#they are consuming me alive omg

[nart-is-a-monster]

This is Anna's fault who said that quote while we were talking on discord and activated the parasite that lives inside my brain

ajshgfjsdhghkgj

[tinycatstars]

i know you dont takerqs rn but your homestuck agere fics genuinely give me so much comfort and joy i just wanna say that... <:) i esp love your junedave/pepsicola ones,,

WAHHH YOU ARE SO KIND!!!! thank you so much this means the world omg :D :D i think it’s wild that the silly stuff i make can make others so happy but i’m so seriously glad it does <3 <3 ty so much for the nice words !!!!!

[lizzyiii]

Hey girl hey. Hope you are still alive and life is treating you well. Just checking in.

you're so sweet for this omg. so ive graduated from high school, have this whole summer, but I can't really enjoy it since a broke girl's got to work. got my very first job and it's sooo draining, but I've got to get that bag

Sevenmas

pairing | aemond x wife!reader

word count | 9.2k words

summary | amid the haunting ruins of harrenhal, aemond's pregnant wife senses the looming threat of alys rivers, a witch whose presence fuels her nightmares and aemond's growing distance.

determined to protect her husband and unborn child, she delves into the secrets of warding magic, reclaiming her bond with aemond as she invites him back into her bed and vows to stand against the witch’s dark influence.

tags | 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy, magic, fluff, soft aemond, hubby aemond

a/n | it's summer, the heat is evident, yet I've only been at work or home. I needdd to leave my house!

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

My Dearest Babe,

It has been a full moon since your father and I arrived at these dreary halls of Harrenhal. It is bleak here, cold and damp, and the walls seem to hold the whispers of the dead.

I have not known a single night’s rest since we set foot in this cursed place. My sleep grew all the more restless when your father saw fit to move me into a separate chamber.

Harrenhal weighs heavily upon him. It has changed him in ways I cannot yet understand. He walks the halls as if hunted, and I see the shadows of his unrest in his eyes.

Each night, his dreams twist into dark things—visions that wrench him from sleep, leaving him gasping as though clawing his way back to wakefulness. He grows ever more volatile, as if the very stones of Harrenhal press upon his mind, threatening to drive him to madness.

One night, he woke from a nightmare so violent, I feared for him. I reached out to calm him, but he struck out, not knowing it was I. I do not hold it against him—he was deep within whatever horror plagued him.

But he looked upon the bruise on my wrist with such anguish, fearing for my health and yours. It was then he resolved to put me in another room, to shield us both from his torments.

Yet, my sleep has only worsened since he made this change. This keep holds no comfort, only shadows and sighs, and I feel that something - someone - wicked watches us, waiting.

The sixth day of Sevenmas dawned in Harrenhal, a day to honor the Crone, she who carried the lantern of wisdom and foresight. How you longed for that guidance now, caught in the maze of cold stone walls and shadows that seemed to stretch into eternity.

The ancient keep, with its crumbling towers and halls seeped in ghosts of past horrors, gnawed at your spirit with every passing hour.

The days bled together, each as gray and listless as the last. Time itself felt suspended, and there was little to fill it but your prayers to the Seven and the slow, meticulous pull of thread and needle.

Embroidery was meant to calm the mind, but here it became another way for your thoughts to spiral into dark corners. How could you not let them when the halls echoed with whispers not your own and the air felt thick, laden with something unseen yet suffocating?

Your husband, Aemond, the prince with a fire in his blood and the shadow of the conqueror in his step, had become a stranger cloaked in duty.

Since Rhaenyra had laid siege to King's Landing, his days were consumed with strategy, flame-bright eyes scanning maps and murmuring with commanders until dawn kissed the horizon.

You would catch glimpses of him, his presence fierce and distant, a sword poised to strike. And still, there was one tether left—he would always return to break his fast with you, no matter the hour, as if the morning meal was a sacred pact he refused to break.

This shared ritual was a brief light in the gloom, a moment where his brow would smooth, and he would offer a small nod, as if to say, I am still here.

Yet even then, the weight of Harrenhal seemed to press upon him, creasing the corner of his eye and stealing the little warmth from his voice.

You wished for the strength of the Crone’s wisdom, to find words that could soothe whatever haunted him, whatever pulled him into those long, silent stretches where he barely met your gaze.

And so, with the sun’s first pale rays stretching over the stone battlements, you whispered a prayer to the Crone. Let me see what he cannot. Let me guard us in ways unseen.

There was another shadow cast over your time at Harrenhal, one that gnawed at your peace like a hound at a bone. Within the first week of your arrival, an attempt on Aemond’s life had been made, a sloppy affair that left more questions than answers.

Yet the mere notion of betrayal and blood sharpened Aemond’s already fierce nature into something perilously close to madness.

In his rage and paranoia, he swept through Harrenhal like a storm, burning and executing every male Strong—lords and bastards alike, sparing none.

The aftermath left the keep haunted by its own silence, populated mostly by women and children who dared not cross his path. Yet among the survivors, there was one who set your skin crawling like no other: Alys Rivers, the bastard daughter of Lionel Strong.

Her gaze, dark and knowing, seemed to pierce through you whenever it drifted your way. The keep’s old women, those who lingered in the kitchens and halls, were full of whispers, speaking in hushed tones about Alys and the tales that clung to her like a shroud.

They claimed she was a wet nurse with no babes of her own, that her cradle stayed empty because she offered her children to dark gods, drawing power from their sacrifices.

The word witch passed between toothless mouths with reverence and fear, a name that conjured images of blood and whispered spells in the dead of night.

You would catch Alys watching Aemond from the shadowed corners of the great hall, her green eyes glistening like the polished scales of a serpent.

There was something about the way she looked at him, a gaze that lingered too long, with a subtle curl to her lips that suggested she saw beyond what others did. Each time, a cold knot formed in your stomach, winding tighter with each day.

Aemond, for his part, seemed oblivious—or perhaps unwilling—to acknowledge her attention. He stalked the halls of Harrenhal like a restless dragon, his eyes always aflame with thoughts of war and vengeance.

But you, kept to the fringes and left with little to occupy your time, had learned to listen. You had overheard more than once the old wives’ tales, how the stones of Harrenhal bore witness to strange sights in the dark of night.

The morning light struggled to filter through the narrow, soot-streaked windows of Harrenhal’s great hall, casting long, somber shadows across the cold stone floor.

You sat at the grand table, an expanse of dark oak that seemed almost too vast with just the two of you seated at its head.

The hall’s emptiness swallowed the small noises of clinking silver and the rustle of fabric, leaving only the low crackle of a distant fire to break the silence.

You glanced at Aemond, his face severe and sharp as ever, eyes narrowed and distant as he picked at the bread before him. His hair, pale as moonlight, spilled over his shoulders, catching the dim glow of morning like polished silver.

You traced the line of his jaw with your gaze, noting the tautness there, the slight twitch that spoke of restless thoughts.

In truth, you did not know this man well—your husband, your prince, and yet a stranger in so many ways.

It had only been moons since you first met, and within days, the marriage vows were spoken, the ink on the alliance barely dry before you found yourself bound to him in name and in fate.

Your father’s fleet had been your dowry, a formidable power that the Greens could not afford to spurn. You understood your role, the politics and power that tethered you to Aemond, but understanding him was another matter entirely.

His silences were as deep and dark as the Blackwater, and he carried an anger that smoldered beneath his skin, an unquenchable flame that whispered of vengeance and old wounds.

But despite the cold armor of his demeanor, Aemond had never raised his voice nor his hand to you. He moved with a kind of carefulness in your presence, a restraint that bordered on gentleness.

He treated you with a respect that was rare among men of power, where wives were often little more than pawns on a board.

And though it was likely due to the child you carried beneath your heart, it kindled a small warmth within you to think that he had not left you behind when he marched to Harrenhal.

Instead, he had commanded that you come with him, a choice that puzzled you even as it comforted you.

Harrenhal was a desolate place, steeped in old, cracked stone and a history that groaned beneath every step. You despised it, with its drafty halls and the air that always seemed to taste of ashes.

Yet sitting here, across from Aemond as the thin light etched sharp lines across his face, you felt a reluctant flicker of gratitude.

The silence between you was not companionable, but it was not cruel either. It was a space where the two of you existed, tethered by duty and an unspoken understanding.

Your gaze lifted from your untouched plate to meet his. “You barely ate anything,” you ventured softly, the words almost swallowed by the great hall’s vastness.

Aemond’s eye flickered to you, just a moment of acknowledgment, before drifting back to the distant, unfocused point beyond the hall’s great hearth. “I have much on my mind,” he replied, his voice low and guarded, as always.

You lowered your gaze, the golden glint of your cup catching the flicker of the fire as you turned it in your hands. “Today is the day of the Crone,” you murmured, the soft words drifting into the vast emptiness of the hall.

Aemond’s eye settled on you again, this time with a sharper intensity, as if he were trying to read the thoughts that played behind your eyes. The violet of his gaze, stark and unyielding, seemed to see through flesh and bone.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks but pushed on, lifting your head with a tentative, almost sheepish smile.

“I have been holding small celebratory suppers in my chambers for each of the Seven,” you said, the words trembling on the cusp of hope. “Perhaps you would join me tonight?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable, carved from the same marble as the gods whose names you spoke. He was silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he measured the request. You held your breath, bracing for the sting of rejection, but after a moment, he inclined his head with a slow, deliberate nod.

“I shall see if I am free to attend later, wife,” he replied, each syllable precise, as if spoken under a watchful eye.

A smile unfurled across your face, a small, fragile bloom that brightened the somber air. You nodded, your gratitude silent but deeply felt, and returned your attention to the meal before you.

The hall fell back into its familiar hush, but the silence seemed gentler, softened by the promise—no matter how uncertain—that he might sit with you as the evening drew near.

Throughout the day, you moved with a purpose that had been absent for some time. Excitement flickered within you, casting a rare warmth over the bleakness of Harrenhal’s cold stone walls.

You spent more time preparing yourself than you had in weeks, choosing a gown of deep violet, the color rich and regal, one you knew would match Aemond’s eye.

Your hands worked carefully as you braided your hair, fingers weaving strands with practiced precision. You wound the braids into a half-up style, securing them with thin silver pins, and threaded small pearls between the coils, their soft luster catching the waning light that seeped through the chamber’s narrow window slits.

As the sun dipped lower, you prepared the chamber for supper, eager to cast away the dreariness of Harrenhal’s stone embrace. The table, though small, was set with care.

You placed a modest arrangement of primroses at its center, their pale petals lending a touch of softness to the somber room.

Candles, thick and tapered, were placed with a meticulous eye, their wicks waiting to be lit and offer a warm glow that would banish the shadows lurking in the corners.

Tonight was meant to honor the Crone, a day of wisdom and reflection, yet you could not help but hope for something more—a chance to share a moment, however fleeting, with the man you called husband.

The hours had been long since you’d known any touch of intimacy, any whisper of companionship. The prospect of Aemond joining you, even for a brief supper, was enough to make your heart beat with anticipation.

Time stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as you sat alone at the small table in your chambers, a solitary figure in a room filled with muted light. The food before you, once steaming and fragrant, had grown cold, the sheen of oil on the meats congealing in the chill air.

The candles you had lit earlier had burned down to stubs, their light dwindling as shadows crept up the walls.

The fire in the hearth, once crackling with warmth, had reduced itself to a bed of glowing embers, the last vestiges of heat sputtering as they surrendered to the draft that snaked through the stones.

Your heart, which had quickened with hope earlier in the day, now felt leaden with disappointment. The silence pressed in around you, each passing moment a reminder that Aemond would not come. The anticipation that had kept your spirits aloft now left a hollow ache in its absence.

Pushing your untouched plate away, you rose from the table, your movements deliberate as anger stirred in your chest. It was not the hot, reckless kind, but the slow-burning indignation that came when expectation was met with silence.

You wrapped your cloak around your shoulders and slipped into the dim corridor, determined to find him, to seek an answer rather than stew in this quiet, stinging rejection.

Harrenhal’s halls were a maze of stone and shadow, empty and vast, with only the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cold. The castle held a thousand whispered secrets, and tonight, it seemed eager to keep its prince among them.

You turned corners and climbed staircases, the flicker of dying torches casting your shadow long against the walls, until the familiar paths grew strange and your resolve wavered.

Finally, as you entered a lesser hall that stretched toward a wing of old chambers, you spotted movement—a maidservant carrying linens, her head bent as if afraid to be seen. Relief mixed with frustration as you quickened your step.

“Excuse me,” you called out, your voice sharper than intended.

The servant started, nearly dropping her burden before bowing her head hastily, eyes fixed to the floor. It was a common sight in Harrenhal, the way they kept their gaze averted in your presence.

Word of your husband’s fierce reputation as Prince Regent and Kinslayer had traveled swiftly, and it seemed they feared that to slight you was to invite his wrath upon them.

With a lifted chin and a tone that brooked no disobedience, you asked, “Where is my husband?”

Before the maid could stammer out an answer, another voice cut through the dim hallway—a voice that chilled the blood in your veins and haunted your sleep with its whispers.

“I fear the prince is still occupied in the council chamber, my lady,” said Alys Rivers, her tone smooth and deceptively courteous, like the edge of a blade.

You turned slowly, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were dark, unreadable, but a knowing smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded you, taking in the sight of your tense shoulders, the protective way your hand drifted instinctively to your rounded stomach.

There was no warmth in her expression, only the sly amusement of a cat toying with a bird that dared to stray too far from its nest.

Your nostrils flared, and you straightened your back, eyes narrowing as you corrected her in a low, simmering murmur, “Princess.”

Alys tilted her head, feigning surprise, though her eyes betrayed nothing but a cold mirth. “Pardon me,” she said, her gaze sliding deliberately to your abdomen before flicking back up to meet yours, daring you to react.

“I am not your lady,” you hissed, “I am your princess.”

With a final, steely glare, you turned on your heel, the folds of your violet gown sweeping the floor as you made your way back through the shadowed hallways, heart pounding beneath your ribs.

