#sword af fanfic

[rotteneldritchhorror]

im loving this- this is great

[baflegacy]

your love is tough

The halfling waits for Koda to turn back and head down to their room, but he doesn’t budge. Her smile turns into a sigh.

“I’m fine Koda, I promise,” Delores tells him, “Look, if this was about earlier, then I’m sorry for hovering—”

“—It’s not,” The half-elf pinches the fabric of his shirt, a nervous gesture. “It’s not about that, Delores.”

(Delores tries to have some self-reflection. Koda tries to make her come back down from unspoken guilt.)

[sky-neverending]

ok i know its been. a while. but im back at this. i was wondering if any artists wanted to collab? i write, you draw, we have a silly time? just dm me if ur interested! we can bounce ideas off each other and stuff!

the urge to write a sword af human college au is motherfucking strong y’all. she’s strong. i just need one more little push

[lizzyiii]

just read “his lady love” and i’m completely obsessed with your writing, i definitely need a part 2 for that please 😭😭😭

His Lady Love (2)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.8k words

summary | you return to westeros, to find that the young prince has become a man and his burning infatuation with you has not died out and you reconnect with helaena

tags | no warnings? usual mention of targaryen incest (but let's be real, everyone who reads hotd fanfic has now normalised targcest), and child marriage (my poor bby Helaena), filler

note | oh my god, y'all 😭. idk what I was thinking with that dramatic ass mikaelson reveal. as we all know the reader is never described, but as we all also know the mikaelsons are white af. so I'm making it clear that the reader is NOT mikael's daughter, leaving the reader's description and race unknown, esther was busy getting her freak on and her real father will never be disclosed. because in my mind the reader or y/n is and will always be a curly-haired, brown-skinned baddie....so each to their own. AND I'm pretty sure this is going to be a series cause for the life of me I am unable to make a oneshot without further exploring a story.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

Five long years had stretched into nearly two thousand sunrises since Aemond Targaryen last laid eyes upon you. Each passing day weighed heavily on his soul, a slow burn of a thousand bitter memories. Some days, the tempest of his emotions roiled within him, bidding him to hate you—for your departure, for the way you had vanished from court like a wisp of smoke, leaving only echoes and shadows in your wake.

But the flames of that hate flickered and faded, giving rise to a deeper yearning, a gaping void where love had once flourished. Even now, after all this time, your spirit held his heart captive, stolen under the very nose of fate when you chose to forsake the realm.

In the wake of your absence, thirteen year old Aemond had become a specter haunting the hallowed halls of the library, pouring over tomes and scrolls in a frantic quest for knowledge of House Mikaelson—a house that seemed to dissolve into the mists of myth with each turn of the page. The histories were silent, and when he turned to his elders, the lords and ladies of the court, their ignorance stung deeper than any sword. Your name was but a whisper lost amongst the louder clamor of dragons and destinies.

Desperation guided his steps toward the Queen’s solar, where his mother resided. He pressed forth, demanding answers of her, yet it was peculiar; though he sought her wisdom and guidance, she seemed to have forgotten the very reason of why she had made you one of her ladies-in-waiting. Her brows knitted with confusion as he spoke your name, her big brown eyes clouded with a nostalgia she could not place.

Yet Aemond could see it in the gentle curve of her lips, in the way her gaze drifted past him, as if searching for a phantom. She missed you, that was clear. Her heart held a chamber of memories crafted from your offered comfort amidst the whispers of court intrigue, from the grace of your presence that had brightened the darker days.

The weight of five relentless years bore heavily upon Aemond Targaryen. Through trials of fire and blood, he had forged himself anew, emerging both mentally and physically formidable. He was now the most skilled swordsman within the keep’s sturdy walls, a warrior of such caliber that even the esteemed Ser Criston Cole would struggle to match his prowess. Secluded in the dim light of solitary training grounds, he immersed himself in the ancient tomes of philosophy and the illustrious history of House Targaryen, dedicated to honing his mind as keenly as his sword.

Yet in this relentless pursuit of strength and mastery, the warmth of his heart had withered, leaving behind only the chill of calculated ambition. His facade, meticulously crafted, rendered him cold and unyielding — a visage so fierce that even the bravest souls flinched at the thought of meeting his gaze directly.

Thus, it was with a jarring dissonance that Aemond entered his sister, Helaena's solar that day. It was a ritual he had come to cherish against the backdrop of his darkening spirit, visiting her and the twins for a fleeting moment of respite. However, as he stepped across the threshold, the air thickened and his breath caught in his throat.

