t take any more of this. He goes to find his date, rips them away from whatever conversation they were having with whatever noble, and swiftly exits the party. Back at the Palace, the poor little thing is used for mindless sex and then for sustenance and then left to be disposed of by one of the staff with nary a thought. The Vampire Lord couldn’t even remember their name.

——-

A week rolls by, and gods what a terrible week it was. Astarion’s grip had weakened on the city after a few poor calls. In his pride, he’d never admit they were his fault, and instead he quickly blamed his advisors and sent them to the dungeons. Furthermore, the meeting he’d hosted today with several of the Guilds had practically blown up in his face as the Guild Leaders came to blows in the middle of the Great Hall. Mortal creatures could be so… overzealous. The entire ordeal was giving him a massive headache. If the Guild Leaders didn’t come to an agreement soon, he would lose his monopoly on the shipping industry.  

The Vampire Lord settles into his bed, alone, after downing several goblets of wine, but sleep does not come to him. He’s awake, staring at the ceiling, and all he can think about is you. Gods, he thought he’d moved past all this. But as he remembers your face, your nights together, the way your body felt on his… he feels his erection growing. Astarion is about to stick his hand inside his trousers to provide himself with some relief when a familiar, annoying voice travels through the room.

“I’ve been watching you, Astarion.”

Fucking Gale. The fucking God of Ambition. The Vampire Lord shoots up in bed and sees the silvery form of his former campmate standing at the foot of it.

“What in the hells, Gale! A God and still an absolute pervert, I see.”

The God ignores Astarion, moving to sit his ethereal form on the edge of the bed. The Vampire Lord wrinkles his nose and pulls his legs as far away from Gale as he can.

The God sighs, “Astarion, you’ve rejected my help before, and the strides you’ve made within the city are falling… it’s beginning to seem that you are headed down a path you are not going to be able to return from. A few more bad calls and you won’t come back from it. You are wasting your potential because you refuse to become the master of your own ambition rather than a slave to it. I’m beginning to wonder… is this what you truly want? I can see many lifetimes of yours, with many choices you’ve made along the way, and I’m sorry to tell you this lifetime seems to be the most miserable.”

Astarion scoffs. The fact that Gale is the only prior friend that keeps in touch with him, albeit for his own peculiar reasons, is a sad fact that the Vampire Lord refuses to acknowledge. He’d pushed everyone else away years ago. The only other person he ever saw was The Duke at obligatory balls, galas, and political events… and obviously the last time had been less than fulfilling. But loneliness resided deep in the Vampire Lord’s heart, hidden away from even his own acknowledgement, so although Gale had always been his least favorite, the pale elf still engaged in conversation.

“What do you mean by that? That you can see several of my lifetimes? I find it difficult to believe that this is the worst. Surely there is a lifetime in which I’m still under Cazador’s control.”

The God of Ambition considers this, and then turns and looks off into the distance, as if he’s examining something Astarion cannot see. “Hmm. Actually, there is only one lifetime in which that is still ongoing. So yes, that one may be the worst. I stand corrected, this is the second worst. You’re dead in more of them, a spawn in most of them… and your Tav, or some other version of Tav, is in several as a friend or a lover, to both the spawn and ascendant versions of you. You might be surprised to know that in more than one, you and I are coupled… it’s quite interesting.”

Astarion cringes at the thought of being in a relationship with Gale, but chooses to move past the thought and acknowledge the only bit of information he actually cared about, “My Tav is in several of them?”

“Of course. Would you like to see it? Let me take you on a little journey.” Gale holds his hand out the Vampire Lord, and Astarion cannot help but feel the pull of intrigue. Gods… at least this would guarantee a more interesting night than one with his hand spent down his own pants.

The pale elf sighs and extends his hand to the God of Ambition, and just as their fingers brush, he feels himself enveloped in the warmth of the Weave. Light spirals around the two beings and then suddenly, Astarion and Gale are standing outside a tomb. The Vampire Lord hears himself screaming from inside the tomb and feels the panic and shame rising within his own body. This is from his own past, when Cazador locked him up for a year.

“Why the hells have you brought me here, Gale? This isn’t what I asked to see!”

“No… but I thought it might serve as a reminder of where you came from. You seem to have forgotten… and subject others to similar fates and tortures, nowadays.”

Astarion hears the begging and pleading, the scratching on the inside of the tomb, and his gut churns again at the memory. How something that happened years ago, that he’d shoved deep in his mind never to acknowledge again, could still rip such a reaction from an all-powerful Vampire Ascendent, he did not know. The elf felt himself shaking as he was flooded with the emotion of the memory. Had he really turned into an exact replica of his former master? Hadn’t he wanted to be better than Cazador?

“Had enough? Okay, onto the next one.” Gale snaps his fingers, and both beings are pulled through the Weave.

Suddenly they’re standing in The Duke’s parlor room… the vampire had seen the room just a time or two before, during some business negotiation or another. Then he sees you, bursting through the door with one hand on your swollen belly. Gods above and below, were you carrying Wyll’s seed in this one? The thought made his skin crawl and his stomach churn in disgust.

“Hurry, my love! We need to place the presents here for the others.”

Astarion’s eyebrows crinkle as he listens to the voice responding to you from down the hallway, joined in by the giggles of what is clearly a child. “We’re coming, darling. This little imp is just slowing me down a bit!”

And then he sees himself coming through the door with a silver-haired, giggling toddler wrapped around his leg… but it’s not himself. Pink skin, beating heart, a few more years on his face. Mortal… but how?

Mortal Astarion is carrying a bundle of presents that he places on the coffee table in the center of the parlor. The child grins and puts a hand drawn card on top of the small pile of gifts. The card reads: ‘For Uncle Wyll, Auntie Euphemia, and the Ravengard Twins. Love, the Ancunins.”

Astarion feels his pulse thrumming in his ears as the scene plays out. Mortal Astarion envelops you in his arms and plants a kiss on your cheek, before bending down and placing a kiss on your pregnant stomach.

“Let’s go and join the others, shall we? Auntie Shadowheart and Auntie Lae’zel have a gift for you, my little love!” The mortal pale elf cheers, bending down to pick up the drooling toddler.

“Yay, daddy! Go!” The little babe cheers, clapping uncoordinated hands together, causing both this version of you and his mortal self to giggle in adoration. He watches as you take this version of him by the hand and exit the parlor, headed towards a clamor of conversation filled with several familiar voices. The Vampire Lord tries to follow the little family, desperate to see how the scene continues, but he’s ripped from the scene and thrown back into the Weave with Gale.

“I wasn’t finished!” The Ascendent Vampire shouts in frustration, running his hands through curled hair.

Gale simply sighs and shakes his head at Astarion, before settling onto another scene entirely.

In this one, you are a vampire. Not a vampire spawn, a true vampire. Astarion watches as you don your dress, unabashedly taking in the familiar curves of your body before they’re covered up, and then turns to see himself entering through the bedchamber door.

“My treasure, we’ve done it! We’ve secured educational and apprenticeship programs for the orphans from the Guilds as a show of good faith for our support and protection.”

Your vampire self runs to this better version of Ascendant Astarion, enveloping him in a shockingly passionate kiss. It was enough to make even the Vampire Lord’s skin run hot as he imagined what it would feel like to have you on him like that again.

“I’ve just put on my clothes, my love.” You murmur, voice coy, as you slowly drop your shoulder out of the gown and focus on your Astarion. “But perhaps you won’t mind helping me back out of them… I think that announcement is cause for a bit of… celebration.”

The scene quickly devolves into something overwhelmingly hot and heavy. The Vampire Lord feels himself tingle with desire as he watches everything unfold. Just as the other version of Astarion is about to plunge himself into the vampire version of Tav, the Weave swirls around Gale and Astarion once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The Vampire Lord hisses as he glares at The God of Ambition.

“I know… steamy, right?” Gale responds, with a small chuckle. “Onto our final scene… this one is your… unfortunate future, if you continue down your same path, I’m afraid.”

