#tentative allies to lovers

[raccoonfallsharder]

florescence❀ (a meetgroot*) year four: formation ⋆˚✿˖°

[NEW 9/24] ❤︎‬❤︎ my very long and ongoing birthday gift to the rocket fan community ~ thank you for sharing this space with me ♡♡♡ florescence❀ masterlist | read year four on ao3 navigation | fanfiction masterlist | art masterlist

read year four on ao3 | florescence❀ masterlist navigation | fanfiction masterlist | art masterlist

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 5/6 years | word count: pending. everything blossoms. rating increases. see warnings below and on ao3.

“I like it,” he interrupts quickly, his voice somehow straddling the knife-edge between sharp and raspy. “I frickin’ — I like it.” Your smile tugs wider on your lips. “Yeah?” He shrugs, and his burnt-ruby eyes shift away to some hidden shadowed corner of the cottage ceiling. He huffs a breath — almost a scoff, if not for the strangled yearning you can hear folded into the sound. “I mean. It’s fine. Whatever.” You chew your lip, and take a page out of his book, dropping your lids to half-mast and gazing at him through hooded eyes, lashes heavy. “I bet I can think of some other things you might like.”

He blinks. “Okay.” You feel the curve of your lips twitch again, cheeks lifting your eyes into soft crescents. Oh, he’s not getting it. At all. You’re surprised, based on the heat you sometimes see gathering in his lava-glowing eyes — the knowing smirk that so often tilts the corner of his mouth and presses one fang into his lip. But he seems only perplexed as you lean forward, eyes flickering with something dark and warm before he shutters them. They fly wide when you lift yourself to your hands and knees, pupils following to eclipse that ring of molten red as you slowly begin to crawl toward him. You tip your back into a little arch, letting your hips roll and sway as you lope toward him on all fours. His eyes get bigger and bigger — the beautiful soft brows of his mask arching higher and his pupils swelling and blooming like dark moons, catching firelight and fickering into flat copper coins as you move through the room, all the way until you’ve knelt yourself right at his feet. It’s a spot you’ve sat in a hundred times before, curved at the base of the chair you’d long ago decided was his — but it’s different now. You know it is, because you’re making it different. You coast your fingers against the  bottom hems of his jumpsuit, up the outer seams on his calves, and then dance your fingertips over his knees — watching his sharply-drawn inhalations through the feathery haze of your lashes.  “What are you doing?” he asks, and it’s almost choked. “Sweetheart,” you purr. “I’m trying to seduce you.”

read more ao3 | florescence❀ masterlist

WARNINGS: dirty talk, seduction, striptease, fellatio, praise to the nth power, body worship, nervous rocket, implied dom rocket, dirty talk, mentions of sex toys and anal play and tit-fucking and The Tail, (accidental?) sensation play/marking with claws, use of "slut" (affectionate), mentions of creative positions, aftercare, outdoor sex, lots of feelings. a near break-up.

“The only chance we got is to get to the other side of the universe as fast as we can and maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to live full lives before that whack-job ever gets there.”

rocket & groot leave their friends behind on knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the shi’ar galaxy.

MDNI & support banners by @/saradika-graphics flower & lantern dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[rtbyg]

new characters….if u even care….(i never post ocs it’s ok)

[silentartist137]

They are married 🏳️‍🌈

[voxmilia]

icb it took me, girl who married hubert in my first cf run, and frederick my first awakening run, until my second birthright run to have corrin court saizo

[masterreborn]

whatever the doctor and the master have going on is so much more complex than just “enemies-to-lovers” or even “friends-to-enemies-to-lovers” in the most deranged way possible. they’re friends, enemies, lovers, rivals, bitter exes, reluctant allies, arch-nemeses, and they’re constantly, rapidly oscillating between those things. usually they’re more than one of those things simultaneously. they’re lovers who regularly try to kill each other. they’re tentatively repairing their friendship but still can’t trust each other. they’re hatefucking. they’re searching in each other for a lost innocence they can never truly recover. they’re enemies with benefits. they’re each going scorched-earth to annihilate the other. they’re a disgrace to their species. they’re the last of their species. they both want to carve out the parts of themselves that resemble the other. they ran together through fields of red grass under the orange sky of their now-destroyed homeworld and made a pact to run away together to see every star in the universe. i just. do you understand.

[radiance1]

The Ghost King and The Lord of Madness know each other.

After enslaving multiple of worlds they were bound to meet. Their relation is... complicated. They were very fierce enemies when they first met, then it turned into a begrudging respect for one another which then turned them into tentative allies at some point.

Then that somehow transformed into love, and they got to gather after multiple eons. Only to then break up a couple eons later, which then made them enemies for a few more eons before they turned into some form of weird friendship and comradery.

Which then made them on and off exes.

Trigon was a bit sad when his friend/ex/lover/husband/ally/enemy just disappeared from his radar, but hey there's this one woman who looks pretty fine over there trying to kill him.

So, after Pariah Dark got released from the coffin and sees a child trying to fight him for his throne, well, he very instantly adopts him after he got back in the coffin and the kid nearly won if he didn't collapse a second away from victory viz placing him back to sleep.

When Pariah and Trigon meet again, they instantly try to kill each other because that's basically their way of saying hello. Not that they did kill each other, mind you, but it's mostly just a habit at this point.

Then they both found out they had kids and, well, it kinda just escalated from there. Pariah mocked him for being defeated by his own kid(with help) multiple times, which makes him a hypocrite since he also almost defeated by his kid too, which Trigon pointed out. The Ghost King shrugged it off however, and asked if his kid was truly strong and to which Trigon gave a thumbs up too.

Then Trigon asked if his own kid was strong and Pariah nodded.

Which then ended up with both of them deciding to just, descend to earth via their own methods (ghost summoning for Pariah and Trigon's kids) and decided to wreak havoc there.

You know, as family bonding.

Raven and the Teen Titans pop up immediately to stop both Trigon and the Ghost King with the Justice league, at least, they were until a glowing ghost teenager popped up trying to stop Pariah.