Helaena sat with delicate artistry upon a chaise, embroidering threads of vibrant colors while keeping a watchful eye on her children. But it was not the familiar sight of his sister that seized him. No, there, in the heart of the chamber, stood his mother, Queen Alicent, holding the hands of a woman whose features were obscured from his view. However, even with your back turned, he recognized you and your unmistakable figure.

Alicent’s large, expressive eyes caught his, shimmering with an emotion he had not anticipated. “Aemond,” she uttered softly, the sound piercing through the tension-laden silence.

With the calling of his name, you turned, and the breath in his lungs faltered. The years stretched out like an endless tapestry between the two of you, but as he beheld you standing there after all this time, it felt as if no time had passed at all.

Five long years had passed, and in that span, Aemond had transformed. His once-boyish frame had hardened, each line of muscle now finely chiseled, his stature soaring to a height that eclipsed yours. He had shed the skin of youth and emerged a man forged by the fires of ambition and vengeance, yet he could feel a familiar tug at his heart as he stared at you.

But you… you had remained untouched by time’s relentless march. Your face, flawless and luminous, bore no marks of age; not a wrinkle nor blemish dared mar your smooth skin. Your form he remembered was preserved in perfection, your hair framing your figure in the same glorious waves that had enchanted him years ago.

You were the embodiment of memories he cherished, the same as ever.

For a fleeting heartbeat, Aemond dared to believe you were but a haunting mirage conjured by his yearning heart. If not for the watchful eyes of his mother and sister resting upon you, he would have thought himself lost to despair, ensnared by the fantasies of his own making.

An eternity seemed to stretch in the daunting silence that enveloped the two of you, the world around forgotten as each of you engaged in a quiet, yet profound examination. Your eyes sparkled like the night sky in the light of the day, and when you smiled—the same saccharine smile that had once filled his heart with joy during the innocence of his childhood—it left him breathless. “My prince,” you spoke softly, your voice dancing in the air, “how you’ve grown.”

In that moment, something within him shifted—a profound balm against the bitterness he had nurtured like a dark plant within his chest. All the resentment, the stinging remembrance of your abandonment, and the shadows of sadness that once clouded his thoughts dissipated at the mere sight of your smile. His throat was dry as a winter's night, thoughts scattered like ash on the wind, and yet, the corners of his mouth began to lift involuntarily, mirroring the warmth radiating from you.

Mikaelson.

A name that struck terror into the hearts of countless souls. Yet, here, in this strange realm of Westeros, where dragons soared and the icy dread of White Walkers loomed behind the walls, such fear was but a whisper lost to the winds. No, this land, though foreign and fierce, offered you sanctuary—not the kind woven from solace and warmth, but the kind fortified by distance and the absence of your cursed siblings.

Here, there were no vampires lurking in the cloaks of night, nor were there werewolves howling beneath the pale moonlight. Instead, there were dragons, fierce and resplendent, and direwolves, proud and wild. Most crucially, there was no Mikael—a freedom that tasted of hope amidst you heart's turmoil.

True, you thought often on whether you should have brought your siblings along, for Mikael would never find this place. Yet, a heavy foreboding gripped you; you understood all too well that the Mikaelsons (Niklaus) very presence would shatter the fragile peace you sought. Westeros was far from a land of plenty, riddled with poverty and further burdened by the cruel fate of women, yet in its chaos lay distance.

So, you fled, slipping away into the shrouded embrace of night, abandoning the only family you had known—or, more accurately, what was left of it. It was the sixteenth century, a time when hope flickered dimly in the eyes of men and women alike. You had not laid eyes upon Finn since Niklaus, in his relentless wrath, had condemned him to a tormented existence, and staked a dagger in his heart. Kol fared no better; his defiance had earned him Niklaus' ire, leaving him to face the very same fate that had befallen their eldest brother.

Months had slipped by as you braved the tempestuous seas, each wave an echo of your desperation, each gust of wind whispering promises of a new beginning. You had set sail toward the edge of the earth, guided by an insatiable yearning for freedom—until at last, you had discovered Westeros.

You had arrived in Westeros with an unyielding ambition, your ethereal beauty concealing a fierce determination that allowed you to easily compel your way into the court of Queen Alicent Hightower as one of her ladies-in-waiting. The smell of dragonfire and the whispers of civil war clung to the air, a distinct reminder of the foreign heritage of the Targaryens.

The first time you had seen one of the great beasts aloft, its shadow sweeping across the land, leaving you breathless and in awe. Dragons were an embodiment of the Targaryen power, but alongside that power lurked a shocking underbelly of normalized incestuous unions and the festering decay of traditional familial bonds. For a girl raised among the Mikaelsons, who had danced among the vices of immortality, this was both familiar and grotesque.