The Vampire Ascendent soon sets his eyes on possibly the most gut-wrenching scene he could ever imagine. There you are, standing before him, holding a stake that’s driven straight through his heart. Blood pools around the wound. He’s trying to reach for you, to touch your face, to choke out something he cannot say. And then he’s gone, slumped on the floor, as you hold him in your arms and let out a bloodcurdling wail.  

The crying goes on forever. Your body is wracking with sobs as you turn the corpse onto its back and throw yourself over it, almost desperate to have his body close to yours. After what feels like an eternity, your trembling hands come to his face, and you plant a surprisingly tender kiss on his lips. Astarion notices, with some level of shock, bleeding wounds along your arms and neck. Some bites, some blade slashes… had he really been the one to do that to you?

“I really loved you, you know, Astarion… I wish it hadn’t come to this. How dare you kill The Duke and throw the city into upheaval! My city! Our city!

There was nothing between Wyll and me. Just two old friends, catching up… I’d wanted to be back home, I’d fled from my city for fifteen years after what happened between us. Wyll offered me a soft place to land and a kind transition back into society.

I was sure everything would be okay after all this time. That we could at least talk. It had been fifteen years! But you didn’t come to speak to me, you ignored my scrolls, and then—why?!”

The sobbing returned, and you were slamming shaking fists into the corpse version of himself over and over and over and over.

The Vampire Lord sucked in a breath and turned back to the God, “I’ve seen enough, Gale! Take me home right now.”

“As you wish.” The God of Ambition murmurs, and with a snap of his fingers, Astarion is back in his bed in the Palace.

“So?” Gale asks, lifting himself from where he is still sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to talk to Tav… I need to speak with her. Tomorrow.” The Vampire Lord murmurs, his head still reeling from everything he saw. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. What would he even say to you, after all this time?

“I would agree. It's far past time for you to pursue a new beginning, Astarion." The God responds as the Weave starts to swirl around him in bright flares of azure, “Oh... and Astarion? I know we were once friends, if you could really call us that… but don’t think this little show and tell was for free. I’ll be asking something of you, when the time comes.”

The Vampire Lord nods. Of course. It could never be that simple, could it? And just like that, Gale disappears in a spray of light, and Astarion is left alone once more.

No. It could never be that simple. The only simple truth in Astarion’s life was this: you were and would always be his saving grace.

——-

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[starrbright]

𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐬 (𝐌𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲)

Miya Atsumu | Kuroo Tetsurou | Oikawa Tooru | Akaashi Keiji | Hanamaki Takahiro | Semi Eita | Suna Rintarou

Most people think they're the shit, but they're not, those who know them knows they're shit.

sickening fluff. crack. that's it. 3k

MIYA ATSUMU

One of the greatest setter in Japan? The so-called player of women. The smooth talker. The face of a man who's plastered in many billboards, magazines, outlets of a clothing company, countless commercials of products. One who has terrible jokes, people laugh at it because how unfunny it is.

Who likes to wear animated pieces or mascots for some reason. You never made fun of him for it once though, as adorable as it’s undeniably funny.

However, you didn't expect your usual visit at his brother's restaurant to turn out this way. When Osamu called for his twin after you sat down to a table and waited for your usual as he went to the said man, you definitely should have seen something like it happening. There goes Atsumu walking out of the kitchen wearing what he is at the moment. An onigiri mascot.

“Atsumu….darling,” you breathe, putting your half bitten food down. “My love, what are you doing?” You ask, gaze ever mirthful and fond for him.

Osamu's customers beginning to rouse from seeing the star player in such a spectacle in the little restaurant. “Well, it's about time this place got a symbol for its brand.” Atsumu says proudly the way he always does with something he's determined in.

“And it's your face…in that?” You mused with a smile you prevent to become too bright.

“Ya know my face always sells everything best.”

“It's his idea.” His dear brother shrugged, too amused.

“Of course.” You nod, squishing Atsumu's cheeks in your hand when he nears and leaned down to you, giving him a soft kiss with him grinning widely. All of it recorded from the phones of the customers. Osamu and his employees knows not to bother themselves with the promotion. Clearly the proud athlete is more than enough as he gets out of the place, attention immediately flocking to him as always but twice right now.

Safe to say that his name along with his brother's business blew up online. Him being himself and of course, the countless videos of you holding his face as you kissed him while the man looking so in love with his lazy and big smile, in his onigiri mascot.

KUROO TETSUROU

You thought of yourself a certified yapper, that was until your nerd for a lover. He really was built for business.

As annoying as he is, your eyes always revel him whenever he's too into what he's saying.

Sometimes he gets lost too much in what he's telling about.

Sometimes you lose yourself in just staring at him.

Most of the time he breaks from it and drown from your gaze. His words faltering, eyes shuffling for a moment. “You're doing it again.” Tetsu says, his hand going up to his nape, his soft brown skin blooming of red on his cheeks to his ears.

You blink, a smile curving up on your lips, a little laugh you let out as you wake up. “You do that, too. Purposely.” You remind, putting him in his place.

He glares at you for the most fleeting moment, barely looking away after with a little frown he couldn't keep.

Your lips curve more, leaning forward, “Have I told you how good you look in glasses?”

Tetsu sighs a little groan as he laid his palm on his mouth. Clearly melting. “You always do whenever I do.” He mutters.

Your smile only remains, your hand going up to his face before you gently graze your knuckles on his cheek. “Lovely.”

He groans loudly as he let his face fall on the table with his arms hiding him.

OIKAWA TOORU

The ruthless man in court and in bed. With his tendencies to be such a baby to you whenever he gets in a mood. You could really say it's most of the time too much now at this point, really.

That, and being in a long distant relationship with him—it's hell of a bumpy ride, loving and fun nonetheless.

And when your time allows you to be with him sometimes, he never hesitates to have you on the soonest flight to him. Even then in your flight, he's still whining to you, flooding your chat with his voice mails and messages that you could only read when you arrive in the country.

It's always new to you, the sight of your lover waiting for you there in the nearest where he could wait for you. His voice bright, the biggest smile before he engulfs you in a big hug. Latching onto you endlessly from there on.

When you get to watch him train, his shamelessness doesn't stop, his teammates, even their coach and entire handlers used to it. In between when he could, he runs to you by the sidelines where you're seated—always demanding your attention. He's so used to you using your handkerchiefs to wipe him off his sweat, refusing to do it with his own towel when you're with him, your loving hands tending to him; patting his head, caressing his hair, firm but soothing touches that eases his muscles. So loose in your presence.

Always left with no choice but to welcome his seek of your hold even more when he sits besides you, wrapping you in his arms against his heated and sweaty body, laughing a little as he buries his face on your neck, a hand of yours on his hair. “Just wanna stay in later,” he mumbles against you.

“As you wish.” You comply as you kissed his hair, and he rubs his face on your neck more as he trails up to your face and pressed a long kiss to your lips.

If there's one thing that's very fun and funny about a job of a promotional team, it's never one to let opportunities go to waste. And with Tooru in a relationship with you, it's free real estate. The bits of your love in public recorded by them in unfiltered hindsight. Their fans and even those who aren't couldn't resist seeing a man being simply in love with his lover.

There's highlights on Tooru's instagram dedicated to you and your relationship full of it he reposts from the team's account, from the fans, anywhere he could come across so long as your face is there besides the countless pictures he takes himself.

AKAASHI KEIJI

There's the sweet irony to certain clichés.

Your boyfriend and his habit to place himself in some spaces or corners when he could.

His laptop on his lap while he's sitting on the floor, leaning back on a drawer in his office, his notepad and cup of coffee beside him as he waits for you to answer his call.

When you accepted the video call, you were met with his lovely sight. “Hey, love,” he greets with a calm and little smile.

“Hi.” You drag a bit with a light brightness to your voice. Seeing the familiar background of a plain wall where he's leaned back, you laugh a little. “Kei, my love….where're you this time?”

Keiji echoes your laugh as well, “Just in my office. I have to stay a bit late, I want to finish going over these last few chapters already, so I'm just clearing my head for a bit.” He answers.

“I see,” you barely uttered, your small smile remains. “Would you still want to go out for dinner then?”