(He may have played into Danny's whole 'hero' thing by offhandedly mentioning he's going to take over an earth from an alternate dimension and letting those thoughts sit there until he gets up and does something about it.)

You know. As family bonding.

[thedgeoftheuniverse]

ROTTEN. | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!reader

warnings: healthy dose of angst and self-loathing, mild sexual descriptions and references, wrote this in less than 2 hrs so give me a break, mainly astarion's pov idk it just happened that way

word count: 2.6k

For a moment, his voice tries to betray the weight of this confession, but he knows there is no softening the blow of this—of both a confession of love, and an admission of guilt, and he is unsure if one is enough to outweigh the other. He knows this is the end; he knows you will finally see him for the wretched thing he is, and he will once again find himself alone and lonely.

He's using you.

He knows he’s using you; since the moment he laid his eyes upon the weathered lines of your face, you were his newest target—the first one of his own choosing. He initially planned to kill you; you couldn't turn on him or drive a stake through his ribs if you were already dead, and he already had enough to worry about without adding additional fuel to the already burning fear he had for his life. Not to mention, he was hungry and getting worse by the minute. He planned to call for help—play the damsel like he did countless times before, catch your attention for only a moment, just long enough to get close enough, and slit your pretty little throat.

Every step played out perfectly. You approached him just like he knew you would—his pretty face has always granted him the illusion of being a safe person; you answered his calls for help, just like he knew you would. All you had to do was get close enough, and he would take care of the rest.

Though he was completely thrown off kilter when you offered to help him, rather than leaving him to the ‘things’ in the bush. In a split second, his plan changed. If you were willing to help a stranger in the mess that the pair of you found yourselves swept up in, what would you do for someone you thought was a friend? A lover? Perhaps the wizard of—at the time—unknown power, quite frankly threatening incineration, were his knife to continue its trajectory, did encourage a modicum of restraint and de-escalation on his part, though he will never give him such credit.

However, the most unexpected change in plans was the direct, albeit slightly painful, mental link shared between him and you. You were infected—same as him—by a Mind Flayer parasite, ready to take over your body and destroy your mind in an alarmingly short timeframe.

You were an ally—a useful one and tentatively worth sparing—so long as you could continue to benefit him.

So, he started with a simple introduction: “My name's Astarion.” Spoken with a dramatic flair and a sickeningly sweet undertone that could only be found after two hundred years of charming pretty faces and innocent minds. In the moments between his introduction and the offering of your name, while the words still clung to the empty air between, Astarion formulated a new plan. It was brilliantly simple and borderline foolproof. All he had to do was convince you to fall for it, and his safety was nearly guaranteed.

(He now knows that hindsight always paints a clearer portrait than the present, and he is a fool in more ways than any would dare to calculate.)

He started small, coated his words in honey, and never oversold the part—playing into the role of the mysterious charmer that he had perfected all those years ago. He was honest, reliable, and always came to your aid during battle; he made you believe he was someone that could be trusted, no matter what your instincts may have convinced you otherwise. He was charismatic. A stolen glance here, an accidental touch there, a subtle look in his eyes that betrayed far more debaucherous intentions than what a gentleman such as himself would ever dare voice in the presence of someone as pure as you.

Perhaps, though, he erred too close to the side of caution and played his part too carefully. Vampirism is no easy condition to conceal, and the lesser creatures he managed to feast on during the night were horribly unsuitable to sustain him in the midst of such a perilous—and quite frankly, exhausting—journey. He was in a rapidly deteriorating state and worsening by the minute; he needed an intelligent, thinking creature to sink his teeth into if he wished to be of any use. He could not imagine a universe in which he would be allowed to remain in the company if he could not pull his own weight in battle or the camp.

He obscenely and undeniably fucked up when he chose to attempt to sink his fangs into the supple skin of the pretty little neck he nearly mared just a few weeks prior. He could not identify exactly why he believed he could get away with such an act undetected; his extreme hunger could be to blame, though he could not deny that the sweetness of your blood caused an insatiable stirring in his gut—he could smell it from six feet away. It permeated the air around him, nearly making him dizzy with the want—no, the need—to taste you. If hunger had driven him mad once again, then you were to blame, and therefore you were responsible for paying.

All thoughts of your reparations, however, were thrown from his mind the moment your eyes opened and he remembered that you possessed the ability to end his unnaturally long “life.”

“Shit.” His mind was completely blank. “It- It’s not what it looks like. I swear.” He could only hope that his performance would award him a standing ovation and the momentary benefit of the doubt: “I wasn't going to hurt you. I just needed... well, blood.”

It was not the confession he hoped to perform for you. He was meant to come to you, fully conscious, and present the idea as his own—he would choose to come to and confide in you. (I feel as though you and I have a… strong bond. I believe I can trust you. I cannot bear to keep this from you a moment longer.) with pretty words and round eyes. Instead, he was on his back foot and practically begging you not to ram a stake through his ribs.

And that is where his brilliantly simple plan began to pay off…

For a time.

You offered your body to him in more ways than one, and he intended to take full advantage of them all.

The sex was easy; it came to him perhaps more naturally than his flirtatious demeanor. He gave you the performance of a lifetime—he fed you borderline godly pleasures on a silver spoon while you dug your nails into grassy forest beds and moaned his name into the treetops. He knew exactly what to do to your body; he hit every single pleasure point with beautiful precision, used his mouth in all of the right places, sprinkled in the perfect praises, and made you beg just enough to make you believe you had to work for the pleasure of being underneath him and you deserved to be rewarded for it. He made sure every little word from his mouth was almost as perfect as what his mouth could do to you.

(Gods, you're beautiful.)

(Tell me how you want it. Use your words.)

(It’s as if the Gods made you to ruin me.)