Your new world was laced with intrigue—rumors skittered through the halls like restless spirits. The whispers spoke of Princess Rhaenyra and the seed of doubt surrounding her claim to the Iron Throne, the barbs of scandal raised even higher by her many alleged bastards. These complexities intrigued you, compelling you to observe from the outside, where the machinations of power were far more amusing than any political play you had encountered in your old life.

Queen Alicent, though esteemed and regal, bore the weight of her flaws almost indiscernibly, like a cloak of gold marred by rust. From what you could tell, the Queen wielded herself like a pawn—her father being Otto Hightower, an unseen puppeteer, tugging at the strings of her choices. Maternal instinct flickered in Alicent like the candle flames that lit the chamber at night; she faltered and stumbled but made an earnest effort to nurture her children as best she could, though in your opinion she had failed miserably with Aegon. And yet, her fund of effort, a raw and poignant endeavor, resonated with you. The Queen was imperfect, yet within that human frailty lay a semblance of motherhood that Esther Mikaelson had failed to give you.

Thus, in your role as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, you discovered a sanctuary of sorts. The court became a twisted labyrinth of alliances and betrayals, yet amidst the swirling intrigue, you found comfort in Alicent’s earnest attempts at kindness towards you.

In the two years you had spent in Westeros, you had found solace in the delicate friendship you created with Princess Helaena—a rare gem among the Targaryens, whose sweet and gentle spirit seemed devoid of the cunning that defined her kin. Helaena's quiet understanding struck a chord deep within you, reminiscent of a time before death had twisted your mind. Once, you too had lived in a world that felt like a dream, until Niklaus tore down the veil of your innocence with his ruthless reality check. He had carved fear into your heart, reminding you of the darkness that lurked within the world.

But as you observed Helaena, an overwhelming sorrow enveloped you. The Queen's decree to betroth the princess to Prince Aegon sank like a stone in her gut. Aegon—a broken soul, defined by indulgence and ambition—was a force of chaos that echoed the wickedness of their own familial bond. In many ways, he reminded you of Kol, with his infectious charm and volatile spirit, yet where Kol harbored a flicker of love beneath layers of darkness, Aegon radiated a depravity that sent shivers down your spine.

Your heart ached at the thought of Helaena being shackled to a boy so unworthy of her light. The specter of Aegon’s reckless nature loomed large, and you feared for the princess's fate. You could see it clearly: with every passing day of their union, Helaena’s spirit would wither under the weight of neglect and cruelty, her gentle soul extinguished in the fires of a loveless bond.

And then there was Prince Aemond, the second youngest son of Alicent's brood—a striking boy marked by a fierce determination to embrace his responsibilities as a prince. You often felt a pang of sympathy when you witnessed the relentless taunts from Aegon and the scornful jeers of his nephews, sorrow swelling in your chest at the knowledge that he was the only Targaryen without a dragon to call his own. And it was hard to ignore the tender glances he cast your way, his violet eyes lingering on you whenever you graced a room.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Aemond standing at your door during the elusive hour of the wolf, his ethereal silver hair, tousled and framing a face streaked with tears, the light of hope dimmed in his now singular violet eye. Fury ignited in your core when he confided the harrowing tale of how Aegon had dragged him to the Street of Silk, that dark sanctuary of vice—your heart shattered for the innocence that had been ripped from him, for the heavy shame that now clung to him, marked by his brother who should have looked out and protected him. By now, Aegon was six-and-ten, he should have gleaned wisdom from his years, yet he chose the path of cruelty instead.

In an effort to soothe the wounded prince, you opened your heart and your arms to him. You conceded to his requests, bathing him with tender care, allowing him the sanctuary of your presence as he lay beside you. Your intentions were pure, untainted by anything but the desire to comfort a boy you had come to deeply care for.

And yet, with a heavy heart, you turned your back on Westeros, your mind haunted by the echoes of family. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, you found yourself yearning for the bonds that had once defined you. The Targaryens, ensnared in their web of resentment and betrayal, made it clear that true loyalty and love were rare treasures. Their familial discord stood in stark contrast to the fierce devotion of your own bloodline. For all the chaos wrought by the Mikaelsons, love remained their unyielding anchor.

Niklaus, with his volatile nature, was both feared and revered by you; yet, beneath that fierce exterior lay a soul tormented by the shadows of his past, perpetually haunted by the specter of abandonment. Finn and Kol, locked in eternal slumber by Niklaus’s cruel whim, lay undisputed in their coffins, yet your brother stood sentinel over them, unwavering and steadfast. The thought of returning to him was chilling; the mere sight of you would surely earn a dagger in your own heart.