“Always.” Keiji said. The brightness of his laptop that shines on his face and especially from how dim the light in his office, shows the red painting faintly on his fairly white skin.

“Okay…then I should go already, I don't want to distract you too much.” You say. He'd say he always doesn't mind, and you know that as well, but he knows he'll just focus more on you than on his work and he'll barely get anything done despite how a focused person he is.

As he only uttered a small hum with a nod, you smile again. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” Keiji says softly. When the call ends, he slumps his weight more on the table, sighing as he puts his palm on his face, feeling how warm his skin is, his heart beating out of rhythm. He still could get so giddy beneath even after the time since you've been together.

With a loud groan and clench of his fingers on his face, he breathes and composes himself after. Pushing back his glasses and resumed working.

HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO

Makki thought he was decent in the kitchen, growing up with his mother and two of his sisters should say enough, but of course he was proven wrong when you two became together, although he always knew he still had a lot to learn in the literal sense of it—he didn't think it was that much.

Besides his barely successful attempts of trying out new dishes by himself, enough times of him tethering a danger that threatens both of your safety, mere mistakes in following complicated instructions. He realizes then he hasn't thought that much about there's a deeper meaning in the kitchen.

It was one day in the high of your starting relationship, when he found himself a stable job as well. On his first day, you woke up early to cook both of your breakfast and a bento for his lunch after you stayed the night in his home. He didn't ask for anything, much less expect, but he was grateful more than he had expressed. Even as he already knew you too well to be that caring for others, much more to your own people, your plain kindness he's seen and felt it himself—to see you unveil more of yourself is entirely different, let alone when it's directed at him. With your kiss, words of how happy and proud you are of him, how he'll do well, your packed lunch for him in his bag—he could have just fallen onto his knees and sobbed when he stepped out of his apartment. As he heads his way for work, he sends a few messages to his three friends in their group chat with a grin anyone could be blinded by in the streets.

An image of LeBron with his caption saying: Smiling through it all! Can't believe this my life

Good motherfucking morning TO ME!

I have the best girlfriend ever🙏🏻

It took him courage to ask you to move in with him and he was over the moon when you said yes. Going with the mundane of everyday in one roof, he couldn't ask for better. Aside all the good things, what he's been liking more is whenever you're in the kitchen together, him watching you as you flow with what you do so effortlessly, what's difficult for him you do with no problems while you teach him as well a bit, the patience and tenderness in it. How tiring it is to fulfil. He realized the essence then before he asked you to teach him fully. With your guide, he learns more. He falls in love with it. Sees how grand the small things could be.

No one could bring him down when he made fruitful dishes and even learned how to bake, how proud he is when he brought a box of savoury pastries to his work, telling he learned from his girlfriend and did it all himself to his gushing coworkers—how devastatingly happy he was when the four of them were complete again, in his home for dinner you and him prepared, no less. Where would he rather be?

SEMI EITA

When Semi parted from his job of being a civil servant and went on to pursue his passion for music fully, the first thing he did after was drag you with him to a tattoo parlor of his friend. A design he's worked hard on he drew himself weeks before he called his resignation.

As excited as he was, nervous he was much more even when he didn't show it. So when he sat there shirtless, his back to be the canvas of his first tattoo, you were there close with him, his hand holding yours as he lay there. His face has been red since then when his friend teased him a bit because he didn't want you to leave his side for a second, but he barely complained either from the jokes, merely thankful he's friends with the artist and he wouldn't mind his lover close to them as he does his work. And when it starts, he couldn't stop squeezing your hand repeatedly from the pain, soothing him back with your touch.

It became a ritual since then. Nonetheless he could bear the pain more, each new tattoo and piercing, he wouldn't want to do it when you're not there with his side and holding his hand.

SUNA RINTAROU

You could say you're chronically online just the enough amount; active in most social media, engaging in your niche interests, and up to date with global news. Then again there's your lover, who's most updated to most of a lot of things in a lot of platforms.

His favourite rather is tiktok despite that he denies it, and the one media you aren't familiar with. It started from him always sending you videos from there, the following message after saying just “us”, random funny videos, or anything that he knows that's your interests. To catching phrases, using it in his vocabulary since then. Whenever he uses one with you present or directly to you that you're not familiar with, you always have to ask and he'll just show it to you.

Though your most favourite one from that kind of occurrence that never fails to make you smile is when you sent him a set of your selfies and he replied with a particular message that had you gaping.

you: >five images delivered

rin: no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while you gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bouncy house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening

you: oh wow……

you: is that from tiktok? although i think i’ve seen it before from some comments on ig😭

rin: i mean it all

you: well….yes, of course

Then it went to him actually doing a few videos and you having to be with him for it, never having the heart to say no. If anything, the pr of his team was more than pleased to just allow him, each of his videos reaching millions and thousands of comments. A simple outfit of the day you both match or just a little clip of you he takes, to even as much as learning a few little dances that's trending, despite how silly you feel, you do it with him. All of the said videos always have one ending, either he kisses your forehead, your cheeks or your lips with the murmur of his I love you.

Back home with the night fallen late, the two of you on your bed while you're still awake, you binging a show and him scrolling on his phone. After a while, he stood up and went to the drawer of your art materials, rummaging for something, and after a moment, he got what he was looking for. A thin sash of ribbon.

You paused your laptop, focusing on him as he goes back to sit beside you. He was already recording, the front camera to both of you but more focused on you and his side, "Tie it on me." Is what he only said as he gestured his left shoulder, specifically pointing to his bicep.

You did, confused, with an amused smile nonetheless. The dainty ribbon now tied around his thick bicep. He lightly smiles before he flexes his muscles, the ribbon pulling taut until it tore off, you laugh, gaze brightened more with glee. He's smug, before he kisses your cheeks and mutters, “I love you.”

Now the latest was him lip syncing to a song you've been hearing on repeat online. You were heading out for dinner, him already done and you looking at yourself in the mirror for the last time just as you finished doing your makeup, donning in your fitting dress and heels.

It was Megan Thee Stallion’s song, Mamushi. Rintarou’s mouth catching on the lyrics of Yuki Chiba with a bit of his own voice coming through as he flows with the beat smoothly before panning his phone to you after as the main lyrics go, showing off his woman as usual so proudly while you take your time in the mirror.

i saved the last for suna bc he's sohsjjdsjjdwihs. i don't know shit about tiktok 😓

my hand slipped with makki, idk how that happened

honestly really worried about this one, i hope you guys like this

@seijhoeist, i came in clutching for his birthday 😓🙏🏼😁 @purin-gambler @nnnyxie atsumu and suna for you hehe

image used, divider

[stevienixxes]

even tho i don’t particularly like some of the characterizations or the book in itself, the sun and the star is so important to me. a book, coming from a major author like rick riordan, that centers around two queer characters? of course i’m going to love being represented in something that people around the world can hold in their hands and read. it feels like a part of myself is being read by the whole world and understood and????zjajahbqbahwhhwh. it even centers around their relationship, the mutual trust that it takes to walk into hell itself for each other even though there’s the nagging fear that one of them has to leave the other behind in tartarus. the way the two just love each other? so casually? it’s not a spectacle like some queer romances are, it’s just… there. just two boys in love that would follow each other to the ends of the earth and it seems so simple and so stupid to be happy about that but i just am. it just makes me happy to see that, to know that i can be seen in these characters. don’t even get me started on the ending of ToA with piper and shel — piper didn’t even feel the need to explain herself to anyone, she just was queer. she just is. and just being is one of the greatest things ever. i see myself in her and i know so many others do. it’s important for me to be able to hold these books in my hands i guess and know its real and that im never going to be alone and that someone out there sees me

^^ so important to me. so so. important

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Aemond in a relationship - SFW/NSFW

Aemond x younger!reader and Aemond x older!reader

warning : +18, smut, hurt/comfort, obsession, dysfunctional family, mother issues, body worship, breast play/nipple play, attempted (forced) abortion, fluff

info : So Aemond I wanted to have done this earlier but just had a motivation and inspiration but now the more scenes we get lets go. Have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond x younger!reader

SFW °If his wife was younger than him and he was only a few years older, what he feels would be love, but it would be different. He would be someone else not a broken boy, he was the prince of the realm, a Targaryen with the greatest dragon that lived he was someone of strength and power who trusted in his abilities and protected his wife. Because that was something a husband did, a prince did. Taking care of his beloved, fulfilling his duties and raising his own family to join the royal family.