The silence of Harrenhal enveloped you once more, and you did not pause until you reached the safety of your chambers, locking the door behind you and pressing your back against the cool, unyielding wood.

The echo of Alys’s smirk lingered in your mind, but you would not let her see your fear. Not tonight. Not ever.

A scream ripped from your throat, raw and primal, as the pain surged through you, tearing its way up your spine and scattering your senses. It felt as though your very body was being split apart, the agony sharper and deeper than any blade.

“Keep pushing, my princess; the babe is almost here,” urged the midwife, her voice steady but relentless.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to curse her, to scream at her to hold her tongue, but the pain stole all words from you, leaving you breathless and shaking.

It was a torment that came in relentless waves, each cresting higher than the last, only to drag you under when you thought you could surface for air. The burning, the stretching—unbearable, blinding.

“I cannot,” you sobbed, tears mingling with the sweat that drenched your brow. “Please… I can't,” you pleaded, your voice broken and desperate.

The pain surged again, stealing the air from your lungs, and then you felt it—a firm, familiar hand pressed gently to your cheek. Through the haze of pain, you turned your head, and your vision cleared just enough to see the sharp lines of Aemond’s face.

His single violet eye was intent, fierce, a rare expression of vulnerability breaking through his stoic mask. Relief, so profound it was nearly painful, swelled in your chest.

“Aemond,” you gasped, his name a lifeline, an anchor in the storm.

Husbands were not meant to be present for the birth, tradition forbade it. But he was there, and you did not care for any rule or rite that would keep him away.

“Just a few more pushes, my love,” he murmured, his voice low, a thread of steel woven through the gentleness.

You nodded weakly, mustering what remained of your strength. A deep groan escaped you as you pushed once more, the room spinning around you. The midwife’s voice rose above the roaring in your ears.

“The babe is crowning, my lady.”

But the tone was wrong. Too familiar, too cold. Alarm jolted you to consciousness, and you struggled to prop yourself on trembling elbows. Your eyes darted to the space at the foot of the birthing bed, and dread coiled tight in your gut.

There, in the dim light of the chamber, knelt Alys Rivers. Her dark hair framed eyes as green and sharp as glass, eyes that glimmered with a knowing, malevolent gleam. A smile curled at the corners of her lips as she met your gaze.

“No, no!” you screamed, panic twisting your voice. “Get away from me!”

With a surge of fear-driven strength, you tried to kick her away, your limbs thrashing wildly, but Aemond’s hands clamped down on you, firm and unyielding. “Calm yourself,” he commanded, his voice cool, steady as stone.

Alys turned her gaze up to him, a shadow of mock sympathy curving her lips. “You must choose, my prince,” she intoned, each word dripping with false solemnity. “The babe, or your wife.”

A sob wrenched from your chest as you felt your breath come in sharp, shallow gasps. “No. No!” The pain was drowned beneath the torrent of fear that flooded you.

Desperately, you looked up at Aemond, seeking the warmth, the fierce protection that once resided in his eye. But what you found was a gaze distant and unreadable, as though he stood apart, watching from some cold, unreachable place. His jaw tightened. “Save the babe.”

Time seemed to fracture around you. His words, so final, crashed over you like a wave of ice. Your eyes widened, disbelieving, as rough handmaids or shadows, you could not tell—pressed you back, holding you firm as you struggled.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you screamed, your voice raw with betrayal and terror, limbs straining against the iron grip that pinned you.

Pain cleaved through you, and you felt the weight of the babe shift within. But your focus broke as Alys moved, no longer at the foot of the bed but gliding closer, the flicker of torchlight catching on the edge of a cruel, glinting blade.

The chamber seemed to darken around her, the faint cries of the midwives fading into an ominous silence. And all you could see were those green eyes, bearing down on you like a curse whispered in the dark.

You jolted upright, heart pounding and breath ragged, the remnants of your nightmare clinging to your skin like a shroud. A trembling hand reached up to brush the tears from your cheeks, the dampness proof of the terror that had gripped you in sleep.

Your eyes drifted down, catching the soft curve of your swollen belly under the covers, rising and falling with your shallow breaths. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a bitter mix of relief and unease.

The babe was still safe within you—at least for now. You pressed your palm over it, as if to reassure yourself of its presence.

Beyond the thin light filtering through the shuttered window, the sky remained cloaked in the indigo of night.

The stillness told you it was not yet dawn, that liminal time when dreams and waking often blurred. But sleep would not find you again; not after that vision, nor for many nights to come, you were sure.

The memory of Aemond's cold, detached gaze as he spoke words that sealed your fate in your dream clung to you. It pierced deeper than any blade, a wound festering with fear and doubt.

Yet you forced yourself to swallow the sharp sting of betrayal, directing your thoughts toward another source of your unease—Alys Rivers.

The whispers, the eyes that followed, the dark air that seemed to shift when she was near. Your fears, your husband’s torment, the sense of something wicked gnawing at Harrenhal’s bones—it all traced back to her.

Resolve steeled your spine. You pushed back the covers and rose, the weight of your pregnancy making the motion slower, more deliberate.

Wrapping yourself in a heavy fur cloak, you reached for the candelabra on the nightstand. Its small flame sputtered in protest before catching steady, casting long shadows that danced upon the walls.

The corridors of Harrenhal, once alive with whispered conversations and the hurried footfalls of servants, now loomed around you in cold, watchful silence. The draft that crept through the ancient stones nipped at your cheeks and sent a shiver down your spine.

Clutching the fur tighter against your body, you moved forward, the warm light in your grasp flickering as it met the draft.

The silence was thick, broken only by the soft rustle of your cloak and the creak of old floorboards beneath your weight.

At last, you reached the great doors of the library, their dark wood carved with sigils long forgotten and gnarled from centuries of use. Setting the candelabra down, you pushed against one of the doors, muscles straining with the effort.

It groaned open, the sound reverberating through the stillness and sending a cold gust rushing past you. Picking up the candelabra, you stepped inside and let the heavy door drift shut behind you with a thud.

The scent of old parchment and dust surrounded you, familiar and oddly comforting. Shelves stretched high, towering sentinels filled with the stories of old and the wisdom of those long gone.

On other nights, you would have lost yourself in the tales that wove through these tomes—myths and sagas that spoke of courage and triumph. But tonight, solace was not what you sought.

You moved through the rows with purpose, eyes scanning the spines until they found those few volumes that hinted at the arcane.

The lore of witches, their dark arts, the means by which they could twist men’s dreams and cloud their minds—it all lay within reach, hidden among dusty pages that no one dared speak of.

You placed the candelabra down, its light casting a golden glow that flickered across the cracked leather and faded titles.

With trembling hands, you opened the first book, its binding stiff with age. The parchment crackled as you turned the pages, your eyes drinking in the inked words.

If there was any way to guard yourself, to protect Aemond from the shadows that had seeped into your lives, you would find it here. No longer would you be haunted by that witch’s knowing gaze or the dread that coiled tight in your belly.

With each turn of the page, the flickering glow of the candelabra cast dancing shapes upon the stone walls, warding off the chill that seeped through Harrenhal’s blackened stones.

The words spoke of charms and tokens, of age-old rituals whispered by the smallfolk who feared the unseen.

Marking doors with protective sigils or crosses to ward off malevolent forces. The purifying strength of salt, said to bar dark spirits and their ilk. Rowan wood, revered for its protective properties, best used when tied with crimson thread to seal its potency.

The hours crept by, measured by the slow guttering of candle wax. You read, forgetting the passage of time as the nightmare’s claws loosened their grip on your heart.

Knowledge was your weapon now, and you wielded it with the silent promise that neither you nor Aemond would fall victim to powers unknown.

The day’s first light spilled through the high, narrow windows, a pale and hesitant glow that bled into the room and painted the bookshelves in muted gold.

It was the day of the Stranger, seldom celebrated, yet you paid it no heed. Lost in the pages, you missed the bells that tolled the hour and forgot the warmth of your usual morning meal shared with Aemond.

When at last you closed the final volume, a resolve settled in your chest, resolute and unyielding. You would need these items—symbols of protection—and that meant venturing beyond the castle’s shadowed halls and out into the market.

The fur-lined cloak wrapped snug around you, guarding against the bitter drafts that swept through the corridors as you made your way back to your chambers.

As you reached the windows, a rare sight unfolded before your eyes—snow, soft and unrelenting, blanketing the bleak spires of Harrenhal.

Snow was a rarity in King’s Landing, seldom seen during your girlhood there. For a moment, untouched by fear or doubt, you felt the stir of childish wonder rise within you.

Three knights of the Kingsguard, their white cloaks pristine even in the snow, flanked you as you ventured to the market. The square bustled despite the cold, vendors calling out their wares with voices hoarse from the chill. Your list of protective items, hastily scrawled in the early hours, guided your every step.

Surprisingly, the rowan wood was easy to find, its branches bundled tightly with red thread as per custom.

Charms of polished crystal and talismans wrought from iron and bronze were procured with little effort, their sellers eager to part with them for a handful of silver stags.

The murmured blessings from the old crones at their stalls made the hair on the back of your neck prickle, but you pressed on, their eyes shadowed with both reverence and suspicion.

By the time the sun began its descent, casting a gilded glow over the snow-draped stones of Harrenhal, your arms were laden with your newfound protections. You returned to your chambers with purpose, setting to work immediately.

With meticulous care, you bound the red thread around the twigs of rowan wood and placed them above each entrance.

Salt, precious and fine, was spread across the thresholds, each grain catching the firelight like scattered stars.

With charcoal from your writing desk, you etched intricate symbols—wards against dark magics—onto the cold, unyielding stone walls.

But it was not just your own safety you sought to secure. For Aemond, you had combed the market for a piece both practical and protective. After much haggling, you procured a leather eyepatch, supple and black, unmarred by wear.

Returning to your chamber, you carefully stitched shards of black tourmaline into its edge, each piece glinting with a subtle, protective gleam. Your needlework was steady, each pull of the thread imbued with silent prayers.

Lost in your task, you barely noted the soft knock at your door or the maidservant who entered, setting a tray of supper on the table near the hearth.

The aroma of roasted fowl and warm bread wafted through the chamber, but your focus remained fixed.

As you worked by the fire's glow, the shadows that had haunted your waking hours seemed to lessen, replaced by the steady rhythm of thread and needle, and the quiet resolve that this time, you would be ready.

You were so absorbed in your needlework, fingers deftly stitching the dark crystals onto a supple leather patch, that the sudden clearing of a throat startled you. Your gaze snapped up, eyes wide with surprise as they met the cool, familiar face of Aemond Targaryen.

“Husband,” you said, breathless as you hastily hid the finished eye patch beneath a velvet pillow. Rising to your feet, you inclined your head, though your heart thudded with residual tension.

He stood tall and imposing in the dim glow, the silver-white of his hair catching the light like a crown. For a moment, the room felt smaller, as if the walls themselves pressed in with the weight of his presence.

“What brings you here?” you asked, voice touched with confusion and a hint of sharpness. Exhaustion dulled your sense of propriety, leaving the question more pointed than intended.

Aemond’s lone violet eye narrowed, an unreadable glimmer within its depths. “To have supper with you,” he replied, as if such a thing were the most natural answer in the realm.

Your eyes flickered to the table, where two silver plates now sat, the steam rising lazily from the dishes set by the silent servant moments before.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and sighed, murmuring, “I believe my invitation was for yesterday.”

A shadow of regret crossed his face, so brief that another might have missed it, but you saw. As you moved past him to take your seat, you caught the soft murmur that slipped from his lips, “I deserved that.”

Aemond followed and took his place across from you, the creak of the chair echoing in the quiet chamber. For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearthfire. His gaze settled on you, sharp and searching.

“I have not seen you at all today,” he said at last, the words carrying a hint of something that might have been longing, tempered by pride.

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers fiddling absently with the edge of your gown. Remorse pricked at your heart—you had broken your shared morning ritual, the one part of the day reserved just for the two of you.

“I was very busy,” you replied softly, the excuse feeling thin on your tongue.

Aemond’s expression remained unreadable as he tilted his head slightly. “I heard. Visits to the market square,” he said.

You hesitated, holding back the details of the charms, the salt, the ancient warding sigils you had traced with trembling hands. He would only deem you foolish or worse, mad.

“I needed fresh air.”

His eye narrowed, a flicker of displeasure passing over his sharp features. “It is too dangerous for one in your condition to wander beyond these walls,” he said, the admonishment clear, though his tone held an undercurrent of concern.

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That is why I took three of your White Cloaks,” you retorted, the fire in your voice matching the spark in his eye.

For a heartbeat, the tension crackled between you, the weight of unsaid words pressing down like a heavy cloak. Then, Aemond’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly, as if some silent battle had been waged and resolved within him.

“Good,” he said at last, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “You are no fool, wife.”

The tautness in the room eased, and though unspoken, an accord was reached.

Aemond leaned forward, and placed a carved wooden box on the table between you. “I’ve brought you something,” he said, his voice a measured calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something softer. “An apology for last night.”

Your brows knit together, skepticism clear in your eyes. “My forgiveness cannot be bought with trinkets, husband,” you said, your tone edged with defiance. Yet even as you spoke, curiosity stirred within you.

One of his silver brows arched at your remark, and a small smile ghosted his lips. “Let us see if it is worthy,” you murmured, reluctant to give ground but unable to hide the intrigue that tugged at you.

With a careful hand, Aemond lifted the lid of the box, revealing a necklace of silver and sapphire. The deep blue stone glimmered like the sea under moonlight, capturing the room’s faint candle glow.

Your breath stilled for a moment, eyes tracing the intricate work of the silver links, each carved to mimic dragon scales.

Your fingertips brushed over the gem, the cool surface grounding you as warmth bloomed in your chest. Unbidden, a soft smile tugged at your lips, an expression so rare that even you felt its presence.

“Thank you, husband,” you whispered, your voice softened by genuine gratitude.

Aemond’s face shifted, pride flickering across his sharp features. There was something triumphant in his half-smirk that you could not allow him to savor unchallenged. You rose from your seat, skirts rustling as you moved.