He did not mean a single moment of it…

He knows he didn't. He knows, without an unparalleled doubt, that he did not mean a single sugar-coated word when he spoke in those intimate moments. He knows how vile he felt before, during, and after; he knows the suffocating self-loathing that consumed him for days after your first late-night tryst and every single night after that. He knows that, deep down, he wants you to see him as more than a sexual being, though he is not sure what else he could possibly be if not this. He knows that his manipulation was calculated and intentional; you were meant to be nothing more than a means to an end. You would help him remove this cursed tadpole embedded in his brain; you would help him kill his former master; and you would help him grasp a power that has never before been held by another vampire. You would hand him the entire world because he convinced you that he deserved it, and then he would dispose of you, as he did with the rest of his victims.

It was a brilliantly simple plan, and yet it all managed to fall apart. He is sure he played out every step perfectly, and somehow, you managed to change his plans once more.

It was never more apparent to him than right now.

Right now, as he watches you saunter around the camp, offering various greetings and the most beautiful smile he believes he has ever seen in his two hundred years of life, he realizes that you are the most incredible being he has ever gazed upon. And never has it been more apparent to him that he is a rotten thing—nothing more than a bloodthirsty monster that pretends he can believably wear the mask of a man. He thinks this is the closest thing to love he has ever felt, and even now, he will never be able to show it to you in a way that means something.

How could he have been so stupid?

How could he not have anticipated this outcome?

How could he have been so ignorant of the pining in his heart and wound up in such a situation?

His inner turmoil must have been more obvious than he would have preferred, because when you approached him, your face screamed with worry. “Astarion?” You questioned, “You look... stressed.” He was unable to find the words to respond. Something about the light shining on the hard lines of your face, leaving a shadow that danced across your cheekbones, captivated him, and he lacked the strength to look away—he doesn't think he wants to. Perhaps he could spend one hundred years gazing on the wonderful imperfections and blemishes on your skin until he has memorized every detail through the end of time, so that when you are no longer breathing, he may breathe your life once again himself, so that when another one hundred years have passed and you are nothing more than ash in the ground, he will be able to recall every minute detail of your face.

“Are you okay?”

He is on another plane of existence until the sweetness of your voice walks him back into the present.

“I… I think we need to talk.” His voice betrays him, just as his face did moments before.

You respond as you always have—with care and concern and a compassion running so deeply through your veins, it would be impossible to fabricate: “Are you alright?”

And he realizes the answer is no. He realizes that no matter the intensity of his devotion (or perhaps, is this what love is supposed to feel like?), he can never undo the damage he has caused. He can never change the sweet little lies he whispered into your ear late at night as you exposed your body to him; he can never change the intentional manipulation behind his words as he told you of your beauty; and he can never remedy the fact that he took advantage of you. You—who is made of honeysuckle and mandarins, who he has grown to so deeply care for, who he will ruin in a heartbeat if he were to ever truly love you. And perhaps he will never be able to love you. Perhaps if you are not a target, then you will never truly be anything to him; he is far too damaged to ever love you in a way that is pure and without the promise of personal gain. Perhaps he has always been and always will be a monster and deserves such treatment. He will never be able to share your bed without feeling disgust and hatred for himself. He will never be your lover, no matter how desperately he now knows he wishes to be.

“No—Yes, I just… feel awful.” Your face tells him he owes more of an explanation. He knows you are owed it. “Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan—seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so that you would never turn on me. It was easy... instinctive.” For a moment, his voice tries to betray the weight of this confession, but he knows there is no softening the blow of this—of both a confession of love (is this what love is supposed to feel like? I think I would rather choose the stake.) and an admission of guilt, and he is unsure if one is enough to outweigh the other. He knows this is the end; he knows you will finally see him for the wretched thing he is, and he will once again find himself alone and lonely.

(He now realizes these are two very different states of being.)

“All you had to do was fall for it.” Your face is twisted into something resembling grief. “And all I had to do was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Your eyebrows are furrowed together, and your face has morphed into something entirely unreadable, but you almost seem relieved.

“I…” Another sigh: “You deserve something real.” He cannot bring himself to look into your eyes.

A heavy sigh escapes your mouth as your eyebrows relax. “I only want you.”

“Why?”

“I don't believe you to be the monster you think you are.” If he had a heartbeat, he is confident that would have stopped it. He cannot fathom a universe where he is more than what his master made him to be.

“You don't know me.”

“Then show me who you are, Astarion.” He isn't sure when you managed to get so close to him. “Let me be here for you.”

“You don't know what you're asking for.” He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He will never be able to give you what you’re asking for, yet you still seem to want him all the same. He knows that he is no good, that he will never be more than the image Cazador sculpted him in; he is capable of tenderness no more than the Gods are capable of answering his cries for help. And yet, here you stand—headstrong as ever, practically begging him to give this a chance, and he desperately wants it. “It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me.” Your hand reaches into the space between you to gently cup his face.

“I can't give you what you want. Being close to someone—any kind of intimacy—was something I… performed to lure people back for him. I know this is different; we’re different, but it still feels… tainted.”

“I already told you what I want.” His eyes met yours for the first time since you approached his tent. “You. Whatever it is you have to offer, I want it. It's not a dirty job; it's just you.”

For a brief moment, Astarion is able to lose himself in such a fantasy; your eyes shine as though galaxies were constructed in your irises, and he can spot no inkling of deception. Your hand is soft against his cheek as he leans into the warmth of your touch, and it does not go unnoticed that you choose to keep your hand placement modest—as though you were a gentleman dancing with a lady in a fancy ballroom while all the guests silently stared.

“I don't know what to do from here.” He places his hand over yours and leans into your touch even harder—he almost resembles a wounded dog, searching for any ounce of tenderness he can find in this midst of such an ugly world—”But I know that this... this is nice."

As you wrap your arms around his waist and nestle your head into the crook of his shoulder, Astarion believes that this is something he may be able to get used to. 

Thank u for reading !!! Prob making a part 2 that is more .... idk angsty and more "I'll take care of you" if yall want it

[faerievampling]

Letting Go

Minors, DNI

Read on AO3!

Summary: Tav and Astarion work through some trauma together. (and Astarion is slightly jealous)

pairing: Astarion x Female Tav

Warnings: 18+, blowjob. handjob. cunnilingus.