°Duties that quickly turned out to be something else. Since the betrothal a few days after his father's death, he knew it was necessary. Knew that it would serve the kingdom if he himself entered into a political marriage, since his siblings had already done their duty. ,,I know you will do better Aemond" he had his mother's words always in his mind as she looked at him had the ceremonial clothes on him and put the finishing touches before he would take his betrothed as his wife. A marriage that was sealed with a kiss and an exchange of cloaks, hopeful eyes looking at him, a hand on his back and a prince playing his part. A role he took on from his uncle. Someone who was someone in this family who was the image of the dragon of a full-blooded Targaryen.

°The wedding night after the feast he had clearly insisted on not putting on a public show, had gotten support from his own brother even if it bothered him he knew he owed him a thank you for not making a public spectacle of it, ,,Have thanks my lord husband" he had heard her uncertain voice as her hand closed firmly around his she had expected the worst but he would not let that happen. His wife was his, her body was for his sight and no one else's. One thing he made her feel was that his politeness and formality only dropped when they were alone and he allowed himself to show her his other side. She realized that he was a prince with desires and other sides but never quite let her get close to him, didn't he because of her looks? Because of her reputation? Or because of something else in him?

°He never let her know, never let her know what it was in him that sometimes led him away from her like a stranger only to place himself with her like someone dutiful. The kisses in public were almost shy and brief, their hands only touched through gloves and they spent time together in the library. He enjoyed reading the things of the story with her and she confessed to him with warm cheeks, ,,You are a man of honor and duty even on the training ground…it makes me happy to see you win" and he couldn't hide the smirk on his lips. She never asked him for anything but this knowledge that she admired him, appreciated his skills, his strength on the arena and seemed to ignore his brother completely delighted him. ,,If it excites my lady such a thing shall happen often," he murmured, placing a kiss on the back of her hand before rising from the library and making his way to his brother.

°Tournaments, fights, training exercises, victories and nothing but victories brought the prince of the realm a new armor was forged for him and he always received the blessing from his wife who cheered him on and felt nothing but joy that she could finally give her husband something, something that filled him with something that she could not, it replaced the one inside him. The satisfaction of victory outweighed his painful past, but he never took off even his eye patch, he had never been afraid of his mother whom he had protected for years, so he would not do the same with his wife, a woman who in some lights reminded him of his own mother…someone he could and would save now, someone who belonged to him and not to his brother, someone for whom he was good enough and who was his. It was during this time that something between them grew like dragon fire and he found himself more and more often in her rooms late at night to talk, to read, to eat together or to take flights on Vhagar where he could show her again what he would do, what he was capable of…until the prince too had to give in to his lust at some point in an approaching war that kept his nerves short….

NSFW

°The lust one day overcame him it was not the other he was looking for on the contrary with every time he left the council, with every time his grandfather or his mother forbade him to fly with Vhagar his dissatisfaction grew. With every victory, the adrenaline rushed through his body, but he couldn't go into the silken path with it, it would destroy the image, unsettle his inner self. It was on these days that he finally turned physically to his wife at night when the moon was high in the sky and he came into her room. ,,Aemond? Is everything all right?" her question fell from her lips as she saw her husband standing in her room, his dark leather clothes smelling of fire and smoke, her swords and blood around him like a fight. But his body was shaking it was the adrenaline running through his body after what he had done, what Vhagar had done, what the prince could not prevent…he just had to calm down. He had to turn to his wife and not let her finish talking, ignoring her worries and barely taking off his clothes, he joined her on the bed. Skilled fingers rough and cool through the night that pushed up her nightgown and pulled her closer and a kiss that set the night in motion.

°The kiss that set everything in motion, a kiss from his desperation to feel something warm and soft. Not the hold of a center, no, he brought his wife to his body, a cunt in which he could give his pleasure in a time that could be the last of his family. ,,You need me," he murmured words he wanted to pass around, but it was true that every dragon felt comfortable in fire. Her clothes slid to the ground, his would never follow the warm leather, the cool metal of the buckles on her body an alternation of ice and fire as he pressed her body against his.

°Her hands trembled unsteadily from the furs and blankets to his body, her voice asking questions and words devoured by his lips as he kissed her, squeezing her breasts with his hands, savoring the pleasure of her body for what she gave him. ,,All because of me," he murmured, letting his lips trail down hers, feeling her quiver of pleasure her first few nights, not unlike this one. His own arousal for her was consuming his wife, his beloved object. He heard her nod at his words she was his and would be his alone and no one else's not his brother's, not his father's, not his uncle's…she was his alone.

°She would serve him as an object of love and affection as he consciously turned her around, her body, her mind leaning into the pillows, understanding her lustful gaze, sire knew how he wanted it. One last look, a kiss followed by a bite on her shoulder before he thrust into her, her moans drowning in the pillows, the sounds muffled through the room as he fucked her into the mattress, his hands tangled in her hair, her back already covered in his kisses and rubs. Did you fuck her like a hound? he couldn't help but think of his brother's humiliating question, but it was true, he took her like a dog in the heat, he needed and wanted her in a completely different way than in his visit to the silk.

°Once again he did something like his brother gave in to physical love, but what would follow moments later when his thrusts became firmer and uncontrolled and he came inside her with a grunting shudder, he had the tea brought to her a few hours later, as he did every time. He wouldn't give the curse of the second born to his offspring and as long as she lived with the old dream of not being able to give him children it was a good thing…because his power was perhaps what kept him with her in the end, she was his and she would never change that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond x older!reader

SFW

°If his wife was older and he was a few years younger, it would be completely different. It was his duty to marry, of course, a politically strategic marriage, but what else could it be in times of freedom he might at least have been allowed to choose his wife, but now to take directly a lady of her own house. The only successor to her late lord father, who had died a few weeks earlier before all of Westeros would be plunged into war, there was no better option and with his younger brother in Oldtwon there was only him to make a decision that could not be changed. But the meeting was something else, her followers and a small army of a few thousand men were formidable but also an amalgamation of Houses beneath her. A lady of power in her own domain facing the prince of the kingdom with the greatest dragon, a marriage that Aemond felt was something else.

°His mother was glad that she could not even use her children, but rather could now slowly watch the game for herself. While it was Aemond who knew he was the dragon's true blood, his brother should be whining and neglecting their shared sister, but Aemond had found his own wife, his own lady…his own special piece in this world. ,,I will not disappoint you" was the only thing he would say to his mother before the marriage and the ceremony, he knew he could never disappoint his mother like Aegon but he wouldn't when he faced her. A pair of eyes fixed on him not hating him or looking down on him she seemed to like him at least he hoped so as he felt her soft hands in his ,,How nice to see my prince husband smile…I feared not to please you" her words reaching him as she was transported in the carriage from the sept back to the castle her gaze was crossed by a brief streak of sadness. He had smiled a soft smile on his lips as he had looked at her for reasons he knew exactly why. ,,You please me my lady wife don't worry my being is yours" he assured her and gave her another uplifting look before turning his battered face away from her.

°It was a wedding, a feast, even if it was celebrated beautifully and lavishly, not least because of his brother's befegl he could feel the eyes of the others on him. A young prince of the realm at the beginning of the prime of his life barely more than half his twenty name days and his wife a rose already blossoming in the mid-thirties of her name day. He was almost pitied from outside, it seemed to him, but when he looked at his brother he saw no amusement, no wit, Aegon too drunk to care about his sister-in-law's age. He did not see what was really going on in his brother's mind as the ceremony of the first night approached, a night that would be carried out discreetly in his chamber, together and alone, through Aemond's sharp words and threats. A night that was full of physical lust but they both seemed to recognize that it was not the real thing, at least for now.