“I, too, have a gift for you,” you said, your tone now light with a note of playfulness.

“Oh?” he replied, one silver eyebrow lifting in surprise, though the glint in his lone violet eye revealed his interest.

“Mm,” you hummed, stepping to the chaise where a small cushion lay. Your fingers slipped beneath it, retrieving the item hidden there. Turning back to him, a touch of shyness colored your expression, a rare sight that softened the lines of your face.

With both hands, you presented him with an eye patch, the black leather supple and embroidered with fine strands of broken tourmaline crystals, catching the dim light with a subtle shimmer.

Aemond took it, surprise giving way to careful scrutiny. His fingers traced the delicate work, the weight of the crystals and their arrangement thoughtful.

“Black tourmaline,” you said quietly, watching his gaze flick between you and the patch. “It is said to have powerful protective qualities.”

You hesitated, unwilling to speak of how it was also believed to ward against dark energies and unseen dangers—of how it might shield him from threats both known and hidden.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Aemond’s mouth quirked into a faint smile, rare and genuine. “Thank you, wife. 'Tis a very thoughtful gift,” he said, voice low and sincere.

A moment passed, and you froze in silent shock as Aemond reached up to remove the eye patch he wore. Of course, you had seen what lay beneath—the striking sapphire set into the hollow of his missing eye—but Aemond was never keen on showing it.

In King’s Landing, he would only take it off moments before sleep and replace it the moment he awoke.

Before he could put on the new eye patch, you placed a hand over his arm. “You know you don’t have to wear it around me, yes? I have no issue with it, and you should not either.”

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring slightly. For a heartbeat, you feared you had overstepped, but then he nodded, leaving both eye patches on the table.

A small, victorious smile touched your lips as you felt the weight of this unspoken understanding between you. “Allow me to have the maids bring us some dessert,” you said, the tension lifting.

Aemond nodded, his gaze lingering on you as you turned to the doors.

Stepping into the corridor, you quickly found a maid and requested something sweet to be brought to your chambers. When you returned, your heart faltered at the sight before you. Aemond stood at your desk, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned over an open book—your journal.

Panic surged within you, and you strode forward, slamming the book shut with a sharp motion. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharper than intended, eyes wide with both shock and alarm.

Aemond straightened, holding the closed journal in his hand. His expression was unreadable, though his eye bore into you with quiet intensity. “What is this?” he asked evenly, tilting the book slightly for emphasis.

“My private journal,” you answered quickly, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of your grasp, his superior height giving him the advantage. “Give it back, husband. It is mine.”

Aemond’s voice was steady but carried an undertone of something raw, almost fragile. “Then why,” he began, his eye fixed on you, ignoring your protests, “do you write to our babe?” There was an ache in his tone, a depth of emotion he hadn’t yet voiced.

The question caught you unprepared, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your skirts, and your shoulders sagged as you avoided his penetrating gaze. “In case,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

“In case of what?” he pressed, his voice low and edged with a demand for understanding.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could uncover your secrets by sheer will. Unable to face him, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. “In case I’m not there,” you admitted at last, the words barely audible, like a confession carried on the wind.

Aemond’s brows drew together, confusion shadowing his features. “What do you mean if you’re not—” He stopped mid-sentence, his breath catching as realization dawned. The tension in his posture shifted, his shoulders falling ever so slightly. “…There.”

His sharp features softened, a rare vulnerability settling over his face. “Women do survive the childbed,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, as though he feared the weight of his words might shatter you.

“Not every time,” you countered, your tone edged with resignation. “And there’s also… that choice.” Your voice broke on the last word, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire. Then, with a tenderness that made your heart ache, Aemond reached out and cupped your cheek.

His touch was warm, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he tilted your face toward him, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“There can be more babes,” he said softly, his words a promise etched with fierce determination, “but there is only one you.”

His eye, a storm of violet and sapphire, held yours with such intensity that you felt as though he was laying his very soul bare. A tear escaped and traced down your cheek, but Aemond caught it with his thumb, his touch steady, grounding you in the moment.

“I would not choose otherwise,” he said firmly, the weight of his vow lingering in the air between you. “Not for all the heirs in the realm.”

Your lips trembled as you whispered, “You swear?”

“I swear it,” he replied, his voice low and resolute. “I will not lose my wife.”

The ache in your chest eased slightly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like a shield. You placed your hand over his, pressing it gently against your cheek.

With a soft breath, you tilted your head upward, letting your lips meet his in a gentle caress. The kiss was tender at first, a quiet exchange of affection that carried the weight of your unspoken fears and his unyielding promise.

Aemond responded eagerly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours as his hand slid from your cheek to cradle the nape of your neck.

His other hand found your waist, gripping you firmly as he pulled you closer, as if the mere thought of distance was unbearable. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entrance, and you granted it willingly.

As his tongue met yours, the kiss deepened, a slow, fervent dance that sent warmth coursing through your veins. A soft moan escaped your lips, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten in response, his fingers digging into the fabric of your gown.

Your hands moved up his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle beneath his tunic, before curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

The world around you faded, leaving only the press of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips, and the heat that built between you like the fire crackling in the hearth.

When the kiss broke, it was with a reluctance that lingered in the air between you. Your breaths came in shallow pants as you gazed up at him through hooded lashes, the corners of your lips curving into a teasing smile.

“My love,” you purred, your voice sultry and laced with affection, “you’ve left me wanting… again.”

Aemond’s gaze darkened, the stormy hue of his violet eye smoldering with barely restrained desire. “Have I now?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then it seems I must remedy that, wife.”

You guided his hands lower, to the swell of your belly, then further down to the hem of your nightgown. “Will you show me how much you desire me?” you asked, your voice a sultry whisper. “Make me forget everything but the feel of you inside me...”

A low growl rumbled in Aemond's throat as his hands moved beneath your gown, fingers tracing the curves of your swollen belly before dipping lower to find the damp heat of your core.

“You have no idea how often I dreamt of this,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “Of burying myself deep within you, feeling your walls clench around me...”

With a swift motion, he lifted the hem of your nightgown and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside, revealing your naked form.

His gaze devoured every inch of you, from the full breasts that rose and fell with each ragged breath, to the soft, rounded hips and the glistening folds of your sex.

“Tell me what you want, my queen,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

A shiver ran through you at Aemond's bold appraisal, your nipples hardening into tight peaks as his hungry gaze seared your skin. You reached for the fastenings of his breeches, your fingers fumbling with urgency to free his straining erection.

“I want you,” you murmured, your voice low, thick with a desire that lingered like a soft melody in the air. Your eyes never left his, the depth of your longing laid bare in the way your breath hitched.

Aemond’s violet gaze darkened, the flicker of a smirk ghosting his lips. His head tilted ever so slightly, a predator’s grace, as though savoring your words before acting upon them.

You took a step back, your movements slow and deliberate, your footsteps light against the floor as you inched toward the bed. The flicker of the firelight cast a warm glow across the room, the shadows dancing across the carved posts of the bed.

As you reached its edge, you let yourself fall gracefully onto the soft mattress, your body sinking into the luxurious furs and silks. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you gazed at him through lowered lashes, a sly smile curving your lips.

“You beckon me so boldly,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet drawl, the faintest edge of amusement laced within it. “Have a care, wife, for I am not a man to resist such temptation.”

Aemond watched, transfixed, as you sank onto the bed, the mattress creaking under your weight. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart, the tip already glistening with precum.

He shed his clothes the rest of the way, letting them fall carelessly to the floor as he stalked towards you, muscles rippling with each step. By the time he reached the bed, he was fully erect, his shaft jutting proudly from a nest of silver curls.

Lying beside you, he reached out to cup your breast, thumbing the sensitive peak before leaning in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss.

His free hand trailed over your round stomach, pausing to tease the edge of your slit before delving deeper, fingers probing your slick folds.

“You're so wet for me already.”

You gasped into the kiss as Aemond's fingers found your entrance, your hips bucking instinctively to meet his touch. “Please,” you whimpered, breaking away from his mouth to gaze up at him with pleading eyes. “I need you inside me. Fill me up, make me yours again.”

As if sensing your desperation, Aemond positioned himself between your thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your opening. With a deep groan, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You cried out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure-pain crashed over you. It took a moment for your body to adjust, to relax and welcome the thick length filling you so completely.

Aemond's breath hitched as he bottomed out inside you, your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. For a moment, he simply savored the exquisite sensation, reveling in the tight heat enveloping his throbbing cock.

Then, with a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, setting a relentless pace.

The bed frame creaked ominously beneath the force of his thrusts, but Aemond paid it no mind, lost in the primal rhythm of rutting his mate.

“Yes, just like that,” he growled, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. “Take my cock, my queen.”

You wrapped your legs around Aemond's waist, heels digging into his firm behind as he pounded into you with wild abandon.

Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, your inner walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning shaft.

“Aemond!” You wailed, your nails raking down his back as you met his ferocious pace.

The obscene slap of flesh against flesh filled the room, punctuated by my wanton cries and Aemond's guttural grunts. You could feel the pressure building within you, coiling tighter and tighter like a spring ready to snap.

Suddenly, you were hurtling over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name as your cunt clenched rhythmically around him, milking his cock for all it was worth.

Aemond's eye rolled back in his head as your velvet sheath spasmed around him, your climax triggering his own. With a hoarse groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came undone, his seed erupting in thick, pulsing jets.

He continued to thrust through the aftershocks, prolonging your shared bliss until he was spent, collapsing beside you with a grunt. For a long moment, the two of you lay entwined, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath.

The chamber was awash with the warmth of the firelight and the quiet hum of your contentment. As you lay entwined, your bodies barely a breath apart, your gaze lingered on Aemond’s face.

His sharp features, so often hardened by duty and war, were softened now, his violet eye fixed on you with a tenderness rarely seen.

Your noses brushed lightly, a quiet intimacy, as his hand rested possessively over your waist while yours splayed across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

Almost as if drawn by a spell, he leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to your lips, a gesture so gentle it felt like a whispered promise. When he pulled away, he settled back onto the pillow beside you, his arm still wrapped protectively around you.

You shifted, nestling closer, your head finding solace in the crook of his neck. Your hand lay over his heart, its steady rise and fall a soothing cadence that began to lull you into slumber.

His breathing slowed, each exhale a soft brush against your hair, and soon, the quiet comfort of his presence drew you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the peace did not last.

You jolted awake, startled by the sudden thrashing of Aemond’s body beside you. His face, so serene moments ago, was now contorted in anguish, his brow slick with sweat.

His breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his hands clenched the sheets as if warding off some unseen terror.

Your heart clenched at the sight. He had spoken little of his nightmares, but you knew they haunted him—a torment born of battles fought, losses endured, and burdens carried.

Pushing yourself up, you moved with as much haste as your swollen belly would allow, the weight of your pregnancy slowing you only slightly.

Grabbing the robe draped over the chair, you wrapped it around yourself, its soft fabric barely warding off the chill of the room as you padded toward the small table where you had placed your new goods.

Your hands rummaged through the items with purpose, your fingers finally curling around a small vial. You held it up, peering at its contents even in the dim light. The faint, familiar scent already began to calm your racing heart.

Lavender oil.

You returned to the bed, the vial clutched firmly in your grasp. As you sat beside him, Aemond's thrashing began to subside, though his breaths were still ragged, and his jaw clenched tightly.

Carefully, you uncorked the vial, the soothing aroma of lavender wafting into the room. You poured a small amount onto your hands, warming the oil between your palms before leaning over him.

With gentle, deliberate movements, you began to anoint his temples, your touch light yet firm as you traced small, calming circles.

The oil left a faint sheen on his skin, its scent filling the space between you. "Aemond," you whispered softly, your voice low and steady, a tether pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare.

His breathing began to slow, the tension in his body easing under your ministrations. You moved to his wrists, massaging the oil into his pulse points, your hands steady despite the ache blooming in your lower back.

“You are safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear. “I am here.”

You whispered a silent prayer under your breath, invoking the gods for protection and peace. Your gaze stayed fixed on him, your heart clenching as you watched his features begin to soften, the tension melting away.

You held your breath, waiting. When his form finally stilled, his breathing evening out, you let out a soft sigh of relief. The lavender and your quiet vigil had worked.

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon you, and you slid back into bed beside him, pulling the covers over the both of you. But just as you were about to lay your head against Aemond’s chest, you froze.

A chill ran down your spine, and the hairs on your arms stood on end as an inexplicable sensation swept over you.

You were being watched.

Your eyes darted to the chamber doors, which you now noticed were slightly ajar. Beyond them, barely visible in the darkness, you caught the faint glimmer of glowing green eyes.

Your heart raced, a primal fear coursing through you. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with an unseen presence.

But you steadied yourself, your breathing slowing as you reminded yourself of the protections you had set in place earlier that day.

You had taken every precaution, warding the chamber with runes and incantations, ensuring that no ill intent could cross its threshold. Alys Rivers might wield her strange gifts, but she would not claim Aemond—not without a fight.

With a courage you hadn’t known you possessed, you tightened your arms around Aemond’s sleeping form, drawing strength from the warmth of his body against yours. Lifting your chin, you stared directly into the glowing eyes, refusing to show weakness.

“I won’t let you have him,” you whispered fiercely, your voice a low, steady vow. “Not without a fight, witch.”

For a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath. The green eyes lingered for a moment longer, unblinking and cold, before retreating into the darkness.

Only when the oppressive feeling lifted did you allow yourself to exhale. A trembling sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your head, nestling into Aemond’s chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear, became a soothing rhythm, lulling you out of your fear.

As the night enveloped you once more, you clung to him, your resolve unshaken. Whatever forces sought to disturb your peace, you would face them.

For Aemond, for your babe, for the family you were building together—you would fight.

Hope You Enjoyed!

[somepsychopomp]

Not an ask but I absolutely adore your Vampire au! After the whole ep with The Star, I was just constantly imagining of a scenario where Simon is alive and well, and joins the VK's court alongside Marcy.