Word Count: 1.4k

Making your way into Rivington had been draining work. Your party, although still on a high from curing the Shadow curse, were disheartened by the state of the hamlet. With refugees and orphans everywhere, the attitude of the party was dejected, but you couldn't help but be thankful that you were alive.

When finally making camp after a long day of being at that horrible circus, you and Astarion set up your shared tent. Ever since Astarion and you had been learning how to be together and be intimate with each other, Astarion had gradually wanted more.

Once finally settled in, you and the rest of your party sit around the campfire recalling various events of the day. You notice your beloved is missing, but you figure he is likely out hunting.

However, you realize that your rogue is closer than you think when you feel a cool finger brush the tip of your ear. 

“I need to taste you, darling,” Astarion whispers, his lips so close to your ear it makes you shiver. His words send a wave of heat to your core. Your lover disappears into the darkness of the night, leaving you desperate for more of him. Trying to play it cool, you excuse yourself to your tent. 

And when you enter, he is there, with nothing but a blanket draped over his middle. Astarion looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves; his perfect figure is statuesque. And you aren’t sure if it’s just because you’re in love with him, or if it’s just the lighting, but his smooth, porcelain skin seems to glow amidst the dark.

He chuckles at your eagerness, and next thing you know, you’re tangled up in him, and you are his.

Your clothes come off in a flurry, strong hands gripping at your exposed body as you two join in the flesh.

You lay on your back in your tent whimpering as Astarion’s lips wrap around your swollen core. He places a hand over your mouth to stifle the noise, but continues to work on the bundle of nerves at your mound, making it even harder for you to keep quiet. 

The tip of his tongue then lingers on your folds before he buries his tongue in your entrance, making deliberate strokes inside of you. His nose is pressed to your clit as he fucks you with his sweet, practiced tongue. 

You moan his name through trembling lips, and just as the crash of an orgasm is about to descend on you, Astarion pulls away, leaving you frustrated and desperate for more.  

“You must be quiet, my sweet,” Astarion whispers against your flushed skin. “We wouldn’t want any of the others to hear…or maybe we do.” 

“The others?” You manage to stutter before he inserts his tongue into your entrance once more, causing your walls to flutter around him. 

You’re at the edge again, and as you contract and squirm around your lover's tongue, Astarion takes all of you in his mouth, lapping at your folds, clit, and entrance like a starved man. As you writhe under his kisses, you cry his name as your release takes over your whole body like a possession. 

Astarion begins to trail fervent kisses up your body, littering you with them until you are face to face.

Astarion’s lips are so soft, so pretty, and covered in your juices. As his lips find yours, his tongue kisses yours, and gods does he taste heavenly.  

“Yes, darling. Don’t act like you don’t know,” He whispers tenderly between passionate kisses. And you do  know - a new batch of allies in camp had been coming on to you lately (namely Halsin, Mizora, and the fucking Emperor), much to Astarion’s dismay. You had turned them down, of course, but that didn’t mean Astarion was any less jealous.

“But after the way I just made you cry, right in the middle of camp, everyone will know that you are mine. Not to be shared.” Beneath his teasing tone was an apparent sincerity. Astarion kisses you again, cupping your cheeks as if you were something quite precious.

You smile as you both switch positions. He brushes his soft lips against yours once more before you lower yourself between his legs. Astarion moans with anticipation as his fingertips find the root of your hair, bringing your lips to touch the head of his cock. 

Your lips wet with his precum, and Astarion moans at the sight of you on his sex. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock and with a flick of your pink tongue, you lap up the rest of his juices, your tongue stroking his sensitive slit. 

Astarion’s eyes roll back before finding yours again. You wrap your lips around his tip, bobbing your head as you gradually take him deeper in your mouth. Once his tip hits the back of your throat, Astarion whimpers, and you have to keep yourself from gagging. You close your eyes to focus on pleasing him. 

You enthusiastically slide your lips up and down his shaft, twirling your tongue on his skin and focusing on the area just under the ridge of his head.

As you work to please your beloved vampire, his hand goes to your jaw, and he whispers, “Look at me,”

You know he is feeling lost in his mind, because this is always what Astarion does when he needs you to bring him back to the moment. Astarion insisted your ‘safe word’ be something that fits the moment, something normal but knowing. 

And you were more than happy to oblige.

You release your lips from him and lean over, planting a kiss on his sweet lips. “You’re here with me, Astarion.” Your voice, soft but with a hint of ferocity, has you realize just how upset you are. Upset that Astarion even feels this way; upset about his enslavement, his torture, and gods, those scars.

Feeling his discomfort from underneath you, you sit back on your heels, giving him space to bring himself to a seat.

A flicker of emotion crosses his handsome face, but you can’t decipher it. You speak slowly, “I care for you. We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Astarion’s eyes are narrowed, hungry and wanting. “But I do want you.” He responds quietly. 

“And you have me.” You smile as you begin to slip your underclothes back on, trying to maintain a facade of normalcy and be respectful of Astarion’s needs. But he stops you, and you allow your clothing to fall to the floor. 

His eyes graze over your pert nipples and gorgeous figure. You feel a bit vulnerable in the moment with such a handsome man eyeing your naked body. But you’re safe with your pale lover, and you know this, so you take a deep breath and prepare yourself to go with Astarion’s flow.

“Just…just lie down next to me, all right?” Astarion says with a rasp as he lays on his side. You slide in next to him, on your back.

Astarion puts an arm around your shoulder, supporting your neck as he cups your breast with his hand. His eyes scan you hungrily. His cock is still hard, his balls still so tight. He grasps his member in his free hand, planting a kiss on your lips as he begins to stroke himself. 

His tender kisses deepen into something more feral as his pace quickens, and he growls at the sweet taste of your lips. He’s creeping towards his climax now and the little moans that escape his lips makes your cunt quiver.

He looks so devastating in this moment, and your cunt is so wet, and you know he loves the taste of you - but you contain yourself, keeping your hands to yourself. 