°But days and weeks after their marriage this hardly mattered, he avoided and clung to her as his comfort required. He had new clothes made for her, jewelry gifts, all his favorite colors and metals but all relatively the same as his mother's not that anyone particularly noticed the second prince of the realm had no interest in the gossip of the people but also the gossip about him remained absent but his brother the king was always the better. When he didn't retire to his room during the day to work out plans with Criston that his brother wouldn't be able to do, he trained and above all sought her "closeness". A closeness in which he could observe her like a beautiful creature in a cage, even if he was the dragon trapped in a pit of his own emotions. He caught himself smiling when he saw her again in simple activities, whether it was reading books or embroidering with his sister, it made him happy to see her so honest.

°But the more often he saw her, talked to her and looked at her in her green and gold clothes, the more often he realized at night when his thoughts strayed from the battle strategies and the memories of the past came flooding in that she was someone he needed. An realization that would soon lead to results not only when he was sent to Storms End and met his bastard nephew Lucery, but also when Vhagar pounced on him without his prompting. It was on this rainy night that the good prince's façade cracked, his duties were laid aside and the prince, still completely wet and with trembling hands that he had clenched into fists in small council, now trembled as he closed the door behind him. His wife sitting in bed with candles lit on the bedside table discovered him, ,,Aemond? What happened?" her question reached him but it was not a prince who answered as his shoulders closed in on her…it was a broken man seeking comfort in the arms of his false mother.

NSFW

°Without a word he went to her bedside and she sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at him, her eyes wandering over his body. The wet clothes, the hair sticking to his skin, his trembling hands and the look in one eye...a look of desire and fear, a look of shame and devotion. But it was her, she was the right one for him when his wife, his beloved lady, his false mother, took care of him in a situation that was presented to her almost as a gift. Her fingers went to his clothes and the pieces slid close and close with a cold shiver as he was gradually undressed and he ended up standing naked in front of her, a sight not unfamiliar to her, but the shivering she mistook for freezing was something else for him as her attempt to warm him with a fur was different than she thought.

°Instead, he interrupted her movement and came closer to her, causing her to pull herself back onto the bed, slowly understanding what he wanted. She positioned herself at the head of the bed, placing a pillow in her back to make it more comfortable as her husband positioned himself in her lap, placing his head on her chest and listening to her heartbeat, which gradually calmed down as her observation and premonition turned out to be true. When the prince closed his eyes, let out an almost heavy sigh and just lay there for a moment, ,,Please I-my Lady....Mother please just hold me," she heard his voice as she was about to put the blanket over them both when she paused in her movement and put her hand on his head. His wet hair wet her fingers and she continued while the images of a mother and her son could not have been more symbolic with the exception of his arousal, the arousal of a man and not that of a broken boy as he saw himself in her arms.

°She felt his lust in him corrupted by fear and pain and she could help him...she was the one who could do something now, who finally had power after everything and not just because of him. He had helped her to power, but at the end of the night, as she saw it, she was the one who restrained and controlled the dragon. ,,It's okay...my prince-my boy...mom couldn't be prouder of you...get some rest you've earned it you've been so good" she mumbled to him words that were said to boys, to children who still needed encouragement, who should feel proud when they did little things but a man shouldn't hear such things...but then did she even have a man lying in her womb? °She wasn't sure, but her heartbeat responding to his arousal, his body in her womb, was something she wouldn't believe and certainly not when Ameond started to move and she saw what he was doing. With warm pink cheeks in contrast to his sapphire in one eye, he looked up at her and she stroked his cheek, ,,Thank you," was the last thing he mumbled before his fingers seemed to struggle awkwardly with the lacing and full of insecurity until she helped him and opened her own front lacing, sliding her nightgown slightly open and showing him her chest. Aemond slowly repositioned himself, his head, which had been resting on her chest before, placed itself in front of her breast, the coldness of the night he brought with him sending a shiver down her spine as she felt his tongue on her sensitive nipple, ,,Ae-Aemond gently," she ordered softly, stroking his head as his other hand placed itself on her other breast. Now he didn't seem to mind that after the nights they had spent together, her body had changed, in contrast to what had been a day of disinterest and brief questions about her well-being, now that her body was changing with a child, it was just about the most divine thing he could have. °She felt him greedily lapping at her nipples before she heard his satisfied sigh as he seemingly tasted her milk, his teeth pulling at it before he apologetically lapped and sucked again. All the while she held him and told him how good and good he was stroking his head and pulling on the light strands every now and then when he was too sleepy and she saw his apologetic look but his arousal didn't diminish and she knew this was more than just an interaction. She knew that he needed her, knew that she had her dragon now as her hand went to his lap, her fingers moving rhythmically, pressing him even closer, the scent warm and soft of a woman, a mother, enveloping him more and more as he massaged her breasts and sucked on her nipples.

°His hips moved slowly with her movements and soon found a rhythm that suited the prince but she pretended to punish him by biting him too hard, ,,Ah Aemond...remember it will be enough" she murmured and stroked his lips with her thumbs as he let go of her for a moment his sapphire eye also slightly pained to close as she brushed his slightly moist milk-slicked lips over. He laid his head in the palm of her hand and cuddled up to her before she allowed him to return and they stayed like that for a few moments before she felt him slowly come closer to his climax, he squeezed her breasts tightly with his fingernails and the whimper came over her lips as she allowed him to come. ,,That's it," she said to him last as his slightly quivering body relaxed in her lap and he closed his eyes as he left the last kisses on her breasts before he allowed her to cover him with the blanket and furs and let him slip away limply but his wife stayed behind holding her husband in her arms and wiping his cum on the pillow, ,,Sleep well I know you'll need me again soon...my dear husband" she said to him as she watched over him, her sleep a small price for what she got in return besides love and lust, a dragon and a prospect of a whole new side to the game of throne and the victory of war.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@dixie-elocin , @hufflepuffkittysworld , @girlypieee

[ataraxiaspainting]

The Swan.

Yan Feitan x F Reader.

Synopsis: You can’t believe your eyes. He came back for you, or you at least think that is him, from the silhouette of the shadow coming down the stairs.

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence/some gore, kidnapping, a mention or two of Chr*llo, implied body transformation (not on the reader), implied cannibalism, minor character death, and manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Psycho by Mia Rodriguez

Enjoy the Silence - 2006 Remaster by Depeche Mode

First Love/Late Spring by Mitski

Twisted by MISSIO

Oblivion by Grimes

Chasing It Down by Mother Mother

Killshot by Magdalena Bay

Bernadette by IAMX

Bad Things by Cults

Mastermind by Mindless Self Indulgence 

“The healthy man does not torture others.” – Carl Jung

*~*~*~*

The machete in your hands, underneath the cold running water of the sink’s faucet, looked like an amalgamation of silver coins or chains glued together and attached to a metal pole. You would have thought as much too, if the man looking over your shoulder was not there, if your glasses hadn't been shattered on the ground by his boot. He would make you clean the mess up later most likely, with a dustpan and broom you could hardly see regardless of whether it was night or day. He always made you clean up around here in some way, this moment you somewhat expected because of that, but you hadn’t because there was blood on it.

Even though it was so dark, because it was nighttime and your captor hadn’t bothered buying any sort of lamp or another possible source of light, you could still clearly see the crimson combining with the clear water and soon fading away into the drain. He made you touch it too, so you could clean it properly.

The blood was so much stickier and thicker than the water, so much warmer, with a smell that lingered in the air, and little droplets of it clinging to the very walls of the sink, desperate to not dissolve.

Feitan didn’t kill whatever poor unfortunate soul was locked in the basement in front of you. You suppose that was somewhat a mercy on his part. But the blood on the machete was still fresh and not dried up, as was the blood on his jacket. The sight of him coming up the stairs, the large blade behind him thumping with every step and staining the rotting wood, is a sight you will never forget.

“Make sure it is fully clean.”

The way he spoke made you jump a bit, leaving something akin to a snicker leaving his covered mouth. He never talked really to you, only communicating with a hmph here and a swift pull of your ear there. If you were disobedient he would usually break a finger or slam your head against the wall until there were bruises all over your face. Him breaking your glasses, though, was something that you did not expect. Perhaps you were sort of asking for it because no successful escape results from trying to poison a captor with a lethal amount of sedatives when it was clear the captor in question was beyond anything human.