I was waiting for someone to make a fic about that or just an au in general (I'm not the best at writing but I do consume a lot of fics lol), and then I stumbled on your blog and I found exactly what i've been looking for!!!

I just rlly like all the little tidbits you shared already, so I made some fanart for it, if you don't mind. It's mostly just V!Simon though :>

FANTASTIC OMG IM ACTUALLY DYING TY TY TY ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I love all the outfits you made for him, I feel like they'd go really well with the ones we see Star!Marcy wearing! My favorite has to be the red one, its so regal and beautiful especially with those gloves and those ruffled cravat/sleeves/coat!

(That middle look in the second pic looks more like a survival outfit, me thinks Simon might don it during an escape attempt from the hive or maybe in the rare times he's out doing work for the king)

I also love the big fluffy braid but his BUN tho 🙏🏻. I've seen pics of Simon in the AT comics with his hair up but him w/ that & the white hair is just something else, its sooo good

I also really like his half moon glasses, a small shake up from his ordinary round ones. Its such a small difference but I really like the way they look on him!

Thank u so much for sharing your art!!

[omgthatdress]

An Analysis of the Ubiquity of Mall Brands in the late 1990s to early 2000s, or

I Fucking Hate These Guys

by OMG!thatdress

If you were a tween to teenager from roughly 1997 to 2004, chances are, you were left with profound life-long trauma caused by someone wearing Tommy Hilfiger, Abercrombie & Fitch, Ralph Lauren, Nautica, American Eagle, The Gap, Old Navy, or, if you were came along a little later, Hollister or Aeropoastale.

I cannot overstate to my young followers how over-saturated these brand names were in teen culture at the turn of the millennium, the extend to which EVERYONE was wearing them, and yet, in a weird way, how light the imprint they actually left on fashion history was.

Watching iconic teen shows of the era, you don't see any of them because a.) TV teenagers tend to be way cooler and more stylish than awkward and desperate real teenagers actually are, and b.) these brands were all copyright protected, which kept their names and logos off the airwaves.

Look in a middle school yearbook, however, you'll see it. Look at your aunt and uncle's high school photo albums, you'll see it. Ask any late Gen X or early Millennial. It was real and it was fucking awful.

The big question is why? Why? WHY, GOD WHY?! There's a lot of answers to that question.

First of all, I'm going to cite this absolutely wonderful article from Collector's Weekly about why everyone's grandma had a hideous orange couch in the 70s, and give the most simple and straightforward answer: it's what was available.

This is when the concept of online shopping is still very much in its infancy, and the hub of American consumer culture was still your local mall. If you needed new clothes, you went to the mall. And guess what stores were at every local mall? You guessed it.

For the second answer, I'm going to dig up this utter relic from the early days of internet meme-ing, that has nonetheless stuck with me and had a profound impact of my understanding of how popular fashion works:

I'm pretty sure that the reason Abercrombie & Fitch manages to survive as a brand today rests solely increasingly middle-aged Millennial men whose sense of style has refused to evolve past the shit their mom bought them in high school.

And why the hell would they? Nobody wore Abercrombie because it made them stand out or feel special. I'm still pretty convinced that nobody actually *liked* the aesthetic or thought the clothes actually looked good. You need not look past the basic color palette to understand these were not brands meant for uniqueness or self-expression.

While Britney Spears pranced around stage in her iconic neon colors and body glitter, American teenagers existed in a never-ending hellscape of washed-out neutrals, faded denim, and American flag primary colors.

All of which served its exact purpose: it was safety. It was a way to appear cool if you didn't want to go through the ordeal of actually having a personality or a sense of style. Which, of course, goes back to point number one: it was just shit you bought at the mall because you needed clothes.

It wasn't enough to save you once the school bully caught that whiff of autism and/or queerness on you, but it was enough that you could blend into the herd and pray no one ever noticed you.

Underneath it all was a very subtle undercurrent of class and classism: to wear mall brands was to declare to the world that you could indeed afford to shop at the mall. It meant you weren't, god forbid, poor.

Status symbol clothing goes back to the invention of clothing itself. The concept of brands as status symbols is still very much alive and well, its just more limited to actual luxury brands nowadays. One need look no further than your favorite high-end children's clothing website to see that rich parents still very much think it important that you know their five-year-old is wiping its boogers on Versace.

None of these brands were actual high-end luxury brands, but they still advertised and presented themselves as such. Their ads featured signifiers of "all-american" (read: White) wealth: yachts, skiing, horses, beaches, shirtless dudes with chiseled abs playing verious sportsballs.

The color palettes and cuts mimicked the preppy "Ivy" style of the New England old-money elite, along with their hobbies and lifestyle. You may not actually own a horse, but you can wear a polo shirt. You may not be able to run without breaking your ankle, but you wear the same shirt as the dude holding a football in the ad.

It was an elitist, White and skinny image that didn't age well into the diversity and body-positivity of the 2010s.

In 2003, a lawsuit was filed against Abercrombie & Fitch alleging systematic racial discrimination. People of color were rarely hired, and if they were, they were given jobs in the back, away from customer view. In 2005, the U.S. district court approved a settlement of $50,000. A few years ago, Netflix released the documentary White Hot: The Rise and Fall of Abercrombie & Fitch which admittedly I haven't watched yet because my hatred runs too deep to remind myself of its existence.

It was a hatred of Abercrombie & the (white, thin, neurotypical, heterosexual) conformity that it represented that drove me screaming into the loving arms of Hot Topic and Linkin Park. Jordan Calhoun wrote an excellent article for the Atlantic about his experience growing up poor and Black and not fitting in to the Abercrombie aesthetic.

I would be very remiss if I didn't bring up the "urban" mall brands of the early 2000s: Fubu, Sean Jean, Ecko, Baby Phat, among others. They were favored by Black teenagers and White teenagers who wanted to be Black. I know there's a lot to be said about these brands, but I'm too Caucasian to really be able to talk about them with nuance. Maybe someone else will, and I will be very happy to listen.

As much as I hate Tommy Hilfiger, I really do have to give him credit for recognizing the incredibly lucrative "street wear" market and selling power of hip-hop. While most of these mall brands kept their image sparkling White, Tommy made Aaliyah his brand ambassador and regularly appeared in the wardrobes of popular rap and R&B artists of the time.

It'd be very easy and very reductive to say that the changing ideology of the 2010s was the downfall of preppy mall brands, but really, the thing that truly killed them was the downfall of the mall itself. Shopping habits changed, and logos and brand names no longer held the power they once had.

The moral of the story is that being a teenager is fucking hell, and these popular brands both offered the safety of conformity and a status symbol to hold over the heads of the poor and uncool. The irony is that everyone who hated them as teenagers (read: ME) and the freaks who grew up to truly love the power of self-expression through personal style (read: ME) became the truly cool people. If you wore Abercrombie you grew up to vote for Donald Trump.

GO GOTH. PREPS SUCK. THE END.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

OMG, I just love your writing! Especially the yandere Big Brother shigaraki HCS! If your requests are still open, can I request Yandere Big Brother Shigaraki with his little sister being AFO's daughter and they used to be really close for years but one day He had thought she had died after some villain got her and there was not even a body left behind, but in truth, she had run away and joined UA. Some platonic headcanons of yandere Big Brother shigataki and yandere Father AFO about that?

Thank you! 🖤🖤🖤

Rebellion | Yandere AFO and Shigaraki Tomura

Rebelling in such a way is going to be hard beyond belief

Whether you do this in your youth or closer to your teens it’s a battle

That can’t be won without the hero specifically All Might’s intervention

But eventually they do it

Faking your death and making it seem believable enough for Shigaraki

But it sends him spiraling 

His old life and now you

He’s so consumed with grief he doesn’t pick up on AFO’s minor reaction

AFO is probably more than aware that you’re probably alive

Already planning to recapture you but it’s not a priority

He knows they won’t kill you

And he knows they’ll likely use you as bait

But he smiles with glee when he thinks about how tomura will react when he knows you are still alive

He recognizes his dear little sibling immediately

No birthmark or signature sound required

He’s already imagined and even generated what you would’ve looked like had you survived

If you revealed yourself during their siege on the united liberation front

You might have saved a few lives or made the death toll a beat higher

Gigantomachia recognizes you and immediately prepares to catch you if you appear in front of him

Showing up in front of the unfinished Shigaraki he barely computes that it’s you

He instructs the nomus to capture you safely while he focuses on Deku

With his newly awakened body he gains AFO’s relaxed visage

Which causes even more of a divide when in their little mind meld Tomura realizes he knew

“All these years��and you never thought to tell me!?”

Capturing you may not be an immediate priority because they both know the heroes wouldn’t do that

….but after what happened to Twice who can be sure

It’s only an issue if you’re providing  substantial support to the heroes with your own quirk

Then that is a rebellion neither of them are happy about 

[crazedear]

Arcane Timebomb fanfic recommendations

Omg! Look who's back after months of inactiveness on tumblr? Honestly I feel like I'm only coming back here after I find smth new to obsess over and need to satiate my cravings for content. It happened with staticradio, and now... TIMEBOMB??

I know I am not the only one who's mind have been taken over by this particular ship after the finale of Arcane season 2. It's one of those ships where its basically canon, but just the confirmation isn't enough to satisfy our hearts without the content along with it.

There is SO many fanarts out already (I am not complaining one bit) and although the Jinx x ekko tag has been growing exponentially on ao3, I haven't seen a lot of recent fanfic recommendation posts yet and I want to change that.

As always, please feel free to recommend me any other fanfic that you think can be added to the list! I want this list to be fully open to those who want to contribute.

To all the times I've dreamt of you

Written by: timebomblover (sibzzz)

Rated T

Words: 1,713 (Oneshot)

In the aftermath of tragedy, Ekko is left haunted by the memory of Jinx—his lost love, his greatest regret, and his deepest mystery. As grief consumes him, the signs begin to appear—whispers in the shadows, echoes in forgotten places, and fragments of a past he refuses to let go of. Could she still be alive? Or is his mind unraveling beneath the weight of what he’s lost? In a journey through pain, obsession, and hope, Ekko searches for the truth, ready to do anything to find out if his lover is truly out there somewhere.

Sunbeams

Written by: Multimousefanatic

Rated T

Words: 5,969 (Complete - Chapters 2/2)

If there had been any doubt in her mind before he said those words, it disappeared faster than Sevika’s arm. “Is that what all this is about? You want to forgive me?”

Like It's the Last Time

Written by: Zeezeepearl

Rated T

Words: 3,727 (Oneshot)

Jinx returns to Zaun, seeking Ekko's help. She has unfinished business, and he has very little time.

Got All Of Your Insides?

Written by: Lunar_Angel

Rated T

Words: 5,597 (Ongoing - Chapters 2/3)

Powder, Vi and Ekko have their last proper conversation. Powder and Ekko finally come clean about some long pent up feelings.

Hold me right here

Written by: kimekosu

Rated T

Words: 6,271 (Oneshot)

Ekko coped with her death by forcing himself to dream of his memories of her. Some were painful, while some reminded him of why he fell for her in the first place.

Then unexpectedly, the Anomaly popped into one of his dreams, offering him a chance to teleport himself right into a memory, where he could possibly alter her fate.

The Heart of Zaun

Written by: 1ts_Br1tney_B1tch

Not rated

Words: 25,286 (Ongoing - Chapters 6/?)

Silco felt wrath, pride, and respect battle within him as he witnessed the small band of Firelights—only 5 members strong, and not much older than children judging by their size—decimate his men and destroy yet another shipment of shimmer. Thousands of gold cogs wasted, money that would have been used to build his empire until it could stand against Piltover's council, and yet as he watched the green streaks through the sky, he couldn't help but think these Firelights were Zaunite to their core. These young rebels embodied the spirit of Zaun almost as much as his own daughter, Jinx.

He glanced down at her now, only to pause at the still expression on her face. Her gaze tracked one of the masked figures unerringly—the leader, if Silco was reading their dynamics right—eyes just a bit too wide, and her fingers twitched by her side. He'd seen her get like this before, when she was confronted with her past.

She knows him.

An idea begins to take shape in Silco's mind.

Or: Silco wants to recruit the Firelights. Too bad they hate his guts.

Genius and Madness

Written by: Malbec

Rated T

Words: 6,266 (Ongoing - Chapters 5/?)

Once Ekko comes back from the alternate universe, he meets Jinx again, only to find her in the verge of suicide. How can he convince her to keep living and stay to create a new life? What did Jinx and Ekko do next?

Taking a leap forward (means leaving a few things behind)

Written by: thefifthchris

Rated T

Words: 12,491 (Ongoing - Chapters 5/9)

Time slows. Four seconds. Ekko shouts. Something is wrong. There’s no time to think. Heimerdinger jumps out of the singularity, and, in his place–

Powder takes the leap.

In another timeline, Piltover tries to rebuild. No Hexgate, no fancy Hextech, nothing. Vi is familiar with this: raw labor, strength as its own language, sweat dripping between her shoulder blades. No, she thinks. There is no time to mourn.

A tale of two sisters. Even worlds apart, they'll still always find each other.

Powder & Ekko (& Timebomb) Collections

Written by: Rhyagelle

Not rated

Words: 158,197 (Ongoing - Chapters 48/?)

This is a collection of various Powder and Ekko themed flashbacks/stories, ranging from one-shots to multi-parts or full part chapters. There will be chapters dealing with just one of them or the other, as well as any kind of Timebomb content (meaning, chapters with both of them, together). It's to dig into the very adorable and dorky friendship the two very clearly possessed, as well as what might have been like for them during their childhood, before everything turned to shit. And yes, if it's not clear, there will be Ekko x Powder! It's just not the ONLY focus (but it is in my heart <3).

(I didn't find this fanfic myself and I actually got it from @lady-griffin's Timebomb recommendation post from 2 years ago. This was just one of my favs from their list I just had to include it in a more recent post so more people can see it. Please go check out her own list)

The Risk of Fall

Written by: Sapphic_Jezus

Rated T

Words: 9,891 (Ongoing - Chapters 2/?)

“Vi.” Mylo or Claggor—it doesn’t matter who—speaks up, and Vi turns to them, her panic spilling into the room.