Giving a final moan, Astarion spills his seed onto your stomach, his ragged breaths loud in your ear. After you have both come back to reality, Astarion finds something to clean you up with before he takes you in his arms. 

Your embrace is deep, and you’ve never felt safer than with his strong arms around you. You nuzzle your face into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head as you both begin to drift off.

Astarion needs a lot of patience, care, and love, and you are more than ready and willing to provide. Your last thoughts are of the future, and what it may hold for you and your lover.

Masterlist

[temporarily-your-saint]

Dull Blades Pt. 2

benjicot blackwood x targaryen oc

word count: 2.6k

warnings: slight spoilers from Fire & Blood book, blood/war description

tropes: slow burn, angst, forbidden lovers??

PART 1: https://www.tumblr.com/chels-cosplay/754806134048800768/dull-blades

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The campsite was riddled with mud and bloodthirsty men spread throughout as the princess made her way back. This was war, she thought to herself. So many men lined throughout the grounds ready to die for her family, for her mother’s right to the throne. She found pride in it yet a strain of sadness pinged inside her chest at the thought. A sorrowful notion enveloped her mind as she realized the reality of it all. Many of these men, if not most, will die. But there wasn’t time to dwell for she needed to be strong and prove to these men that it was worth it, that her mother, and that she too was worth it. And she was here to help.

Heads turned toward her as the silver-haired princess threw open the tent flap. Respectful bows followed with mutters of “princess” followed as she passed the men inside to take her position at the head of the table. Her eyes fell down at the map in front of her. It wasn’t quite the extravagant, fire-glowing map she had at home but it would do.

“Princess, the Lannister army holds fast and we’re running out of time. The Kinslayer could fly over at any moment with that beast of his. We must act immediately,” Forrest Frey’s words broke her away from her thoughts. Forrest Frey, or known as Fool Frey, lead his house with nearly eight hundred men.

“Why do you think our queen sent me this way, Lord Frey?” Her words were harsh, challenging the man next to her. Of course she knew they were running out of time. Her dragon, Valax, was the only one that could even come close to challenging Vhagar. And for this reason was the only way she was able to fully convince her mother to send her to the Riverlands to fight.

Lord Frey’s lips parted as if to begin speaking but was quickly interrupted as the tent swung open. Deep brown eyes found Rhaelana’s as she sized up the familiar figure that approached the table.

“Good of you to finally join us, Lord Blackwood,” sarcasm teased the princess’s words as her face remained stoic, gaze never leaving his.

“Princess,” he responded with nod, a mischievous smirk itching at the corner of his lips.

Her eyes scanned across the table to the other lords and then landed back to Lord Frey. “As we were discussing…Yes, time is not our ally at the present. The Lannisters have the disadvantage being on these lands though their numbers are impressive. More than impressive. If I was informed correctly, they stand with nearly twice as many bodies. And as stated before, Vhagar could be in the skies at any moment,” She sighed as she stated the unfortunate facts. The defense of the Greens was a terrifying factor to swallow but they had the North, and she knew they fought like no others.

“Lord Roderick, you will take your wolves to the front. You’ll be leading us.” Her arm reached across the table to move the marker in position. “Lord Frey will follow with his knights and infantrymen on either side to enclose the Greens. And Lord Blackwood,” her voice breathed, meeting those familiar eyes once again. “Lord Rivers will set your archers on the north. We’ll march south to meet the Greens where we’ll attack near Gods Eye.”

She took a deep breath as her voice lowered. “I need all of your fighters to push the Lannister army as close to the water as possible. I came here with my dragon to aid you in this battle but I will not set these lands aflame. These are your kin’s land and I will not dare turn it to fire and ash.”

The lords watched her, understanding her command. Her eyes searched theirs, looking to find respect or horror or disgust, anything to help gage where she stood amongst these men. Then her eyes found the young lord’s across the table once again. He watched her in awe, determined to fulfill her orders and win this war for her mother, for her. She turned her gaze away, a slight blush reaching up her neck to her cheeks from the intensity of his gaze.

“Best make an end to these lions before the dragons come, Princess,” Sir Roderick spoke up, breaking her from her train of thought.

“Ready your forces, my lords. We march at dawn.”

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“It’s over, princess.”

Rhaelana’s eyes darted around the battlefield. It was like casting one’s eyes over a red sea—blood staining the grass as far as their eyes could witness. Death surrounded them.

Water dripped from the princess’s face as rain began to fall. It was as if the heavens cried for them. Gods, it was a cruel world.

Lilac eyes found the lord next to her as he spoke. She nodded, agreeing with him. “Yes,” she began, reaching up towards her own face to wipe splattered mud and blood from her face. “But more is coming. We will need to prepare but tonight we rest, Lord Blackwood.”

"The men have earned it. Rest that is," Benjicot's head turned to meet Rhaelana's gaze, taking in the sight of the princess with a hint of melancholy.

He was an unwaveringly loyal supporter of his queen and had grown quite fond of her daughter, the princess that stood before him. His respect for her only grew during the battle as she fought alongside the men and women that gave their lives for the true crown. The fire that grew within her, a pure dragon through and through, was also impressive and a sight to behold. One that he would remember for the rest of his days.

His gaze dropped to the mud, flecked with red and brown, at their feet. Rhaelana’s eyes found his face, studying the young man. He was handsome with his high cheek bones and rounded face. A slim figure but a mighty and brutal force on the battlefield. She had quickly learned why he adopted the name “Bloody Ben” from the rest of the men.

“We can rest while we hold a funeral pyre tonight, princess. My men deserve that, at least. We have lost more than not. If you’ll permit it, that is.”

The princess’s eyes fell to the saturated ground as he mentioned the funeral. So many had given their lives. Her heart silently broke for those now laying before her amongst the muck. More than half of their men was gone.

“Listen to me, Lord Blackwood,” she spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “Every fight. Every battle you survive, you have to see the end. You must gaze upon those that are now gone.” Her voice hitched at the last word. “We at least owe them that. And we must never forget what it cost us.”