The mug of watery black coffee was still in the back of the so-called kitchen, cracked open from Feitan throwing it onto the table in a fit of absolute rage. 

Maybe you should have thought first as to whether or not he would have noticed that his medical cabinet was broken into because you didn’t lock it back up.

He hurled insults at you, deeming you foolish, before striding towards you with haste. 

In a swift motion, he snatched your spectacles from your face and forcefully discarded them onto the ground. He then proceeded to ruthlessly trample upon them. In countless ways, you were his complete antithesis. Spontaneous, driven by emotions... utterly vulnerable. On most days, you obediently abide by instructions, rarely daring to challenge them. Or, at least, you have learned not to, the lesson of absolute submission was drilled into you faster than any hammer or screwdriver would.

You inquire with a tone of utmost innocence, or at least with the greatest semblance of innocence that you can summon.

You still hold onto hope that Robert will come back for you, with police or weapons or at least a concrete escape plan. Even if Feitan’s movements and behavior were far from any ordinary human, surely a bullet to the head would still be enough to kill him or be enough to restrain him.

It's hard to decide which is more disheartening: the ceaseless anticipation and longing for even the slightest indication of Robert's return to save you, despite the passing months, or Feitan's relentless assurance that nobody will come to your aid.

There is still a cuff on your ankle, a reminder of the chain in the basement from many moons ago. It took a lot of work, but you finally got out of there after earning yourself a stool to sit on, warm microwaved dinners instead of frozen ones, and once even a book. Stephen King's Misery, the irony not lost to you, the pages slightly wet when it was first given to you, as well as the signature on the front of the cover.

Anastasia Tayegg, it said, though the ink was bleeding out and making the white as snow page a burnt silver. The book, the air, everything, is thick with the stench of decay and sewage, it lingers in your nose and clings to your throat. The foul odor is acrid, sharp, and overpowering, overwhelming all other senses. It creates a thick atmosphere in the air, something that is almost tangible in its potency. It is a sickening smell that clings to the nostrils and coats the throat in a foul film. The smell is rancid and vile, something that causes an instant reaction of disgust and revulsion. 

*~*~*~*

It is dark and dingy, with only the faintest gleam of light that seeps in through the tiny little cracks of the shattered glass lantern attached to the ceiling. The walls are thick and damp, and the stone that composes them is cold and damp to the touch. The room is filled with a musty scent of mold and rot, a combination of dampness and decay. The air is stagnant and the place feels very claustrophobic. The air seems to shimmer from the moisture that hands in it and it seems like a very quiet and very dead place.

At least it would have been very quiet and very dead, if not for the rotting corpses in the chairs, the blood that stained the walls and floor, and your quickened, panicked breaths, cries, and talks you have with yourself. The talks are about anything; your former life, Robert, water… you would talk about anything if it meant you weren’t alone with your thoughts and your mind.

The once shiny links of the chains on your wrists have now lost their brilliance and luster and are coated with a thick layer of rust which has seeped through between the metal links, causing them to grow stiff and rigid. They no longer move freely across the flesh that holds them captive, and they dig into the flesh, causing the pain to radiate deep into the body. The chains are heavy and the rust acts like sandpaper and chafes at your wrists.

Your hands have been bound and have been trapped for what feels like ages and the skin around the wrists has turned red and inflamed. The air is damp and heavy, a thick layer of stagnant moisture that has settled around you; your throat is dry, and your stomach is hollow. You haven’t had anything to eat or drink in what feels like forever. You are alone and in pain, your hands bound and the cold metal cuffs digging into your wrists, and you can’t do anything but stare blankly into the dark around you and just hope and pray that Robert will come back for you.

As you stare blankly into the dark, a single tear slides down your cheek. You can’t help but let the fear and desperation flow through you. With every passing second, you grow more and more afraid for yourself and for Robert, desperately wishing he would come back for you.

As the moments stretch to hours, you begin to fret over the idea that something may have happened to Robert, desperately praying that he returns, and soon. He is the only thing keeping your spirits alive and the reason for you to keep going. It is hard to stay hopeful, but you don’t give up on Robert, his strength and bravery are what keep you going. Despite your leg being infected and all the pain you are going through, you are praying and hoping he returns and comes to save you.

You know that he will do anything and everything he can to get you out of this place, out of this hell.

You trust him, you know that he can and will do it. You just need to hold on a little while longer, just a little bit more patience, and he will come for you. The only reason he didn’t bring you with him is just because of your leg, right?

You hear someone coming down the stairs, slowly, growing louder with each step. They seem impossibly loud and echoey in the cold damp air, and the rustling sound of clothing scraping along the walls seems to amplify the sound tenfold. 

It seems like the footsteps are taking forever, and that they are just getting louder and closer, as if whoever or whatever is coming is dragging their feet with every step, making it that much more intense. But you know who is coming down, the only one you ever see alive anymore, down here, in the dark. You are not scared of being alone, not anymore, you are scared of having unwanted company.

The man who locked you and Robert down here, after you two begged him for shelter from the rain, without even really using his strength. 

The man has a face reminiscent of a demon’s. His wide grin is filled with malice and cruelty, with sharp teeth that seem more like fangs. His narrow eyes are cold and predatory, always analyzing and always scanning his surroundings, you most of all, for your horrified facial expressions. He moves with a natural grace and an easy, casual manner, but under that exterior is a terrifying presence and a ruthless personality that is not afraid to kill or hurt someone without a second’s hesitation. The cuts and bruises all over your body are concrete proof of the latter.

“Perhaps there is still some use for you.” He steps closer, on the cracks of the floor below. “I don’t mind having an assistant.”

*~*~*~*

Ever since Feitan claimed you as his “assistant,” he imparted numerous teachings upon you. Among them, you discovered that the human body possesses an astonishing resilience, enduring unimaginable pain without succumbing to death. Even those who are deprived of limbs, eyes, and tongues persist, their existence marked by incessant torment, their pleas for respite falling on deaf ears. Regrettably, mercy is simply not within his repertoire. But something you have learned more than anything is that Feitan has made you a murderer.

Sometimes you were the one that did the finishing blow, with blood-soaked, shivering hands. Feitan seemed happy then, patting you on the head as a reward for a job well done. An act of fondness. Sometimes you told yourself it was for the better good, because to disobey Feitan meant a fate akin to a death sentence. Sometimes you told yourself that you had no choice and that your body may as well be a puppet on a string. 

Both things you told yourself were bad enough and simply brought worse things in you. You are just like him at the end of it all.

You almost like killing them. You almost like killing them because for the first time in months or years or however long you have been held captive in that basement, you feel the presence of power.

You are both repulsed by the reality of it and also thrilled by the sense of control it gives you. The feeling of power and control is intoxicating, an adrenaline rush that you never expected, and yet it seems to call to you all the same. It is a thrill to you like you have never known, akin to nothing you have ever experienced before. It is a twisted sense of pleasure and satisfaction you get by taking the life of someone else, and yet you cannot help but feel guilt for that same pleasure.

What would Robert think?

…

The dinner table is set up with the most care you think Feitan could ever show to an inanimate object that was not his knives or swords. Not that it was ever used in the first place, as you usually ate alone in your bare-bones room, the only place where you sometimes had any privacy. There were a few napkins and a water bottle in front of you, with Feitan’s side having the same. The difference was while you had plastic utensils, your captor had real, metal ones. If you didn’t know better by now, you would have been tempted to take his knife and stab it into his jugular. But you do know better now, so you don’t try to do such a foolish thing anymore. You would not get far anyway. In the end, maybe you would be the one who gets hurt. That is what usually happens anyway, whenever you act out of line. 

“Well? Does it look okay?” Feitan asks, his eyes gesturing towards something in the center of the table, something that looks like a larger rotisserie chicken in a bed of plastic and aluminum foil. Steam comes out of it along with the smell of cooked poultry. You wonder where Feitan got it from because he certainly does not know how to cook if the microwave dinners and chips you are always given mean anything. Not that you would say anything about it. You would rather not get on your captor’s bad side, his temper was already as explosive as it was. You were just happy to finally be eating something new for once.