“We can’t just leave her,” Claggor says evenly, his voice steady as a rock. He meets her eyes, unflinching. “She’s not safe here either. If they come for her…”

Or; What if they didn't just leave Ekko and Powder behind?

.

.

.

.

I know, I know, It's very short, dont come for me. I'm tryna focus on quality more than quantity yall, gimme time to load up my arsenal!

Anyways yeh! feel free to recommend me stuff to add, it can be anywhere, from ao3, wattpad, fanfic.net, etc. go crazy.

[paarksunghoon]

hello omg i love love LOVE deep honey, which is rare cus i usually do not touch fluff at all but smth abt the way u wrote got to me. i was wondering that in case u wanted an idea, u could write abt sunghoon rushing over to take care of his sick girlfriend? :3 just a thought or any headcannons u have on that would do fine but if u wanna turn it into a drabble or fic that's good too, especially if it's a continuation of deep honey

anyways, that is all from me, have a good day!!!

thank you so much :’) for all of my nsfw drabbles and content, I really enjoy writing the softer kind of stories. switched up the request just a little. consider this a token of my appreciation for your kindness. xx

ps this is what I’m imaging him wearing

***

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that nothing good could ever happen when you text someone past 2AM.

Both existential and physical dread consume you the second you open your texts and see a plethora of unread messages due to your current state of being. You’ve been bedridden for what feels like years but it’s only been a few of days. It’s technically Sunday morning and technically you should be fast asleep, especially since you’d taken medication to help you rest throughout the night. But seems like your body has other plans for you.

Tossing and turning won’t do either. Your head feels much better than it has for the past two days. You’d taken two days off or classes because of intense migraines paired with what seems like onset sickness due to it being flue season. Guilt over missing classes and groveling to your professors (even if they extended grace and told you to rest up) ate you alive, only ebbing away when you closed your eyes and slept.

Your roommate has been away because of a family event and what was once a promising weekend full of relaxation and the apartment to yourself is now a time for you to wallow in your misery. You’ve gone through countless tissues and have slept more in the past few days than in your entire life. It feels like your head might as well be cut off with how many problems your eyes, nose, and throat are giving you.

To pass the time, social media distracts you for a few minutes and you catch glimpses of what your friends have been up to. Partying. Studying. Eating at the cafeteria. All of these are mundane events you took for granted because you’d love to be anywhere but rotting away in your apartment. You’d rather studying for a midterm over feeling like you can’t move without losing your breath.

You take this time to catch up on texts as well. There are so many what remain unread by you and guilt crawls up your spine as you begin to reply to everything.

hi riki!! sorry I haven’t replied yet. I’ve been sick all weekend :/ I wish I could’ve gone to jake’s game with u bc it looked so fun ☹️

jungwon ur your cat is so cute omg…please send more vids. also sorry for replying late im sick lol

sunoo I swear to god if you watch another episode without me, I’m gonna beat your ass whenever I recover

yes, mom. I’m resting as much as I can! sorry I haven’t responded sooner. I still feel sick

heeseung do u think sunghoon would be weirded out if i text him right now. pls advise 😁

Heeseung immediately reads the message and the text bubble appears straight away. He’s one of your closest friends in university who always happens to be friends with Park Sunghoon, the guy you’ve been talking to for the past month and a half.

heeseung: Nah not weird. He’d probably like hearing from you

heeseung: He was asking about you earlier today and said you haven’t been talking to him as much

you: looking at my phone made me nauseous :/

heeseung: You should probably tell him that bc he’s been staring at his phone all day

you: soooo it wouldn’t be weird if I texted him out of the blue rn?? usually we don’t like…start conversations so late

heeseung: You’re overthinking. Just text him and if he doesn’t reply then he’s asleep and will text you in the morning

you: I’m scared of fucking it up

heeseung: There’s nothing to fuck up. If he gets mad that you took care of yourself (he won’t be) then he’s the one who fucked up

you: ugh when did u become the voice of reason

heeseung: :)

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard after you’ve opened Sunghoon’s text. You can imagine his slight pout when you think about how he’d react when he realizes you haven’t texted him back, which makes you feel even more guilty than you already are.

You’re not really sure how you started talking to him, let alone befriended Heeseung to the point where he started inviting you to hang out with him and his group of friends. Heeseung had originally been a study partner for a shared class back when the two of you were sophomores. It’s been a couple of years since then and now most of your conversations consist of TikTok jokes and Heeseung having to deal with you pining over one of his friends.

Sunghoon is every bit of cool you can imagine. He was so quiet when you first met him, residing in his oversized sweater since it was approaching the beginning of autumn. Heeseung invited you to a local bar on a Friday night after midterms and said your first drink would be on him if you made it before last call, knowing very well you were likely getting ready to slip underneath your blankets and call it a night.

He was right as always. You showed up wearing jeans and an old shirt with a jacket that was too big for your body. You’d made somewhat of an effort to look presentable since you’d be hanging out with his friends near campus and would rather not look like you’d gotten rolled over by a locomotive. It was there you met Sunghoon for the first time. He was so quiet that you barely heard him talk until an hour into hanging out with him, but that’s when you learned that he was someone you needed to get to know before he’d show you his loud, boisterous personality.

The more you hung out with him, the more you started to picture yourself with Sunghoon, away from the group you started to call your friends too. You’d only see him when Heeseung invited you out or if you bumped into someone else while Sunghoon was in tow with them. Neither of you seemed to cross paths otherwise and even then, Sunghoon was a bit too timid to approach you first and start a conversation.

Part of you wondered if you were ever too bold when you’d get drunk with him and your friends. You were loud, full of laughter and affection that none of your friends were surprised every time you shouted compliments across the tables and declared your love for the little group you considered to be your family away from home. Heeseung had gotten used to it pretty quickly and so did the others, albeit it took a while for their ears to stop glowing red every time you’d pull them into a drunken hug.

Maybe you sent a little too far with Sunghoon, who immediately tensed when your arms wrapped around his shoulders the first time you let your inhibitions down fully. A few beers and shots in, and Heeseung was anticipating your drunken rant about how much you love the little life the five of you had created and hoped that it would continue even after you all graduate.

Sunghoon always looked a bit intimidating with his dark, thick eyebrows and shielded his wandering eyes. He always looked like he knew what he wanted and his grace always made you think twice about what you’d say to him. Although, you knew this was the beginning of an onset crush that wouldn’t remain hidden for long, let alone when you weren’t sober.

So you’d thrown your arms around Sunghoon’s shoulder and told him how happy you were that Heeseung introduced the two of you. While you try not to think about that moment too much, you recall telling Sunghoon that he was slowly starting to become one of your favorite people because of how funny he is when people least expect it. You liked that he was so kind to his friends and that he was so confident in himself, and that you wished you could be a little more like him.

You also said he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. It was a sobering moment because he looked at you like you’d grown two heads and his shoulders felt like they might’ve been pushing you off of his body.

Stumbling with consistent apologies, none of your mutual friends seemed to notice what was happening behind them. You can picture the look on his face when your mind crosses to this moment, how he’d looked at you with bewilderment with his mouth ajar. Sunghoon didn’t say anything and you took that cue to leave him alone and head to the bar, where you hoped distance would make this night seem less tragic than it was.

When morning came around, you were the only person in your shared group chat who declined getting a late morning breakfast due to your embarrassment. Even during the next weekend, when Jake opened up his apartment for a casual hang out, you were the only person who didn’t show up, citing work and study stresses keeping you away from your friends.

Heeseung knew those were merely excuses.

“Cut the shit, Y/N. Are you okay? Did one of the guys do anything to make you uncomfortable?” The worst laced in his tone made you feel guilty for having him think the worse of people he knew before he met you.

“No, nothing like that. I think I’m the one who fucked up and made them uncomfortable.”

“Well clearly not since Jake invited you to his place. What’s going on? Do you want me to come over?”

The last thing you expected from Heeseung was to see him double over in laugher when you explained your predicament, clutching onto your bed like he’d fall to the ground if he didn’t. You’re sure that fit of laugher gave him a new set of abs.

“Sunghoon wasn’t weirded out. He texted me and asked if you were okay.” Heeseung pulled his phone out of his pocket to show you, leaving you in a cloud of confusion. “He probably likes you. Sunghoon’s a natural with girls even if he doesn’t realize they’re flirting with him. I think he likes you too because he’s acting really awkward because he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

That night left you with more question than answers. You considered texting Sunghoon and asking if the two of you could talk, but you didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable and tell him what Heeseung told you in fear of putting your friend in an awkward position. So you let the discomfort settle and braved seeing him the next time one of your friends invited you out.

Which, to no one’s surprise, was the weekend after Jake’s get together. Seoul’s autumn carnival was in its third weekend by the time the five of you were able to find adequate time to ride every rollercoaster and eat until your stomachs caved in. You loved the fair and were the first person to buy an admission ticket. Poor Jay, who wasn’t the biggest fan of big rides in the first place, tagged along with Jake every time he insisted on it. You tried your best to keep some distance between yourself and Sunghoon, even if Heeseung said you were being ridiculous. You’d chosen to stick by him until Sunghoon volunteered to help you pick up the food trays when you lost a game of rock-paper-scissors.

“I’m sorry that I acted weird that night,” he said, cutting the silence as the two of you waited for your order. He didn’t have to explain. You knew what he was talking about. “Heeseung said you felt bad for making me feel uncomfortable but I need you to know you didn’t make me feel that way.”

That was the longest sentence he’d ever said to you, let alone it being the first time he initiated a conversation with you. He watched as you stood with your eyes wide and mouth parted like you wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it.

“I think you just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to say nice things about me. I didn’t realize we were that close because you’d been affectionate with everyone but me up until that night.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I was, uh, flustered.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He averted your gaze and looked at his shoes momentarily before he looked back at you. “I liked what you said. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You laughed at the awkwardness dissipating. “I thought I crossed a line, or something. You just sat there and I thought I fucked up by touching you.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t. I…I liked it a lot.” You tried to hide a grin by keeping your bubbling excitement under wraps failed miserably. Sunghoon smiled too, offering to carry most of the trays back to the table where your friends were too hungry to talk for the next ten minutes.

The memory brings you back to the present where your thumbs hover the keyboard. You start to read back the conversation between the two of you and feel those butterflies erupt in your stomach for the umpteenth time. The two of you have talked about anything and everything. Nothing is off limits. So why is texting him to let him know you’ve been sick for the past few days so difficult for you?

you: hi

you: sorry I haven’t texted a lot in the past few days. I’ve been having migraines and now I’ve caught a cold ):

you: im sorry for texting so late too

He texts immediately.

sunghoon: You don’t have to be sorry. Are you feeling better now?

sunghoon: Actually don’t answer that

Your phone rings.

“Hey,” you say with your phone propped against your ear. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m the only who’s calling you when you’re sick, so I’m technically the one bothering you.” His laugh on the other line makes you smile a little too hard. “I was really worried. None of the guys heard from you so I figured you needed some space.”

“Unfortunately. I had to skip a few classes because it hurt to stand up. I’m pretty sure I’ve slept more this past week than I have in the last month.”

“I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

“I feel bad that I haven’t been able to talk to you.”

As if Sunghoon could sense you pouting, he clicks his tongue and reassures you. “It’s fine, Y/N. I’d probably do the same thing. I can’t imagine how much pain you’ve been in.”

“I would honestly rather study and take a million midterms than go through this again. I feel like someone just took their shoe off of my head.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. Can I bring you anything? Medicine, maybe?”

You cough a little. “No, but thank you. My friend dropped off a lot of NyQuil and other stuff to help me. It’s working…kind of. Still feel like shit, though.”

“…Can I come over? To help you with your sickness, of course. I can bring you soup.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You frantically rise from your bed amidst his words and realize there are tissues on the ground and dirty clothes strewn everywhere because of your lack of energy. Your living room must be a mess, too, and this would also be the first time Sunghoon would see you without any makeup on.

“I want to. But I mean, only if you’re up for it. I don’t want to stress you out since you’re sick. I just want to help make you feel better. That…and I miss you.”

Sunghoon’s never been so direct before. Even though the two of you have been talking for a while, neither of you have been so forward about it. Conversations are always subtly flirty to the point where the effervescent feeling simmers just underneath the surface. The two of you have hung out without the rest of your friends and have been alone before, but neither one of you has gone so far as you be so bold about the other.

“I miss you too,” you whisper into the phone.

“Give me thirty minutes. I’ll come with soup.”

He hangs up and with a newfound sense of urgency, you make your bed and throw away any stray trash. You put your dirty laundry in the hamper, which is piled high and untouched. It’ll be a problem for when you’re not sick.

The living room isn’t too bad. You straighten furniture and throw away empty takeout containers and wash a few utensils. The tasks don’t feel as draining as they did a few days ago and you’re starting to regain a little bit of your breath.

True to his word, Sunghoon arrives thirty minutes after he said he would. You open the door and look at him. He’s wearing blue hoodie and sweatpants with specs that make him look significantly more attractive than you’re used to.

“Hi,” Sunghoon says with a gentle smile. “I missed you.”

You bite your lip and blurt out your first thought. “You look really good in those glasses.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “Thank you. Can I come in?”

“Right, right.” You step aside and he follows you into your apartment. He takes his shoes off and places them neatly by the shoe rack.

“I might need to reheat this. I got it from that place near my apartment. You know, the one with the yellow banner?”

“I love that place.”

He smiles at you. “I know. Can I heat up some soup for you?”

When you nod, Sunghoon moves to the correct cabinet and pulls out everything he needs. It astounds you because he’s only ever been to your apartment twice before, both times with your other friends in tow. It dawns on you that it’s the first time the two of you are alone in your space. You’re touched that he remembers where your things are.

He beckons you to sit on the counter in front of the steaming bowl and the aroma of spices makes your mouth water. You haven’t been able to eat consistently in the past few days, surviving on bland foods like bread and crackers to sustain your health because anything else made you feel sicker than you were. The steam feels good against your skin and you dig in right away.