You resolved to escape, to steal away before Queen Alicent could impose a husband upon you like a gilded cage. It was meant to be a brief respite, a momentary retreat from your burdens. You had once believed that seamlessly integrating into the intricate tapestry of Westerosi society would be a simple endeavor. Yet, the relentless weight of expectations proved stifling. Each encounter demanded a dance of delicate grace, a façade meticulously curated to meet the desires of those around you, and in turn, it drained your very spirit.

Thus, you sought solace in the sun-drenched lands of Essos, a realm that defied the rigid conventions you had grown weary of. Essos was a land of vibrant colors and broken norms, where the sun shone unabated and the very air seemed to sing of possibility. Gone were the burdens of being gracious and demure, replacing those restraints with the intoxicating freedom to explore the wild tapestry of cultures sprawled before you. In a realm filled with mercenaries and traders, where the scent of spice mingled with the salty sea air, you couldn’t help but feel invigorated.

Shame washed over you like a cold wave, a sharp pang of regret settling in your chest as you sat in Princess Helaena's solar, surrounded by the laughter of her twins, Jahaerys and Jahaera. The children, mere five summers old, served as a vivid reminder of your absence; Helaena had brought them into the world at the tender age of fourteen, while you had been lost in the allure of Essos. Your own selfish pursuits had drawn you away from Westeros, leaving your dear friend to navigate the tides of motherhood without your companionship.

But now, fate had drawn you back to Westeros, though the reason for your return eluded you—perhaps it was mere curiosity, or a desire to witness the Targaryens as they embarked on a path toward their own ruin. Perhaps it was simply the lingering comfort of a maternal embrace that Queen Alicent had once offered you. One thing remained certain: you were back, unchanged yet bound by the curse that clung to the Mikaelsons. You still appeared as you had, forever encased at the tender age of six and ten, the same age at which you had died nearly six centuries ago.

The twins were a study in contrast. Jaehaerys, the young prince, was somber and introspective, casting shy glances your way from beneath the curtain of his silver hair. In contrast, Jaehaera exuded a lively spirit, her laughter as bright as the morning sun. She was a sweet girl, eager for your attention, her small hands clutching her beloved dolls as she beckoned you to join her in playful realms of castles and grand adventures. Every so often, Jaehaerys would join in, indulging his sister’s imagination by taking on the role of a fierce dragon, albeit with a reluctance that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing.

“I have missed you,” Helaena said softly from her place on the chaise, delicate fingers working through the intricate patterns of her embroidery, her gaze never leaving the fabric.

You met her gaze, a frown momentarily shadowing your features, your heart tightening at the sight of her. A small, bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you replied, "As I have missed you, princess. I offer my sincerest apologies for my prolonged absence."

“But you have returned, and that is what matters,” she replied with a tranquil certainty, her expression unwavering.

With a nod, you maintained your tight-lipped smile, the corners of your mouth struggling to lift fully. “Indeed, I have, and I hope to stay here for as long as fate allows.”

As you resumed your playful moments with the twins — Helaena’s voice broke through the lighthearted chaos as she called your name. “Pray tell, how old were you when you came to court?”

Your lips pursed gently as you recounted, your tone tense but soft, “I was but six and ten years, my dear princess.”

An oblivious smile spread across Helaena's face, illuminating her features. “And yet you appear unchanged, as if untouched by time’s passage. Like a Lepidoptera,” she remarked, her imagination weaving images as vivid as the embroidered fabrics around her.

Your brows knitted in puzzlement. "A what, my princess?"

"A Lepidoptera," she patiently repeated, her eyes shimmering with youthful curiosity. "It is a classification that encompasses butterflies, which remain breathtakingly lovely until the end of their days."

A bittersweet pang echoed within you at her words, for you were destined for a far different fate, cursed to wander the shadows as a creature of the night. Yet, you offered a slight nod, managing a soft, "Thank you, my princess," as you absorbed the weight of her innocent compliment.

“And yet, I cannot claim to have missed you as intensely as Aemond has,” Helaena mused, her gaze distant as you idly threaded your fingers through Jaehaera's shimmering locks of silver.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp what you mean,” you replied softly, masking your understanding with a facade of innocence.

“I believe you are quite aware,” Helaena said softly, a melodic note in her voice, her smile lingering with a teasing warmth, “Aemond has loved you since he was a mere boy.”

You cast her a sidelong glance before adopting an air of nonchalance. “Love is a weighty term for one so young, Princess. Surely, it was nothing more than a fleeting fancy.”