With that, she glanced at the young man next to her and reached out to touch his arm, almost as a condolence. Or maybe she needed to touch someone in that moment that was living, just to find some sort of warmth and comfort.

She then nodded her head toward him, dismissing herself as she strode past him and into camp.

Benjicot’s gaze followed her as she walked past him. He couldn’t help but miss the warmth that radiated from her hand as she left. Gods, and the comfort. It was only for a mere second but he ached for that comfort again, ached for any sort of relief from this hell he stood in. The young lord had seen death before but not like this. Never like this. Bodies of boys, barely even reached manhood scattered throughout the carnage now engraved into his brain. Rain drops hit his face, mixed with salty tears that trickled down, falling onto the blood-soaked ground.

══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══ ══

As the sun finally set, Benjicot’s thoughts kept drawing him back to Rhaelana. He thought of the melancholy look in her eyes and the tremble he'd heard in her voice. Her words echoed in his brain, not able to draw himself out from the memory of her.

The lord felt an odd sense of protectiveness towards the young princess. A protectiveness he loathed to ever admit out loud, especially since he knew she could hold her own. He had seen her fierceness first-hand on the battlefield, so it was almost comical to feel as if he needed to be the one to protect her. She had come to the Riverlands to do exactly that but for the North and for his men.

After eating a few bites of bread and smoked venison, Benjicot rose from his tent and picked his way through groups of men, looking for the Queen's daughter.

Rhaelana sat near the fire that was at the center of camp. The log below her dampened her legs and tunic but the flame before her kept her warm and dry enough. Luckily the rain had let up before nightfall but the chilly air still brushed along her face. Her cheeks appeared rosy, a flush spreading from her there up to her nose from that cool breeze. She certainly was not used to the chillier and wetter climate that the Riverlands provided.

She brought the mug she held to her lips, drinking in the strong ale and allowing the alcohol to warm her as well.

Benjicot's eyes continued to scan the camp until he caught sight of the young princess sitting by the campfire. Her silver hair and small frame was near impossible to miss. He approached her, stopping behind her toward the side.

"You will catch a chill," he drawled, his voice playful though a hint of worry was there. He stood behind her to shield her from most of the still-cold night air.

A smirk played at the corner of her mouth. She took one more sip and then turned toward the man next to her. The princess recognized his voice before she even turned her gaze toward him.

“If a cold takes me then I think that would be the least of my worries, my lord,” she teased as her purple eyes found his.

She tilted her chin toward the fire as she spoke, “Come, join me, Lord Blackwood.”

A smile tugged at his lips in response to her jape and Benjicot made a show of sighing before rounding the fire and sitting down next to Rhaelana. He boldly sat close to the princess, their legs almost touching.

"I dare say you're only asking because of the warmth I may offer," he teased back, watching the embers dance across her face.

Rhaelana’s smile never faltered as he teased while he made his way to sit next to her. She hadn’t quite gotten used to his wit and brazenness but was always pleasantly surprised by the young lord.

She adjusted her posture and brushed his leg with her own, playfully taunting back. A quickened pulse drummed in her ears as a light blush spread over her. His proximity was intoxicating and the alcohol she sipped only heightened her own boldness.

“And maybe I would like to enjoy some company,” she teased back.

Feeling the princess move closer, Benjicot dared to shift a bit closer to her as well. He knew they needed to behave for her sake, for her honor. She was the princess after all. But gods, did she captivate him.

Her words made the young lord look at her, taking in the slight blush that spread over her face. Despite her being age eight and ten, more than marriageable, in that moment she looked like a young girl flirting with peril.

"What sort of company would you like?" He asked, his voice lower and slightly breathier than usual, daring her to answer.

Her eyes fell from his stormy eyes to his lips. She traced over his handsome features with her own lilac ones. She memorized the scar that lay above his lip, the crook of his teeth as he smiled, the way his eyes beamed toward her with eagerness. He felt so familiar, so comfortable to her.

Her gaze then met his once again as she spoke, “Yours, specifically,” she stated boldly, her words falling from her lips in a whisper.

The answer surprised him and yet it didn't. Benjicot had noticed the glances she'd given him when she thought he wasn't looking. The way her hand lingered on his arm when she needed him to stay by her side after the battle. The way her eyes had trailed to and settled on his face every time he spoke.

As she sat next to him now, with their thighs and knees pressed together, he felt as if his heart was suddenly lodged in his throat. He swallowed once, hard.

"And what does my specific company entail, princess?" He asked quietly.

Of course she noticed that he was nervous. Or maybe excited? Both? She understood for her own nerves ran through her body and electrified her. The princess had never been this close to him before or any man for that matter. That fact made her heart pound in her ears, almost sure that he could also hear it.

Her voice didn’t rise above a whisper as she answered his question. “You are to keep your princess safe, Lord Blackwood,” she responded, the teasing never leaving her tone.

Benjicot’s mouth quirked to one side. In her playful tone he could hear her bravado, her attempt at hiding her own nervousness.

He moved even closer, closing nearly all the space that was between them.

"Well, that is my duty...my lady,” as he spoke, he reached upwards carefully. His hand hovered over her cheek for a few beats before gingerly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

His fingers lingered on her skin, just above her cheek, feeling the warmth from her body.

He moved closer, so close that he could smell the sweet scent of lavender and ale that emitted from the young woman. She was intoxicating. He was close enough to count the minute freckles that dotted her nose as his eyes scanned her face.

“Benjicot. Or, Benji. You can call me Benji," he said quietly, gaze finding hers once again, then drifting down to her lips.

He suddenly felt very, very nervous. For the first time in his life, Benjicot Blackwood had no idea what to say or do next.

Rhaelana’s mind raced. He was so close, so close she could move just a mere couple of inches and she’d—

“Princess,” his voice whispered, snapping her from her thoughts. “We should turn in until the morrow.”

Gods, he wanted her to oppose him. He wanted to stay here, warming the princess during the bleak night. But he knew better. He knew they couldn’t risk unsolicited eyes surveilling their current position.

The princess’s heart sank as she drew back away from Benjicot at his words. Of course, how could I be so careless? Maybe it’s the ale… Did I read into him wrong?