Sunghoon pulls your hair back when it gets close to the rim and holds it for you while you lap up the soup. It seems as though you’re hungrier than you thought because you sit there wordlessly, shoveling liquid into your mouth while Sunghoon watches.

“Sorry,” you apologize. “I must look like a zoo animal.”

“You’re sick, Y/N. You have nothing to apologize for. The first meal you can stomach is the best one.” It’s like he gets you. Sunghoon continues to hold your hair back until you’re finished. He washes the bowl and spoon, and puts it back where they belong.

Sunghoon turns around and looks at you under the ambient lighting you and your roommate put up in lieu of the overhead lights. It feels like he’s inspecting you and you try really hard not to think about the fact that you don’t feel presentable in this moment.

“Your apartment feels very you,” Sunghoon says. “I like all of the green furniture and the art on the wall.”

“My roommate picked the decor out but I’m starting to understand why she loves art so much.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks, looking at you. “Would you want to go to an art museum with me?”

“I’d really like that.”

Sunghoon pulls you by the hand to your couch and you try your best not to feel flustered with his touch. He sits you down on the cushion and immediately you feel like you need to be hyper vigilant because he’s looking around the apartment and you’re wondering if he can see the messes you see.

“Do you have a blanket? We could watch some TV. Or I could go. I don’t know.”

“Don’t go.” You say it too quickly but Sunghoon’s shoulders relax. “The blankets are beside the couch.”

He drapes it over you, leaving himself to fend for the cold. Although you’re sure he’s pretty warm, you open up the blanket and invite him to share it with you.

This is new territory. You two have just been talking. But Sunghoon isn’t deterred. He slots himself next to you and doesn’t shy away when he feels your arm pressed against him.

“Sorry for the mess. And for, well…” He watches you gesture to your face, which is undoubtedly red with dark circles underneath your eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I still like you.”

You aren’t used to him being so upfront like this. He watches you with easy eyes, the kind of feeling that makes you believe what he says. Sunghoon is pretty reserved when it comes to these types of things and you often find yourself being the one to push him towards his bolder side. But even though you feel flustered by his words and underneath his stare, you like this newer side of him.

“I’m such a mess.”

Sunghoon watches you push your forehead into his shoulder in an attempt to hide yourself from him. He smiles at your antics and loves the feeling of your body on his. He’s been hesitant to do things like hold your hand or kiss your cheek in fear or overstepping a boundary. He doesn’t know what came over him when he held your hair back from falling into the hot soup. He knows very well that he could’ve asked where you kept your hair ties, but helping you when he knows you need it felt like the right thing to do.

Now, he wonders if you’re growing bolder with him too. You let your forehead rest against his hoodie as you take deep breaths. He hears you sniffle a few times and nearly coos at the mere thought of you suffering from your sickness. When you pull yourself away from him, the tip of your nose is slightly runny and your eyes look a bit more red than usual.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.”

He bites his lip. “You could look worse.” You try not to let your cheeks rise in heat.

“You’re just being nice.”

Sunghoon laughs and shakes his head. He could never lie about how he feels towards you. “Nope. You still look really cute.” He watches the gears work inside your head and locates the TV remote when you don’t say anything. “What do you want to watch?”

“I dunno.”

“C’mon, you must’ve been watching TV while you were cooped up here.”

You shake your head. “Migraine, remember? Felt like my eyes were gonna burst.”

This time, he coos out loud. Sunghoon puts on a show you’ve mentioned enjoying in the past and hopes he chose correctly. You seem to be mellowing out and paying attention to the screen in front of you until you start breathing heavily. It’s not until he hears you try to silence a small coughing fit that he shoots up from his seat and pours you a glass of water.

“Here.” Sunghoon doesn’t let you hold the glass. Instead, he beckons your mouth open by placing the rim between your lips and lets you swallow the water, tilting it up until you’ve consumed all of it. He wipes the excess water from the corners of your mouth with his thumb and looks down at you with concern. “Do you have any tea? I can make you some. Hopefully that’ll soothe your throat.”

“Stupid medicine isn’t working,” you grumble. “I might as well perish.”

“Tea, baby,” Sunghoon says, the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. You almost don’t notice it. “Where do you keep your tea and honey?”

“Cabinet beside the fridge.”

Sunghoon comes back a few minutes later with piping hot chamomile tea with honey. You don’t know how he does it, anticipating your every need and putting just enough honey where it doesn’t feel like you’re stuffing your throat with the sweet nectar. You sip on it slowly as he situates himself back underneath the blanket and keeps his eyes on the television while you try to calm your erratic heartbeat.

Eventually, the episode finished and it’s almost four in the morning when you start to get sleepy. Sunghoon hears you yawning beside him and does his best not to grin like a lovesick idiot when you push your body against his in an attempt to get comfortable. You’re holding the empty cup loosely in your hands when your eyes start to droop and as much as Sunghoon would love to stay like this, he knows it’ll be better for you to sleep in your own bed with your back against the mattress.

“Baby,” Sunghoon whispers. He grabs the mug from your hands and sets it on the coffee table. “I think you should sleep in your bed. You’ll feel a lot better when you wake up.”

“But you’re so warm.”

He bites back a smile. “Thank you, but you’re gonna wake up with back pain and I know you’ll be mad that you didn’t sleep with pillows.”

He’s right and you know it but that doesn’t stop you from letting a whine slip past. Sunghoon doesn’t complain when you lean on him for support (or rather, you push your full weight onto him because you cannot be bothered with physical tasks at this late hour). Instead, he holds your waist with his arm and guides you into your bedroom from his memory of coming here a couple times before now.

Despite this, he’s never been inside your room. You’ve always kept the door closed but as he opens it, Sunghoon completely melts at how your bedroom is so utterly you. The dark green comforter hugs your queen-sized bed and a mountain of pillows cover the top near the bed frame. Your desk is an organized mess of notebooks, pens, and highlighters you carry with you during study sessions. Photographs in pretty frames decorate your walls along with posters of your favorite music and films.

He spots a picture of the two of you from that day at the amusement park when Heeseung insisted on taking a photo since the lighting was “perfect.” Sunghoon suspected that wasn’t the case but let him take it anyhow. He always considered that to be his first official memory with you. Knowing you might feel the same makes Sunghoon’s heart flutter.

“Let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

His soft touches make you fall much deeper into your tiredness. The mattress below you feels too good to be true as Sunghoon opens the blankets for you to crawl underneath. He watches you carefully as you scoot to one side and make yourself comfortable, wondering if you’re enjoying the side of him that wants to pamper you.

When you’re all tucked in with the blankets underneath your chin, Sunghoon can’t help but lean down and brush a few stray hair strands from your face. He caresses your cheek and holds himself back despite your lips being right in front of him. Instead, he settles for rubbing your soft cheek with his thumb before leaving.

Except, you reach out and grab onto his wrist. “Where are you going?”

His looks back at you in the dim light. “Home, baby. I’ll let you sleep.”

The pout you’re wearing is tearing him limb from limb. “I don’t want you to go home.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “Please…I haven’t seen you at all this week.” Sunghoon hears the strain in your voice and he isn’t sure if you’re awake enough to know what you’re saying. “I-I just want you here with me.”

How could he say no to that?

Sunghoon sits on the empty side of the bed and lets you guide your hand in his bigger one. He watches as you shake your head and he’s about to ask what you mean when you open the blanket.

He feels momentarily guilty when he pulls his hand away from you because he hears you whine again, but he slips off his hoodie to avoid overheating. He’s left in his sweatpants and a loose shirt when sliding into your bed right next to you.

You waste no time and attach yourself to Sunghoon, pushing your body until you’re resting on his chest. He does his best not to let his heartbeat give him away. This is the most he’s ever touched you. At best, he’d brush his hand against yours and waited for the right time to hold it. Today feels like he’s thrown caution into the wind.

Sunghoon puts his glasses on your night table and pulls you close to him, encircling his arms until he finds a comfortable position. Your warm breaths litter his skin and he feels like he could run laps with how happy he is in this moment. You look so cute with your body limp against his. He loves that you’re not hesitant around him anymore and hopes you know just how much he wants you close to him.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Sunghoon says in the dark, unsure if you’re still awake or not.

“What’s your secret?”

Your eyes remain closed, eyelashes covering your beautiful eyes and your cheeks are squished into a pout against his chest. He looks down at you like you’re precious cargo and a rare gem he never wants to let go of.

“I really want to kiss you.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, Sunghoon feels you move your head until you press a kiss against his chest, allowing your lips to linger for a few seconds before reverting back to your original position.

“Kiss me tomorrow.”

Sunghoon hears you snoring soon after.

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself. “I can do that.”

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[beomboomboom]

There for you

genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship

pairing: Jeonghan x reader

summary: You were there for people when they needed you most, but when you desperately needed someone, anyone—no one was there. That is, until you met Jeonghan.

warnings: mentions of reader being in a dark place mentally (Jeonghan comes to the rescue though)

note: For those of you who have been there for others when no one was there for you. I hope that you know you're not alone, there will always be someone willing to listen <33 This fic is so self-indulgent omg 😭. Enjoy reading the fic <3

You have always been there for everyone. You're the type of person to lend a shoulder for someone to cry on while rubbing their back comfortingly. Heck, you've even been coined the "emotional support" role in your friend group.

But you had always wondered why when you were the one needing help, no one would notice.

No one would be there to give you a hug while assuring you everything would be alright. No one would be by your side when you let out your sobs at 12 am, muffling your cries with your pillow so you didn't wake anyone up.

You were there for people when they needed you most, but when you desperately needed someone, anyone—no one was there.

That is, until you met Jeonghan.

Jeonghan had appeared into your life like an angel.

Your life that felt like it was pitch black became brighter when Jeonghan appeared. He saved you from the darkness that once had consumed you.

Jeonghan was there for you when you felt dead inside. He made you feel alive with the way he listened intently to your every word, something that not many people had done before. He made you feel alive with the way he gently gave you comforting touches, silently assuring that he was there with you.

Jeonghan was there for you when you didn't even realize how much you needed him.

You snap out of your thoughts the second you hear the shuffling of sheets as a half-awake Jeonghan scoots closer to you on the bed.

"Morning baby." he mutters with a smile, the effects of sleep making his voice all gravely and deep.

You let out a smile at the sight as you gently trace Jeonghan's features. From the curve of his lips to the roundness of his eyes, every part of him was beautiful. "Thank you."

"What? All of a sudden?" Jeonghan says with a laugh as he wraps his arms around your waist with a fond look in his eyes.

"Thank you for being there for me when no one else was," you explain while carding your fingers through Jeonghan's hair as Jeonghan tugs your body closer to his with a fond smile in response, his eyes so full of love and pure adoration for you.

"I'll always be there for you," he whispers into your ear as he gives you a soft kiss on the cheek.

[airybcby]

Is your top artist/song thing still open? Because if it still is, my top song is GUILTY by TAEMIN. Hehehe!

(also found out abt this bc you reblogged a post of mine teehee!! Thought it was interesting so I wanna give it a go!!)

it is still open! and omg!! that's so cool!

if your top song was GUILTY by TAEMIN i'd pair you with...

sae itoshi

જ⁀♡⊹｡° wanna take a bite

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event

♡ content — sae itoshi x gn! reader, gn! reader, lowkey probably ooc sae, manipulative(?) sae, reader and sae have CRAZY tension, implied situationship

♡ synopsis — sae itoshi is a calm man, but when he doesn't get what he wants, that can change.

There was something terrifying about Sae Itoshi, and it wasn’t his skill on the pitch.

It was the way he looked at you—sharp, unrelenting, and just a little bit cruel. Like he knew you didn’t belong here, standing in his orbit, but he didn’t care.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get involved with him, not when you’d heard the stories of what he was like: cold, calculating, impossible to read. Sae Itoshi didn’t need anyone, and he made that abundantly clear to everyone around him.

So why was he here now, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment like he owned the place?

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said, his voice low, almost bored. But his eyes—they betrayed him. They burned with something too dangerous to name.

It'd been a week since you'd last seen Sae anywhere outside of the soccer field. A week since you'd told yourself you weren't going to be his plaything, something he could have whenever he wanted.

“Maybe you should take the hint,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

He smirked, a slow, infuriating curve of his lips that made your chest tighten. “You’re bad at lying.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him get the upper hand. “And you’re bad at leaving people alone.”

He pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, like a storm rolling in. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as he closed the distance between you.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing to you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your stomach twisted, the guilt bubbling up like bile. You hated the way he got under your skin, the way he made you feel alive and hollow at the same time. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to happen.

“This is wrong, Sae,” you said, but your voice wavered.

“Maybe,” he admitted, tilting his head as his eyes searched yours. “But you don’t really want me to stop, do you?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you hated him. You hated how easily he unraveled you, how he turned every one of your carefully constructed walls to rubble with just a glance.

But he was right. You didn’t want him to stop.

And that was the worst part.

When he leaned in, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath, you knew you were past the point of no return. His presence consumed you, leaving no room for anything else, and for a moment, you let yourself forget the guilt clawing at your chest.

Because Sae Itoshi was a mistake you were willing to make.

i really have a bad habit of making sae ooc i'm sorry

i hope you like it anyways!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[mouse-fantoms]

On top of being robbed of so much Juke content we’ll never get, what I think about alot is how Juke would have been approached more if it went further.

One of the (many) reasons I love jatp so much is it makes me believe their characters are real, that they have background, they have their own goals and ambitions to them, they’re fleshed out.

That moment of Flynn going “my girls got a crush and his name is Luke” and Julie going “what no?! Luke’s a ghost😳.” And Flynn saying “a cute ghost” and Julie giving in and saying “…with a perfect smile☺️” and adding that Luke is “cute air” which implies she has indeed given this Luke crush idea some thought.

That moment of just two best friends talking about the others potential crush like that’s such a good moment bc I genuinely believe that I am watching these two genuine besties just have that kind of talk with one another bc that happens!

Like that moment we have with our friends when they’re like “hey I got something to tell you 👀” or they approach you like “so… umm… I’ve been kind of noticing your behavior lately around this person.” It’s the realistic little things like that which is why I appreciate this show so much.