Helaena shook her head, her needlework a steady rhythm in her hands. “No, I do not believe so.”

Deep down, you didn't believe so either. Ever since your return to the depressive halls of King's Landing, a sensation had accompanied your every step—a watchful gaze lingering upon you. Aemond had worked to keep it hidden, but your heightened senses revealed the quiet intensity of his interest, as vivid as the summer sun.

There had been numerous revelations awaiting you upon your return to the Red Keep—the prideful births of young Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, the scandal of Rhaenyra and her uncle Daemon's elopement, and the grim decline of King Viserys's health, shadows stained upon the Iron Throne. Yet, the most haunting transformation was that of Prince Aemond.

Aegon had blossomed into the drunken sleaze you had always anticipated, a replica of the whims that dictated his every choice, but Aemond—oh, how he was the exact opposite of what you had envisioned. The youthful boy, once soft and unassuming, had unfurled into a striking figure, sharpened like the blade of a Targaryen sword, each line of his form etched with the harshness of time and expectation. His stature now towered over you, his presence immense, a tempest contained within the boundaries of a man’s body.

He seemed to carry within him a quiet fury, a storm beneath the surface, and it stirred something deep within you, a memory of that boy who had once been desperate for approval and had hope for a dragon. His boyish softness had been replaced by the resolute presence of a true dragon, a stark reminder of the power and peril that resided within his bloodline.

[mimayaribie]

Four Sword Palace

I’ve seen a post by @weepingtalecowboy about what if shadow was immortal and he guards the Four Sword Palace and that’s why that place is all dark and scary. I love that idea and how they talked about the reaction of the chain and four if they ever go there and seeing shadow. (Please go read it, you could probably find it when you search “four swords palace”)

But I like to think that shadow actually guided legend through the palace and warned him about the four figures from the four sword at the end of the dungeon. Shadow couldn’t fight the four figures because it looked too similar to his friends/lover (depending on who reads it) but he knew the four sword would keep corrupting if he didn’t do anything about it so he asked help from legend. Legend definitely remembers about the palace because it was scary af for him and he’s still creeped out about it but he also remembers the kind shadow that helped him navigate the palace.

When the chain meets for the first time, he sees four and the only thing he could think is the four figures he fought at the palace but he also remembers about shadow and wonders where he is

If I find the motivation and confidence, I might write a fanfic about it, I dunno

[sanjisboyfie]

DOMESTICITY: a shared interest among swordsmen

(keep safe) zoro + male reader

-> domestic series rise ‼️‼️

link to the fanfic where zoro and the male reader are based from <3

now, [name] and zoro had a rocky start in getting to know one and another. [name] bested zoro in a fight, which was a shame to zoro’s ego in of itself.

but there was one thing the two could bond over and not cause a fight about. their care for their weaponry. [name] never drew his blade, unless he was prepared to use it to kill. that was something he liked to have control over. not to swing around his sword so carelessly.

it was disrespectful to the katana and the previous wielder of it.

nevermind the fact it’d be inappropiate, but sometimes the mere exposure of the blade to air could cause a shift in the atmosphere. it was dangerous even when it was simply unsheathed. so [name] liked to avoid it causing trouble and kept it in its protective scabbard more than half the time.

to zoro, the sword was an incredible tool. [name]’s in particular had him facinated the first moment he saw it. so one day, he (surpirisingly) pushed his pride to the side and approached [name], in hopes of getting to talking about the sword.

“what’s its name?”

“arnold,” [name] grinned, enjoying the pissed off look on zoro’s face, “jokes, jokes! i don’t know it’s name, shanks never told it to me. he’d only ever call it kiddie names whenever he showed it to me.”

“that’s stupid,” zoro muttered in disappointment, “have you ever used it?”

[name] nodded, looking down at the sword. zoro took a seat next to [name] and looked at the blade intently. he almost looked like he was glaring at it. seeing zoro’s curiousity, [name] smiled gently and placed the blade into zoro’s lap.

“go on,” he said, motoining for zoro to expose the blade.

zoro gulped, sensing the strong power the weapon in front of him held, but got over his thoughts of doubt and simply unsheathed the sword in a swift motion. he felt sweat begin dripping down his skin the moment the blade was exposed. and he knew he had to put it back into its casing soon.

but still, he looked at the blade in amazement. a smirk came onto his lips before he could realize it and now he was looking at it with his pupils blown wide. the only reason why he was knocked out of his dreamlike state was because [name] whislted lowly at him.