“Yeah.”

“Which part do you want?” At his seemingly normal question, you point to the breast. You always liked that type of meat over thighs and drumsticks because they have much less fat. Much more delicious, in your opinion. “Hmm. Why?” 

Of course, you have to explain yourself. There is never a moment when you don’t have to. Whether that would be what your favorite vegetable is to why you dislike bugs. He once put a centipede on your forehead as you slept and you screamed as loud as the people Feitan tortured in the cellar. 

“Less fat and less likely to fall apart completely.” 

Seemingly pleased with your answer, he grabs his knife and starts cutting, soon placing a large piece on your paper plate. He hated doing dishes, and so you always were forced to do them. As much as Feitan loves getting his hands dirty with organs and blood, soaked bread crumbs were too much for him. You kind of found it funny. Not that you would ever tell him, you don’t want to be hit in the head and called stupid again. 

“Enjoy your food.” It sounded sort of like a threat, like an order to enjoy this moment as much as you can. You would prefer anything to microwaved pudding mixed with dethawed that was reminiscent of a forbidden fifth state of matter, more unholy than plasma. 

So, you do.

“How is it?” Feitan is simply poking at his plate, it was ironic since whenever you refused to eat he called you ungrateful and threw you in the basement for an hour or two. 

“Good.” You don’t know if his smile widening was a good or bad thing.

“I got it from a friend.”

“That’s… nice.”

“He helped me hunt him down himself.”

He?

You accidentally drop your fork onto the floor, the sound making you jump slightly. You bend down to pick it up, as you do not want Feitan to throw your plate out for making a mess again. 

…It is best not to think about it too much. 

[a-case-of-attachment]

So in Hell’s Greatest Dad, Lucifer tells Charlie that ‘with a punch of a pentagram’ and ‘usually I charge a sacrificial lamb’ when he’s offering to help her with the hotel and it got me thinking. Surely he must have had people sacrifice things in his honour or for favours before right? So….what if when something is sacrificed to him it ends up down in Hell?

It works like some sort of inter dimensional postal service. Lucifer will just be doing whatever then a portal will open up above him full of weird oil slick coloured clouds and lightening cracking across the endless sky with the boom of thunder not far behind. Out of the portal flies a cherub sized faun wearing a shirt, waistcoat and bow tie brandishing a clipboard that’s got the contract attached to it. All the important things will be on there like who’s doing the sacrificing, what they are sacrificing and what they want in exchange for it. Lucifer can either accept the sacrifice and sign the document, giving the sinner what they want or just straight up refuse to sign, decline the sacrifice and instead have it sent off to purgatory.

The problem is that Lucifer is so jaded that he doesn’t even bother reading the contracts any more. Sinners all want the same thing anyway, fame, fortune, revenge, so what’s the point even bothering to look these days? It’s not like he gets that many sacrifices in his name anymore and when he does it’s mostly just lambs and goats, the occasional dog or guinea pig and a cat that one time. He often just gives them to people as pets, it’s how Charlie had gotten razzle and dazzle.

But you know, people are deranged and over the centuries there have been a handful of human souls that come his way. Lucifer never accepts those, often get angry that people actually think killing someone would make him happy. Shocker, it doesn’t. All it did was prove that humans really are just the worst, a race of violent psychopaths hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. Yes Lucifer felt bad that these people had died and for nothing but he wasn’t about to reward some lowlife scumbag for taking another’s life so unfortunately that meant the sacrificed soul was purgatory bound. It wasn’t ideal but it also wasn’t permanent. At least there they would get the chance to move onto heaven eventually and not be stuck in this infernal nightmare for all of eternity.

So no, Lucifer didn’t do human sacrifices. Except, well, maybe he did.

It was an accident! Lucifer had been distracted, him and Charlie having a slight disagreement about the hotel and her expectations when it came to heaven. He hadn’t meant to upset her but she needed to realise that very few angels would be as open to the idea of redemption as he or Emily had been. It had been just about the time Lucifer had been urging Charlie to proceed with caution when it came to Heaven that a portal opens above him, a little faun flying out, clipboard already in hand and looking down at Lucifer through the spectacles perched on its nose.

Lucifer had attempted to ignore the blasted thing but it just flys around his head, brandishing the clip board and tapping impatiently at its wristwatch until Lucifer finally had enough and snatches the board off him, quickly flipping to the back and signing it before shoving it back at the startled faun. It just huffs at him, jotting something down before tearing off a sheet and giving it back to Lucifer only to disappear back into the portal. Lucifer doesn’t look at the contract he just signed, not caring what shallow and self serving thing the mortal had asked for. He goes back to Charlie, continuing to urge to not trust heaven so easily, all the while holding his arms out expectantly to catch whatever animal is going to drop out of the portal.

Lucifers expecting a lamb or a goat, heavyish for a human but nothing for him, except he gets something much larger and heavier, the shock of it knocking Lucifer to the ground. His first thought is some wretched mortal had sacrificed a cow or horse, either to lazy to find the usual offering or thinking the bigger the sacrifice the better the reward. Either way Lucifer is already regretting his choice to grant their wish, no clue what he is supposed to do with a cow other than send it down to a farm on wrath. Grumbling Lucifer sits up slightly, tugging at his hat that had been pushed down over his eyes but when he mages to pull his hat off Lucifer realises it’s so much worse than a cow.

There’s a person on his lap. A very human person sprawled across his lap and legs, their weight pinning him to the floor. You are dressed all in a white, the fabric almost see through though the top part was stained red with blood. Lucifer can’t look past your chest, the demonic sigils carved there still oozing blood. When he does manage to look up it’s to fined wide fear filled eyes staring back at him. The two of you just stare at one another, Lucifer feeling more and more panicked as the seconds drag on whilst you look close to passing out.

The whole room is silent and Lucifer just knows that they are all staring at the two of you, just as shocked as him and waiting for one of you to do something. Charlie is the first one to make a move, slowly creeping across the room to lay a hand on your shoulder. She probably meant to be a reassuring gesture but it’s a mistake nonetheless. It startled you, causing you to fall from Lucifers lap and giving you the first real view of the room and the rest of its inhabitants. Things go about as well as you would think.

You start screaming, Charlie panics as she tries to calm you down but only makes it worse, Angel dust offers you a drink that gets knocked out his hand and ends up all over Husk and Alastor offers to silence you permanently. Needless to say that none of what they are doing helps calm you down or make you feel any less afraid and all Lucifer does is sit there, staring down at the smear of red on his white pants and struggling to wrap his head around what in the hell is happening because he couldn’t have just accepted a human soul as payment. He’s never done that before, never, and yet there you are, cowering in the corner like a frightened animal, eyes franticly darting around as you look for some form of escape.

It’s that look of pure terror that gets Lucifer up and moving, handing off his hat and cane to Charlie as he gets everyone to back up and give you some space. He approached you slowly, hands held up in front of him to show you he meant no harm and keeping his voice soft and calm as he tells you that no one’s going to hurt you, that your safe here with them. He makes sure to leave a little bit of space between you when he stops, sinking down into a crouch so he’s eye level though you won’t look at him for long, eyes darting around at even the slightest movement. You’re still bleeding, the sigil for his name looking the deepest. It makes Lucifer feel sick, that someone could do this to you and claim that it’s in his honour. He found no honour in an act like this, only hate and disgust, igniting a strong desire inside him to hunt down those responsible and show them the same kindness they had you.

It takes a good few minutes of Lucifer talking at you before he gets any form of response. He introduces himself, tells you once more that he isn’t going to hurt you and that he just wants to help and maybe even clean up those markings so they don’t get infected. It’s slow going but eventually you give him a slight nod, uncurling from where you had been trying to make yourself as small as possible so he can get a better look at the ugly mess of cuts on your chest. He startled you when he conjures water and a cloth, Lucifer apologising as you bang into the wall behind you in an attempt to get away from the sudden action. He does get you to calm down though, at least enough for him to clean away the blood and apply bandages.