Julie having the line of “what no! Luke’s a ghost!” Means so much that, on top of acknowledging “hey he’s got a cute smile, and he himself is cute” she also acknowledged “…he is a ghost though…” but then our Julie being who she is (we love her for it) went “but he still do be cute though 🥰” like this is a genuine teen girl in high school having a crush

And then later on when Reggie and Alex bring up how Luke and Julie ooze chemistry (and the way that throughout the show when Julie and Luke are being cute and them, the looks that we see Reggie and Alex give like Juke and then each other is so good bc I genuinely believe like “yeah these boys are all friends with one another so of course they’d react that way to their other friend showing an interest in their fellow friend”) Luke’s like “no come on I have chemistry with everyone I sing with” HE DOES THE SAME THING JULIE DID WHEN THE EXACT SAME TOPIC EAS BROUGHT UP TO HER! (Soulmates your honor!)

Him denying it, like Julie did, implies too that he also had the thinking of “…she is alive though and I’m not” (I mean me personally I feel like Luke didn’t truly realize he liked her until later on even if there were signs earlier, just bc he seems like the kind of person where like music was his absolute everything like even if the Sunset Curve fangirls were always like ‘omg Luke is amazing 😍’, I just get the vibe that he would never really notice the advances towards him bc he is just so consumed in music and that is his whole existence, so when Reggie and Alex see that Luke appears to be falling for Julie it’s a big deal bc they’re probably like “Luke has NEVER shown any interest ever so the fact that a girl has replaced music in his life THIS IS A MASSIVE DEAL”)

And then the moment when they’re on Julie’s porch and she tries to hold his hand but ya know CANT (huge what a gut punched) and then she awkwardly looks away and he’s like “…this is an interesting little relationship you and I have” and they’re just there for a moment just looking and smiling at each other (THEY’RE FLIRTING SO MUCH WITHOUT SAYING ANY WORDS UGH TAKE ME 😩)

I am sat there genuinely believing that these are two teenagers who even though they know they’re not *supposed* to feel a way about each other, they still do. Like that scene is their confession to one another and it’s so sweet and genuine bc in that moment where Julie tries to hold his hand, they’re brought back to reality as to what they are and yet, they can’t help but still like one another and appreciate each other bc of what the other person has changed so much in their life.

AND THEN, that scene in the beginning of the last episode how Julie asks to talk to Luke (and Reggie and Alex immediately are like “oop leave them be 👀 they’re having a moment” being the greatest friends that they are) and they’re both standing there, in each others presence, it takes a moment for Julie to say what she wants to but they’re just two kids who ended up in each others lives and they know they like each other but they know they can’t act on those feelings yet they still just have this love for each other is so enduring and charming. The way Luke tells her “anything Julie you know that” MAKES ME MELT like ugh 😩 their dynamic and friendship has grown so much with each other from episode 1 to like now and it’s so just ugh it gets me

When I think how Juke could have been approached if we had gotten a chance, I would have loved to see the new like “glowing touch” development and how that would impact their dynamic. (I just imagine Reggie just hugs Julie all the time bc he can (he just seems like such a hugger and I feel like he’d give good ones🥺) and Alex also will gives her side hugs (they just take advantage of being able to physically touch her bc they don’t know how long they’re able to do it for with their new ghost development)) I feel like Luke and Julie would just be a bit apprehensive since the hand holding thing on the porch, and maybe their hug was just a one time thing.

Would have loved to see Carlos referring to Luke as “Julie’s boyfriend” (he was there for edge of great and stand tall THERES NO WAY he’s thinking anything of than “the sleeveless one is indeed my sisters boyfriend”) would be extra great too with like Luke being in the room and Carlos just says that and Julie quickly trying to make him not talk about it bc it’s embarrassing 💀 her just being like “Carlos, he’s a ghost” and him being like “…hey with you having a boyfriend are you going to have less time with Dad and I bc you’ll be busy kissing him?” And Julie’s face just goes pale as Luke takes the time to take himself out of room meanwhile his face his like bright red

Would have loved to see when Carrie’s redemption is happening and it’s Julie and Carrie and Carrie’s like “sooooo 👀 I’ve seen how you look at your guitarist” and she immediately tries to shut it down but Carrie is like “Jules, we may not have been that close in the past year and some but we’ve known each other for how long? I can see your tells!”

I just think a lot about how this ship, even though they’re not meant to like each other yet they do and still care about each other, would have been approached more if we got the chance

[baddestbittyontheblock]

joel miller fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

*✧* for you, anything by @mellowsaturns joel miller x reader | fluff, soft!joel, domesticity, established relationship, reader caught a cold, sick fic

-joel do what he does best, smuggling and taking care of you

*✧* good thing by @pedros-mustache joel miller x fem!reader | smut (18+ only). also: established relationship, angst, non-planned pregnancy, implied sex-for-pay, age gap, language, 4k

-“how long have you known?”

*✧* i'm right here by @orangevtae joel miller x fem!reader x platonic!ellie williams | reader uses she/her pronouns, mentions to panick attacks and PTSD's, reader is seen like a mother figure to ellie, hurt/comfort, death and blood (typical TLOU thing), joel and reader are in a stabilished relationship, slight mentions to episode 4

-ellie needs reassurance that you are alive and well after an infected surprise attack while you were taking a walk with her

*✧* hopelessly devoted to you by @omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts joel miller x fem!reader | SMUT 18+, fluff, AGE GAP (reader is late twenties, joel is like 56), language, near death experience, violence, oral f receiving, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, enemies to lovers ish, just filth, daddy kink, slight angst, mentions of death, injuries, tending wounds, rough!Joel, dom!joel

-you’ve been by ellie’s side since she was little, a family figure and her protector, after both of your families passed away and you found one another in the qz. so, when the gruff and demanding joel miller steps into the picture to take you both to the lab ellie needs, the two of you don’t see eye to eye. but after time passes, attraction settles in and you and Joel might feel more for the other than you thought. 

*✧* faithful by @mypoisonedvine joel miller x reader | smut (18+ only; oral f receiving, unprotected sex, very slight dacryphilia kinda?, a touch of degradation and dumbification in there, and virginity loss with some pain and one mention of blood), heavy age gap (not specified but the reader is absolutely an adult), insecure crybaby reader, unrequited love/pining, reader wants to fuck joel so bad it makes her look stupid (and we love that for her cause same), angst, tess getting kinda screwed over but only because it's absolutely necessary for the plot, emotionally repressed joel, mention of reader's parents being deceased (implied to be infected), 9.2k

-joel wasn't looking for a follower, or a protégé, or an employee— whatever you're supposed to be— when he saved some dumbass kid from a couple runners. but he ended up with you anyways, and you swore to always be faithful to him... in every way.

*✧* a warm bed by @guess-my-next-obsession joel miller x fem!reader | E (18+ only, mature descriptions of death/apocalyptic life, blurry infidelity, unprotected PIV, dirty talk, cum play), 3.4k

-it was freezing out today in boston but you didn’t notice, not with the flames that burned beside you as you hoisted dead child after dead child into the makeshift mass crematorium.

*✧* joel fic by @forever-rogue joel miller x fem!reader | 2.3k

-people always seemed to call you shy. 

*✧* joel fic by @forever-rogue joel miller x fem!reader | language; tlou typical violence, 3.4k

-“do you really think this place is safe?”

*✧* first time by @charnelhouse joel miller x fem!reader |

-"i can't," you gasp, nails biting into his shoulders. "it's-fuck-too much-too much."

*✧* crazy love by @cowgurrrl joel miller x fem!reader (plus platonic fem!reader x ellie williams) | mentions of david, nightmares, a panic attack, 1.3k

-ellie has a nightmare and you and Joel help calm her down

*✧* safe with you by @flightlessangelwings joel miller x fem!reader | established relationship, protective!joel, hurt/comfort, attempted harassment, choking (the non-sexy kind), minor character death, feelings, fluff, tommy’s the best wingman, support from Ellie, no use of y/n, 2.8k

-the bar bustled with life as you made your way through the crowd. you carried as many beers as you could at a time for the group that had arrived in jackson earlier that day.

*✧* his protection by @absurdthirst joel miller x fem!reader | post apocalyptic violence, mentions of gun violence, mentions of blood, murder, torture, gore, rough sex, unprotected sex, kidnapping, imprisonment, threats of cannibalism, unhinged delusions of grandeur, fire, being restrained, allusions to sexual assault, 5.2k

-when david's group takes you and ellie to their settlement, you warn them that joel will come for you. knowing that he will do whatever it takes to get back those under his protection.

*✧* teamwork by @allfoolsinluv crave!joel miller x fem!reader x tess servopoulos | explicit, 18+ only. Minors DNI, established poly relationship, m/f/f dynamics, age gap (reader's in her 20s, Joel & tess are in their 40s), unprotected p-in-v (wrap it up folks), dirty talk, praise, low-key dom/sub undertones, nipple play, fingering (f receiving), language, 1.2k

-did you come already?, spread your legs for (me), I want to see you

*✧* joel blurb by @sprout-fics joel miller x gn!reader

-"get inside."

*✧* a part of you, a part of me by @apollyonsdarksecrets joel miller x fem!reader | 18+ minors DNI. smut, unplanned pregnancy, crying, fluff, pre-outbreak joel. established relationship, cream pie, pet names, cussing, pregnancy tests, just a bunch of happiness because that’s all joel deserves in this world.

-joel’s been down this road before, he’s seen all the signs, and he knows before you ever do that you’re pregnant.

*✧* on his backseat by @causeimhappinesss  joel miller x gn!reader | smut, age gap (reader in her 20s), unprotected sex, slight breeding kink + wrap your biscuit

-all day long, a crazy tension had built up between you and Joel, at first for a silly little thing, but he refused to agree with you, when you were absolutely right.

*✧* moments silence by @nexusnyx joel miller x reader | canon-divergence; reader and tess met joel at the same time, and all three became a tight-knit unit, explicit mature content, minors dni; age gap, mentions of canon-typical violence, confessions, touch starved, dry humping, oral sex (m receiving), slow & deep sex, but also rough sex?, dirty talk, little spoon joel.

-joel has no idea why bill gifts him with the book. had he rambled about you that much? It seemed impossible—to be fair, but surely there were other things besides your name on his tongue. besides how much you love your books and care for them. Besides how much he's learned since he met you because of them.

*✧* maybe now by @supernaturalgirl20 joel miller x fem!reader | smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, breeding kink, mentions of loss, sadness, talks about life before, mentions of pregnancy, giving birth, breastfeeding, soft joel, small glimpses into Joel’s life with his new family.

-happy horny joel with major breeding kink because ellie is already grown up and he need to take care of somebody and jackson is safe enough for family.

*✧* blood in the cut by @wheresarizona  joel miller x fem!reader | E (18+!! this is straight-up smut. age gap (20-25 years, unspecified), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spit mention, (1) spank, soft joel at the end)

-you’re distracted while working with joel, and it almost costs you your lives. luckily, he knows how to get you out of your head—it’s just a little surprising because you didn’t think he liked you, but here he is eating you out like it’s his last meal.

*✧* the babysitter by @guess-my-next-obsession pre-outbreak! joel x babysitter!reader | E (18+ ONLY, smut under cut, age gap (Joel’s 32, reader is 25), fwb to lovers, unprotected piv, creampie, joel has feeeeeeelings, soft ending), 1.2k

-“quiet, baby,”

*✧* joel fic by @eufezco joel miller x fem!reader

-"ask her out."

*✧* fucking runners by @jpg-angel joel miller x reader | Minors DNI!, hurt/comfort, mentions of an injury, reader mercy kills tess, OOC Joel? (maybe? idk I blacked out while writing this), fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex (I don't think condoms are easy to come across in the zombie apocalypse), little but of hair pulling

*✧* pieces of you by @pedros-mustache joel miller x fem!reader | established relationship, language, references to sex, references to age gap

-maybe it’s wrong. maybe it’s possessive and a tad bit jealous. maybe after years working alongside tess, you’ve simply learned to lay your claim on what is yours. 

*✧* first glimpse of love by @valerinaswriting joel miller x fem!reader | established relationship, age gap (sorry i can’t help myself), reader is attacked by a clicker, mentions of death, soft!joel, shower sex, unprotected sex, slight cockwarming, tess does not exist in this fic!

-after a close call with death, joel refuses to let you go.

*✧* joel fic by @forever-rogue joel miller x fem!reader | 2.4k

-"you came back for me"

*✧* joel angst by @forever-rogue  joel miller x fem!reader | language, tlou typical violence, 3.4k

-reader gets hurt protecting ellie and joel tells reader he loves them for the first time

*✧* not a kid by @ourautumn86 joel miller x fem!reader | +18 content. mdni. age difference (r is 24 and joel is 56), fighting, mentions of death, images of death, murder, dirty talking, praising, oral sex, piv sex, rough angry sex, finger fucking, unprotected sex (GUYS WRAP THE DONG UP), cream pie…

-“are you alright?!”

*✧* i got you baby by @cosmictheo joel miller x fem!reader | angst, death mentions, suicide mentions, mental breakdown, crying fit, some backstory from reader's past, joel being the most comforting best boyfriend ever, ellie being the angel she is, 2k

- joel helps you through a emotional breakdown after henry and sam's death.

*✧* crazy love by @cowgurrrl joel miller x fem!reader (plus platonic fem!reader x ellie williams) | 1.3k, mentions of David, nightmares, a panic attack

-ellie has a nightmare and you and Joel help calm her down

*✧* for the things they hold dear by @cruelfvkingsummer  joel miller x reader | kinda dark, fucked up love, kinda toxic, possessive, controlling, AGE GAP (unspecified but mentioned a lot), nasty smut, breeding kink, like literally nasty, violence, blood, God is like his literal enemy, calls you 'mama; sugar; sweetheart',there are mentions of blood while doing the nasty, daddy kink (mentioned a few times), joel is emotionally constipated but hey who can blame him, unbeta'd

-he can't say he loves you -- he doesn't need to.