“this is the happiest i’d ever seen you,” [name] said with a cheesy smile, “it’s a nice expression,”

zoro turned away from the blade and put it back into its casing. roughly, he shoved it back into [name]’s hands.

“easy there, no need to be so angsty about it,” [name] said, bringing the sword to rest on his shoulder. “what about yours?”

“i need to clean them, actually,” zoro said, cutting the conversation short and going to stand up to leave. but [name] grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“let me come with you,”

zoro really valued his alone time, especially with how rambunctious their crew was. and that alone time was designated to two things: sleep and sword cleaning. both of which he took very seriously.

but with the way [name] was looking at him, it was impossible to refuse. it could save time, he also told himself, accounting for the fact he had three swords to take care of. so he allowed [name] to follow him, bringing out the small kit and putting the katanas on display for him.

he grabbed wado ichimonji on instinct, taking it into his hands to gently care for. [name] hummed as he picked one of the remaining two and began going to work. the two were sitting in silence, gently taking care of the blades.

[name] focused intently on not messing this up, knowing how much each of zoro’s blades meant to him. he gently “poked” and “prodded” at the blade with the fluffy ball at the end of the stick, careful in each of his movements.

zoro, unknown to him, had a careful eye on [name], to watch him as he handled his weapons. but after some time, he recognized [name]’s skillful and careful movements. the man did own his own katana, after all.

and after that session, it seemed that the two developed a habit of cleaning zoro’s swords together. given the fact [name] had never used his sword, he didn’t need to clean it. so they were only having to clean three blades. zoro would always take wado ichimonji while [name] would take care of the other two.

it was a serene sight, if anyone was lucky to catch it. the two, who were usually bickering, were silently bonding over their shared interest and care for katanas. it was a wordless and silent exchange that always happened and zoro appreciated that.

after any major battle, or whenever zoro felt that his blades were rather neglected, he’d find [name], shoot him a particular look, and then that caused [name] to come bounding in his direction — ready to clean the katanas.

it was a routine, at this point, and neither of them minded the silent company. it was always pleasant.

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ─⊰

➺ my AO3 - InquisitorNocturn

➺ all BG3 fanfics - all VtM fanfics - all RT 40k fanfics

𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕦𝕟í𝕟 𝕥𝕒𝕘 ⤵

➺ 𝕤𝕗𝕨 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: ⋈ friends once ⋈ not for the lack of trying ⋈ egredior ⋈ truly (i see you) ⋈ one day at the time ⋈

➺ 𝕟𝕤𝕗𝕨 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: ⋈ a small hope ⋈ future memories ⋈ falling on your sword ⋈ sanguine allure ⋈ hidden crimes ⋈ when cannons fade ⋈ all nights belong to us ⋈

➺ 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕: ⋈ darkness of seven ⋈

𝕔𝕒𝕫𝕒𝕕𝕠𝕣 𝕤𝕫𝕒𝕣𝕣 𝕥𝕒𝕘 ⤵

➺ 𝕟𝕤𝕗𝕨 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: ⋈ strange negotiations ⋈ icarus equation ⋈ misconstruction ⋈ tempus horizon ⋈ all roads lead to blood ⋈

➺ 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕: ⋈ lacrimosa in rubeo, sanguinarius in atero ⋈

𝕖𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕥𝕒𝕘 ⤵

➺ 𝕤𝕗𝕨 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: ⋈ room of fractured mirrors ⋈

𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ⤵

➺ Cazador Szarr/f!reader/Astarion Ancunín ∘ pt.1 - shades & shadows | pt.2 - specters & phantoms ∘

Vampire the Masquerade - Bloodlines ⤵

𝕔𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕥𝕥

➺ 𝕟𝕤𝕗𝕨 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: ☥ teeth (only on AO3) ☥ questa note ☥

𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕦𝕖𝕫

➺ 𝕤𝕗𝕨 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤: ☥ lay your guns down (only on AO3) ☥

𝕤𝕖𝕓𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕒𝕟 𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕣𝕠𝕚𝕩

➺ 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕: ☥ a minute to midnight ☥

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖗 40,000 𝕽𝖔𝖌𝖚𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 ⤵

𝖆𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖆𝖓 𝖙𝖆𝖌 ⤵

➺ 𝖓𝖘𝖋𝖜 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖙𝖘: ⚜ veni et ama me ⚜

𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖕𝖑𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 ⤵

➺ Inquisitor Lord Xavier Calcazar / oc!High Interrogator Volenta van Halvek von Valancius af Calixis / Interrogator Heinrix van Calox ⚜ Innocentia Probat Nihil ⚜

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕤 & 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 ⤵

➺ nsfw alphabet (multifandom)

[luv4fandoms]

D'you ever just like.... Binge read an entire blog and start uglysobbing. Because that's me with your works.