These wounds will not disappear like the injuries the now resident of Hell would sustain, their origin in magic and acting as a physical sign of your binding to him. But Lucifer vows to look after them and you, after all this is all his fault and though he knows that Charlie would care for you if he was to up and leave he can’t bring himself to do so. It’s his responsibility to look after you, you are his after all and isn’t that just a horrific twisted little thought. Lucifer wants to cry, to beg your forgiveness because unless he was to gift your soul to another you were bound to him from now until eternity, forced to obey his every request regardless of what you wanted. He can’t cry though, not when you already are, silent tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin onto his hand and arm as he cleans away the blood. So he fights back the tears, completely focused on his task and trying to be as gentle as he possibly can be.

When he’s done and the now ruined rag and pink water are vanished away with the wave of his hand Lucifer doesn’t know what else to do other than offer you a safe space of your own and a comfortable bed to sleep in so he does exactly that. You look terrified when he asks if you would like to go to bed, eyes dropping down to just below his belt. Lucifer might actually be sick when he realises what you are scared is going to happen and he can’t get the words out quick enough to reassure you that he means to sleep and that you will be the only person in the room. His obvious horror at the implication seems to reassure you and you give him a small nod.

You use the wall to support you getting up but as soon as you go to take a step forward your legs buckle and Lucifer has to lurch forward to grab hold of you before you can hit the floor. Your to weak, wether that be from the shock or the blood loss Lucifer doesn’t know, possibly both, but what he does know is you are not going to make it up the several flights of stairs on your own.

He asks before picking you up, waiting for you to give him a nod of agreement before he slips one hand behind your back and the other behind your knees. It’s nothing for him to pick you up but it had you squeaking in surprise, flinging your arms around his neck and pulling yourself tighter against him. Lucifer can’t help laugh softly, assuring you that he was stronger than he looked and that he wouldn’t drop you. You don’t seem to buy it though, your hold around his neck tightening as you hide your head against his shoulder. He can’t blame you for being scared, Licifer looks like a strong breeze would send him stumbling but he supposes that’s one of the perks of being an angel, he’s stronger than he looks.

It’s only when he turns around that Lucifer realises the rooms completely empty except for the two of you. He doesn’t know when everyone else disappeared but he’s grateful for it, not sure how you would have reacted to a room full of weird looking people staring at you. He talks to you the whole time up to your room, telling you where he was taking you and a little about the hotel and it’s residents, though he mostly tell you about Charlie and Vaggie, the only other people he trusts to look after you correctly if he wasn’t around. Lucifer picks a room for you on the same floor as him though a couple of doors down in an attempt to keep you close and also give you some probably much needed distance. He sets you down on the bed, tells you where everything is including his room, just in case you need him before he comes back to check the bandages in a few hours. He does conjure you some sleep clothes though, making sure they were the softest and most comfortable thing you have ever worn. He wants you to be comfortable, to actually feel safe after what you have been through and though he knows the simple kindness he has showing you will not erase that it will hopefully show you that despite what you may have heard Lucifer isn’t all that bad.

Lucifer hates himself just a little bit more after what he does next, crouching down to look you in the eye and telling you that you can’t leave the hotel room unless he comes to get you or you are going to his room and nowhere else. Normally it would just be words but you are bound to Lucifer now and even you don’t want to you will have no choice but to obey him. You stiffen, nodding your head slightly but still you don’t say a word, not even when he bids you good night. He doesn’t even get the door half way closed before he hears you start to cry. He wants to go back, to take you in his arms and apologise for what has been done to you whilst reassuring you that life here will not be as bad as you think. He doesn’t though, wanting to give you time to greave and mourn the loss of your life.

He doesn’t even make it two steps down the corridor before it all really hits him and Lucifer crumbles, sinking to the floor and pressing his hand against his mouth in an attempt to muffle his own sobs. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, or how he’s even meant to care for you correctly. Animals were easy, simple to please, humans not so much. Plus Lucifer owned you, he would have to be extremely carful of what he said because even an offhanded comment would be taken as a command and you could end up getting seriously hurt.

It’s too much, Lucifer not equipped to deal with such responsibility but he has no choice, he has to. This is all his fault after all and he couldn’t abandon you in your hour of need. No he would figure this all out, tend to your wounds and help you adjust to life here in hell. He would help you find a place to call home, maybe at the hotel helping with the sinners or maybe something down in one of the other rings. Just somewhere you could feel truly safe and at ease. Whatever you wanted Lucifer would make it yours, giving you as much a slice of paradise as he can. How else would he atone for his mistake?

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Angel Reader - First Preview

Yeah, looks like the Angel Reader is gonna win the poll so I started cooking! It’s short but it’s something! No active warnings for this preview

It was no secret that you and Lucifer shared a special bond. You two were as close as friends could be. It was a little odd to be fair; a seraphim and a virtue were definitely an unusual pair. Nonetheless, neither of you cared what the rest of Heaven thought of you. You did your best to ignore the rumors that were floating about; saying your bond with Lucifer ran deeper than just a friendship. It wasn't true, of course, and those relationships were heavily discouraged by the Elders. Neither of you would dare consider stirring up trouble...more than you already have, that is.

Separately, the two of you were considered "mischievous" as Sera would say. But together, you created a whirlwind of ideas and spectacles that would land the both of you with serious reprimand more than once. You tried your best to behave, but Lucifer brought out the worst, or perhaps the best, in you. You were the only one who believed in his dreams and his passions, and he was more than encouraging when he asked about your ideas for creation. It was heartbreaking when you learned that he had been left out of the creation of the new world. To you, his ideas were not dangerous as many others believed, but inspired. When Lucifer told you that he wanted to see Earth for himself, you covered for him, as any good friend would do. His visits became more and more frequent and your lies became less and less believable.

Every time Lucifer returned from Earth, he would go on and on for hours about the wonderful and fantastical things he'd seen. But what he wanted to talk about most was the human woman, Lilith. You had witnessed for yourself how the human man Adam had treated her; demanding control and with no regard for anything but himself. He was selfish, you believed Lilith was right for fleeing the garden. You hoped that the new human woman Eve would fair better. Lucifer had found Lilith and immediately was enraptured with her. You were happy for him. Mostly. There was a small pang in your heart every time he mentioned her, but this was your best friend; you wanted nothing more than for him to be happy! There was also the constant threat that now loomed over him. What would Heaven do if they found out about Lucifer and Lilith? You vowed to keep his secret, you couldn't bear to witness any punishment befall him.

One day, Lucifer came rushing to your room with an idea that could shake Heaven to its very core.

"Free will?" you asked Lucifer. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, the Elders-"

"The Elders are wrong," Lucifer responded curtly. "Humans deserve to have free will. They shouldn't just be puppets on Heaven's strings. It's not right! They should have the right to choose!"

You sighed. "I don't disagree with you, Lucifer. You're right. But...I'm worried. What will happen once they do have it? Once it's given, you can't take it back. And what will happen to you? You have to know there will be consequences if you go through with this and I...I'm..."

Lucifer pulled you into a tight hug, and you instinctively returned the gesture. Holding him felt like one of the greatest gifts you could ever receive. "It'll be alright. No matter what happens to me, I know this is the right thing to do." He pulled away from you and smiled, holding your hands delicately. "You are a wonderful friend and a true reflection of what Heaven should be. I don't want you to worry anymore. I can't get in any worse trouble than I've already been in before, right?" he laughed.

His golden eyes shined brightly, you loved the way he lit up when he told you about his dreams. You finally smiled back at him. "Thank you, Lucifer. I trust you completely. When will you return to Earth?"

"Tomorrow," he responded. "Lilith and I will meet with Eve. She seems like she would be more receptive to the idea than Adam. Perhaps she could convince him afterwards!" With a wave of his hand, a shiny, glowing red apple appeared in his palm. "This is my gift to humanity. It's the least I can provide."

You leaned in and planted a tiny peck to his pale cheek. "Please be careful," you whispered.

A light golden blush dashed across his cheeks. "O-Of course." He turned around slowly, opening the door and was about to leave when he turned back to look at you. "I'll be back tomorrow after it's done. Don't miss me too much!" With that, Lucifer walked out, leaving you alone in your room once more.

You couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of dread.