*✧* joel fic by @eufezco joel miller x reader | a little smut at the end

-you're a little jealous of tess.

[narcjsistx]

Omg heyyy!, I find your writing quite good, keep up the good work ♥️. May i request Izana x gf reader. Just reader being smitten and whipped for him, like he could literally be beating /killing someone and shes just staring with lovesick eyes and thinking 'Oh Izana , such a cutiepie. My cute boyfriend. I'll even help him hide the body if he wants.....'

And Izana stating she is his Queen and the Queen of Tenjiku

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— Oh, my toxic loverboy

Izana is my favorite poison, my obsession. I know, I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't help it. Every time I see him, the world comes down to him, every thought, every breath, everything is for him. I want it with such intensity that sometimes it scares me, but it's a fear that I like, that excites me. We found each other, and from that moment it's as if we couldn't do without each other. We are always together, united in this strange vortex that for others might seem toxic, but for us it is everything. I don't want to run away from this, in fact, I just want to dive deeper

— Izana: If I ever had to kill Mikey, what would happen between us?

- You: I would help you get rid of the body, my loverboy

Our arguments, our fights, are just another way to feel alive, remind us of how much we care for each other. It doesn't matter how much we get hurt, because in the end we always come back together, hungrier than before, more eager to own each other. I know that others don't understand, that they look at us with that look of disapproval, but I don't care. No one can understand what it means to be with Izana. He is my dark half, my reflection in a distorted mirror, and I am his. We are united by something stronger than simple attraction, something that consumes and nourishes us at the same time

— Izana: You're a whore when you do that, but please, come home. I need to see you, I love you and you know it

— You: Scream at me one more time and I'll smash that damn record of yours that you care about so much. I'm coming back, I hope it's for a good reason

Izana has become everything to me. I wake up thinking about him, and go to sleep with his name on my lips. And Izana… Izana wants me all to herself. He can't stand the idea that there is something or someone between us. He's jealous of everything, even my time: he isolates me from friends, family, and I let it happen... deep down, I'm convinced it's a sign of how much he loves me

— Izana: You just need me. Others exist only to distance us, right?

— You: I push others away, I need you to breathe. To feel alive I need you to be by my side

— Izana: Good girl

Yet, there is a part of me that feels suffocated. I'm short of air, but I can't tear myself away. When we are not together, I feel lost, empty, as if a part of me remains with him even if I don't know where he is. And when we are close, the whole world seems to disappear. But I know, deep down, that this isn't love: it's obsession. A mutual dependence that is slowly destroying us, but which I can't do without. It's a sick bond, and yet, I would never want to break it

— Izana: We both know it's obsession and not love, right?

— You: Yes. But it doesn't bother me

— Izana: Until death, then?

— You: And even after, my loverboy

The truth is that I got lost in him, or maybe I allowed myself to get lost. I no longer recognize who I was before Izana came into my life. At first, it was like he filled a void I didn't even know I had. His every gesture, every word, seemed to be exactly what I needed, and so I let myself be carried away. I've realized that I no longer make decisions without first asking myself what he would think. Every thought, every action, is filtered through his gaze. And him? He does the same. He tells me that he can't imagine his life without me, that I am his reason for existing after years of suffering

— Izana: You will be my bride within a year maximum, Mrs. Kurokawa

— You: I like your last name

— Izana: I'll like it more when you have it too, love

I have asked myself several times if it is possible to live without him. But the very idea throws me into an irrational panic. It's like I need his chaos, his possessiveness, to feel real. And so, I continue to remain trapped in this relationship that is slowly consuming me, and I like it. I don't know if it's love, or just fear of being alone, but one thing is sure: Izana has become my obsession. And I his

— Izana: Oh, my Queen. The Queen of Tenjiku, the only woman who will ever and never leave my life

[skmhlml]

Hiiiii omg can I please please please request Billy from Feed me Billy x reader? There’s NOTHING for my Pookie :(

(I got you bbg 😚)

Billy x Reader

🔪 yummy yummy in my tummy I just love insane mean who could kill this pussy. Anyway.

🔪 congrats! Billy has developed a disturbing attachment to you, (yipe!) perceiving you as both his muse and his salvation. He believes that you are the only person who truly understands his twisted hunger. (you don't, not in any shape or form)

🔪 and he is convinced that you’ll join him in his murderous rampage. Each time you resist, he becomes more desperate, seeing your defiance as part of the “game” between you two.

🔪 we just got a letter! We just got a letter! Wonder who its from. You start receiving strange, blood-soaked letters from Billy, each one more cryptic than the last. The fucker has no filiter in these. You will be traumatized.

🔪 He details how he’s consumed his victims, describing their terror and pain as something beautiful. Billy believes that by feeding the void together, your souls will become one in a “sacred” ritual, blurring the line between victim and accomplice.

🔪 treating you like one of his “precious” sacrifices. And like any other good physopath he starts isolating you, convinced that the world outside would only corrupt or ruin you.

🔪 His love manifests through disturbing acts. Leaving you bloodstained trinkets from his victims, carving your name into their bodies, little Russian glass clown dolls, and promising that you’re his ultimate offering. In his mind, no one else can have you—dead or alive.

🔪 Billy uses your deepest fears and vulnerabilities to manipulate you into staying. He claims that without him, the world will devour you whole. (pun) He promises to protect you, even as he drags you deeper into his world of horror.

🔪 At times, Billy seems almost regretful for what he’s doing, but he insists that the pit demands it. He tells you that feeding the pit is his way of keeping you safe, as if the void itself would turn on you if it weren’t sated.

[tortoisebore]

me again! i asked you abt headcanons of sirius bottoming and omg 🫠🫠🫠 i, respectfully, NEEEDDDDD headcanons on remus topping now. thank you 😊😊😊😊

welcome back ch 9 enjoyers we have another request 🫡 nsfw below the cut again

first of all i think remus is a person who significantly underestimates just how much sirius wants to jump his bones at any given moment. in his head he’s just this gangly, weird, quiet, sort of awkward dude that doesn’t quite know what to do with a compliment & has a hard time flirting without melting into a puddle of embarrassment. but he’s also a pisces & he is constantly consumed by a bone-deep, borderline malicious sense of yearning & most of the time that gets him out of his head long enough to act on his desire without second guessing himself

so ofc when he gets w sirius (aka the hottest person he’s ever seen w his own two eyes) he doesn’t quite know what to do w himself & sometimes when sirius comes onto him he gets all baby-deer-in-headlights about it & just stands there like 🧍‍♂️😦 bc how tf did he bag the sexiest person alive & how tf is sirius actually into him enough to want to climb him like a tree wtf

but beneath the self-consciousness he is a person that very much wants to please, and he is a person that gets immense satisfaction out of knowing that he’s making the person he loves feel good. and once he gets his footing & their dynamic starts to smooth itself out, and when sirius starts asking him to top more & gets all pliant and eager and needy about it, there’s a new, nagging little voice in the back of his head that starts itching to take and hold and grab and touch and feel in a way that would usually have felt embarrassing but that sirius seems hell bent on digging out of him & putting to work. and who tf is he to argue with what get sirius off like yes sir whatever u say sir 🫡

sometimes that means cutting himself loose & stretching prep out to an hour because he likes the look and feel of sirius wrapped around his fingers, and he likes bringing him to the edge over and over and stopping just before he’s there, and he likes how he sounds when he’s desperate and worked up and begging for remus to “just fuck me already pleasepleaseplease i need it.” other times that means dragging sirius into the shower and spending a long while indulging himself in the feel of his skin, making sure he knows just how truly, sickeningly gorgeous he is, kissing him until he’s breathless and pushing his chest into the shower wall so that remus can hear every single little hitch in his breath echo against the tiles when he presses inside, slow and patient, and so that he can clock the exact moment he gets the angle right and sirius’ voice slips into a whine. other times it means letting go of the instinct to keep quiet & allowing all the crazy shit in his head to spill out of his mouth when he’s got sirius under him in the dim light of his bedroom—his beautiful head cradled in his hands & his legs wrapped tight around remus’ waist, arms slung over his shoulders & fingers carding through the curls behind remus’ ear—telling him exactly how good he feels, how good he’s being, how pretty he looks, how much he loves him while they share the same air, rocking against him slow and deep and keeping a sharp eye on his face, how it twists up in pleasure with certain words and how his jaw drops and how he sighs, soft and sweet, and moans into his mouth when he comes

and it’s not always so intense, sometimes they’ve got to be quick or they’re just not feeling so steamy about it all, but remus is still watching and listening for what makes sirius feel good, adjusting when he needs it and finding all the little things that make him tick until he’s boneless and sated next to him, breathing deep to catch his breath and offering him a weak high-five when his voice don’t want to work but remus has done a particularly good job of wearing him out

[theworldofotps]

This Christmas

Pairing: Finn Balor x Reader Word Count: 1,145 Description: The holidays just aren't the same for Finn anymore. (THE ANGST I CRIED IM SORRY)

Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist​ @melissahausen @new-zealand-chic @writtingrose @99hook @madhatterbri @sassymox @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @surdelcielo @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @terrortwinunicorn @alyyaanna @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456 @mcreignsera @auburnwrites​ @aews-four-pillars @thatnerdwriter​ @sjwrites22​ If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. ______ The soft sound of Christmas music drifted through the sparsely decorated apartment of Finn Balor. The Christmas tree sat in the corner of his lounge twinkling faintly, a shadow of the vibrant and lively celebrations he used to know. All of that changed three years ago after his beloved fiancée was in a car accident on Christmas Eve. The weight of her absence pressed heavily on his chest even more so this time of year. The day wasn’t just a holiday any more it was a cruel reminder of all he’d loved and lost. Finn sat on his sofa staring blankly at the glass of Guinness in his hand, the dark liquid reflecting the tree lights in front of him. He hadn’t even wanted to decorate the house this year, and he sure as hell couldn’t do it last year. But part of him wanted to keep y/n’s memory alive even if it was just the tree and a couple of little festive bows on the wall. His friends tried to cheer him up earlier in the day knowing how hard this time of year was for him. Damian invited him to a party across town, hoping that Finn being surrounded by people that loved him would help ease even a small fraction of the hurt he was feeling.

As the hours dragged on the oppressive silence after the music had finally stopped became unbearable. Memories of his y/n flashed through his mind, the sound of her laugh and the way her eyes would light up when they decorated the house or Christmas was even mentioned. The tv dinner he’d heated up sat on the kitchen table unappetizing and cold. Finally, he grabbed his coat and decided to head to the party. Anything to escape the loneliness of the apartment.

The party was in full swing when he arrived the room alive with laughter and music the sound of his friends and coworkers filling the space. Finn drifted through like a ghost; he was greeted warmly though he knew many were surprised he’d even showed up. He tried to smile and give a nod, polite answers when one asked him a question. But his heart just wasn’t in it, the festive atmosphere made him feel detached. It was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling up inside of him.

After a while he knew he needed to get out it felt suffocating the walls of the room seemed to be closing in, so he excused himself quietly slipping outside into the cold night.

Snow fell from the dark sky coating the ground in a white blanket the quiet streets were empty; apart from the occasional car or sound of Christmas carols spilling from the party he just left. Stuffing his hands into his coat pockets he walked down the sidewalk, his breath fogging the fridged air in front of him. Walking to a lamppost he leaned against it watching as the snow fell. More memories of Y/n consumed him all at once.

“You would have loved this party Y/n, I know you’d be in there right now laughing and singing along to the music. Doing all you could to avoid me catching you under the mistletoe.”

He whispered to empty air his voice barely audible; it was then that he felt a faint warmth tugging at the edges of his awareness. Turning his breath caught in his throat, under the streetlight bathed in the soft glow of the lamp stood his Y/n. Her features were illuminated like something out of a dream, her hair and coat were dusted with snowflakes and yet she didn’t seem cold. Her smile was the same gentle spirit it always had, her eyes filled with the love and joy he hadn’t seen in three years.

Finn could feel his heart pounding in disbelief as he stared at her blinking, maybe the cold was causing him to hallucinate and yet she was still there.

“Y/n? Baby?”

He whispered his voice trembling as her smile grew and she held out a hand for him to take. Without thinking he rushed towards her, his arms wrapping around her in a desperate hug his face burying into her shoulder. She felt real and solid, warm and the same familiar scent of her perfume that still clung to her pillowcase. Tears fell down his face as he held her tighter, afraid that letting go would cause her to slip through his fingers.

“You’re here, you’re actually here. How is this even possible?”

He choked out his voice breaking as his eyes squeezed shut tightly, Y/n pulled back just enough to look up at him, her own eyes glistening. She cupped his cheeks studying his face as she spoke softly, her voice a melody he thought he’d never get to hear in person again.

“Merry Christmas my love.”

The world around them seemed to fade away as they stood there together wrapped in each other’s arms. For the first time in three years, he felt whole again, they didn’t speak of the past or question the impossibility of this moment. They spent the night walking through the snow-covered streets talking and laughing just like they used too. For one night Finn wasn’t grieving and he didn’t feel utterly alone. He had her back even if it was only for a fleeting moment he had her with him again.

When the first light of dawn started to break through the cloud, Y/n led him back to the lamppost where he first seen her. She turned to him her smile tinted with sadness but still shining brightly.

“I have to go now love it’s time.”

She whispered her fingers still holding his as she looked into those blue eyes who always held so much love for her. Finn shook his head quickly his heart breaking at the idea of losing her again. His voice cracking as he pleaded with her.

“No, please…stay I don’t want to lose you again. I love you.”

Y/n stood on her tiptoes pressing a soft kiss to his lips her touch lingering as if trying to memorize every detail of him.

“I’ll always be with you Finn, you just have to look for me. I need you to keep going to keep our love alive. I know it’s been hard for you my love I’ve seen you struggle but you must keep living. I love you.”

And just like that she was gone, fading into the morning light like a snowflake melting on his skin. Finn stood there the ache in his chest returning but this time it was accompanied by a strange feeling of peace. Walking to his car he could hear the faint echo if Y/n’s laughter following him. It wasn’t the Christmas he had expected but it was one he’d cherish and remember for the rest of his days.