The fact that you write for Dwayne (Lost Boys) legit had me weak. I have been in love with this mofo since I was like 14 (and I'm 27 now, so if that's not dedication idek what is) and you... FED ME. And your take on Dwayne is legit how I imagined him, like isn't it just fantastic when you read a fanfic that just makes your brain go "DING DING DING DING JACKPOT" that's me with your Dwayne content, I wanna cry.

If I may, but like please ignore this suggestion if it doesn't inspire you ... I am short af, like 4'11"(1.50m) kinda short, and I am kinda curious... How would Dwayne feel about that? Like how would he act around a very short partner? Is he the teasing type, the protective type, the "ur adorable" type... Does he have a size kink? Would he develop one? ;v;

Again, please just ignore this part of my message if you don't feel inspired by this little suggestion/idea/thing!

And plz keep posting your stuff because your blog legit helped me get out of a very nasty depressive episode and I cannot thank you enough for this!

First off let me just say that I am so freaking honored! Like holy crap! Dwayne the one boy I struggled to write when I first started writing about them, and to hear someone say that I nailed him perfectly to how they imagined him is just 🥹🥹. I'm also so glad that my stories helped you out of your depressive episode. As someone who has them herself I always wanna be able to help others through theres.❤️

Now on to the ask! (Never written a short reader before because I myself am 5'7-5'8 but I'mma try lol)

Warning: HINTS AT SMUT AT THE END

Dwayne is all three types when it comes to his shorter s/o. He's protective upon meeting you because in his mind, your height makes you more vulnerable to things, even if you are a little spitfire (like Marko) in his mind he still needs to use his own height to protect you. He will be your sword AND shield so you don't need to worry.

He also finds you absolutely adorable, especially when you have to ask him for help to reach stuff, it's no secret amongst the boys that Dwayne loves to be needed, it's like a drug to him, so that being said, he will be a cheeky shit at times and put stuff he knows you'll want, higher up so you have to come to him, with that adorable pout and ask in the sweetest voice.

"Dwayne can you help me?"

Cause you don't even know that you already have him wrapped around your finger.

He won't start teasing until you're a little ways into the relationship. It starts with little things, asking in a teasing voice "need something baby?" Other times it's "it's so cute when you stand on your tiptoes to kiss me. On more than one occasion he has easily lifted you up so you are at eye level with him, smiling that teasing smile and saying "there, isn't this easier baby? No need to strain your neck".

He loves how when you're out on the boardwalk he can wrap you in his arms, chin resting atop your head and feel like he is totally shielding you. How your body fitting so snuggly in his arms.

He never thought he had a size kink until he met you, but he soon realized he was wrong. The way his hand will totally eclipse yours when he holds them, how he can easily cup your cheeks and pull you close, his lips bruising your smaller ones. How easily you fit into his lap, either just relaxing so he can read to you, or during...other times.

That was another area his newly found kink came in. Seeing you taking him every time has his head reeling because he honestly is shocked when you take him. It always leaves him gasping and groaning, eyes locked on where you're joined, unable to look away.

Overall Dwayne will absolutely cherish you! Because you are his Princess/Prince and he would do absolutely anything for you ❤️

[heliophxle]

ermmm reintroduction to smoshblr cus uhhh i kinda fucked off lolll

im carter, im australian, and i write smosh fanfic. requests for duos/prompts/other shit are always open cus i have so many ideas and need vessels LMAO

known in certain areas as "the Trevor whump author" so do with that what you will.

my only claim to fame is i wrote the very first fic for Sword AF, so yeah.

this is my latest work, its a LOTF spommy au if u wanna check it out, will probably post infrequently on here or tons at once.

[rotteneldritchhorror]

I wrote a gasfern fiiiccc….

I finished iiiitttt

It’s postedddd

AaaaaaaaaaAAaAAaaAaAaaaaaaaa

[baflegacy]

First and last lines!

rules: post the first and last lines of the last 10 fics you posted.