She took one last sip of her ale, emptying the cup and stood from her seat next to him. Disappointment clung to the inside of her chest, causing her heart to ache as it clenched around it with every beat.

“Goodnight, Lord Blackwood. Until the morning,” Rhaelana nodded her head towards him and then turned away to strode towards her tent, dismissing herself.

Benjicot sat dumbfounded, disappointed, and confused. He knew he had done the honorable thing, especially by preventing any sort of gossip that could potentially spread if the wrong eyes gawked at them. But why did he feel so discontent?

He decided then that he would make things right with the princess in private where wandering eyes couldn’t defile hers or his reputation.

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HI, HELLO! I was so excited to write a second part and now that we’re here, I am even more thrilled to continue on with a third one. I truly thought I was only going to do a one-shot but uh, I live for a slow burn romance. Thank you all for taking the time of day to read this little blurb that’s been stuck in my brain. I am clearly still all aboard the fancast Benjicot train. :’) We only know pain here, huh?

[peachdues]

Summaries of my current WIPs

In the Netherwood — monster fucking with a huge side of what the fuck (Werewolf!Sanemi x Red Riding Hood!Reader

Compass — local bad boy gets an emotional support retail worker // pussy so good you start paying for the books you wanna read (Bad boy!Sanemi x Reader)

Hall of Gilded Bones — what happened to “hi, hello, how are you?” (Seelie!Kyojuro x Reader)

Coalescence — “secret” relationship the entire Survey Corps knows about (Levi x Reader secret pregnancy AU)

Violent Delights — enemies to enemies to enemies to hate fucking to enemies to tentative allies to lovers but they both try and murder the other at least 3 times (Tengen x Reader)

The Great War — RIP y’all would’ve loved planned parenthood // copious sex does not fix your trauma (Giyuu x Reader)

[s0lavellan]

Fenhawke: tentative allies to friends to having a one-night stand to friends brooding and pining over each other for three years to “you’re too good for him” “he’s not good enough for you” to back to being lovers (second chance romance) to “promise me you won’t die” “I can’t bare to live without you”

Solavellan: allies to friends to stolen kisses in the fade to late nights together in a rotunda to “don’t go” “it would be kinder in the long run. but to lose you would…” to stolen kisses on balconies to “Ar lath ma, vhenan” to “dance with me before the night is over” as music plays softly in the distance to “you have become more important to me than I could possibly imagine” to “im sorry for distracting you we can’t do this we shouldn’t be doing this it’s over” to “in another world” “why not this one?” to “he wants when he’s never wanted before” to “it changes everything and nothing” to “tell me you never cared” “I can’t” to “I want you to know that whatever comes next what we had was real” to he takes her heart. takes her hand too to “var lath vir suledin” “I wish it could my love” to he haunts her dreams for a decade to “she searched and dreamed and waited for a way to change the dread wolf’s heart”

And you all wonder why I can’t be normal about these couples

[raccoonfallsharder]

year four: formation ⋆˚✿˖° florescence❀ (a meetgroot*) preview [anticipated 9/24] ❤︎‬❤︎

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 4/6 years | word count: pending.

everything flowers.

“I’m happy to keep making out with you as long as you want, sweetheart,” you croon to him. “I’d be happy just to make out with you forever. But if you’re interested — if you’re ready — I’m also so happy to do so much more.” He swallows. His eyes hold some unreadable combination of intrigue and caution, heat and wariness. Weariness, too.  It damn near breaks your heart. 

“Like what?” he asks at last, dark curiosity rasping through his voice.  You tilt your head. It’s a start, you think. You curl your fingers in the legs of his jumpsuit, then smooth the little pleats you’ve folded into the fabric. He’s so warm underneath that you can feel it radiating out of him like a volcanic vent.   “I don’t know what’s customary in space,” you admit. The buzz of your own anxiety hums to life, but you try to keep it low and shadowed underneath the invitation in your voice. “I only know what I’m used to from Terra, and what I’ve seen here on Cindelia. But—“ You trail your fingers up the fine armored-weave of his jumpsuit from his knees to his hips, then back down, and drop your voice. “—I’d love to get you out of this cottage, and then out of this jumpsuit. Touch you wherever you’d let me.” You gaze up at him from beneath your lashes, doe-eyed and eager. You wet your lower lip, then bite it in a way you hope looks eager. Judging by the way his stare clings to your mouth, you must be at least a little successful. “Maybe use my mouth on you,” you suggest, dropping your eyes pointedly to the ridge already pressing against his pants.  You can hear the hitch in his lungs. “Your mouth,” he repeats, flatly — disbelievingly, maybe.  You tilt your head and try not to flush, leaning back on your heels. “Is that not a thing people do in space?” He hesitates, and his eyes slitted away from yours — up to the edge of the ceiling, lip curling. “Some do.” You wince, trying to interpret his expression, his suddenly-scathing tone. “Not you?” He bares his teeth, but you don’t think he’s threatening you — his red-agate eyes are anywhere else. “Never had enough units that I felt like I could ask.” For a moment, you sit there, baffled — trying to make sense of it. Of him. “I—“ “I really only — on Contraxia,” he mutters, his eyes still dodging yours. “Iron Lotus has outposts on Knowhere and Conjunction, so there, sometimes—“ “I don’t know what those places are,” you admit, and now your brow is creasing as you sit back. He’s clearly uncomfortable. “What—“ His teeth are sharp and the curve of his mouth is bitter. “Sex workers, storyteller. Sometimes the pleasure-bots when I was real broke.” Your jaw drops. Not because he’s purchased services — there’s no shame on that, as far as you’re concerned. But he makes it sound so definitive, so final, and his voice is so — resentfully bereft. Like he’s waiting to be judged. You scrolls back through the conversation and feel your heart twist and wrench inside your ribcage. “So, no-one else—” you say gently, and he lifts his eyes to glare at you balefully, with a sort of resigned defensiveness.  “No,” he says shortly. “Got what I paid for. No more and no less.” “Oh,” you breathe out. “Sweetheart.” You can’t help the soft, self-conscious chuckle that tumbles over your lips and you melt when he flinches back from what — you can tell — he thinks is a laugh at his expense. You lean into him immediately, letting the pressure on his legs and the edge of the chair tug your sweater low, push your breasts up. Even though he’s — humiliated, furious, heartbroken — whatever feelings he’s grappling with right now — you still see his eyes lurch toward the swell of your tits and the valley between them.  “I’m gonna make you feel so good if you let me.”