(thank you for the tag! @wiggog-y-hecox tagging @jovenshires @ifearimlosingtheroom @wlwsmosh @zillaphoneswag for this)

it's a risk (but babe, i need the thrill)

first: Her skin feels electric.

last: “What’d I say! What did I say!”

your love is tough

first: It’s an eventful, uneventful night.

last: He pulls her in for a hug. The night air feels lighter than before.

know you like the pads of my fingers

first: One moment he’s wading through the throngs of influencers and content creators, trying not to let the disappointment weigh him down, the next thing he knows he’s being pulled into an empty green room.

last: He follows Ian out, more at ease with his steps now.

close my eyes and fantasize

first: Angela’s not really looking forward to her birthday.

last: Angela dreams of nothing but the clinking of keychains and the feeling of a purse being grasped.

you tell me you love her (I give you a grin)

first: It hurts Arasha, slowly.

last: It’s only when she’s at home that she lets her face crumple in hurt.

lets make this bed get squeaky

first: Amanda knew she shouldn’t have agreed to this.

last: “Oh, shut the hell up.”

makes me wanna try her on

first: When it came down to it, Angela fully blames Chanse for what transpired that day.

last: Amanda pulls her in, and she happily obliges.

if at first you don't succeed

first: She’s so fucking lost.

last: (They’ve done enough of an introduction a few years ago, that’s for sure.)

there is no amount (of crying I can do for you)

first: Amanda waits for her by the couch.

last: She walks upstairs to their (hers, now) bedroom, body wracking in painful sobs as she feels her life fall apart.

heard through the grapevine

first: As much as everyone in the office loathes to admit it, it’s not uncommon to see something…peculiar within the Smosh office.

last: It’s only when all of them hear Angela’s scandalized “They thought we were WHAT—?!” that Erin thinks that maybe she was jumping to conclusions a bit.

[praise-suns-and-chill]

Replaying Sword and Shield

I am not quite sure why, I thought about restarting X/Y first, and actually did, but since my plan for a X/Y Legends fanfic seems obsolete now, I guess I am looking for alternative ideas xD

Bede deserved better. He's a little twat but in the end he was just taken advantage of and dropped when he stopped being useful. I just like this little tsundere cottoncandyball

Also, just did the Isle of Armor questline, never actually did before. It's fun, I like it! Kubfu is cute af and it's evolution is now permanently on my team, OG Ogerpon but we didn't need to be involuntary assholes to get it, its ours and we don't need to feel bad about it.

I prefer that!

My girl Glory, and

Her current Team

[rose022]

ranking things we had to read in english classes but it will be updated whenever i remember books we read cus idk i have a bad memory and im not looking stuff up to check myself on any of this. bleh

1. great gatsby. our 60 smth year old teacher stopped the class to make sure we all understood they had gay sex. also i finished fast cus i liked it so much and then i read fanfics of it in class. i dont likw the ending but i get why it happened thematically 10/10

2. to kill a mocking bird. i cried a bit ngl. pretty good. based lawyer and cool kids and nice neighbor but also idk just wow. 9/10

3. the outsiders. okay so this was 7th not high school but i cried a lot. amazing world building and playing out of it. i hate that happened but i get it. 9/10

4. frankenstein. went so hard actually. good job mary. yeah i created this thing and then was horrified by it and neglected it I wonder why it hates me. victor was a twink and should have gottwn with his bestie who kept getting him out of depression. also that spencer quote from smosh "queer little fellow, and gay to bw sure too" 8/10

5. a streetcar named desire. it was fun cus we had different people read out all the parts and some people were super good at it. but also it made me viscerally uncomfortable at many parts. i think that was the intention but i dont have to like it. i dont really remember how it ended. 7/10

6. antigone. yeah go girl. idk it was short i dont remember everything. wow i keep saying thay but hashtag memeory problems. i made art for it as an assignment thats pretty bad but i liked the story well enough. 7/10

7. romeo and juliet. it uh. made me make ocs and we got to use swords to act out a scene. based af. 6/10

8. lord of the flies. unrealistic. but actually not that bad. also its been a while i forgot there was a timeskip. hashtag free those boys that are mimicking the wars around them. 6/10

9. animal farm. not that great. not too bad tho it was readable idk. interesting metaphor ig, i liked some chaarcters. 5/10

10. of mice and men. i dont have much to say. made me kind of sad. i dont remember how it ended really. 5/10

11. the giver. also one from middle school but man was that weird. what. 4/10

12. night. i did not like reading it. it just made me really fucking sad and despondent and full of despair. and like i know this one probably shouldnt be here since it was like a biography but. i did not like reading it. 2/10

[charliekellybutworse]

okay so who is going to start writing fanfic ab sword af

[thecatamaranlad]

Wrote more gay AF Room of Swords fanfic. Somebody stop me help these blorbos have thoroughly invaded my brain.

Summary: Kodya convinces Gyrus to try distilling alcohol. You know, for science.

Rating: T

Content warning: alcohol mention (and use, in future chapters after the first one).

(This is fluff bordering on crack IMO but I started writing it the other day and couldn’t stop.)

[noa-ciharu]

Where's the fanfic