florescence❀ chapter five year four: formation [anticipated 9/24 ]❤︎‬❤︎

“The only chance we got is to get to the other side of the universe as fast as we can and maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to live full lives before that whack-job ever gets there.”

rocket & groot leave their friends behind on knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the shi’ar galaxy.

mdni & support banners by @/saradika-graphics lantern & flower dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[mollywog]

Characters and Berries in The Hunger Games

Gale -> Blackberries

He plucks a few blackberries from the bushes around us. “And may the odds —” He tosses a berry in a high arc toward me.

In folklore blackberries are associated with bad omens. They can also symbolize haste and remorse. There’s a 1966 poem Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney about growing up and loss of innocence.

Madge -> Strawberries

When we finish our business at the market, we go to the back door of the mayor’s house to sell half the strawberries, knowing he has a particular fondness for them and can afford our price. The mayor’s daughter, Madge, opens the door.

Strawberries often symbolize purity, passion (fuel for Gadge and Kadge shippers), and healing (Madge delivers the Morphling after Gale’s whipping).

Rue -> Unfamiliar Berries

I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers. “You sure this is safe?”

“Oh, yes, we have them back home. I’ve been eating them for days,” she says, popping a handful in her mouth. I tentatively bite into one, and it’s as good as our blackberries. Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time.

These berries are never identified, so bear with me here…

We know Peeta mistakes nightlock (also not identified) for Rue’s berries, but that nightlock is toxic and Rue’s are edible. We also know Nightlock berries are dark (the dark berries glisten in the sun) and Rue’s berries are round (I roll an unfamiliar berry in my fingers), so two potential options are Elderberry or Blackcurrant.

In pagan traditions Elderberries are associated with Faerie realms - (fitting for the magical wisp of a girl who wore wings to her interview.) They heal; and are associated with breaking curses (Rue’s death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty, the injustice they inflict upon us.)

Despite health benefits, in the middle ages Elderberries began to be associated with grief and sorrow.

Blackcurrants are often associated with protection (Here it’s safe, here it’s warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm)

They are also associated with gathering courage, specifically before going on a solitary journey.

Blackberries (bad omens) are referenced in the description of the taste of Rue’s berries.

Regardless of the berry, they also reinforce Katniss’s decision to take Rue on as an ally (Taking Rue on as an ally seems a better choice all the time.)

Peeta - Nightlock

My father’s voice comes back to me. “Not these, Katniss. Never these. They’re nightlock. You’ll be dead before they reach your stomach.”

Nightlock is likely based on two real ones: Nightshade and Hemlock.

Unsurprisingly, toxic Hemlock often has negative associations, however it is also associated with Socrates. Socrates was convicted of impiety, but refused to renounce his beliefs; Hemlock was his chosen method of death which could be viewed as either rebellious and/or a noble sacrifice. “Scholars surmise that Socrates conceived of his death as a freedom of his soul from the unreasonableness of humanity and the confines of his body.”

Nightshade has been suggested as the poison used in Romeo and Juliet (fitting for the star-crossed-lovers) and Macbeth (poisoning that lead to a civil war)

Thank you to @wistfulweaverwoman for assistance researching! Other interesting [x][x][x]

[seungkwansphd]

room for interpretation - chapter index

pairing: lawyer!jeonghan x lawyer!YN word count: 27.4K synopsis: as top of class, you and jeonghan had been many things to each other. enthusiastic rivals, begrudging allies, and…parties to a jokingly written (but legally binding) marriage contingency contract? this piece of paper would’ve been long forgotten had an unexpected merger not thrown you back into each others’ lives. themes: fluff, SFW, rivals to coworkers to tentative friends to lovers, “if we’re both single by X age” marriage contract, IDIOTS2lovers, fake dating, miscommunication. this is just a romcom.

a/n: OK SHES DONE. hope y'all enjoy

chapter index: chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3

[purplecatghostposts]

Enemies AU with Chat Noir and Argos except while Ladybug and Chat Noir are having a complicated Enemies-To-Tentative-Allies-To-Friends(?)-To-Genuine-Trust-To-Lovers Arc with Argos suffering just watching the whole charade of dancing around each other, the moment Ryuko comes into play, they speedrun that arc in record time and suddenly the tables have turned with Chat Noir third wheeling Feligami’s (Ryargos’?) flirt-fighting while he and Ladybug are still stuck in between the Friends(?) and Genuine Trust stage.

Ladybug would lecture Ryuko to stop making out with the enemy… If it weren’t surprisingly useful at keeping Argos at bay. (Should she start making out with Chat Noir? For tactical reasons, of course. She definitely doesn’t think about making out with Chat Noir for any other reasons, uh-uh.)

Also the tables have turned further because usually Chat Noir is giving Argos heart attacks with how reckless and self-sacrificial he is but now Chat Noir has to try and shake some sense into him because, “Félix, Félix, she can TAKE your brooch if she’s that close to you— she almost did!” And Argos, having recently made out with Ryuko, is still very dazed and in Loverboy Mode so he’s there like, “It’s… Fine. I can keep it safe.” Very unconvincingly and Chat Noir is like, “Do you think she’ll stop trying to take it??” And Argos smiles softly and says, “No.” and Chat Noir just. Stops trying to convince him not to kiss her and just tells him to be careful.

[majorbaby]

Trapper, unconvinced that the war is really ending, wanders into Klinger's tent and tries to convince him not to sell his dresses. Kind, curly boyfriend with impeccable taste. Ally and lover of the 4077th's entire femboy contingent.